‘The work isn’t done. We have to negotiate terms with Boeotia’s neighbour realms. I was going to send you--’
‘Send someone else,’ said Diomedes testily. ‘I don’t like the whispers that reach me from Argos.’ (Had Odysseus’ machinations leaked?) ‘Besides, the sooner we leave this odious land the better. Boeotian buggers are corrupting my Heroes. Yours too, if you hadn’t been too preoccupied, both day and night’--a salacious leer--‘to notice what’s going on. One of the sods tried to seduce Ajax, of all people.’
‘What happened?’ I asked interestedly.
‘Ajax hit him. Fellow’s still unconscious.’
‘Serve him right. Do me a favour, Diomedes. I haven’t had time to coerce the border kingdoms. Thebes took tribute from Locrian and Phocian cities in return for corn. The arrangements must be confirmed, the payments coming to me. You can keep for yourself,’ I promised, ‘a quarter the tributes we exact.’
That incentive won the day: there is no limit to the cupidity of kings. He agreed to take his war-band on a sweep through Locris and Phocis, ratify terms and take hostages to enforce them.
Diomedes and his warriors departed, and were absent from Boeotia till after the harvest was gathered. His mission proved successful. The countries’ rustic kinglets, stunned by Thebes’ horrendous fate, expected storm and sack and were only too thankful to render tribute provided their cities were spared. Without a blow being struck, without losing a single man, two desirable realms plopped like overripe fruit into Mycenae’s lap.
A messenger from Argos whipped blown horses through the gates. I heard his news delightedly. I had finished consolidating my newly conquered territories; Odysseus’ timing was perfect.
* * *
Diomedes, in a frenzy, spat orders like flying sparks: strike camp, load wagons, prepare to march forthwith. I calmed him and explained a day or two would make no difference. Supplies had to be collected; my war-bands were dispersed across the country.
‘Blast your war-bands!’ Diomedes snarled. ‘Argos’ warriors are mustered and ready to go!’
‘Listen, my friend,’ I urged. ‘You’ve got a palace revolution on your hands. Aegialeus, old Adrastus’ son, has declared you an usurper and proclaimed himself King of Argos--a claim his father apparently supports. Aegialeus must be backed by Argive Heroes returned from the Followers’ War--you sent back half your Host, remember--plus warriors from your tributary cities: Epidauros, Troezen and others. Here you lead six hundred spears. Enough, do you consider, to take Argos?’
Diomedes frantically scrubbed his hair. ‘No--but I can have a damned good try! Do you think I’m going to sit scratching my bottom in Orchomenos while Aegialeus’ grubby paws are lingering my sceptre?’
‘Some years ago,’ I said, ‘you and your troops helped me wrest Mycenae from Thyestes. I am ready to repay the debt and lend my Host to regain your throne. You won’t do it without.’
Diomedes chewed his thumb. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ A wary expression crept into his eyes. ‘On that occasion, in return for my aid, Mycenae surrendered to Argos the tributes of Troezen and Hermione. What will you want for the loan of your Host?’
I fluttered my fingers and said airily, ‘We’re not hucksters, Diomedes, bartering goat for goat. If you want to show your gratitude we can settle the details later. Meanwhile we must organize departure; and a few loose ends in Orchomenos remain to be secured.’
I made no issue of confirming Ascephalus’ lordship, pretending the alternative had never entered my mind. He was not deceived. A crooked smile expressed relief and thanks; dropping his usual languid reserve he swore by The Lady to serve me faithfully.
Among the hostages I had taken was Ascephalus’ eldest son, a gangling six-year-old. All the hostages were nobly born and trailed retinues of attendants--squires, relations and servants--which assembled in the palace prior to leaving. Merope, during a session in bed--I mourned what I deemed a final encounter--coolly informed me she intended to accompany her son ‘Impossible!’ I spluttered. ‘The Lady of Orchomenos cannot quit her city like a hen-bird leaving the nest when her brood has flown!’
‘Maternal duty compels me,’ she said smugly. ‘How can I leave my child to fend for himself in a distant land?’
‘We’ve brewed enough scandal,’ I answered grimly ‘If I take you to Mycenae--’
‘What’s so strange about that? Sisters and aunts escort your younger hostages--why not a mother?’ She nuzzled my cheek. ‘Dear Agamemnon, you must admit it’s a brilliant idea!’
