By the time Odysseus reached the main force of the army, everyone was already in place. A hand-picked team selected from Diomedes' men was already inside the horse, armed to the teeth and ready to strike.
Odysseus had debated being inside the horse with them. There was a high chance that he'd be recognized from the stunt he had pulled some weeks back, where he'd disguised himself as a prisoner of war and infiltrated the city, but he couldn't think of anyone else to do this specific part. The memorization required and various contingency plans were just too much to lay on another man.
He shed his armor, borrowed from his father Laertes, it still didn't *quite* fit, even after so long at war and so many small modifications and repairs. Odysseus handed it off to a slave, who would run it to his ship for safekeeping. His sword and shield went into their slots, and Agamemnon himself handed him the lead rope, and the white flag of truce.
"Don't mess this up, Odysseus," the leader of the army growled. He'd never been particularly fond of Odysseus, and ten years sharing a war camp had not warmed him at all.
"You know me," Odysseus smiled, his voice full of thinly disguised contempt. "I always get the job done somehow."
Agamemnon glared at him, then nodded. The entire contraption began to move, as the team of soldiers, disguised as slaves, began to pull the "gift" up the hill to Troy's main gate.
Troy had once been the shining jewel on the straight from the Black Sea to the Ionian Sea. It was the gateway to the Mediterranean, and it had grown rich and fat over the generations of trade with the Eastern steppes and Southern deserts, and all the peoples on the eastern Mediterranean.
Now, its walls were battle-scarred, dented by catapulted boulders, and stained with smoke and blood. In the fading light of the sunset, the very highest point of the city was still lit by red sunlight. The lower parts were lit now by torches, though none showed over the walls. They'd grown wary over the years. Lights on the wall helped you *feel* safe, but really, they just made good marks for archers and limited your vision at night.
In front of Odysseus was the gate. Solid wood, nearly 30 feet high and 20 across, and studded with iron, they were both a symbol of wealth and an imposing barrier. No one had managed yet to breach this gate. Though yes, Odysseus had snuck in once or twice... it wasn't the same as breaking it open like a chicken's egg.
The men grew restless as he stared at the gate, and he realized he'd taken too long. Clearing his throat, he shouted, "Ahoy the gate!"
Arrows rained down and everyone ran for cover. Odysseus ducked behind one of the legs of the horse, narrowly missed by arrows skimming past his face and arms. He swore but waved the flag enthusiastically.
"We surrender!" He cried. "We bring a gift of peace!"
The arrows slowed... then stopped. Odysseus drew in his arm and noticed an arrow hole right in the center of his flag. The archer had either been very lucky, or a very good shot. He frowned at the hole as a voice called out from the top of the gate.
"Why should we believe you when your best 'hero' dragged our prince's body through the streets, denying him a proper burial? You've desecrated our dead and dishonored our city. Your people will be the sworn enemies of Troy forever! Our children's children will learn to hate yours! There can be no peace between us, Achean."
It was a good speech, Odysseus had to give him that, but spoken with a shaking voice. Odysseus took a chance, and stepped back into view, holding his flag up high.
"You killed the one who killed your prince. He lies dead and buried far from his home. Many of our mightiest heroes have died on this battlefield before your city, and we no longer have the resources to stand against you." Odysseus carefully enunciated every word, putting weight and emphasis on his point, willing the man at the top of the gates to believe him. He even cried a little. "Troy has stood strong for ten years, and we know now that we can't win. We've spent the last week constructing this gift for your kingdom. Take it, display it, burn it, it is yours to do with what you will. We only wish to return to our homes with what we have left."
That was what Odysseus wanted, anyway, but Agamemnon had other plans for Troy this night, and he'd sworn an oath. He gritted his teeth, and waited for a response, hoping that it wouldn't be more arrows.
Odysseus found himself counting his heartbeats as he waited, it pounded so loud in his ears that he was certain they could hear it from above the gate. After his count passed twenty, he lost patience and played one final card.
"The Trojans have rejected our gift! I hope the gods forgive them. Let's burn this as a sacrifice to Zeus and Poseidon so that we can gain safe passage home!" He didn't make it two steps before the gates creaked open.
"Leave it, Achean pig!" The voice shouted, and Odysseus concealed his smile.
"Surely, I can bring the news to your leaders?" He asked. "You can put me in chains if you like." He proffered his wrists to the soldiers now stepping out from the protection of the gate.
"No! You don't understand, he's the deceiver!" A voice cried, somewhere in the rear ranks.
Someone swore. "Who let the madwoman escape?"
"She was being taken to Athena's temple with the other women," another voice said.
"Shut her up!"
Odysseus did his best not to react as he smiled innocently at the guard. "Take me to your leaders?" He asked again. "I don't know which of them are still alive—"
A spearbutt in his stomach stopped that line, but his hands were obligingly bound and the soldiers took one look at the 'slaves' and simply waved them forward.
