'I can't stand this new-fangled music. Why in The Lady's name can't bards play decent tunes?'
Privately I considered the modern melodies a vast improvement on those mournful dirges I remembered from my childhood. They had a swing and rhythm that set your fingers tapping.
Echemus said peevishly, 'I agree. Disgusting row. Can't imagine who invented these horrible yowls.'
'Orpheus,' said Pelopia unexpectedly.
'Really, my dear?' Atreus said. 'Orpheus? Surely not the fellow who sailed with Jason in Argo?’
'The same, my lord. A wonderful composer, a superb poet. His music,' said Pelopia dreamily, 'is stilled for ever, his lyre broken, the player dead.'
'How so?'
'Orpheus lived in Thrace, and opposed the cult of Dionysus. He taught gentleness and love instead of orgiastic revels and sacrificial murders. In revenge a sect of Maenads waylaid him in the forests and tore him limb from limb.'
'Damned good thing,' Echemus muttered. 'No more ghastly noises.'
'I didn't know, my dear,' said Atreus kindly, 'you were interested in verse and music. Your father's palace at Sicyon seemed an improbable environment for fostering the arts.'
Pelopia folded hands in lap and retreated into silence. Atreus regarded her worriedly, shook his head and said, To return to the Heraclid problem. I'm not taking any risks. Eurystheus mustered only Mycenae's Host, advanced too far and was caught unprepared. I have sent to Adrastus of Argos for help, and will give battle near Corinth on ground of my choice with twice the enemy's strength. Corinth shall be 'the mustering place. You'll get detailed orders later, Agamemnon; meanwhile mobilize your warband and be ready to march from Tiryns at two days' notice. The corn won't be cut for a moon as yet, which gives us plenty of time.'
(Perhaps I should explain there are three campaigning seasons: early spring before sowing; summer between sowing and harvest; and autumn after harvest. You can campaign in winter; I have done it - a cold and wet and miserable business.)
Echemus said, 'Mind if I bring my men? I can raise two hundred spears.'
'Certainly, my lord,' said Atreus, surprised, 'but Tegea isn't tributary to Mycenae.'
A grin split the coarse black beard. 'Doesn't matter. My warriors are sick of chasing Dorians and Goatmen. Do them good to see some proper warfare.'
'I am grateful.' Atreus beckoned a chamberlain, who called above the babble. Voices stilled. The king rose from the throne, and everybody stood. Leading Pelopia by the hand, Echemus at his side, Atreus left the Hall.
Menelaus overtook me in the Great Court. 'Did you find the king well?' he asked anxiously.
I shrugged. 'Grim, humourless, hard-headed and sharp as a sword. An odd question, brother. You live in Mycenae: you must know his temper better than I. Why weren't you in his company at dinner?'
Menelaus grimaced. 'I keep out of Atreus' way as much as I can. Knowing what we know it's difficult to behave normally in his presence. How did he treat Pelopia?'
'Politely, kindly, as a gentleman should his wife - at any rate in public. Why not ? You don't believe he suspects —'
'Not for a moment. I was only afraid Pelopia's attempt to expose her son might have turned the king against her.'
'Expose her—? I've heard nothing. What did she do?'
Menelaus explained. Soon after the baby was born and the festivities celebrating a royal heir were over - the child's line of descent led to Mycenae's throne - Pelopia bribed a midwife to conceal him beneath bushes in the depths of the Chaos Ravine. Fortunately - or otherwise - a wandering goatherd found the infant and he was suckled by a she-goat. Meanwhile the disappearance caused uproar in the palace. Atreus could extract no sense from Pelopia, who relapsed into a half- conscious trance and disregarded his questions. He put her slaves to the torture; the miserable midwife confessed. Search parties ranged the countryside, and found the goatherd cherishing his squalling prize.
Pelopia received her missing son with a kind of silent resignation, as though she admitted defeat in a battle against fate; and afterwards displayed all a mother's loving care. Although flabbergasted by his wife's unnatural behaviour Atreus gladly believed a physician's advice that she had been affected by the temporary madness which sometimes afflicts women after childbirth, particularly in premature births. He replaced her slaves, sent the women to sailors' brothels in Nauplia, men to stone quarries near Mycenae, and appeared to put the episode out of his mind.
