The Boy Who Cried Horse (3 page)

Torches flamed and crackled along the walls. A trumpet blasted out a tuneless fanfare
*
.

“Ooops! Sorry – a few wrong notes in there!” the trumpeter grinned. “I proudly present my Lord Paris and his Lady Helen!”

The people clapped politely and Paris entered. He was followed by the sly-eyed, sour-mouthed Helen. (That’s what my mother says now.)

Paris raised a hand. “Commencify us the juggly and the musi-magic singerly songerly entertainables!”

The stranger muttered in my ear, “What is he saying?”

“Don’t know,” I shrugged. “It’s all Greek to me.”

We watched the dancers snake and sway, and a magician who made a duck appear from Helen’s hat.

Then it was my turn. But as I stepped forward with my lyre, the stranger pushed me aside. He bowed before Paris.

“Whattalie wantable?” Paris asked.

“News,” the stranger said. “I bring great news!”

*
I’m a singer. I hate bad music. Sorry, but it has to be said: the trumpeter should have been shot with a poisoned arrow.

Chapter Three

“My name,” the stranger said, “is Sinon, and I come from the Greek camp.”

Helen jumped to her feet. “A Greek? In Troy? Kill him, guards! Kill him!”

There was a swish of swords as the guards marched forwards but Sinon raised a hand. “I hate the Greeks!” he cried. “They are cowards on the battlefield. Mighty Paris here is greater than
ten
Greek warriors!”

“It’s truthly rightable,” Paris said.

“What I came to tell you,” Sinon went on, “is that the Greeks are running away.”

“
Away
?” Helen said and her sly eyes squinted at the old man.

“Back to Greece. They say they have been here too long. That
they have more important things to do. Other wars to fight. They have sailed off in their ships and left behind a mighty wooden statue to remember their heroes!”

“They
have
no heroes,” Helen sneered.

“Not herolic like Paris princelet!” Paris laughed.

“Their statue will stand on the windy plain of Troy for all the world to see,” Sinon said softly. “Every ship that passes will see it and remember the Greek heroes.”

“
Statue
?” Helen asked. “What is this statue? A statue of some hated hero like Achilles?”

“Paris princelet arrowed Achilleres in the heel-o and deaded him dead with tippy point poison
*
!” Paris cried.

“It is the statue of a horse,” Sinon said. “You can see it from the city walls. Maybe it is a gift from the Greeks to noble Paris. It will stand there and remind you of them every day.”

“No it won’t!” Helen roared.

“It won’t?” Sinon said.

“No. We will bring it into the city and use it for firewood. We will not let passing ships see anything Greek,” she raged. “Paris … give the order!”

“Ahem!” Paris cleared his throat. “Statute horsling insideify Troylum getter sunshiny day.”

The guards stood still. “What did he say?” one asked.

Helen sighed and explained. “Tomorrow at first light we’ll drag the wooden horse inside the city.”

“That’ll be hard work. We’ll need lots of pies to give us strength,” a guard grumbled.

“Now the Greeks have gone we’ll never go hungry again. You’ll have pies tonight and pies every day of your life!” Helen promised.

Of course she didn’t know their “lives” from that night on would be short. Very short. Very, very short.