Questions. Questions. Why must they always be asking me questions? the old man grumbled to himself. But what he answered was, ”Yes, I was there. That’s all. I was just there.”

“No, grandpa, you weren’t just ... there,” said the boy, ”You were the one, more than all the others, more than Odysseus himself, who brought about the victory.”

“No. No. Not me, boy. It was the gods! They started it. They ended it. I was there. That’s all!”

But the boy went on. “Grandpa! You led the attack. You did! All those honours you received on your return …”

The return. The great storm. Oh the gods were so angry! Of the thousand ships, most sank to the bottom or were driven to lands where their crews, my friends, were taken for slaves or, lost and alone, starved. A few, a very few, made their way home. Broken men with stories that could turn your hair grey.

I was there on that first expedition. I witnessed that meeting in the great Trojan hall, with its beautiful statues of horses, in bronze, in stone. I remember so well the young Trojan prince, Troilus, asking to touch the horse-hair crest of my helmet.

“They worshipped horses, the Trojans, you know,” the old man said.


“Yes,” said the boy, “We all know that. That’s why you were able …”


They had gone to negotiate. Priam, the Trojan king, told of his soothsayers and how they’d explained the lovers’ destiny was to be together until death. “What else can we do?” Priam asked our delegation. “It is the will of the gods.”

But no. Will of the gods or not, Greek pride had been hurt.

“Grandpa… Grandpa … don’t fall asleep. Go on, tell me about the Horse.”

“Nothing to say. You’ve heard the songs."

“Tell me about how you were the first to volunteer. Just tell me, please.”

I was the first to volunteer. That was true.

What a ridiculous plan! Ten years of fighting. The great leaders dead - Ajax, Achilles, Paris himself. Oh, the shame I felt at being Greek when Achilles dragged brave Hector around the walls of Troy, his naked body bouncing over the ground, Achilles holding the golden armour aloft, screaming “Look, Trojans. I have it back.” They were mad by then. All of them.

Then there came the mutiny of the Greek armies. You don't sing about that in the gymnasia or at the pageants. That won’t be told in history!

No-one came forward when Odysseus made the call. “Come on lads! Who will climb and enter the door there, into its belly?” So up I went - I went because I expected to die. I did it out of cowardice. I wanted to die on the sword of the enemy, not return home a failure. Only then did others, seeing me clamber through the door, follow my lead. Perhaps they felt like me. Ashamed of failure, embarrassed by the war and its stupid cause. Maybe some, like drunken gamblers taking any odds, were lured by dreams of riches. But if I'd known what was to happen ...

And yes, I was scared. As we were wheeled through the great gates we could hear the Trojan shouts: “Let’s smash it up." “Let’s burn this Greek load of crap.” “What is it, anyway? Driftwood tied together to look like a what? A horse? Mangy hippopotamus more like.” Then came the dogs, sniffing and yowling. They knew we were inside. “Oh! We are discovered!” a comrade whined. Then, above all the clamour, we heard the noble voice of Priam. “No, my countrymen. Leave it be. They have honoured us, the Greeks. We must show honour to them.”

That night was so long. We waited as the Trojans celebrated and drank themselves to sleep. I can remember us pushing open those city gates to let our army in. Then the horror. The murders. None were spared. Children killed before their mothers. Their mothers raped and then taken for slaves. The men, drunk and confused, put to the sword. ‘Blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth’ as the song says. And then I found myself there in the magnificent Temple of Zeus. Old Priam half sitting, half lying, on the steps in front of the great alter, his long white beard soaked with the blood of his dying son, Troilus, who he held in his arms. He glared with contempt at us cheating Greeks as we moved towards him, swords and daggers raised …

“Oh please, grandpa. Please. What did you do in our famous victory?"

"I ... I just did my duty. That's all," the old man finally replied, his eyes lowered to the ground.