Troy

by Stephen Fry

  The support structure that fed this great encampment was of a complexity that could never have been achieved through one conscious act of design. Only the slow evolution of need could build out such an intricate entity. With its nerve centre, veins, arteries and sluicing drains, the Greek camp took on the qualities of a living organism; and like any living organism it needed continual sustenance.

  The city of Troy itself might have been unassailable, but there was nothing to stop Achilles, Diomedes, Odysseus, Ajax, Menelaus and the others from leading war parties to raid, scavenge and maraud the countryside around. Wine, grain, livestock, slave women – all were fair game, all could help feed the great encampment. For nine years the Trojan War was more plunder than thunder.

  These raids were the speciality of the Myrmidons. Homer relates that under Achilles’ relentless and ruthless direction they sacked more than twenty cities and coastal towns over the course of the nine years. One such raid was to have far-reaching and fatal consequences. We will come to it soon enough, but first we should look at the few other episodes of significance that took place during this stagnant period.

  PALAMEDES

  You will remember Agamemnon’s cousin Palamedes, the man who saw through the feigned madness of Odysseus? There was never any love lost between the two men. Odysseus was not above nursing grievances, harbouring grudges and plotting slow revenges. Things came to a head after Agamemnon had sent Odysseus north to Thrace under instructions to return with as much grain as his ship could carry. When he returned with nothing more than a pitiful quantity of olive oil and sour wine, Palamedes had mocked him in front of his own men.

  ‘The great Ithacan, the master tactician, Odysseus the brilliant, Odysseus the wise and wonderful. So reliable. So resourceful.’

  Odysseus kept his temper under control and replied icily. ‘We all bow to Palamedes when it comes to intellect and ingenuity. Doubtless he could have done better.’

  He did not expect the riposte that came.

  ‘Of course I can. Anyone can. Anyone who isn’t scared off by Thracian barbarians shaking their spears.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  Much to Odysseus’s chagrin, Palamedes had proved it. He sailed off in a ship of his own and, in a few weeks, returned, loaded to the gunwales with fine-quality grain and fruit.

  Over the next months Odysseus stewed and studied, brewed and brooded, all the while keeping a cheerful outward demeanour. Palamedes was liked by the rank-and-file soldiers, not least because he had devised dice and board games, which had started a craze amongst the troops up and down the line.

  One evening a group of Mycenaeans came to Agamemnon. A dead Trojan spy had been found in the Greek camp. His body had been searched and a note found, apparently from King Priam to Palamedes.

  ‘The information you have shared with us has been priceless to Troy’s cause. The gold we sent you is but a small measure of our gratitude.’

  Palamedes, hands bound, was brought before Agamemnon. When shown the note, he laughed and denied all knowledge.

  ‘A cheap and obvious plant. Either the Trojans want to sow confusion or some enemy of mine is making a clumsy attempt to incriminate me.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Odysseus, nodding with sympathy. ‘There may be little affection between us, Palamedes, but I have never thought you capable of such base treachery.’

  Palamedes bowed, a little surprised and disconcerted to receive support from this quarter.

  ‘Yes, but the seal is unquestionably Priam’s,’ said Agamemnon.

  ‘Poo, easily forged,’ said Odysseus. ‘Besides, even if it is Priam’s seal, that’s as much proof of Trojan trickery as it is of Palamedes’ guilt. I think you’ll find our friend is innocent. There’ll be no secrets traded for gold.’

  ‘Well, it’s soon settled,’ said Menelaus. ‘Let Palamedes’ headquarters be searched.’

  Odysseus shook his head with displeasure. ‘Such a mistrustful course of action can only …’

  ‘Search away,’ said Palamedes. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

  To the shock and disgust of all, and the pained distress of Odysseus in particular, a large hoard of Trojan gold was found buried in the ground right behind Palamedes’ tent.

  Agamemnon would settle for nothing less than a public execution by stoning. Palamedes died protesting his innocence, punished further by his last sight: Odysseus shaking his head and pursing his lips in sorrowful disapproval, before – when he could be sure that no one else could see him – favouring Palamedes with a wide smile and a triumphant wink.

