The Horse by Troy |
It stood at the gates of the besieged city. A large wooden horse with a bulging torso, a beamed structure with wheels for legs.
The commanders of the Greek army watched it. Their soldiers watched it. Birds circled in the air. And they watched.
"What are the Trojans after?" Agamemnon asked, "It seems full of – but what?"
Menelaus waved his sword.
"What can you expect them to do? A bribe."
"Perhaps. But I wouldn't take it," Ulysses objected. He stared at the wooden statue in thought. They must have pulled it out of the gate sometime toward morning when even the most honest sentries would be taking a nap.
"Why? Agamemnon is right, it will be full – the ransom. To collect it, pack up and get out. So we'll pick it up, pretend as we pack – and then we'll conquer the damn town. If they've got one horse full, they'll have more."
Menelaus's suggestion took hold almost immediately. Quickly, lest perhaps the defenders of Troy should change their minds, the Greeks dragged the donated wooden horse back to their camp. Without Ulysses, the Ithacan king did not join his enthusiastic comrades-in-arms. Before giving his men his orders, he looked back toward the besieged city.
Perhaps they expect us to fight over what's inside.
Or maybe not.
He suspected what Trojans, locked ten years behind the walls, might have plenty of.
Soon the whole encampment would know. As soon as the planks on the belly of the donated horse were broken out in the presence of most of the army, one recruit each not wanting to lose his share.
The contents of the Trojan's chamber pots and cesspools spilled over the camp. In a week, dysentery, intestinal distress, and fever overtook the Greek army. The war was over.
Ulysseus watched the ruins of the famous expedition of more than a thousand ships from the deck of his own. Still, he wasn't feeling his best.
This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
On the other hand... he and his men got away, that's what counts. If they take a circuitous route home and make excuses to the gods, they'll avoid even the intrusive questions. In a few years, people will have other things to worry about.
And if a good poet could be found, thought the wily king, the past would be corrected. Including the damn horse, which he had to admit was a great idea after all.
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