Warriors in Bronze

by George Shipway

  Menelaus cracked his whip; we hurriedly drove on.

  He passaged Sciron's Rocks at an unbelievable trot. I averted my eyes from a vertical cliff which plunged below the nearside wheel to rocks like fangs and a boiling sea. The track thereafter seemed level and broad as a highway newly paved. In the glow of a crimson sunset we saw Corinth's grey-walled citadel perched on its craggy mount, and walked our weary horses up the serpentine track to the gate.

  Conveying bad news is always unpleasant, and often highly dangerous if the recipient loses his temper. Bunus, Warden of Corinth, became neither flustered nor angry. He seated us in the Hall and offered watered wine - I emptied a double- handled cup without drawing breath - and heard our tale in silence. I confessed we had fled from the fight and therefore could not describe the finish of the Scavengers' tempestuous charge. I surmised that the attack, so furious and surprising, must have swept Mycenae's forces from the field.

  Bunus summoned his captains; trumpets on the watch- towers blared alarm; spearmen manned the walls and Heroes donned their armour; messengers ran to the town below. A long procession - men, women, children, cattle, sheep and horses - ascended to the citadel for refuge. By sundown Corinth was ready for escaladers.

  None appeared. Instead the gates admitted a trickle of sur­vivors : exhausted, staggering warriors, many badly wounded. Among them my old tutor Diores, his forearm gashed from elbow to wrist. I embraced him almost in tears - delayed reac­tion was setting in - fed him meat and wine and bound the wound. Remnants of a defeated Host crowded the palace Hall; torchlight conjured movement from leaping boars and lions painted on the walls and sculpted the faces of grave-eyed Heroes listening to Diores' tale - a story that crowned calamity.

  King Eurystheus was dead.

  'They caught him at Sciron's Rocks, pulled him from the chariot and hacked him in pieces,' Diores said tiredly. 'I was driving a bowshot in front, and saw it happen. Hyllus cut off his head and stuck the skull on a spear - which so delighted the bastards they sang a paean of triumph and danced around the trophy. Checked the pursuit. Only reason I escaped.'

  He dragged his hand across a dusty sweat-caked face. 'Some of our Heroes dismounted and fled on foot through the hills; but there won't be a lot of survivors - you don't get quarter from the Scavengers. The Athenians' prisoners might ransom themselves if they're lucky. Otherwise...' The hand that lifted a cup to his mouth shook like a leaf in the wind.

  I strove to collect my shattered wits. The king's death changed the disaster's whole complexion: from a military de­feat now stemmed a political vacuum whose implications were serious indeed. The chance Atreus awaited fell unheralded from heaven - and he was far away and unaware. I recalled through mists of fatigue his appreciation, years before, of the course events would take when Eurystheus died: a short sharp bicker between Marshal and royal sons, the Heroes supporting Atreus and a peaceable accession.

  Were they alive, those sons - my friends Perimedes and his brothers whom last I had seen fighting around the king? I put the question sharply to Diores.

  He opened drooping eyelids. 'Can't say for certain. Damned unlikely. Probably killed with Eurystheus.'

  Which, if true, opened without hindrance the Marshal's path to the throne - or the way of any Hero bold enough to seize it, someone on the spot.

  Thyestes.

  The name rang in my ears like a death-cry. I must summon Atreus from Pylos; not a moment could be lost. I forced jaded limbs from the stool and addressed the Warden. 'Lord Bunus, I want fresh horses. I go at once to Mycenae.'

  Bunus eyed me searchingly. 'The Heraclids might be any­where. You will travel the road tonight?'

  'Tonight.' Menelaus sagged in a chair; I shook him awake.

  'Come, brother - let us try your driving in the dark.'

  * * *

  Moonlight silvered the track, carved sharp-edged ebony cloaks from clefts and crags. Menelaus drove in a daze, ready to drop from fatigue - nothing is so dispiriting as defeat. Periodically I relieved him at the reins, and sombrely reflected on the re­verses a day had brought. My baggage and spearmen lost - but easily replaceable - the throne at risk, a battle incompetently fought, Heroes contending like brigands hunting loot, My­cenae's Host destroyed.