  News reached Euboea and Palamedes’ father, King NAUPLIUS, who was horrified by the thought that his son could have been guilty of the unspeakable crime of treason. He had another son, OEAX, who convinced him that Palamedes had been the victim of a plot to frame him. His popularity and ingenuity had posed a threat to the cosy cabal of Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus and Diomedes, Oeax said.fn13 Odysseus had surely been the spider at the centre of the whole ugly web of conspiracy. He had never forgiven Palamedes for exposing his feeble pretence of insanity on Ithaca. Or for showing him up over the matter of the Thracian raids.

  Miles away from the Troad, across the wide Aegean, there was nothing either Nauplius or Oeax could do to avenge the death of Palamedes. For now. But Nauplius, son of Poseidon, was quite as capable of biding his time as Odysseus had proved himself to be.

  TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

  Another story that comes down to us concerning these years of stalemate is that of Troilus and CRESSIDA, immortalized not by Homer, or Virgil, but by two great English-language poets who lived much, much later – Chaucer and Shakespeare. Their versions are based on a combination of classical and medieval sources and their own imaginations.

  In the simplest and earliest tellings, Troilus is established as the youngest of Priam’s and Hecuba’s sons. Still in his teens and, it is generally agreed, of remarkable personal beauty, he tries to take an active part in the skirmishes and minor engagements that were the stuff of the war’s early years, but is kept back by his family in deference to a prophecy which tells that Troy will never fall to the Greeks if Troilus lives long enough to reach the age of twenty. The Trojans are determined to keep him from harm, therefore, and ensure that nothing should stop him from attaining that age, thereby securing the safety of their city.fn14 Unfortunately for them, Athena whispers the substance of this prophecy to Achilles, who ambushes Troilus while he is out riding with his sister Polyxena. They flee for protection to a temple of Apollo. Achilles, who has no time for the niceties of sanctuary, chases them inside, where he cuts off Troilus’s head and, in the frenzy of his bloodlust, butchers the body. Polyxena he spares. She looks into his eyes and he into hers. There seems to be a connection between them. That connection is to come to a crisis much later.

  The brutal murder of Troilus was seen as crucial in hardening Apollo’s opposition to the Greek cause and to feeding his hatred of Achilles in particular. It was not in the nature of the Olympian gods to overlook such sacrilege committed on their holy ground.

  In the later stories a romantic element is added. Troilus is still young and beautiful, but now he has fallen in love with Cressida, the daughter of Agamemnon’s prophet Calchas.fn15 A forbidden love affair across enemy lines blossoms – encouraged and enabled by the Trojan courtier PANDARUS. Homer represents Pandarus as a mostly honourable and courageous leader of men (although susceptible to being manipulated by interfering gods, as we shall see); in Chaucer he is amiable enough as an avuncular go-between; but in Shakespeare he is portrayed as a whispering flatterer, a distastefully prurient matchmaker and pimp.fn16

  Calchas persuades Agamemnon to sue for his daughter’s return. At this time (in Shakespeare’s version at least) the Greeks hold captive the senior Trojan lord Antenor, saviour of Menelaus and the earlier Greek deputation, and so an exchange is negotiated: Cressida for Antenor. But Diomedes falls for Cressida and she, in turn, falls for him. Troilus hears of this betrayal and vows revenge on Diomedes. S
trangely, in Shakespeare’s play – which is considered one of the most problematic and beguilingly odd of his entire canon – neither Troilus nor Cressida suffer the usual fate of star-crossed lovers. The play ends with the killing of Hector and an address to the audience from Pandarus in which he bemoans the lot of the ‘bawd’ (pimp) and bequeaths the audience his venereal diseases. Troilus and Cressida are left alive and their story is entirely unresolved.

  AENEAS, ACHILLES, AJAX, AGAMEMNON – THE RAIDING PARTIES

  Amongst the various sorties undertaken by Achilles and his Myrmidons was an attack on Mount Ida, the mother mountain of the Trojans. Until he and his flocks were violently preyed on by Achilles, Aeneas had mostly stayed out of the war. The loss of his livestock and the laying waste of his pastureland drove Aeneas and his father Anchises to Troy, where he remained, fighting alongside his cousins Hector, Deiphobus, Paris and the rest, until the final moments of the conflict.

