And so to war.
We endure full fat gore as we are told the tales both small and vast of the showdown between Troy and Greece. The human tragedy of war unfolds. Twisting sinews, splintering bone and splint intestines are set against the mesmerising glint of sharpened steel and polished bronze.
A throbbing hum surrounds us, vistas of history ancient and new are thrown into the wind that we imagine is blown around us, voices drift, people slump and the case are redeemed, what is real and what is the treachery of gods and divinely induced lunacy as our minds bend through the sleepless night.
Grief and life restoring miracles, it's a roller coaster. The soldier-crew now pile themselves up, and the audience too, lain down on the floor, casualties of two battles, one ancient, one right now as the night grows long. both men and yards diminish as the story takes us to the shore, will the Greeks push back or will their ships burn? The gods play their games and the Warriors pray to skies, the elements themselves are harnessed in the battle now - flood, fog and dark. Each side pledges their advance - and victory by dawn. To the ships or the gates - or just the gates of oblivion?
But finally as night falls, an honour of sorts yields a cease, and a final, desperate, bribe fuelled plea to Achilles to put aside betrayal and help save his country.
We are left with his pride, our collective fatigue and one question... Can anyone win this war?
We like the Greeks retreat, to plot and sleep.