Troy: The Greek Myths Reimagined (Stephen Fry's Great Mythology #3)

by Stephen Fry

the tomb remained a popular place of pilgrimage for visitors from all over the Mediterranean world, until the sea finally washed it away.

you will remember. You. Will. Remember.

Eurypylus’s fabled shield. It was as huge and heavy as a cartwheel and divided into twelve sections, each depicting in intricately worked bronze one of his grandfather Heracles’s Labors. The central boss portrayed the great hero himself, club in hand, and clad in his celebrated costume of the hide of the Nemean Lion.

“I apologize for my friend Odysseus,” he said. “He means no harm.” Neoptolemus gaped. “Odysseus? You are Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes?” The arrogant manner was instantly cast aside and replaced by a rush of youthful excitement and something akin to hero-worship.

When he had understood its meaning and realized that the youth he had killed was his own son, he was overcome with grief and shattered by remorse.176 Helen wanted nothing more to do with Paris. She never spoke another word to the man

The killing by Paris of his own son marked the end of divine support for him. Aphrodite and Apollo, his greatest champions over the years, could not overlook a blood crime so dreadful. Paris’s days were numbered.

Neoptolemus soon demonstrated not only that he had much of Achilles’s athleticism and grace but that he was every bit as violent and bloodthirsty as his father

Linking with each other like a chain of the ants from which they derived their name, the Myrmidons began to swarm up the walls. The panicked citizens on the battlements, men, women, and children, hurled down rocks, bronze cauldrons, stone jars—anything they could find. Were it not for a great blanketing mist that fell on the city at this most critical moment, the Greeks might well have succeeded

“Zeus! Zeus!” they roared, convinced that the King of the Gods, the Sky Father, and Cloud-Gatherer himself, had intervened to save them.

“Damn you, Odysseus,” gasped Philoctetes. “If we do die together here, I’ll probably be cursed to spend the afterlife with you endlessly jabbering on in my ear.” “Oh yes, you can be assured that his shade will never shut up,” agreed Diomedes.

Philoctetes took aim. His arrow flew toward the Trojan warrior, who swayed to one side. The tip of the arrow grazed his throat. The warrior took off his helmet and put a hand to the stinging nick. Hardly any blood at all. It was nothing. “Paris!” cried Diomedes, clapping his hand on Philoctetes’s shoulder. “You’ve hit Paris!”

The fever burned and burned and he cried out for Helen in his appalling agony. Helen would not come.

Paris was taken back down to Troy. After three more days of screaming and delirium, his unhappy soul finally left his tortured body.

the honest, smiling young Paris so contented with life on the green slopes and a blessed marriage to the lovely Oenone. That sweet and silver Paris had long been replaced by something hard and spoiled, tarnished and mean.

Deiphobus and Helenus had fallen completely under the spell of her beauty and would not think of letting her go. It was decided that Helen should marry one of them. She, naturally, had no say in the matter.

“If you really want to break Trojans’ hearts,” he said, “you should find your way into the city—there’s a secret entrance I can describe to you. One or two men might be able to pass through it unchallenged, so long as they look harmless. They should go to the temple of Athena and steal the wooden idol we call the Palladium. The Luck of Troy. It fell from heaven at the feet of my great- great-grandfather. While it remains within the city walls Troy cannot fall.”

Diomedes pulled Odysseus into a doorway as the figure of a woman approached. As she came closer she passed through a shaft of moonlight for just one fleeting second. It was enough. Odysseus stepped out. The woman stopped and stared. “Odysseus? By all the gods, Odysseus?” “A fine evening, Helen.”

“Is Menelaus angry with me?” “Of course not. Be content. This will all soon be over.” “Tell him how unhappy I am. I am unhappy with Deiphobus, who is a pig, but I was unhappy with Paris too. Tell him that.” Odysseus squeezed her hand. “He knows.

I’m coming with you!” said Helen. “Wait while I fetch my son Nicostratus. We’ll come with you all the way to the Greek camp and that will be an end of everything!” Odysseus and Diomedes looked at each other. Could it be as simple as that? They pictured the faces of Agamemnon and Menelaus when they arrived at the stockade escorting the prize of all prizes. Just then a voice rang out. “Princess Helen!”

all over the Greek world for centuries, the phrase “Diomedes’s choice,” or “a Diomedean necessity,” was used to describe a situation where one is compelled to do something one would rather not do because it is for the greater good—like Diomedes sparing Odysseus, sacrificing his natural desire to revenge himself for the sake of the wider Greek cause.

There is no screaming, no bucking and screaming like panicked horses, no freezing into immobility. Hector, who long ago laid down the procedures and drilled the people, would have been proud to see how orderly and unhurried they are at this moment, the first ringing of the bell.

Priam stares and stares, struck dumb with astonishment and something else. Is it fear? He realizes what he is feeling is a small suspicion of a splinter of a shred of hope. Dare he hope? The very thought of hope fills him with fear. He has seen and suffered too much to trust hope.

You are a good man, Priam. Evil men have lived happier lives and never been forced to bury so many of their sons.

“But no!” says the captain, unable to stop smiling. “This is a horse like you’ve never seen before. A horse”—he points up at the ceiling—“a horse as high as this roof. A horse made of wood!”

I saw the dove put out its head, look around and take off. Immediately the falcon flew from the bush and fell upon it. The meaning of this came to me at once. Troy will fall, not to speed and strength, but to cunning,

“I beg you, great king. Don’t be fooled. This is all part of the Greeks’ deception. They want you to bring the horse in. Lord Apollo speaks to me, sire, you know he does. I tell you this . . . I tell you this . . .” His voice trailed off, for Priam and the whole court were staring at him in frozen horror. Or rather behind him. Laocoön could not understand it. Only the sea was behind him. He turned to look, but it was too late. A pair of huge sea serpents had launched themselves from out of the waves. Either side of Laocoön his sons Antiphantes and Thymbraeus were already being crushed in four colossal tentacles. Two more reached out to coil around him. The Trojans watched in dumbstruck horror as the serpents pulled their three screaming, thrashing victims into the sea. The men disappeared beneath the waves, a frothing tumult of pleading, outstretched limbs. The whole terrible attack lasted only seconds. “And so the gods silence doubters!”

Remove the gates from the widest entranceway—that’ll be the Scaean—then demolish the wall around and above it! Just enough to get the horse through. We can board it all up straight away and restore the gates to their former glory soon enough. Oh Father, don’t you see? We’ve done it, we’ve done it! We’ve won!” Deiphobus danced around his father like a five-year-old. Soon other Trojans were dancing too.