‘A damfool notion. What, may I ask, are Ascephalus’ views?’
‘He is perfectly indifferent. I’ve done my duty and bred him heirs; he requires no more. In truth he believes a relative at Mycenae’s court could advance his interests.’
I smothered a laugh. ‘A diplomatic representative? Hardly your role, Merope. No--quite out of the question.’
My mind was made up. By morning, after an energetic night of blandishment and venery in roughly equal proportions I yielded to her pleading.
Merope, damn her eyes, was entirely irresistible.
* * *
The column skirted the ruins of Thebes, crossed Cithaeron and on the fourth day camped at Megara. Progress was slow: we were hampered by booty-laden vehicles, the hostages’ footsore retinues and three hundred corn-filled wagons carrying Copais’ harvest--the first of annual convoys which would fill Mycenae’s granaries. While traversing Cithaeron’s pass several valuable wagons were lost; Sciron’s Rocks on the march to Corinth accounted for more. I resolved a high priority for road works linking Mycenae and my empire north of the Isthmus.
We night-halted at Corinth and reached Mycenae by sunset. Clytemnaistra, unsmilingly regal, received me at the Lion Gate. After an exchange of formal courtesies she removed herself from the crowd that swarmed into the citadel: Heroes seeking quarters, servants carrying baggage, spearmen, Scribes and bewildered hostages. For Merope and her retinue I allocated rooms in the palace next my own. Stewards and chamberlains found temporary accommodation for the hostages; later they would be sent to manors in the countryside.
Diomedes snapped at my heels like an importunate hound, fretting me with questions and insisting we march on the morrow. I told him tersely I did not propose to charge into Argos like a maddened bull until I had reliable information about enemy intentions, strength and dispositions; and persuaded him a bath would soothe impatience. Then I strolled upstairs to my quarters. Odysseus lounged in a chair, chewed olives and washed them down in copious swallows of wine. He rose at my entrance, spat a stone on the floor and saluted.
‘Mission completed, sire. Argos is--‘
I checked him with a gesture. Squires and slaves were in the room. Eurymedon removed my tunic, cloak and kilt--I had not ridden armed through Mycenae’s peaceful purlieus--and wrapped me in a loose woollen robe. He brought me a cup of wine and said a bath was ready. ‘Later,’ I answered. I dismissed the underlings, flopped on a couch and said, ‘Now, Odysseus, tell me what you’ve done.’
‘Exactly as you wished.’ He drank noisily, and belched. ‘During the march from Thebes I cultivated young Aegialeus--a spiteful, rancorous fellow--sympathized heavily and encouraged his grievance about the succession, agreed that Diomedes’ usurpation insulted Argos’ royal House and suggested ways and means of kicking him out. Aegialeus met me more than halfway. By the time we entered Argos he was clamouring for action. I had to dissuade him from loosing a half-drawn bow.’
‘Did he never question your motives?’
‘Once. I feigned a grudge, pretending Diomedes had chiselled me out of a golden vase from the Theban spoils. Looked genuine enough; I came back virtually empty handed.’ Odysseus smiled craftily. ‘An omission I trust you’ll rectify.’
‘You’ll be generously rewarded, as I promised. Go on.’
‘Easy to win Aegialeus’ confidence; he trusted anybody who’d push him on the throne. It was harder to extract support from the Argive Heroes. They had accepted D
iomedes’ rule for years, and rather despised Adrastus’ resentful son. So I started on the elders of the Council, the gaffers who’d stayed at home. They’re sticklers for tradition, as you said, and always considered Aegialeus the rightful heir. He and I worked on the Councillors throughout the summer. Men half convinced need little convincing; they agreed to throw their weight behind the pretender.’
‘Dotards. A shaky battle-line for confronting Diomedes.’ They’re very influential in Argos, and many younger nobles hold land on their estates. By harvest time they’d converted the palace Heroes, proclaimed Aegialeus king and officially banished Diomedes.’ Odysseus flicked an olive into his mouth. ‘That was all you wanted done, so I came away.’
‘Does the old king, Adrastus, back his son?’
‘Adrastus is senile, and doesn’t properly realize what goes on. He’s given consent, for what it’s worth.’
