The sun was nearly overhead. The area before the Antenor Gate in Troy's outer wall teemed with noise and movement.
Aeneas and his party arrived at the gate. They stepped in and got swallowed by the chaos.
He wore clean white linen. The blue crest on his chest stood out sharp against the dust and noise.
Laborers and farmers looked up.
Whispered amongst themselves.
Achates stepped forward. Raised a hand, signaling the others to wait.
His expression was cool. His steps measured. He approached the guard squad leader.
He spoke to the man in low tones. Produced a bronze token engraved with the crest of the Dardan Valley. Held it flat on his palm.
"We are from the estate of Lord Anchises of the Dardan Valley,"
he said, his tone even but leaving no room for argument.
"The young lord, Aeneas, comes to make an offering to Lady Athena. Grant us passage."
The squad leader's initial impatience vanished. His eyebrows rose slightly. He straightened his posture at once.
He inspected the token carefully. Then waved urgently. "Clear a path!"
The soldiers on either side pushed back the crowd. Forced a narrow corridor through the press of bodies.
The waiting commoners broke into a wave of grumbling. Some muttered complaints. Others watched the well-dressed party with open envy.
"So this is the Antenor Gate…" Nisus whispered.
Nearby, Euryalus tugged on the sleeve of a guard who looked reasonably friendly. "Brother, is Lord Antenor here today?"
The guard shook his head. "The Lord was summoned to the palace early. Doubt he'll be at the gate today."
"Ah…" Euryalus's shoulders slumped. His face fell.
The eager light in Nisus's eyes dimmed just as quickly.
Aeneas saw their disappointment. He clapped them both on the shoulders. Laughed easily.
"Heroes… they always show up when you least expect it. We'll meet him eventually. No rush!"
He looked up. His gaze settled on the massive, heavy gate itself.
"Let's go," he said, his tone light again, almost joking. "Mustn't keep the goddess waiting."
The noise from the gate faded fast.
The port too, gone behind them.
What waited ahead was another world.
A maze of low mud houses. Single-story each.
Doors close. Roofs were rotting thatch or cracked, dried mud.
The air hung heavy, stiflingly.
The streets were narrow. Two carts could barely pass.
Yet packed with people.
Dirty water ran along the sides.
Trash piled in the corners.
Flies over old fish bones, wilted greens.
Their buzz mixed with shouting vendors.
Hard to get one's bearings.
"Pottery! Fresh from the kiln!"
"Olive oil! The purest!"
"Fine salt blocks! Come and see!"
Hawkers on either side yelled themselves hoarse. They thrust their wares high:
Crude clay pots.
Dull-colored cloth.
Pungent dried fish.
Even bronze knives that glinted coldly.
People shoved forward to haggle. The noise was a constant wave crashing against their ears.
Aeneas lifted a hand. Used his sleeve to cover his nose and mouth. But the assault of smells was inescapable—decay, smoke, fish, and sweat. It was the city's other face.
His brow furrowed tightly. His modern mind instantly assessed:
(The city planning here is a disaster!
Building density is way over the limit. Streets are too narrow.
Looks like no proper sewers, or badly planned ones.
And zero fire safety measures!!
This whole place is a powder keg waiting for a spark!
No wonder Troy gets burned to the ground in the epics... With a layout like this, a single ember could cause a catastrophe!)
Euryalus wrinkled his nose. Tried hard not to cough. Failed. He quipped anyway:
"It's even worse than that loud-mouthed captain's camp back home... At least his place doesn't smell like this... It's enough to make you dizzy. Gonna be sick!"
Nisus shot his brother a cold look. His expression was grim. "Don't be foolish. This is the heart of Troy… It just… beats a little… chaotically…"
Achates walked ahead. His face was stern. His hand never left his sword hilt. His eyes constantly scanned their surroundings. "Stay sharp! The thieves and peddlers here are bolder than down at the port!"
Right on cue, a few shady men lingered at the corner. Selling something.
Aeneas watched them pull out bits of bronze. Strange shapes. Hidden under torn cloaks. Small bottles wrapped in hide. One man half-concealed a gaunt youth, whispering to passersby.