'He hasn't, in fact,' Menelaus ended, 'as the name he gave the brat testifies : Aegisthus means "goat-strength".'
I could make neither head nor tail of this peculiar story, and considered the physician's solution valid. What else could I have done? Who could have guessed the terrible truth?
* **
King Atreus summoned the levies from every tributary city. King Adrastus needed no urging to mobilize his Host: he perceived the Heraclid threat as being dangerous to Argos as to Corinth and Mycenae.
Atreus revealed the administrative genius which marks outstanding captains. Aware that troops and transport, uncontrolled, would congest the road to Corinth and cause unspeakable confusion (I ruefully remembered King Eurystheus' march) he sent Adrastus a movement table, written by Scribes and deciphered by Argos' Curator, which ensured that war- bands from both cities, marching on different days, would not obstruct the narrow mountain roads. He went himself to Corinth and arranged with the Warden Bunus for each detachment's reception, encampment and supplies. (Armies moving in hostile territory live off the enemy's lands; Atreus intended to fight on friendly soil, so men and animals had to be fed.)
I led the Tiryns contingent - twenty chariots and three hundred spears - on a leisurely, trouble-free march, and reached Corinth on the third day's afternoon. As a Warden I was quartered in the palace; less eminent Heroes found bedrooms in the citadel; the rest, and all Companions, spearmen, grooms and servants lived in an encampment at the foot of Corinth's mount. I met again King Adrastus, the leathery Tydeus, Leader of his Host, and Tydeus' son Diomedes strutting proudly in Hero's armour.
Diomedes, bouncing with youthful zest, could talk of nothing except the coming encounter, his first affray-at-arms. I found his ardour engaging and, from the heights of experience and age (he is two years younger than I) offered sage advice, probed his Companion's driving skills and criticized his accoutrements. 'Your left shoulder-guard chafes the cuirass,' I told him. 'Tell the smith to loosen it a finger's breadth. Why a brazen helmet? Boars' tusks give better protection. I prefer a waisted shield myself; this tower affair can hinder your low- line thrusts. An ivory-hilted sword? Very fine and fashionable - but slippery when your hand begins to sweat. You'll find a silver grip safer.' I smiled cheerfully. 'Too late to change now, but I dare say you'll survive.'
Diomedes absorbed my counsel like oracular commands delivered by the Selli at Dodona. Echemus of Tegea, listening to my discourse, said caustically, 'Armour's perfectly useless if the man inside can't fight. Strength and skill and courage are the only things that count.' Hard grey eyes looked us up and down. 'Don't worry -I believe you have all three.'
Atreus' scouts roved far beyond the Isthmus, and his spies in Megara and Athens informed him of the Heraclids' strength and movements. They said the Scavengers were safely away in Thebes, and also that our Host - ten-score chariots and two thousand spears - outnumbered the Heraclids three to one. Hyllus marched his warbands from Marathon to Athens where he awaited reinforcement by a levy of Boeotian bowmen. Iolaus led a reconnaissance in force which reached no further than Sciron's Rocks, where Bunus had stationed spearmen who drove the intruders back.
In the meantime Atreus exercised his mingled Hosts, Argive and Mycenaean, on the Corinthian Plain. It was an unwieldy mass, incapable of doing much more than charge to the front. Atreus strove to teach the Heroes to shift ground to a flank by wheeling in threes to the right or left; tactics resulting, often as not, in colliding naves, broken poles and tangled harness. Companions who individually could turn
their teams on a platter seemed incapable of wheeling round in concert. The confusion arose from inexperience; close-order drill had never been tried before.
Hyllus advanced from Athens to Megara and headed for the Isthmus, whereupon the king took Tydeus and every warband leader to reconnoitre battle positions. He chose a line confronting the Isthmus' narrow neck; a river secured his flank on the left, a bluff on the right fell sheer to the sea. A thousand paces of bush-pocked ground sloped gently away in front, sufficient for a charge to gain momentum; the slant would speed the pace. When Bunus, a would-be tactician, suggested our force be concentrated like a stopper on a wine jar to block the Heraclids' deployment from the pass Atreus looked at him coldly.