‘Have the tributary cities rebelled, Epidauros and the others?’ Odysseus shook his head. ‘They took no part. Purely a palace revolution.’ He gave me a lopsided grin. ‘Just as well. You don't want too much opposition, do you, in restoring Diomedes to the throne?’
‘Not over much. How do you judge the rebels’ strength?’ Odysseus shrugged. ‘Around eighty chariots and a thousand spears. And they hold the citadel.’
‘The Argives expect Diomedes and a scant six hundred warriors. They’ll get a nasty shock when all Mycenae’s Host heaves over the horizon. I don’t foresee a prolonged resistance.’
‘Well, I’ve done my job. The rest is up to you.’ Odysseus drained his cup. ‘How much,’ he added curiously, ‘are you extracting from Diomedes in return for your help?’
‘None of your business,’ I smiled. ‘You’ve done well, my friend, and earned my gratitude besides a lavish reward.’
‘Half your share from the sack of Thebes.’ He stood and slapped his hands together. ‘I’m returning to Ithaca. Diomedes is bound to be told I conspired against him, and will likely send his minions hunting my head.’
‘You needn’t be afraid. When Argos falls I’ll execute or banish your fellow plotters before they blab. Diomedes will never suspect your involvement.’
‘Maybe so. I’ll still feel safer in Ithaca until the dust has settled.’
Odysseus stumped from the room. I sighed contentedly, and called Eurymedon to conduct me to the bath.
* * *
Aware that the Host was impatient to return to neglected estates I lingered only two days in Mycenae. On the evening before we marched I took Diomedes to the ramparts on the pretext of showing him the Lion Gate and the new west wall. After admiring the fortifications we ascended a tower beside the Gate, rested elbows on a parapet of sharp, unweathered stone and gazed across the township’s serried rooftops. A setting sun washed the landscape in mellow gold and drew dark spears of shadow from cypresses speckling the hills. Hearth fires spiralled pale blue smoke in the windless air; peasants trudged home from work in the fields, chattering and laughing, their voices muted by distance. Women laundered garments at the Perseia fountain, wet cloth slapping on stone like the crackle of greenwood fires. A smell of grass and sunwarmed earth scented the dying day.
Pretending the information came from spies I summarized for Diomedes the situation in Argos. To increase his anxiety I said the revolt was universal, involving every city in the kingdom. (A belief that strong forces opposed his restoration would goad him to accept my terms. Afterwards I could plead the intelligence mistaken.) His eyes unseeingly followed a flock of pigeons cruising to roost, black specks on a saffron sky.
Then we’ll meet the Argive Host on all but equal terms. Do you think we can win?’
‘It may be close,’ I said gravely. ‘If your people offer battle I’m relying on Ajax’s chariot squadron to carry the day. They beat the Scavengers and so, without denigrating your warriors’--an apologetic smile--‘they should vanquish Argive Heroes.’
Diomedes shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘Agamemnon, you’re delivering your troops to the sacrifice of war on my behalf, and ask nothing in return. To mark my gratitude I’ll surrender Hermione’s tributes which you yielded me when I helped you fight Thyestes.’
A night watch relieved the day guard on the Lion Gate. Spear butts thumped and orders snapped. I shook my head. ‘Plunder won from the Followers’ War crams Mycenae’s treasuries, barley and wheat glut granaries. Another city won’t swell our resources much--and why should I appropriate your tributes?’ I clasped hands on the parapet and contemplated Sthenelus’ tomb that humped a hill on the skyline. ‘All I ask is a firm alliance binding your kingdom and mine.’
Diomedes stared. ‘Alliance? We are allies, and so--‘
‘A definite undertaking, Diomedes, that your Host joins Mycenae in any future war.’
He scratched his cheek perplexedly. ‘I can’t imagine whom you’ll want to fight next. From Orchomenos to Asine you hold Achaea in fee; Elis is under your sway. Surely,’ he said dis-believingly, ‘Mycenae doesn't consider warring on Sparta or Pylos?’
‘Neither. Your promise, my friend, in return for retrieving Argos’ throne.’
The sun vanished behind Saminthos in a glory of scarlet and gold. An autumnal chilliness sharpened the air. Diomedes sank into silent thought--thoughts I divined distinctly as Saminthos’ towering peaks. The obligation I demanded clamped Argive independence and fettered the kingdom’s freedom in deciding foreign policy--an insufferable restriction for an autocratic king. The alternative? Forfeiting a sceptre already slipping from his grasp. Therefore simulate submission: any knavery was justified to attain so vital a goal. Agree to Mycenae’s conditions, and afterwards renege. Compacts were easily broken--it happened every day.