  Our methods of making war warranted speedy reform. A vision of the Theban charge flashed on moonlit scarps: an irresistible onslaught combining velocity, vigour and order.

  That was the way to win battles.

  The horses, mettlesome and frisky, tugged my aching arms. The armour weighed like mountains on my shoulders. 'Mene­laus,' I said, 'there was something horribly wrong with our tactics today!'

  Menelaus, asleep on his feet, snored gently in reply.

  Chapter 4

  we reached Mycenae at cockcrow. Figures flitted like wraiths in the half-dark heralding dawn: peasants carrying mattocks, women bearing pitchers for filling at the Perseia spring, ploughmen driving ox teams to the fields. The long night's journey had subdued our horses, which hung on the bits and plodded up the hill to the citadel. A sleepy guard was un­barring the gate, the chariot rattled through. I tumbled tiredly out.

  During the journey from Nemea onwards I kept wondering whom I could trust to carry the news to Pylos. Neither Mene­laus nor I had slept from one sunrise to the next; battle-strain and incessant driving had taken toll; we were in no condition for a whirlwind non-stop trip across Achaea. Moreover I had to stay in Mycenae and try to control events till the Marshal arrived. I could not entrust the message to anyone guarding the citadel; he might inform Thyestes - the very last thing I wanted.

  A young squire crept furtively past, clearly hoping to escape our notice. (He was returning, he told me afterwards, from bedding the wife of a merchant away in Argos, who lived in a house overlooking the Chaos Ravine.) I knew him well; for moons he had dogged my footsteps, silently adoring, and asked me once to take him into my household. I refused because his pedigree was not entirely noble - an unfortunate mesalliance between his grandfather and a slave girl - and only men of the purest blood should serve the Marshal's heir. But he was likeable and dependable - and this was no time for priggish- ness.

  Talthybius,' I called. 'Come here.'

  Torn between guilt and eagerness he shuffled from the shadows. I said, Talthybius, I am entrusting to you a mission of vital importance. On you will depend Mycenae's fate; you must not fail. Take this chariot to my house, yoke fresh horses from my stables - the Kolaxian greys are the best - ask Cly­mene for food and a wineskin. You will drive to Pylos as fast as the horses can go. Change horses at Sparta; leave the greys in payment. Go like the wind till you're climbing the mountains past Lerna - by midday you must be beyond pursuit. At Pylos give Atreus my signet ring and tell him: "King Eurystheus is dead. Thyestes holds Mycenae. Return at once." You will not mention this to another soul; and I expect the message to be delivered within two days.'

  I slipped from a finger the ring with my personal seal - a jasper bezel portrayed my ancestor Zeus grappling a lion in either hand - and made the lad (he was just fifteen) repeat the instructions word for word. Talthybius made no bones about it, asked no questions. Serious and slightly portentous, a youth abruptly cloaked in a mantle of responsibility, he grasped the nearside bit to lead the chariot off. I added, 'When you return, Talthybius, I'll take you as my squire and, after you pass the tests, make you my Companion.'

  His countenance glowed scarlet, tears started in his eyes, he slapped a horse's neck to hide his emotion. (Later on, at Troy, Talthybius drove me to battle.)

  I had to move quickly. It seemed to me essential that news of the Battle of Megara should not be known in Mycenae - car­ried, perhaps, from Corinth by a runner across the hills - be­fore my messenger to Atreus was well on his way. After that the outcome lay in The Lady's lap. I guessed Thyestes would act directly he heard the battle's result. He had brought from Tiryns twenty or so retainers: Heroes, Companions and spear­men. Against these stood the citadel's slender guard: sick or elderly lords and
young Companions. Thyestes' men would obey his commands; whom would the palace people support when they heard of Eurystheus' death? Unwise to assume they would back the Marshal. Even if they did so I doubted victory in a fight between Thyestes' stalwart Heroes and a leash of youths and dotards.

  The focus of loyalty centred on Aerope; as the Marshal's wife and Mycenae's paramount lady she might command obedience from men on either side. Long enough, maybe, to confuse the issue and hold the fort till Atreus returned.

  Four days to wait, I reckoned. I must see my mother at once and convince her of the role she had to play.