'Fight on a narrow front, and waste our superior numbers? You deceive yourself, my lord. I shall let the enemy deploy, then charge and envelop the flanks, cut his line of retreat and massacre every man.'
On a cloudy midsummer's morning our outpost at Sciron's Rocks, hustled from position, galloped into Corinth and reported Heraclids pouring across the Isthmus. The Host was already under arms - Atreus insisted on chariots being harnessed, arms and armour donned at sunrise every day - and warbands marched to the stations Atreus had appointed. Adhering to his principle of separating spears from chariots he grouped the heavy armour in a two-rank line of battle at fifty paces' distance, and placed all spearmen in a third line in support - thus preventing retinues from trailing their Heroes' chariots. Mycenaeans held the van: Tiryns in the centre, Tegean chariots under Echemus on their right, Mycenae's on the left. Corinth and Nemea guarded the wings. Behind them Tydeus marshalled Argos' ninety chariots. King Adrastus' advancing years confined him to a place in the rearmost line, where he hammered his chariot's rail and shrilly abused the spearmen's untidy dressing.
1 glanced along the ranks. An array of tossing horses' heads, manes plaited in pointed locks, scarlet, blue and yellow chariots, bronze and boars'-tusk helmets plumed in flaring colours, glistening armour and tall hide shields, a forest of upright spears.
Enemy outriders, specks in the distance, trotted from the cliff-hung Isthmus road, checked and stared, whirled round and disappeared. 'Could they be surprised?' I murmured to Talthybius. 'Surely Hyllus' spies have told him we are ready?' Chariots in single file swung quickly right and left, formed a ragged line and advanced at a walk. Then spearmen running, Locrian bowmen and a scurry of naked slingers. I glimpsed the head of a transport column halted on the road: asses and mules and ox-carts, drovers and sutlers and slaves. Slowly and uncertainly, vehicles opening and closing on the vagaries of the ground, the Heraclids' chariot line approached until, three hundred paces away, you could tell a chestnut horse from a bay.
There it halted.
Warriors dismounted and gathered in a group. They were obviously conferring, waving arms and shouting, the air so still their voices carried like starlings' chatter at roost. Behind them climbed the Isthmus' mountainous spine; tamarisk, pines and scrub-oak patchworked jagged ridges, precipices split the foliage like waterfalls of rock. Arrows of sunlight pierced the clouds, slashed transient gilded scars on a grey-green sea.
Atreus moved his chariot four horses' lengths ahead; every Hero from wing to wing could see him. A sun-ray gleamed on his armour and bathed him in fleeting fire. I shifted my shield a fraction and rubbed my feet on the webbing. Talthybius poised his whip and shortened reins. Atreus looked to right and left, and lifted his spear.
When the point swooped down we would go.
The enemy's conclave ended; warriors remounted. A lone chariot trotted towards us, oxhide frame dyed crimson, wheel-spokes limned in silver, prancing sorrel stallions. The Companion wore a leather skull-cap and studded linen corselet, the Hero beside him a brazen helmet; cheek guards curved to a point at his chin.
Atreus frowned and lowered his spear.
The chariot reined a spear-cast away. The Hero swept his helmet off and showed his face. Straw-coloured tousled hair, a short fair beard, smouldering dark-blue eyes. 'Hyllus son of Hercules whom Amphitryon begat,' he called in rasping tones. 'Alcaeus fathered Amphitryon, and Perseus Alcaeus.' (While custom requires that strangers announce their pedigrees I felt that, on a battlefield, the rigmarole was rather out of place.) 'I demand audience of King Atreus.'
'You see him,' Atreus growled. 'What have you to say? I come for war, not words.'
'I also. I offer single combat against any noble warrior from Argos or Mycenae. I will not,' said Hyllus sharply, 'fight one whose blood is base.'
The distance between the speakers compelled both to raise their voices, so the centre of our line could hear the conversation. A surprised murmuration travelled along the ranks, horses lunged at bits, chariots see-sawed back and forth, drivers tautened reins and swore. Talthybius soothed his restive team. 'Let's kill the bastard now,' he breathed. 'Give the word and I'll charge.' 'Restrain yourself, Talthybius,' I reproved. 'We must start the battle like gentlemen - the dirty work comes later.'
