Warriors in Bronze

by George Shipway

  He heard me out and said, 'Let me summarize. Mycenae wants to open a seaway to Colchis through the Hellespont, which is under my control. Therefore you seek two conces­sions : permission to station permanently four ships within the straits, and my warrant for overland wagon trains to tranship goods on the outward voyage and gold on the return. Am I correct?'-

  'You are, sire.’

  'We levy duties, of course, on merchandise crossing our territories. I assume you have no objection?'

  'None, sire - provided the charges you put on are not unduly heavy.'

  A grey-haired man at Laomedon's side stooped and spoke in his ear. The king frowned. A whispered argument followed. I waited patiently, studied the nobles, Scribes and servants crowding the Hall - smaller than Mycenae's - a frieze of painted horses galloping on the walls, ladies gossiping in a cor­ner, a huge Molossian boar-hound asleep beside the hearth. Laomedon gestured the greybeard to silence, sucked in his lips and said, 'My son Priam dislikes your proposals, my lord. He objects to the idea of Mycenae monopolizing trade to Colchis; he sees menace in the squadron harboured permanently in the straits. What have you to say?'

  I glanced at Priam. Watery blue eyes, mouth turned down at the corners, an obstinate expression. A weakling trying to assert his authority as heir to Laomedon's throne. I bridled irritation, and spoke in conciliatory tones.

  'Four ships are hardly a threat to Troy's command of the Hellespont. I am ready, if you insist, to reduce the number by half. We pioneer a trade route traversed only once before, diffi­cult and possibly dangerous, and feel entitled to reap the re­wards. We do not mind if others follow our wakes - monopoly is far from our intention. All trade is beneficial, sire. We in Mycenae send you goods - weapons, pottery, oil - in return for your horses and hides. The gold from Colchis will profit us both by expanding that trade, and some will reach your treasury in payment for your exports. Mycenae takes the risks - you can only gain. Surely, on these grounds, the concessions we seek are not extravagant?'

  The king rubbed his cheekbones with finger and thumb. 'You make a good case, my lord. I shall state your views to the Council and give my decision later.'

  He pointed the sceptre downwards to signal the audience ended. 'Hector, have you shown our visitor the stables? I'll wager, Agamemnon, you haven't seen such thoroughbreds in Mycenae!'

  There, for a time, I had to leave it. As I have remarked before, you do not hustle kings.

  I remained at Troy for eleven days, was entertained at ban­quets, visited noblemen's houses and hunted frequently with Hector. We shot galloping deer from chariots and speared boar on foot in the hills. The more I saw of Hector the more I liked him; of all the men I have known Diomedes alone was his peer. He seemed the epitome of all that Heroes ought to be and seldom are: chivalrous, valiant, honourable and strong. Like all Trojans an exceptional driver, horseman, and horsemaster he was also a brilliant shot - I saw him, near Scamander's marshes, bring down a duck on the wing - and a match for any warrior with sword or spear. He revealed during our conversa­tions a sparkling intelligence and shrewd judgment of the poli­tical scene both in the lands of the Hittites, which closely affected Troy, and in Achaea, which at the time did not.

  A man born to be king, the greatest Troy had known, over­shadowing even Laomedon. A tragedy he died as he did.

  His father Priam, in contrast, was cantankerous, suspicious and spiteful. I knew from Hector's hints that Priam argued passionately against the concessions I sought and even sug­gested the Hellespont be closed to Achaean ships. Mulish, iras­cible, stupid, he chafed beneath the harrow of frustration: as Laomedon's eldest son and heir he saw time and advancing age shortening the length of the reins of power a long-lived father held. Meanwhile, as an anodyne for discontent, he interfered in affairs of state and begat nearly fifty children: nineteen by his lady Hecuba and thirty-odd from concubines. The legitimate brood and bastards lived together in the palace - or so Hector said. I marvelled at the tolerance of Trojan wives.

  Laomedon, despite his years, impressed me as equal to Atreus in all the arts of kingship. He spoke seldom, shortly and to the point; and brooked no opposition. His joy and recreation was to drive across Scamander's plain and inspect the herds of horses which, exported far and wide, were a fount of Trojan wealth - an innocent hobby eventually causing his death. In foreign politics - again, Hector told me this - he handled his strong and menacing neighbours like a skilled Companion managing an ill-matched team.