"You fools!" The small voice came again. It sounded like a child's voice, or that of a young woman. "You will all be killed, and the city will fall this night if you trust this man!"
"We don't trust him," the commander who had spoken above the gate came close to Odysseus and inspected his bonds, simple rope, but good knots. Odysseus twisted his wrists, testing their strength. "Get her to the temple," the Trojan commander ordered, and there was the sound of a scuffle, a low "oof," and a yelp of pain, the sound of bare feet running on stone, then a man in heavy armor running.
The sounds faded, and Odysseus stared in the direction they'd gone for some seconds, before turning back to the commander.
"I don't have all night," he said. "I need to get back to my commander with the terms of the truce."
A messenger was run out, and his footsteps faded into the silence of the city.
"Where is everyone?" Odysseus wondered out loud.
"Silence, dog," a trojan who was not the commander spit at his feet.
"First I'm a pig, now I'm a dog, make up your mind," Odysseus tapped his fingers together, and leaned against the leg of the horse, finding what he was looking for, a concealed bronze blade at just the right height.
Taptaptap, the faint sound of fingertips on wood resonated through the structure.
'What's happening out there?'
'Just a little setback,' Odysseus tapped the message back, drumming the fingers of one hand on the scaffolding, while he continued to twist and slide the rope along the slight exposed edge of the sword. 'They've proved cautious. But soon we will fade into the scenery,'
'How does a giant wooden horse become scenery?'
'Once the celebration starts and they all start drinking, they won't notice anything.'
But why hadn't the celebrations started already?
'Something's off,' he tapped out after more minutes of silence.
'We can't abort now!' The tapping from inside the horse was more frantic now, and slightly louder.
'Shhhh,' Ody nearly said it out loud, and changed it to a "Should we be moving on?" The ropes around his wrists were sufficiently weakened, and he stepped up before the commander again.
There was a stir among the crowd, and a tall woman in a fine cloak swept up through the ranks.
Odysseus knew her immediately, and his heartbeat quickened. Helen of Sparta, now of Troy. Known as the most beautiful woman in the world, she was fair and graceful. As Penelope's cousin, Odysseus could see his wife in her, but he'd never really gotten the appeal himself. Many blamed her for the war, but she was as much a victim of the gods' whims as any of the rest of them. And she knew him. She could give the entire thing away right here and now. But would she?
"Well, this is an honor," she said smoothly. "They send a king to do a messenger's job?"
"Well, I am not a very important king," Odysseus said. "If my commander could have hurled me over the wall in his catapult, I'm sure he would have done so by now."
"Still living up to your name, then, Odysseus?"
Odysseus gritted his teeth. His name had been some kind of joke by his grandfather, and it meant "hated one" or something similar. "It's just a name," he said, waving his bound hands dismissively. "Does your... husband... accept our surrender?"
"He does," Helen's voice was soft. "He has invited you to our palace to drink and discuss terms."
"Why don't we, instead, discuss them here? Have Paris come down, we can build a bonfire, and have a feast!"
There were grumblings of approval from the soldiers around them, but Helen silenced them with a raised hand. Even for a prisoner, she carried weight with the Trojans.
"He will not come," she said.
"So he's hiding, then," Odysseus folded his arms, and there were more grumblings from the soldiers. Less approving.
"What are you planning?" Helen whispered, ducking her head beneath the hood of her cloak.
"My full and unconditional surrender on behalf of the Achean army," Odysseus whispered back. "Let these men celebrate, and we can get you out of here in the confusion."
Helen hesitated, "I can't appear disloyal," she said.
"Do what you need to do," Odysseus was putting a lot of trust in her desire to return to her true husband, but, he didn't have a choice at this point.
Helen raised her hands, "I will order wine from the palace brought to you this night! The war is over!"
The soldiers around them cheered, and Helen was gone again, like a ghost. Odysseus noted the direction she went, but rescuing Helen would go to some other man tonight.
The wine was delivered, as Helen had promised, and Odysseus was virtually forgotten. No one bothered to unbind his hands, but he didn't worry about it, and helped pass around cups of wine.
They drank for a long time, and the horse did indeed fade into the background, as they sang songs, and laughed. Odysseus kept an eye on the moon, rising into the sky. When it reached its height, it would be time.
Finally, it seemed everyone had drunk their fill, and while some were still staggering around, singing bad renditions of their favorite poems, most sat on the ground or lay in a drunken stupor.
"Whoops," he stumbled into the commander and took his knife from his belt. The commander didn't notice but gave him a shove, which Odysseus used to turn his stumble into a fall, and he rolled beneath the wheels of the horse.
He freed his hands, finally, and stood, tucking the knife into his belt. Then he grabbed his sword and shield and threw the lever.