Diomedes lifted his chin. ‘I see no harm. You have my promise.’
I said smoothly, ‘An avowal is not enough. I want you to swear an oath in the Daughters’ presence.’
‘Don’t you trust my word?’
‘No. Your oath on The Lady’s Womb.’
Diomedes swallowed. No mortal lightly undertakes a pledge whose violation The Lady punishes with a long, agonizing disease that rips and tears like a ravenous crab till the victim screams for death. ‘You have little faith in my integrity,’ he mumbled.
‘None at all. Come, Diomedes--we’re both rulers: we know how frequently policy bends promises. I need a guarantee your vow is binding.’
‘I cannot swear that terrible oath.’
‘So be it.’ I paused, and added lightly, ‘You’ll pit six hundred spears against the might of Argos?’
He pressed fingers to his temples, the breath rasped in his throat. Dusk shrouded the valley like a creeping fog, lamplight glimmered in windows. Sardonically I watched my friend, savouring his dilemma. At last he raised his head and muttered, ‘I have no choice. You shall hear my oath.’
I smacked his shoulder. ‘Well said, Diomedes. After all, why fuss? You’ll merely be confirming our comradeship in arms!’ He did not reply. We walked in gathering darkness to the Throne Room, empty save for The Lady’s Daughters assembled in obedience to orders given earlier. (For political chicanery it’s wise to have everything ready.) They solemnly administered the oath. The King of Argos quitted the room on dragging feet, refused my offer of wine and trudged morosely to his quarters.
Our friendship had taken a knock, a piffling price to pay for a precious prize. Though Diomedes didn’t know it, he was committed by his oath to bring Argos’ Host to Troy: an example which must influence the rest of Achaea’s kings.
A profitable evening’s work.
* * *
A searing quarrel with Clytemnaistra demolished my complacency. As a matter of courtesy--for I had not seen her since our brief conversation at the Lion Gate--I visited her quarters before retiring for the night, and was relieved to find Aegisthus not in the room. After polite inquiries about her health and a short description of the summer’s campaigning I went to an adjacent cubicle where the children slept. Orestes awoke when I stroked his curls, and clu
tched my fingers in chubby hands. Three years old, and big for his age. I did not disturb the infant Electra who slumbered in a cot. Iphigeneia, when I approached her, shrank from the lamp a nursemaid held and cowered against the bedhead. Her eyes were blankly expressionless; spittle drooled from pale slack lips which mouthed unintelligible sounds. Rising six and unable to talk: the girl was clearly inane. The result of abortive begetting, I reflected: Helen was scarcely pubescent when Theseus entered her womb.
Returning to the queen’s room I asked off-handedly where Aegisthus was. Clytemnaistra peered at the needlework she stitched by the light of a flickering lamp and answered equally casually.
‘He sailed to Crete from Nauplia the day before you arrived.’ My jaw dropped. Anger ousted stupefaction, and I blared, ‘He has left Mycenae? On whose authority? I commanded his confinement in the citadel!’
Clytemnaistra said calmly, ‘I sent him away. The lad was moping, and I feared for his health.’
I struggled for words. ‘You dared to disobey ... defied my orders ... the Regent should have prevented ... Mecisteus shall lose his estates for this!’
‘You appointed that imbecile as Regent while you warred in Boeotia. Do you think he’d dare to thwart my wishes? Punish him, if you must, to satisfy your spite--but the blame is entirely mine.’
I strode the length of the room, brushed a fearful lady in waiting from my path, turned and retraced my steps, kicked a table flying. The cunning bitch! During the war the Spy had periodically sent me veiled information--you have to be discreet with verbal messages--concerning the city’s affairs in general and Clytemnaistra in particular. His cryptic reports disclosed a static situation: Aegisthus mooned disconsolately within the walls and attended the queen devotedly. No hint she intended slipping his leash. With reasonable warning I’d have ordered Periphetes to intercept his galley; but in waiting till I’d all but reached Mycenae the vixen had prevented me from foiling Aegisthus’ flight. His ship by now was harbouring at Amnisos.
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