  Ajax did his share of rustling and raiding too.fn17 One story tells of his attacking the kingdom of Phrygia, south and east of the Troad, and bearing off the king’s daughter TECMESSA, with whom he developed a fond and fruitful relationship. Another rather touching episode describes Ajax and Achilles becoming so wrapped up in a board game that they are oblivious to an encroaching band of Trojans.fn18 Only the intervention of Athena saves them from certain death. In these circumstances divine assistance is often rendered by the god or goddess in question creating a thick fog as cover for the escape of their favourites.

  The most consequential of Achilles’ raids took him to the city state of Lyrnessus, in Cilicia, to the south of the Troad. Here he slaughtered the king and all his sons, but spared a princess of the royal house named BRISEIS.fn19 She was added to the great train of captives pulled along by the marauding Achaeans as they made their way around the provinces of Asia Minor, looting and burning. He razed the city of Chryse to the ground too, capturing – amongst others – CHRYSEIS the daughter of CHRYSES, a priest of Apollo.fn20

  When the raiding parties made it back to the Achaean encampment, the booty from the sacked towns – including its human content – was counted and divided up. Agamemnon was given the pick of the women and chose Chryseis to be his personal slave. Achilles took Briseis as his prize. Other treasure and slaves, male and female, were apportioned first to the great kings, princes and generals, next to their subordinates, and then all the way down to the ordinary fighting men, who cast lots for what and who remained.

  Into the tenth year, then, nothing had been achieved by either side. The Trojans had failed to dislodge the Achaeans and the Achaeans were no closer to taking back Helen than they had been when Protesilaus fell on that first day of fighting.

  Things were about to change. A tepid war was about to catch fire.

  CHRYSEIS AND BRISEIS

  Sheltered some way from Agamemnon’s command post, the Myrmidon ships and tents had become the centre of Briseis’s existence. Now the property of Achilles, she moved around the camp in mourning for the loss of everything and everyone she had known and loved in Lyrnessus. Patroclus, Achilles’ friend and sometime lover himself, liked and admired the young princess and did what he could to comfort and console her.

  ‘Achilles is more than fond of you,’ he would say. ‘When all this is over, he will take you back to Phthia as his wife and queen. Wouldn’t you like that?’

  To which Briseis would only smile in sorrow and shake her head.

  Meanwhile, Agamemnon was enjoying the fruits of his own pillage and plunder, having chosen the beautiful Chryseis to be his personal slave and attendant.

  Chryses, the priest of Apollo and father of Chryseis, left the smoking ruins of his home city of Chryse and made his way by ship to the Greek encampment.fn21 At the heavily guarded entrance to the stockade he begged to be allowed through for an audience with the Achaean commander. The guards led him to Agamemnon’s enclosure. Throwing himself down on the ground before the throne, Chryses grasped Agamemnon’s knees, as was the custom when beseeching favours from the mighty.

  ‘Our city is named for the gold that once enriched us. Only return my daughter, great Agamemnon, and what treasure I still possess will be yours.’

  Agamemnon pushed the old man’s hands away. ‘All that you have we can take whenever we choose,’ he said. ‘And as for Chryseis – she is mine. A lawful prize of war. She pleases me and will grow old in my service. At the loom by day, in my bed by night.’

  The guards and attendants sniggered. Chryses dropped his head and clutched again at Agamemnon’s knees.

  ‘In the name of mercy, dread king …’

  ‘Enough, old man!’ Agamemnon kicked him away. ‘Your snot and slime disgust me. Leave now or be taken prisoner yourself.’

  Chryses was driven back along the shore towards his ship, dogs at his heels. The wild children of the camp chased after him throwing stones, jeering at his pitiable distress. There on the sand he fell to his knees and cried up to his divine protector.