  Tersely I briefed Menelaus. He looked perplexed - my brother was never quick in grasping a new idea - and, so tired we could hardly put a foot in front of the other, ascended the road to the palace. Dust and wind and weariness had stung my eyes to tears, daybreak's crimson streamers danced across the sky like banners whipped in a gale. A palace sentinel's spear- shaft barred the gate; then recognition dawned and spear and jaw both dropped. We crossed the Court and shuffled along dim corridors, climbed stairs to Aerope's apartments. A fat old dozing maidservant squatted against a door-jamb. She flound­ered to her feet, backed against the door and stammered, 'No, my lord, no! I pray you, do not enter....'

  My mood allowed no sympathy for conscientious slaves. Thrusting the crone aside I tapped on the doors and pushed them open.

  The room was all but dark, heavy woollen hangings covered a window opening on a balustraded balcony. Furniture loomed like rocks in a gloomy sea. I paused to accustom my eyes, and looked towards the bed: a foursquare ebony frame inlaid with gold and ivory, covered by purple rugs and snow-white fleeces.

  Something heaved and plunged on the bed. Strangled animal grunts and a piercing feminine squeal.

  I ran to the window, sent a table flying and wrenched the curtains apart. Grey dawnlight flooded the room. Hand on sword-hilt, blade half drawn, I faced the bed.

  Thyestes sprawled atop of Aerope, both stark as their mothers bore them.

  He pulled himself free, rolled to the bedside and stood, prick rampantly erect, a look like nightfall on his face. Aerope lay on her back, thighs obscenely spread, eyes wide in a terrified stare.

  I felt angry, sick and fearful. Menelaus stopped on the threshold, breathing gustily through his nose, a horrified snarl on his lips. For ten heartbeats the tableau froze, and no one moved.

  Thyestes searched for a weapon in one quick glance, saw none, and stealthily as a prowling cat padded towards the win­dow. He crouched like a wrestler, arms wide and fingers clawed. Muscles rippled his hairy frame and sweat-drops beaded the skin. I waited paralysed, more afraid than ever in my life. He came so close I could smell his body, and spoke in a rasping whisper.

  'This is death, Agamemnon.'

  Menelaus streaked from the shadows, flashed sword from sheath and rested the point on Thyestes' spine.

  'Stand still, my lord!'

  Thyestes lowered his arms, turned slowly about. 'So. The second fosterling cub of Atreus' brood. Confronting an un­armed man, and therefore brave as lions. Why are you here? Has warfare frightened you back to your den?'

  Menelaus prodded his navel. He said tightly, 'Shall I kill him, Agamemnon?'

  Aerope screamed. 'For The Lady's sake, for the womb that bore you ... I beseech ... do not..

  My blade came out. I crossed to my mother, wrenched back her head by the hair and laid the edge on her slender neck. Veins laced the skin like faint blue threads. 'You whoring bitch!' I choked. 'You above all deserve to die. Betraying the Marshal —'

  'If you harm Aerope,' said Thyestes in even tones, 'I will slay you in turn with my naked hands.'

  I believed him. He would kill us whatever the cost. I rammed my mother's head on the pillow, stood behind Thyestes and let him feel my sword. (A sword-point pricking his belly and another on his backbone would make a normal man believe his end had come. Not the smallest quiver betrayed any fear.) I tried to think. A bloody massacre in Aerope's room would not help Atreus' cause, for Thyestes' crime would never be known with all the protagonists dead. His infamy must be blazoned abroad, his punishment come from the Marshal's hands.

  We had to leave the adulterers alive. Talthybius by then was away on the Argos road, having told the guard commander his intended destination - a mandatory precaution lest travellers failed to return. Thyestes must assume we had sent a message to Atreus and would try to intercept it. The squire needed time to drive beyond his reach.

  For as long as we could manage Thyestes must be penned.

  You may think I made a stupid, muddled decision. With hindsight you could be right: my brother and I should have taken the risk and killed the couple at once, thus saving much grief in the future. Remember I was tired, my brain fuddled by fatigue - and still sufficiently youthful to flinch from desperate measures.

  However much you hated her, would you despatch your mother ?

  I said, 'Menelaus, stand guard on the door. Let nobody enter. I'll call when I want you back.'

