by Glyn Iliffe
‘It is not often we receive Trojans in this camp, unless they are our captives or our slaves,’ he began. ‘But you come to us as a suppliant and bearing the signs of a priest of Apollo, so we will suffer you here. Speak: tell us your name and put your request before us.’
The old man tipped his hood back to reveal a bald head, suntanned and deeply creased with age to the texture of worn leather, then swept his cloak back over his left shoulder to show the white priest’s robes beneath.
‘My name is Chryses, priest of Apollo on the island of Chryse,’ he announced in a voice cracked with age. ‘I have received a message that my daughter was taken captive at the sack of Lyrnessus and that she is held here in the Greek camp.’
Eperitus gripped the edge of the bench as he realized the old man standing before them was Astynome’s father.
‘What of it?’ Agamemnon asked, hiding a yawn behind his fingertips.
‘What of it, my lord?’ Chryses repeated. ‘Astynome is my daughter, an innocent girl caught up in a savage war, and I love her. I want her back and have brought a generous ransom for her release.’
The old man raised his arms and turned to the circle of kings and the hundreds of soldiers on the sloping beach behind them. More men were still arriving, clambering on to the decks of the ships or lining the grassy bank that divided the beach from the mass of tents beyond. To these commoners, as well as the kings, he looked, and in a loud voice that belied his age implored their support: ‘Great lords, mighty warriors of the Greek army, show your respect to Apollo and accept the ransom I bring. Give an old man back his daughter and in return I will pray to all the gods of Olympus that the gates of Priam’s city fall to you this very year!’
A great shout of agreement rose from the ranks of kings and commoners alike as Chryses slowly turned full circle to face the King of Men once more. Eperitus added his own voice to the cheers all around him. As a mere captain he was powerless to argue for Astynome’s return, and his oath to Clytaemnestra, not to kill Agamemnon, prevented the other options that his instincts preferred; but with the appearance of Chryses and his offer of a ransom there was hope that she might yet be saved from the clutches of the man he hated. Standing with the rest of the assembly, he caught the eye of Odysseus and knew in an instant that it was his friend who had somehow sent the message to the old priest. Odysseus nodded and Eperitus smiled back.
As the roar of applause rang from the hillsides, Agamemnon’s impassive expression turned cold and stern.
‘So Astynome is your daughter, is she?’ he said stiffly. ‘Then know this: she pleases me greatly, too much for me to let her go in exchange for the trinkets of an old man.’
‘I have brought all the wealth I possess as a ransom for my daughter, and it is not a paltry sum – gold and copper ingots, tripods of—’
Agamemnon held up his hand.
‘Your wealth means nothing to me, Chryses. I intend for your daughter to return with me to Mycenae as my slave, where she will serve me in whatever function I choose, including as my lover. As for you, you will leave immediately and take your beggar’s ransom with you.’
Chryses’s lined face became suddenly stern and he pointed an accusing finger at the Mycenaean king. ‘Dismiss me now and it will be to the loss of you and your men. I cannot be blamed for what happens if—’
‘Silence!’ Agamemnon commanded. ‘Leave the camp now, before I decide you are one of Priam’s spies and have you executed.’
‘So be it!’ Chryses replied, and without a further glance at the King of Men he turned and marched from the now silent arena.
Agamemnon’s treatment of the old man received widespread disapproval among the ordinary ranks of the army as well as many of their leaders. Whatever increase the King of Men’s standing had gained from the recent victories at Lyrnessus, Adramyttium and Thebe was reversed, and as the Greeks streamed away from the gathering they were already muttering solemnly about the consequences of offending a priest of Apollo. And their superstitions were soon fulfilled.
By nightfall of that day, scores of men throughout the camp were suffering with different combinations of fever, shaking, vomiting and diarrhoea. By noon of the next the number was in its hundreds and a feeling of concern bordering on panic began to creep through the army. By the fourth day the healers Machaon and Podaleirius, the sons of Asclepius, were still unable to identify the strange new plague or find effective ways to treat it. Soon great pyres of the dead – a dozen or more bodies at a time – were sending thick palls of black smoke up into the cloudless sky from every point in the Greek camp. Cries of mourning mingled with chanted prayers and the screams of slaughtered animals, as kings and leaders led appeasing sacrifices to the gods. Most prayers were offered to Apollo, whom many suspected of taking his revenge for the snub to Chryses, but by the tenth day the mysterious plague that was ravaging the army showed no signs of abating. It was then that Achilles called for an urgent meeting of the council.
