Hector, the bulwark of Troy, had fallen, and the ruin of the city was
at hand. Achilles himself did not long survive his triumph, and,
ruthless as he was, he ill-deserved the manner of his death. He was
treacherously slain by that Paris who would never have dared to meet
him in the open field. Paris, though he had brought all this disaster
upon Troy, had left the danger to his countrymen. But he lay in wait
for Achilles in a temple sacred to Apollo, and from his hiding-place he
sped a poisoned arrow at the hero. It pierced his ankle where the water
of the Styx had not charmed him against wounds, and of that venom the
great Achilles died. Paris himself died soon after by another poisoned
arrow, but that was no long grief to anybody!
Still Troy held out, and the Greeks, who could not take it by force,
pondered how they might take it by craft. At length, with the aid of
Odysseus, they devised a plan.
A portion of the Grecian host broke up camp and set sail as if they
were homeward bound; but, once out of sight, they anchored their ships
behind a neighboring island. The rest of the army then fell to work
upon a great image of a horse. They built it of wood, fitted and
carved, and with a door so cunningly concealed that none might notice
it. When it was finished, the horse looked like a prodigious idol; but
it was hollow, skilfully pierced here and there, and so spacious that a
band of men could lie hidden within and take no harm.
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