  Menelaus scowled, viciously prodded his point in Thyestes' stomach and left the room. Alone with the enemy I considered ways and means. I had to keep the lion at bay, prevent a leap for my throat. I jabbed his spine and said, 'Lie on the bed.'

  Thyestes walked unhurriedly to the bed and lay beside Aerope. I backed beyond his reach, felt for a stool and changed my mind. A man was a fool to be sitting when a wild beast waited to spring. I cradled sword on forearm, and listened to the thumping of my heart.

  Sunrise slanted yellow shafts on the bedroom's wall, sil­houetted the balustrade's convoluted pillars. The citadel wak­ened; feet clattered in the Great Court, voices rumbled, a bucket jangled on paving. A day guard relieved the night watch; commanders shouted orders; a steward scolded laggard slaves. Footsteps in the corridor, muffled inquiries and my brother's gruff replies. Dogs barking persistently from the direction of Zeus' Tomb; a distant crunch of wagon wheels, the drover cursing his beasts.

  Inside the room it was dim and cool and quiet. I kept my eyes on Thyestes, and felt the lids begin to drop. Fiercely I gripped the sword-hilt and forced myself awake.

  He looked at me slyly. The pair of naked bodies - his deep brown, hers white as the rumpled fleeces - lay side by side on the coverlets. His hand crept to Aerope's belly, wandered to her hip, caressed the tuft of hair between her thighs. My mother went rigid, and gasped. His fingers probed more deeply, worked busily in the cleft, his weapon climbed revoltingly erect. Aerope closed her eyes and clutched her breast, breathed deeply in jerky spasms, spread her legs.

  Thyestes held my eyes, and leered. I gulped the bile that clogged my throat. Sword aloft I strode to the bed, detected a sudden stillness and the tensing of his muscles - and stopped in time to elude the lunge. Slowly I withdrew, and rested blade on forearm. Not a flicker of expres­sion betrayed the failure of his gambit. His fingers went on delving. Aerope moaned.

  My body ached with tiredness, every sinew cried for rest. Despite the spectacle performed before my eyes sleep en­veloped my mind like a soft and soothing cloak. I stamped my feet, rapped blade on ribs, studied familiar furniture: ebony chairs and marble tables, a silver sewing basket running on castors, crystal jars and phials littering a chest, ivory combs and brazen mirrors, an earthenware pitcher for drinking water embellished with black and red octopi, a lionskin rug by the bed. Flies buzzed monotonously and settled on my face. I let them rove; the irritation helped in keeping me awake.

  Thyestes watched me intently, his eyes like splintered ice. Even when he ejaculated his gaze never wavered a fraction.

  Time crawled past. The sun climbed high in the sky, the pillar-patterned square of light retreated from the wall and spread a golden carpet on the bedroom's marble paving. Near noon, I thought exhaustedly, and time to move.

  I called Menelaus.

  He came in at a run, sword outstretched, checked at the sight on the bed and muttered imprecations. I beckoned him close and whispered in his ear, 'Harness a chariot, the fastest
team you can find. Bring it to the palace gate. Be quick, Mene­laus !'

  He strode out. I backed to the door, shot the bolt by its leather thong: a means to discourage intruders with my brother no longer on guard. Thyestes rolled on his side, prop­ped chin on hand and spoke for the first time since my long ordeal began.

  'You can't keep us here for ever. What do you hope to accomplish, piglet?'

  I levered shoulders from the door - far too restful, I nearly slept standing - and said, 'Your death, Thyestes, your death. Not today, not tomorrow - but one day I will kill you slowly, slow as the vigil I spent in this room.' Thyestes laughed, and made to rise from the bed. I advanced a pace and pointed the sword. He laughed again, rolled on his back and closed his eyes. Aerope lay still as a log and gazed blankly at the spiralled whorl’s that decorated the ceiling.

  The door rattled, Menelaus shouted. I whipped the bolt free and leapt into the corridor without a backward glance. 'Run, brother!' We sprinted along passages, brushed past wondering Heroes, ladies and gaping servants, hurtled across the Court and jumped in the waiting chariot. 'Argos,' I snapped, 'and use your whip!' The vehicle rattled dangerously down narrow swerving streets, stormed through the citadel gate and out on the Argos road.