Once the leaders were seated in a circle on the wide beach, surrounded by a great sea of worried soldiers from every nation in Greece, Achilles rose to his feet and silence fell. He walked over to Agamemnon and received the golden staff from the king’s hand. Then, striding out into the centre of the arena, he looked around at the thousands of hushed, attentive faces.
‘My lord Agamemnon,’ he said, though his back was turned to the Mycenaean king, ‘perhaps the cries of the dying have not penetrated the walls of your tent, or the acrid stench of the funeral pyres has failed to reach your royal nostrils, but let me inform you that your great army is being decimated by plague while you sit idly on your throne and do nothing. Would you do the same if Hector and all his Trojans were attacking our camp?’ There was a dissentious murmur from the onlookers as Achilles turned his dark gaze on the King of Men. ‘I have lost more Myrmidons in the past nine days than I did in the attacks on Lyrnessus, Adramyttium and Thebe combined. They were all good men who deserved to die fighting their enemies, not convulsing in their own vomit!’
Agamemnon regarded Achilles in silence, his blue eyes devoid of emotion as he stroked his beard.
‘Then what do you propose we do, son of Peleus?’ asked Menelaus, compelled to speak by his brother’s silence.
‘To me the solution is clear,’ Achilles replied. ‘We’ve angered one of the gods and yet our prayers and sacrifices are going unheard. We have to discover the nature of our offence before this plague destroys us altogether. Fortunately, there is one among us who claims to have the answer.’
The mumblings of the crowd grew louder, forcing Menelaus to raise his hands for silence while Agamemnon continued to stare icily at Achilles.
‘Very well,’ Menelaus said. ‘I, too, have lost many good men and want to see an end to this murderous plague. Who is it that claims to know why the gods are angered?’
Achilles crossed to the benches and hooked his hand beneath the arm of a man hooded and cloaked in black. He lifted him up and placed the tall staff in his hand, then pushed him into the arena and sat down again. The man shuffled uncertainly to the centre of the circle of kings, his back stooped and his face hung low, and many thought Chryses had returned. But when he lifted his hood over his bald head it was the starkly white face of Calchas that blinked round at the ring of shocked onlookers.
‘My . . . my lords,’ he began, his voice weak and slightly slurred as his dark eyes were drawn inevitably towards Agamemnon. ‘My lord, the gods . . . I have seen . . . terrible things.’
‘What have you seen?’ Agamemnon demanded, sharply.
‘I have seen Phoebus Apollo, seated on the high ridge above the camp.’ Swaying slightly, Calchas pointed to the surrounding hills and many followed the direction indicated by his long finger. ‘I have seen him, the archer-god, seated on the earthen ramparts with a great quiver of golden arrows at his side, drawing the string of his bow back to his cheekbone and launching missile after missile down into the camp. I have watched him from behind stumps of trees and tussocks of
grass, firing arrows from dawn until dusk, each one finding its target in a warrior of Greece and bringing him down to a slow and painful death. He is up there now; I can hear the singing of his bow again and again – a dozen times, at least, since this council began. The plague comes from him as a punishment . . . a punishment for—’
He raised a trembling hand towards the king, then turned his face imploringly to Achilles.
‘My lord Achilles, I fear to speak. What am I but a priest without a temple, an outcast whose devotion to the gods has earned him nothing more than scorn and resentment from the Greeks? Will you protect me against the wrath of men greater than myself, if my words stir their anger?’
‘Speak freely, Calchas,’ Achilles commanded. ‘Tell us what the gods have revealed to you, and while I am alive you need not fear any man here.’
‘Then let it be known that Apollo’s anger is directed towards Agamemnon,’ Calchas announced, thrusting an accusing finger at the King of Men. ‘It was you, my lord, who refused the ransom brought by Chryses, and because of you the plague will not be cleansed from the camp until Astynome is returned to her father without compensation. Only when she has been sent back to the island of Chryse will Apollo listen to our prayers and accept our sacrifices.’