Atreus said, 'Lord Hyllus, any of my Heroes would be happy to cut your throat. But I see no purpose in your challenge, for we mean to kill you all. Return to your Host and get ready to die.'
'Is your blood-thirst so insatiable you will sacrifice three thousand lives, your followers and mine? We'll fight to the death, King Atreus, make no mistake. I offer an escape from needless slaughter.'
'Do you mean’ asked Atreus incredulously, 'you're willing to gamble the battle's outcome and your claim to Mycenae's throne on an individual duel?'
'You heard me,' Hyllus said. 'Will any of your cowards dare to meet me blade to blade?'
Heroes shouted and brandished spears, chariots surged from the ranks. Atreus faced them and raised his arms. 'Be still I' he thundered. He turned to Hyllus. 'If you are slain, am I to understand your Host will retire from the field?'
'If I die,' said Hyllus tartly, 'the sons of Hercules will not return along this road for another fifty years. This I swear on my mother's womb. If I win, let your throne and realm be mine.'
Atreus bowed his head in thought. At last, 'I will consult my captains.' He dismounted, sent a messenger to summon warband leaders, walked beyond Hyllus' hearing. Adrastus, Tydeus and Diomedes galloped from the Argive Host in rear. Echemus of Tegea, Bunus, Alcmaeon of Midea, myself and other Heroes clustered round the king.
He said, 'Hyllus is the fire and fount of Heraclid dreams of conquest. We want him dead. In a general engagement he might escape - so I'll accept the fellow's challenge. His Host won't honour the compact, of course, and then we can set about them.'
I said, 'Are you going to fight him, sire?'
'Who else? It's my throne he wants.'
'Madness!' Adrastus squeaked. 'Why should Mycenae's king fight a landless outcast vagabond and wager his dominion on the result?'
Atreus stared. 'Wager my dominion? Are you serious, my lord? Should Hyllus cut me down, directly you see me fall you'll charge and sweep that rabble to perdition!'
'Ah, yes, I see.' Adrastus tried to scratch his armpit, met bronze and wriggled his shoulders. 'Still, it's out of the question for you to risk your life. Nonsensical!'
"You'd do him overmuch honour,' Tydeus snapped.
'Eagles don't fight rats,' said Bunus.
I took a breath and said, 'Sire, we cannot forbid you, but I beg you to choose another.' I looked him in the eye. 'Should the worst befall, no one yet is ready to succeed you.'
Atreus held my gaze, and gave a tiny nod. 'Very well. You all seem damnably certain,' he added irascibly, 'that Hyllus will chop my head off. Then who will take my place?'
'Let me fight him!' Diomedes pleaded.
'Shut your mouth!' his father grated. 'Hardly out of the nursery - Hyllus would carve you in pieces!'
Every Hero clamoured for the honour. I said, 'It's fitting your son should stand in your stead. You'll find no better champion in the Host.' I shouldered my shield and turned to go.
'Stop!' The king's voice cracked like a whip. 'We'll decide
the issue by trial of arms. He who casts his spear the farthest shall take his chance against Hyllus.'
The butt of his spear traced a long straight furrow. 'Toe this line, gentlemen, and throw when I give the word.'
Hyllus, I suppose, watched the performance in wordless astonishment. Thirty-odd Heroes formed in line and threw their spears. Atreus walked to the weapons, some slanted in the ground, some flat where they skidded from stones. One quivered a stride ahead of the rest. 'Mine!' exulted Echemus. He grabbed the haft and trotted towards his chariot.
(Did I put every bit of my strength in the cast? I like to believe so - but it's difficult to remember after so many years.)
'A moment, Lord Echemus,' said Atreus. 'The bargain needs Heraclid witnesses.' He spoke to Hyllus, who galloped to his ranks and returned with two Heroes alongside: Iolaus and another. The king presented Echemus. Hyllus sneered. 'Is this your valiant champion ? Does your kingdom. Lord Atreus, depend on the spear of a dwarf?'
Indeed the duellists in appearance provided a remarkable contrast: Echemus stumpy, dark-haired, broad, bull-shouldered; Hyllus slim and lithe, nearly as tall as Atreus, straw- haired and fair-skinned.
Warriors in Bronze Page 17
