That girl really was something special, I thought, standing just ten paces from the traders.
Father and I had driven two horses here to sell, and I'd come closer when I saw the familiar crew.
Man, look how she's twisting and turning to get herself a comfortable life. She'll cling with claws and teeth so she doesn't miss her chance.
She could've married some peasant, popped out a bunch of kids for him and worked herself to death in the fields, which in this life would happen around forty. The former beauty would become a toothless gray-haired old woman by then, worn out by backbreaking work and endless childbirth.
But her behavior, which seems wild at first, doesn't surprise anyone here.
"Stop staring at naked girls," father said unhappily, coming up behind me and poking me in the back to snap me out of my thoughts. "I need you! And anyway, you're getting married soon. You'll see plenty."
"What?" I turned to him in considerable surprise. "Who am I getting married to?"
"I arranged for you to marry Creusa, daughter of Priam and Hecuba," father answered smugly. "Be happy, she's the daughter of his senior wife! She wasn't born from some concubine, like Paris."
"And when were you planning to tell me about this?" I looked at him, stunned.
"Well, I'm telling you now," he shrugged his powerful shoulders indifferently.
Whoops! I said to myself.
I'd just been about to enjoy life as a teenager, and now a wife and kids around my neck. Again!
Now I understood why they'd dragged me here. To show me to my future father-in-law.
I have to say, the first shock had already passed, but I still had a really hard time accepting what was happening.
It all seemed like a funny dream, a game. Like any second now a host would jump out with a microphone and ask how I felt after the prank.
And behind him would stand a billionaire dad who'd built a whole city and hired extras to re-educate his son who'd gotten hooked on clubs and coke.
Except one problem: I didn't have a billionaire dad. And I'd never tried drugs in my life, hadn't even taken a single puff. I was an old-school guy, boring and stuffy.
That's what my wife said when she left me.
And now a new marriage was threatening me, when five minutes ago nothing had hinted at it.
"Maybe skip this wedding?" I asked cautiously, perfectly understanding the situation was hopeless.
Father was a hard case. If he and Priam had agreed on the dowry and bride price, there was no turning back.
The Trojan king, who needed to unload several dozen girls, could get seriously offended. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd pushed his daughter on father as part of some trade agreement.
That was normal business for him, with such a family.
So father's answer wasn't a surprise.
"Don't even think about it!"
Got it, I sighed.
So far everything was going like the great Homer described. Well, almost.
By the way, the presence of the Olympian gods, who in the Iliad never stopped interfering in human affairs, wasn't felt here at all.
And that meant the causes of war would be quite mundane, connected to economics.
Would seizing control of the Straits work as a cause? The Hatti market, tariffs, the Tin Route—it was all here.
The Achaeans had so far grabbed onto Asia Minor with just one claw. Milawanda was a Mycenaean colony.
But I knew that in just two or three hundred years the Greeks would firmly plant themselves on this land and settle western Asia Minor, founding a bunch of cities.
War would definitely happen, because it was logical and predictable. And it didn't matter at all what exactly would be its cause.
"I sold almost all the horses to Priam," father suddenly said. "Now we'll sell these two and head back. I took grain. It's getting more expensive every day."
"That's smart," I said absently.
Now I understood when this marriage was born. When they were celebrating the deal with my future father-in-law.
We really did have the best horses in these parts. According to the myths, Anchises raised divine horses, but reality was way more prosaic.
He'd once bought two impossibly expensive stallions that had been driven from the mountains east of Assyria, and put them to stud.
Against the local stock they really did look divine—the horses here were the size of ponies.
That's probably why they fought from chariots, and horseback riding was still unknown even to the nomadic Kaska.
All the peoples here fought the same way: they'd harness a pair that pulled a light two-wheeled cart from which an archer would rain arrows on the enemy.
The Hittites also put a spearman on it. He was both mobile infantry and a guard for the archer.
But with the Achaeans, they said, bronze-clad warriors armed with long spears fought from chariots. The Danaans really didn't like bows much.
As Homer, our everything, wrote in the Iliad:
"When chariot meets chariot in the clash,thrust forward with your spear: that's the best way for horsemen."
By the way, there were definitely riders in the Black Sea steppes right now, but the Cimmerians would bring that fashion here, turning half of Asia Minor to ash during their friendly visit.
But that would happen much later. I definitely wouldn't live to see it.
"What's with you today?" father was surprised, seeing me in unusual thoughtfulness. "Some helper you are! I already sold the horses myself. Let's go! We need to get home before dark."
"Why was Paris sitting there looking so pleased?" I asked the question that had been bugging me.
"Well, Priam recognized him as a legitimate son and took him into the house," father smirked.
"When he was born, there were bad omens. So he gave him to shepherds in the village. Paris was herding goats just a month ago. I don't understand what got into the king's head in his old age. Probably because Paris runs fast and fights pretty well with his fists. He beat everyone at the last games, even the king's sons."