  A clever, prudent, far-seeing king. If Hercules had spared him there'd have been no Trojan War.

  Though I met several of Hecuba's offspring I did not en­counter Paris - twelve years old at the time - who was away on Mount Ida herding his father's sheep. Hector's grimace when his name cropped up demonstrated a slight aversion for Priam's favourite son.

  At last Laomedon summoned me to the Throne Room and, while Priam glowered in the background, announced he was pleased to grant Mycenaean ships free passage through the Hellespont, a harbour within the straits and transhipment over­land, all goods both ways being subject to customs duties. He limited the inner harbourage to three ships - a concession, I felt, to Priam - and left the Scribes to haggle over details. (Because Scribes alone can properly conduct these mercantile transactions I had brought Gelon, who in long confabulation with Laomedon's Curator fixed reasonable duties: a twentieth of each cargo's value forfeited in kind, and hiring charges for wagon teams.) We removed to the Hall and sealed the bargain in wine. Successive cups, like links in a lengthening chain, bound the king, myself, his Heroes and mine in a frivolous carouse which continued half the night. Priam sulkily sipped heavily watered wine, his emaciated, pale-skinned face a disapproving death's-head.

  King Laomedon gave us a ceremonial send-off; all his Heroes - Priam excepted - drove to the beach to bid farewell. I saluted him hand to forehead and promised King Atreus' everlasting amity: a promise, as it happened, never broken. I clasped Hec­tor's hand, and invited him to visit me in Tiryns.

  I never saw Laomedon again; Hector, when next we met, did his level best to kill me.

  At Tiryns I organized a six-ship Colchis convoy. While I was embarking crews and cargo Amphiaraus, lately Lord of Midea and exiled thence to Argos, arrived and offered his services. Because he was a nobleman of presence and personality and experienced in commanding men I gave him general charge of the expedition - for which, in his role as a seer, he promised success.

  Thenceforth, for several years, ships sailed every spring and beached at Troy. Only the Colchis galleys bore the honourable

  title Argo; only the men who went to Colchis could properly call themselves 'Argonauts' - though several, naming no names,

  swaggered around as such who had been no farther than Troy.

  * * *

  The king said, 'Thyestes has gone from Elis to Sicyon, and so puts himself within my reach. I will go secretly to Sicyon and take him.'

  He, Menelaus and I conferred on a balcony of the royal apartments. Bidden to Atreus' room directly I arrived I was immediately told my presence must not be advertised. Atreus, grim as death, tersely explained his purpose.

  'At Elis I could not touch him; nothing short of war would wrench him from King Augeas. Thesprotus rules at Sicyon, the petty lord of an autonomous city which one day I will take. He's unlikely to fight Mycenae's king on behalf of a house- guest.'

  Menelaus said, 'Are you taking a warband, or do you muster the Host?'

  'Neither,' Atreus said. 'Haven't you any sense? You can't hide warriors marching the roads; directly Thyestes hears they're coming he'll leave like a scalded cat. No - we'll go there quickly, secretly, raising no alarms.'

  'We?' I inquired.

  'Just the three of us, journeying unescorted as ordinary travellers, our baggage on a mule. This is a family affair, an account to be settled in blood, and we are the men to do it.'

  I tried to visualize the King of Mycenae plodding the tracks and leading a mule; and admitted sadly to myself that Mene­
laus' judgment of Atreus' sanity was turning out exact. His mind was fixed intractably on vengeance for Aerope; anything else, from politics to war, seemed to him comparatively un­important. How could the king vanish suddenly into the blue? Who would conduct affairs while he was away?

  Atreus watched my face and read my thoughts. 'I have told Copreus and the Curator to take charge - their heads are the price of silence. We shall not be gone for long: Sicyon is only a two-day walk. You'll need a cloak and a sword apiece; pro­visions will be loaded on the mule. We leave tonight by the north-west postern.'

  I said baldly, 'Will you kill him when you find him?'

