I liked the megaron, the palace's ceremonial hall.
You could tell Priam had money to pay craftsmen.
The room was about a hundred square meters, with columns in the center supporting beams of Lebanese cedar, plastered inside. And not just plastered, but painted with bright colors that drew the eye.
There were ships, battle scenes, and lion hunts.
Lions! Damn!
At this time they lived not only in Asia, but even in Europe. They definitely existed in the Peloponnese. I remembered that Heracles had been busy exterminating endangered fauna there, and that wasn't so long ago.
There were no windows in the hall, but there was a hole in the ceiling, right above the hearth, where light poured through.
The hearth was also an altar where offerings rose to the gods.
Along the walls stood many bronze lamps burning oil. Soot covered the ceiling above them in an even layer, but in the semi-darkness it wasn't particularly noticeable, so nothing disturbed the overall solemn appearance.
I really liked everything here, especially the tables loaded with food.
My stomach rumbled again. Turned out my young body digested any amount of food no worse than a steam engine's firebox.
And yeah, judging by life here, cellulite wasn't threatening me.
Though it didn't threaten anyone here.
Of the three dozen men sitting around the tables, there wasn't a single fat person. People looked fit and strong.
The warrior elite, especially that hulking guy with the fierce mug who was comfortably settled to the right of the king's chair.
Hector, I figured. Commander of the Trojan army. Priam's son and heir.
The king himself turned out to be a spry old man with a silver-gray head and a gold necklace lying like a heavy burden on his shoulders.
A long tunic of snow-white linen was covered with an impossibly colorful cloak thrown over his right shoulder. On Priam's wrists were wide gold bracelets, and on his head a gold-woven headband.
The old man's eyes were sharp and intelligent. His gaze brushed over me and moved on. He didn't need more—he'd seen and understood everything immediately.
Not a simple guy, no wonder he'd been ruling for over forty years, maintaining good relations with both the mighty Hittites and the predatory Danaans.
He maneuvered between them like a skilled boatman, shearing tariffs from everyone and piling goods into the boundless labyrinths of his palace.
A shark of local capitalism.
Father approached Priam and bowed with dignity. Not like a servant, but like a relative who shared a common ancestor four generations back.
King Tros was my ancestor too.
And who was that on the left, young and handsome? I didn't know, I'd ask father. Probably one of the king's sons.
Priam had a whole herd of children, because he had many wives and even more concubines. He couldn't count his offspring himself.
I wondered how he even fed such a crowd?
"Let us praise the gods!" Priam solemnly raised the first cup, splashed wine on the floor, then threw a piece of flatbread into the incense burner standing nearby.
The wine gathered in a groove and flowed into a small cavity neatly hollowed out for this purpose in the stone slab.
Smart solution. The palace builders weren't fools—look, they even provided drainage.
"Let us praise!" the guests raised their cups and poured wine into themselves with a guttural sound.
After this we washed our fingers in bowls that slave women brought, and then silence settled in the hall, filled only with concentrated munching.
The king had a rich table.
Fresh flatbreads lay in an appetizing stack, and next to them greens, onions and olives.
Father winked: dig in, don't hold back.
I dipped a piece of flatbread in olive oil and greedily sent it into my mouth, as if I hadn't just eaten.
After the flatbread I wolfed down a couple onion slices sprinkled with salt and aromatic herbs, then servants brought in dishes with roasted goat meat spreading a thick meaty aroma around.
The king hadn't been stingy, deciding to feed so many people till they were full.
Wine went cup after cup accompanied by toasts to the host, his wives, his children and grandchildren, of which there was some unimaginable number.
Soon we'd eaten the flatbreads and goat meat, and then carefully licked our fingers before washing them in clean water and belched contentedly.
That's how expensive guests showed it had been tasty.
A sticky silence settled, and everyone looked at Priam with tense expectation.
"I called you here for this reason, glorious men," Priam said, wiping the crimson drops from his mustache and beard with dignity. "A heavy insult has been done to us. Your counsel is needed."
So that's what.