Eperitus, seated between Odysseus and Peisandros, whispered a prayer to Athena, offering the sacrifice of an unblemished lamb if Agamemnon agreed to return Astynome safely back to her father. But when Agamemnon rose to his feet, it was with a terrible anger in his eyes.
‘You cursed harbinger of doom! You drunken preacher of woe! In all the years since you fled Troy and came to haunt the Greeks, have you ever spoken words of comfort or joy? It was you who condemned us to ten years of war – and still Troy has not fallen – and you who damned me to sacrifice my own daughter at Aulis. But in this latest prophecy of gloom I do not hold you responsible, for you are but the mouthpiece of another who hides his own vindictiveness behind the shadow of your cloak.’ Agamemnon turned to face Achilles. ‘And don’t accuse me of being ignorant of the suffering of the Greeks, son of Peleus. More Mycenaeans have been tossed on to the funeral pyres in the past nine days than warriors of any other nation. And now that the cause of this plague has been exposed I will not sit by and allow it to continue. Apollo must be appeased: I will send Astynome back to her father, asking only that the army awards me an equal prize as compensation.’
He moved back to his throne, just as Achilles stepped forward and seized the staff from Calchas.
‘And what is this compensation that you expect, my lord? The plunder we took has all been shared out. Nothing remains, unless you intend to take an even greater share when Troy falls.’
‘Perhaps I will take your share, Achilles,’ Agamemnon rounded on him, ‘seeing as the prophecies say you will not be there to claim it for yourself! But no, you won’t trick me out of my due. Doubtless you are a great warrior and a man without equal in honour or glory, but I am a king, the elected leader of this expedition, and I will not be robbed of my portion until this council agrees to compensate me with an equal prize of my own choosing. Come, let us put it to the vote now – why delay further and send more men to their deaths, when we could be preparing a ship to take Astynome back to her father?’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Agamemnon,’ Achilles warned. ‘I know you too well to let you pick your own compensation! How often have you remained in camp dressed in Cinyras’s breastplate – for all the world a warrior to look at – while letting the rest of us do the fighting? And how often have we returned with captured slaves and weapons or the plunder from a sacked city, only for you to take the lion’s share of what our blood and toil have gained? And now I can see you’re scheming for an even greater cut of our hard-won spoils, playing on our loyalty to serve your own greed. Well, you seem to forget that the Trojans never stole anything from us – the only reason we’re here is out of pity for poor Menelaus. And if you continue to take us for granted then, sooner or later, we’ll be taking our armies back with us to Greece, leaving you to fight the Trojans alone. Then where will you be, King of Men?’
Agamemnon, who had stood as if rooted before his throne, now turned and walked back into the arena. Calchas, mistaking his intent, stumbled back to the bench from which he had come, pulling his hood back over his head and leaving Agamemnon and Achilles to face each other, anger and disdain filling their eyes.
‘Scuttle back to Phthia, then, if you haven’t the stomach to stay here,’ Agamemnon said quietly, a tremor of anger in his voice. ‘I don’t need your kind. Every other man here honours my authority – whether they respect me or not – but you have always been obstinate and pig-headed. Even Great Ajax will obey me without question, though he is contemptuous of the gods themselves; but it seems to me you will not be content until you have command of the Greeks for yourself! Well, I won’t stand for it. As for Astynome, I’ll make sure she is returned to her father this very day, though of all the women in Troy I have seen none so fair as her – unless it is the woman you claimed for yourself, Achilles. And just to show you that I am the king and a more powerful man than you, if I must surrender Astynome to Apollo, then you must give Briseis to me. And if you will not give her willingly, then I will come to your hut and take her!’
Achilles’s lips curled back into a snarl and his hand moved instinctively to the pommel of his sword, half drawing it from its ornate scabbard. On the benches behind him, Eperitus placed a hand on his own sword, ready to honour his hateful oath to Clytaemnestra and defend Agamemnon if needed. But, after a moment, Achilles let his sword slide back into its sheath.