The customers looked just as furtive. A quick exchange of hands. Then they melted back into the crowd.
Aeneas's frown deepened. His mind jumped to that kid at the docks. The pickpocket.
He couldn't help thinking—
Is this what hides under all that wealth?
That boy… just another one trying to live through this mess?
His fists tightened without him knowing.
Maybe this city, these people, made it clear—
the future had to change.
The stink of the lower city stayed with them.
Sewage. Smoke. Grease.
It followed for a while, until the ground leveled out.
The pitted dirt track gave way to rough but properly laid stone.
The houses on either side transformed as well:
Low, thatched roofs were replaced by terra cotta tiles. Mud-brick walls were plastered with white lime. They reflected the morning light.
The buildings grew more spacious. Less cramped and chaotic than the commoners' quarters near the wall.
They even saw two-story houses standing at corners. Their window frames and lintels were carved with simple patterns. They looked far more respectable.
The people changed with the scenery.
The ragged laborers and wandering beggars thinned out. Replaced by cleanly dressed merchants and artisans. They wore bronze ornaments at their belts. Their speech was measured. Their steps assured.
A few women carried clay pots. The edges of their robes were embroidered with colored thread. It caught the light with a subtle gleam.
"The air here… it's cleaner." Euryalus lifted his nose, breathing in scents of baked bread, fresh paint, and spices. His eyes were drawn to a bronze merchant's display. Gleaming daggers and painted pottery sat within. He couldn't help a low exclamation: "The things here look so expensive… This must be the real Troy. That messy part we just walked through… that was probably fake, right?"
"Stop staring." Nisus immediately nudged him with his shoulder. Hissed the reprimand under his breath. "Behave. Remember, you represent the Dardan Valley now."
His own hands still firmly held the tray bearing the wooden sword. His expression was more serious than before. He added gravely:
"Euryalus. That wasn't an illusion.
The common quarters outside and this wealthy district together are the real Troy.
Without that chaos out there, there is no order in here."
Nisus's tone gave Euryalus pause. He pouted for a moment. Didn't argue further.
Aeneas looked around. The streets were clean and easy to walk. An invisible line seemed to divide this area from the lower city.
Looking back, the vast sector near the walls was like a noisy, gray backdrop on a canvas.
Where they stood now was closer to the painting's focal point. Worthy of slightly more careful detail...
And ahead, a hill rose about twenty meters. That was the artist's true subject, rendered with painstaking care!
The inner city's stone wall stood imposingly atop the hill. Its color was the distinctive blue-gray of massive stone. Bronze armor on the battlements reflected the sun. Sent out blinding pinpricks of light.
The wall was sheer and cold. At least ten meters high. It loomed over those who approached like a giant shadow.
Patrolling guards moved in perfect step. Spears and round shields held ready. A stark contrast to the lax patrols of the lower city.
That was the seat of power.
Aeneas noted inwardly:
(Resources concentrated. Protection concentrated.
High ground, easily defended.
It's not just a military fortress. It's psychological intimidation.
Priam and his inner circle are hidden behind that wall.
The commoners outside are packed onto a powder keg. The rich here walk on flagstones.
And the royal family... is up in their ornate citadel, bathed in divine favor, breathing floral scents.
Wealth gap and class division—they were already playing by these rules in the Bronze Age...
History really is just a terrible script on repeat...)
Unconsciously, the atmosphere around them grew heavier.
Even the usually boisterous Euryalus fell quiet. His hand clenched the fabric of his tunic.
Nisus's fingers, holding the offering, trembled slightly. But he didn't slacken his grip. If anything, he held the wooden sword steadier.
Achates's vigilant gaze swept over every seemingly ordinary corner. Like a guard dog on constant alert.
Ahead lay the hill of the inner city. The high wall was now right before them.
The stone-paved road widened into a three-meter-wide avenue. It curved gently upwards.
But the area around the base of the hill was clear of other buildings. Only the citadel and the Temple of Athena stood above.