  Atreus bared his teeth. 'What is death to Thyestes ? An occu­pational hazard belonging to every Hero, a chance we face each day. I'll kill him in the end - but before he dies he shall drink to the dregs the cup that I have drained.'

  I averted my eyes from the naked savagery contorting Atreus' face.

  Heroes are chariot men; none walks if he can help it. I did not enjoy the journey. To avoid encountering travellers Atreus shunned the road and followed mountainous trackways. We camped for the night in a valley, where it rained. The mule, a bloody-minded brute like all his tribe, objected to being re- burdened in a grey and watery dawn. Atreus, morosely taci­turn, wrapped in desolate thought, said hardly a word in the two whole days. Menelaus cursed monotonously and nursed a blistered foot. I tugged the mule's halter, and was heartily glad when Sicyon's walls climbed from evening mist.

  We announced ourselves to the gate guard as noblemen from Corinth - no use pretending otherwise; despite the humble garb Atreus' arrogant bearing proclaimed his royal blood - and asked for Lord Thesprotus. Thankfully I abandoned the mule to wander where he liked. We crossed a smelly, ill-drained Court, passed a portico where slaves spread blankets and fleeces on cots, and entered the smoky, torch-lit Hall. Heroes and their women drank and roistered noisily; servants cleared the litter of a meal. My hand was on the sword beneath my cloak; Atreus, tense as a bowstring, peered around the room.

  He ignored an officious steward who inquired our names, and whispered curt commands. Menelaus and I circled the Hall in opposite directions, sidling along walls and keeping in shadows, and examined bearded faces flushed by wine. Few of the boisterous company remarked our presence; a reeling reveller forced a wine cup into my hand. We returned to the king, who shook his head.

  Thyestes was not in the Hall.

  Atreus strode to a bald-headed man who sprawled on an elmwood throne. The king unpinned his cloak and dropped it on the floor.

  'Atreus son of Pelops greets you, my lord Thesprotus. I have travelled from Mycenae to taste your hospitality.' Protuberant red-veined eyes blinked at the visitor's creased wool tunic, earth-stained leather kilt and muddy boots. 'Whas- sat? Atreus? Ruddy nonsense! Trying to pull me leg? My dear chap, you must be drunker than I am! Atreus never stirs with­out a warband at his back, and dresses in gold and jewels. Look at you! Have another drink and sober up!'

  A bodyguard in half-armour who lounged on his spear beside Thesprotus' throne stiffened and widened his eyes. He spoke quickly to his lord, stood to attention, saluted. 'I once served Lord Bunus at Corinth, sire,' he mumbled, 'and saw you there.'

  Thesprotus struggled to his feet. 'Your pardon, sire,' he splut­tered. 'Didn't recognize you ... should have known ..He gesticulated to squires, bellowed for chairs and tables, meat and wine. 'Please make yourselves at home. I can recommend this wine, the grapes from Mount Hymettos '

  Atreus seated himself and accepted a goblet. His name was whispered rapidly through the crowd; men craned to see Mycenae's king. He exchanged polite pleasantries, inquired after the harvest, the health of Thesprotus' family. Spearing a hunk of meat on his dagger he added, 'I understand my brother Thyestes is a guest in your house, my lord.'

  Thesprotus' plump face sagged, the loose lips quivered. Aerope's crime and death had been blazoned throughout Achaea; everyone knew of the enmity that sundered the sons of Pelops. Nobody wanted a part in the feud, caught like a nut between hammer and anvil - certainly not a petty lord ruling an unimportant city. When lions fight the foxes run for cover.

  He stammered, 'Lord Thyestes came to Sicyon, sire. Now he has gone.'

  'When?'

  'This morning, suddenly and in haste. I believe he returned to Elis.'

  Forewarned of our coming, I thought, despite the precau­tions we took. Who had sent the alarm? Copreus? The Cura­tor ? Improbable. More likely one of the guard who had seen us leave the postern, a spy in Thyestes' pay. Inquiries must wait but, from the look on Atreus' face, someone was going to hang.

  The king relaxed, popped pork in his mouth, swallowed and sipped wine. He stroked the arm of his chair and inspected the Hall, men talking in undertones and glancing over their shoul­ders, women whispering, servants moving noiselessly as ghosts, a bard quietly thrumming his lyre. He said genially, 'You've been having quite a party. Some particular celebration?'

