more than a shadow, featureless, like a fragile, feeble wraith, already dead and in Hades.
I was jolted awake by the sound of the door bolt snapping back. I sat up, immediately alert, my hand automatically reaching for the sword that I had left with my men back at the Achaian camp along the beach.
A serving woman backed into the room, carrying a basin and an earthen jug of water. When she turned around and saw me sitting there naked, she dropped her eyes and made a little curtsy, then turned and deposited the pottery atop the cedarwood chest. She scurried out of the room and shut the door. Within a moment I heard the giggling of several women from beyond the door.
I washed hurriedly and pulled my clothes on. As I was awkwardly tying the white cloth of truce onto my arm, a Trojan man entered my room after a single sharp rap on the door. He seemed more a courtier than a warrior. He was fairly tall, but round-shouldered, soft-looking, with a bulging middle. His beard was quite gray, his pate balding, his tunic richly embroidered and covered with a long sleeveless robe of deep green.
“I am to conduct you to King Priam’s audience chamber, once you have had your morning meal.” His voice was high and soft, much like his stature.
Diplomacy moved at a polite pace, and I was glad of it. The Trojan courtier led me to the urinals in back of the house, then to the large kitchen that fronted it. Breakfast consisted of fruit, cheese, and flat bread, washed down with goat’s milk. I ate alone, with the Trojan courtier standing over me. No one else was in the room. Half the kitchen was taken up by a big circular hearth under an opening in the roof. It was cold and empty except for a scattering of gray ashes that looked as if they had been there a long time.
Through the kitchen’s only window I could see men and women out on the street, going about their morning chores. Two serving women came in and sat patiently by the hearth while I ate in silence. The courtier ignored them, except to order them to bring a plate of figs and honey for himself.
Finally we walked out onto what seemed to be Troy’s only major street, sloping gently uphill toward a majestic building of graceful fluted columns and a steeply pitched roof. Priam’s palace, I guessed. Or the city’s main temple. Perhaps both. The sun was not high yet, but still it felt much warmer here in the street than out on the windy plain.
“Is that where we’re going?” I pointed toward the palace.
The courtier bobbed his head. “Yes, of course. The king’s palace. A more splendid palace doesn’t exist anywhere in the world— except perhaps in Egypt, of course.”
I thought of the emperor’s citadel in Hattusas. It made Priam’s palace look like a toy. But it was gone now, gone. As we walked up the street, Isaw how small Troy really was. And crowded. Houses and shops clustered together tightly. The street was unpaved, and sloped like a V so that water could run down its middle when it rained. Cart wheels had worn deep grooves in it. The city buzzed and hummed with voices talking, bargaining, calling out wares for sale. Somewhere a woman was singing, high and sweet. The men and women bustling about their morning’s work seemed curious yet courteous. I received bows and smiles as we strolled up toward the palace.
“The royal princes such as Hector and Paris and their brothers live in the palace with the king.” My courtier was turning into a tour guide. He gestured back down the street. “Near the Scaean Gate are the homes of the lesser nobility. Fine homes they are, nevertheless, far finer than you will find in Mycenae or even in Miletus.”
We were walking through the market area now. Awning-shaded stalls lined the two-story brick homes here, although I saw precious little foodstuff for sale: dried vegetables, a skinny lamb that bleated mournfully. Freshly baked bread filled the street with its aroma, though.
The merchants, men and women both, seemed happy
I was jolted awake by the sound of the door bolt snapping back. I sat up, immediately alert, my hand automatically reaching for the sword that I had left with my men back at the Achaian camp along the beach.
A serving woman backed into the room, carrying a basin and an earthen jug of water. When she turned around and saw me sitting there naked, she dropped her eyes and made a little curtsy, then turned and deposited the pottery atop the cedarwood chest. She scurried out of the room and shut the door. Within a moment I heard the giggling of several women from beyond the door.
I washed hurriedly and pulled my clothes on. As I was awkwardly tying the white cloth of truce onto my arm, a Trojan man entered my room after a single sharp rap on the door. He seemed more a courtier than a warrior. He was fairly tall, but round-shouldered, soft-looking, with a bulging middle. His beard was quite gray, his pate balding, his tunic richly embroidered and covered with a long sleeveless robe of deep green.
“I am to conduct you to King Priam’s audience chamber, once you have had your morning meal.” His voice was high and soft, much like his stature.
Diplomacy moved at a polite pace, and I was glad of it. The Trojan courtier led me to the urinals in back of the house, then to the large kitchen that fronted it. Breakfast consisted of fruit, cheese, and flat bread, washed down with goat’s milk. I ate alone, with the Trojan courtier standing over me. No one else was in the room. Half the kitchen was taken up by a big circular hearth under an opening in the roof. It was cold and empty except for a scattering of gray ashes that looked as if they had been there a long time.
Through the kitchen’s only window I could see men and women out on the street, going about their morning chores. Two serving women came in and sat patiently by the hearth while I ate in silence. The courtier ignored them, except to order them to bring a plate of figs and honey for himself.
Finally we walked out onto what seemed to be Troy’s only major street, sloping gently uphill toward a majestic building of graceful fluted columns and a steeply pitched roof. Priam’s palace, I guessed. Or the city’s main temple. Perhaps both. The sun was not high yet, but still it felt much warmer here in the street than out on the windy plain.
“Is that where we’re going?” I pointed toward the palace.
The courtier bobbed his head. “Yes, of course. The king’s palace. A more splendid palace doesn’t exist anywhere in the world— except perhaps in Egypt, of course.”
I thought of the emperor’s citadel in Hattusas. It made Priam’s palace look like a toy. But it was gone now, gone. As we walked up the street, Isaw how small Troy really was. And crowded. Houses and shops clustered together tightly. The street was unpaved, and sloped like a V so that water could run down its middle when it rained. Cart wheels had worn deep grooves in it. The city buzzed and hummed with voices talking, bargaining, calling out wares for sale. Somewhere a woman was singing, high and sweet. The men and women bustling about their morning’s work seemed curious yet courteous. I received bows and smiles as we strolled up toward the palace.
“The royal princes such as Hector and Paris and their brothers live in the palace with the king.” My courtier was turning into a tour guide. He gestured back down the street. “Near the Scaean Gate are the homes of the lesser nobility. Fine homes they are, nevertheless, far finer than you will find in Mycenae or even in Miletus.”
We were walking through the market area now. Awning-shaded stalls lined the two-story brick homes here, although I saw precious little foodstuff for sale: dried vegetables, a skinny lamb that bleated mournfully. Freshly baked bread filled the street with its aroma, though.
The merchants, men and women both, seemed happy
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