The king of Dardanus, Acoetes, my uncle, had sent father here with a mission. He didn't want to come himself, the sly dog, so he'd have the opportunity to change the situation on the fly.
Father would tell him everything, and uncle would decide whether to get involved in some adventure on the side of his Trojan relatives or not.
Well, let's listen.
"Last year, as you remember, honored ones," Priam began his speech, "the Achaeans stole almost two dozen of our women when they were rinsing laundry in the stream."
"We remember... we remember..." the guests nodded. "Wives and daughters of respected citizens were there."
Well, they stole someone, that was normal business.
That's exactly how women got stolen, when they were rinsing laundry. Guys would watch from the bushes, grab them, and onto the ship. Good luck finding them after that.
Only there was one subtlety to all this: when you yourself snatched a slave woman—that was a good thing, even honorable. You stole her, had your fill of fun, then sold her. You could even brag about such an exploit to your wife, and she'd happily spread it to all the neighbors. Look, they'd say, what a husband I have—a capable provider.
But if your own wife or daughter got stolen—that was like a great shame and required immediate revenge.
The small contradictions in this scheme didn't bother anyone. Grandfathers and great-grandfathers had lived by these customs, which meant those customs would work for us too.
The logic here was simple. If you couldn't protect yourself, you weren't really human at all, anyone could offend you.
And therefore any traveler who crossed his country's border was fair game for anyone who could take them. That's why merchants gathered in thousand-strong caravans. Nobody wanted to end their life turning a millstone instead of a donkey.
Though men were rarely taken into slavery, and warriors even less so. You couldn't hold them. They'd either run away immediately or first kill the naive master who bought such goods with a hoe.
So prisoners were usually slaughtered on the spot if there was no one to sell to, but women were taken willingly.
A woman, especially if you immediately knocked her up, wouldn't go anywhere. And her child became a native-born slave who knew no life other than slavery. No relatives, no friends. And nobody was waiting for them anywhere. They'd die of hunger even if they escaped.
That's how it was!
"Merchants found our women in Sparta," Priam continued. "We need to go to the local king and get them out of there, otherwise we'll have great shame. It turns out people pay us tribute, and we can't protect them. How then will we, men, rule? Prince Paris will go there in my name."
And he pointed to the handsome guy about twenty sitting to his left.
He was smiling like a cat that stole fish off the table.
Why was he so pleased, I wondered?
"Hmm..." the respected people thought and scratched their heads.
It was clear enough. In this world you couldn't be a weakling and a doormat. Today they'd steal your wife, tomorrow they'd start robbing your merchants in ports, and then they'd drive you off your land too.
"And what does the great king, labarna Suppiluliuma say?" the guests asked. "He could write a threatening letter to the king of Ahhiyawa..."
"Count on yourselves, men," Priam frowned. "There'll be no help from the great king. We have to go."
"We can go," the respected people said. "And we should. Only we won't make it back before the cold weather, winter storms will start. We suggest setting out in spring, otherwise we'll have to winter in Ahhiyawa. And we suggest gathering a caravan with goods so we don't run the ship for nothing."
Exactly!
How didn't I think of that. The women weren't going anywhere, but they could rake in some silver on the side.
That was also normal here. Nobody was rushing anywhere, hoping the problem would resolve itself.
"Will Dardanus support us?" Priam looked intently at father, who thought about it.
So that's it!
Priam wanted to block the Strait to the Achaeans if they didn't agree to give back the women. And the consent of the king of Dardanus was needed so the Achaeans couldn't slip past Troy and wait for wind with us.
I wondered, why did we need this?
I probably didn't know something, because father bowed his head and answered with dignity:
"Dardanus will fulfill its duty, as befits relatives and hosts. It will give its people for this trip. And what happens after that, only the gods know."
He prudently didn't promise much, and a simple trip didn't obligate Dardanus to anything.
Only at that moment father kind of casually looked in my direction, and my heart clenched with a bad feeling.
Why?
Because I, like any schoolchild, knew perfectly well how this trip would end.
It would end badly, just exceptionally badly.