  'Nothing special,' Thesprotus quavered. 'Merely my birthday. How may I serve you, sire ? I hope you will honour my humble abode for many days to come.'

  Atreus ignored this blatantly obvious lie. His gaze, idly roam­ing the room, settled on a trio of ladies seated near the hearth. I followed his stare. The fire lit their faces clearly. Two were middle-aged and plain, the third young and darkly beautiful. She was listening eagerly to something her companion said. Atreus leaned forward, intent as a hawk that sights a guileless mouse. His teeth were clenched, the hollows in his cheeks like shadowed caves. I wondered at his interest. An attractive wench - but several in Mycenae's palace, both concubines and ladies, surpassed her looks by far. The king was no great lecher; and I had heard, in roundabout fashion, that since Aerope's betrayal he seldom took a woman to his bed. Perhaps con­tinence afflicted him, and any pretty face aroused a sudden lust.

  Idly I viewed the girl. Something vaguely familiar about the tilt of her head, the upward slant of eyebrows, the way she used her hands. Who did she remind me of?

  The cup in my hand jerked sharply, wine-drops splashed the table. Icy fingers stroked my spine.

  Of course - Aerope.

  No close resemblance, the nose sharper, mouth fuller, face more rounded. More an elusive likeness in the way she moved and spoke.

  Atreus lifted a hand and pointed. 'Who,' he asked Thesprotus in a strained, unnatural voice, 'is the woman beside the hearth?'

  The simple question shattered the Lord of Sicyon. His eyes bulged, pendulous jowls quivered, lips shuddered so much he could hardly speak. 'W-which one, sire?' he yammered. 'The g- grey-haired lady is wife to —'

  'No,' Atreus grated. 'The girl. What is her name?'

  Thesprotus looked wildly around the Hall, dragged a hand down a sweat-dewed countenance. He said huntedly, 'P-Pelopia, sire. My d-daughter.'

  A common enough name in our family. Was the shaking, corpulent fellow somehow related? I raised an amused eye­brow at Menelaus across the table. His expression froze the question I meant to whisper. He looked shocked as a man con­fronted by imminent death.

  Atreus said, 'Bring her here.'

  With a kind of resigned terror Thesprotus sent a squire. The girl threaded gracefully between people and stools and tables and stood before her father, who presented her to Atreus in a voice that was a shadow of his usual unctuous boom. She bent her head and murmured formal phrases. When you saw her close you found a haunting sadness in her face, suffering in the wide brown eyes, memories of bitterness and hurt. And also, rigidly repressed, a fear of the haggard, grey-haired king whose gaze devoured her like flames.

  Atreus reached out and took her hand. He said softly, 'My lord Thesprotus, I wish to marry your daughter.'

  Thesprotus, gulping wine, choked as he swallowed and crashed to the floor. Menelaus started to speak, changed his mind, thumped crystal cup on the table and shattered it in shards.

  * * *

  'She's Thyestes' daughter, Agamemnon. I saw her often when I squired him in Tiryns years ago. He mu
st have left her in Thesprotus' charge when he fled. What the blazes shall we do?’

  We lay on adjacent cots in the portico, our whispers drowned by the snores of Sicyon's Heroes. A sentinel tramped the Court beyond the pillars; starshine speckled his helmet with flashes of silvery light. The night was hot and breathless; I kicked away the coverlet.

  'We'll say nothing at all. Atreus is infatuated, fallen flat on his face. If he learned the truth he might do anything - to himself, Pelopia or Thesprotus. He balances on insanity's edge; the knowledge could push him over.'

  'But why Pelopia in particular? A good-looking girl, I'll admit - but hardly a raving beauty.'

  'Surely you recognized the likeness?'

  What likeness? Whose?'

  I slapped a whining mosquito; the little murder soothed a

  momentary irritation. Must my brother always be so dense?

  'Aerope's.'

  'Can't say I did.' Menelaus ruminated. 'You think that's why Atreus wants to marry her? Very strange, considering how he treated our mother.'