‘You may hold more power than I do, Agamemnon,’ he said, his voice filled with dangerous intent. ‘But you are not the better man. You have stayed in camp, siphoning off the pick of the plunder when you should have been at the forefront of battle. Your inept command has dragged this war into its tenth year, while men like Nestor, Odysseus and myself have kept your alliance together for you. If it wasn’t for us your army would have given up the fight long ago and gone home. And if you intend to take Briseis, who was awarded to me for my part in the storming of Lyrnessus, Adramyttium and Thebe, then I will not stand in your way. But from this moment on I am done with you. The others may be too feeble to stand against your tyranny, Agamemnon, but I swear by this staff that my Myrmidons and I will fight for you no more, even if the hordes of Troy are running amok in the camp and setting fire to your black-beaked ships!’
And with that he flung the staff down into the sand and marched from the arena. Patroclus and Peisandros went with him and were followed by the wordless exodus of every Myrmidon present.
Chapter Fourteen
REUNION AND PARTING
Eperitus had not seen Astynome in the two weeks since she had been taken from his tent, and though they had only spent three weeks together before that, he missed her sorely. He also worried for her safety at the hands of Agamemnon and amid the ravages of the plague. But when Odysseus announced he was to captain the ship returning her to Chryse, and that Eperitus would be coming with him, he was relieved and overjoyed at the thought of seeing her again.
‘How did you ever persuade Agamemnon to let you take her back?’ he asked Odysseus as they stood on the beach by the galleys. ‘I never thought he’d send Astynome back on an Ithacan ship after she’d been found in my hut.’
‘I don’t think he knew she’d been taken from you,’ Odysseus replied. ‘As far as he was aware, she was simply an undeclared captive from the recent expedition who had to be “fairly” distributed. Agamemnon was jealous and angry that Achilles had already claimed the best of the pick in Briseis, so when he saw Astynome’s beauty he took her for his own.’
‘And now he has Briseis anyway.’
‘Yes,’ Odysseus said with a concerned look. ‘But as for getting him to let me take Astynome back, I simply pointed out that our ships had recently been at sea and needed little preparation, unlike most of the fleet.’
‘And it was
you who sent the message to Astynome’s father, I presume?’
‘Of course, via a merchant who was heading south to Chryse.’
‘Then I’m grateful to you,’ Eperitus said, watching the crew lay a gangplank between the beach and the side of the hull and trying to coax half a dozen sacrificial cattle up it and on to the galley. ‘The thought of her as Agamemnon’s slave has been unbearable. At least she’ll be safe with her father again.’
‘And here she is,’ Odysseus said.
They looked to see Talthybius, Agamemnon’s squire and herald, approaching with Astynome at his side. Her dark hair was tied above her head and her beautiful eyes were fixed downward at the sand, refusing to look up and meet Eperitus’s.
‘Is this the girl who’s caused all the trouble?’ Odysseus enquired.
‘This is her; one look at her face and you can see why,’ Talthybius laughed.
‘Take her to the crew. They can load her on board with the cattle. And then you’d better return to Agamemnon – I hear he’s making a sacrifice of bulls and goats to Apollo.’
‘He is,’ Talthybius replied sullenly, ‘but I’ve other work to do. He wants me to fetch Briseis from Achilles.’
‘Don’t be concerned. Achilles has said he will give her up freely and he’ll keep his word,’ Odysseus assured him. ‘I only hope for the rest of us he’ll take back his other promise and not refrain from the fighting when it starts again.’
Eperitus watched Astynome as she made her way up the gangplank, but she did not return his gaze. Even as the galley was pushed down into the water and the crew settled at their oars, she stood at the prow and refused to turn her eyes to the stern, where he stood with Odysseus at the twin rudder. Before long the faint swishing of the oars took them past the broadest part of the great crescent of sand, where the Mycenaean ships lay rotting on their props and Agamemnon was beginning the sacrifice to Apollo. Dressed in his gleaming breastplate and a lion’s pelt, surrounded by a crowd of kings, priests and attendants, he raised his hands in a prayer that did not carry across the waves to the departing galley, but as he spoke Eperitus saw Astynome’s eyes upon him and felt despair and jealousy seize his heart. Had he lost her? In the short time she had been with Agamemnon, had she given her heart to the King of Men, as unbelievable as that seemed to Eperitus? As Odysseus ordered the sails to be unfurled and the galley slipped past Tenedos on the journey south, he resolved to speak to her and moved between the benches towards the prow. At the same moment she turned and looked at him and there was a smile on her lips. Then she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the mouth with a passion that surprised and delighted him as, all around them, the crew cheered.