  ‘Apollo Smintheus, lord of mice and men! Golden god of archery and augury. If ever my service and devotion have pleased you, avenge me now on these brutal Danaans. In mocking your devoted priest they mock you. Avenge me and avenge your honour. An arrow of yours for every teardrop of mine.’

  Apollo heard his prayer and answered it at once. He stormed down from Olympus, a quiverful of plague arrows at his back. He shot them first into the animals – the mules, horses and dogs – before turning them on the Achaean men, women and children.fn22 For nine days the deadly arrows rained down into the ships and along the whole beachhead. Contagion in a military camp strikes more fear than fire, ambush or any threat of enemy attack. The spread of the disease seemed unstoppable. The Achaeans were forced to pile up more and more corpses to burn. The stench of death was everywhere.

  On the tenth day Achilles, alarmed by the depredations in his own Myrmidon division and by the rapidly deteriorating spirit and morale of the entire army, summoned the prophet Calchas to a meeting of the principal generals – himself, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, Diomedes, Idomeneus, Nestor and Ajax.

  ‘Calchas,’ said Achilles, ‘you are gifted with the sight that looks into the dark purposes of the immortals and the unwinding of Fate. Tell us why we are being punished with this rain of death. Which god have we offended and how do we put it right?’

  Calchas clasped and unclasped his hands.

  ‘Speak!’ said Achilles.

  Calchas shook his head unhappily.

  ‘Are you saying that you do not know?’

  ‘Dear son of Peleus, I can see all too well,’ said Calchas; ‘but there are those here who will not want to hear the truth. If I speak openly I fear that it will enrage one who is powerful enough to have me killed for revealing what I know.’

  ‘Anyone who dares threaten a single one of the silver hairs on your head will have to deal with me first,’ said Achilles. ‘That I swear. You are under my protection. So speak freely.’

  Calchas took courage from this. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘It is clear what has happened. Shining Apollo has answered the prayers of his servant Chryses, whose daughter King Agamemnon refuses to return. This plague is his punishment for our treatment of one dear to him.’ He turned nervously towards Agamemnon. ‘Asking no ransom, you must return Chryseis to her father, King of Men. When you have done this, and made sacrifices to Apollo, only then will the pestilence lift.’

  Agamemnon stared in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘As long as Chryseis stays in your retinue, the sickness will continue to rage.’

  ‘Every time I ask you for a prophecy,’ said Agamemnon, his colour rising, ‘Every single bloody time, it’s nothing but gloom and doom. Your counsel is always for me to sacrifice something, my daughter, my gold, my retinue … Me, always me. Never any other king or prince, always me. Why should I lose Chryseis? She is beautiful, wise, clever and capable. She means more to me even than my own wife Clytemnestra back in Mycenae. I deserve her. She is mine by
right. And now you dare tell me to give her up for nothing. Not a scrap of recompense? I should strangle you for your impudence.’

  ‘By all means, majesty,’ replied Calchas smoothly, ‘but you might recall that Achilles has just promised to protect me. That might be something you want to turn over in your mind before you raise a hand in anger.’

  Achilles placed himself in front of Calchas, arms folded.

  The High King’s foul temper was fully on display now, but he retained enough of a sense of self-preservation to hold himself back from a physical confrontation with one he knew could best him in all the arts of close combat. Besides, in his heart of hearts, he knew that Calchas was probably right. As he always was. But the combination of the contemptuous gleam in Achilles’ eye and the realization that he would have to surrender Chryseis was more than he could bear. To be so humbled in front of not just every senior prince and general of his army but their guards and staff officers too – this was an unendurable assault on his pride and dignity. The news of it, doubtless exaggerated to make him look even more foolish and impotent, would spread across the encampment quicker than wildfire, quicker than the damned plague itself.

  ‘Very well,’ he said at last, in what he hoped was a tone of measured, even bored, magnanimity. ‘Odysseus, take a ship and return the girl to her father. But as compensation I must be allowed to take another girl to be my body servant. That is only right, is it not?’

  The others nodded their heads in assent.

  ‘That is fair,’ said Menelaus.

  ‘Good,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Then I choose the girl that Achilles moons over, Briseis – is that her name?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Achilles. ‘Never.’

  ‘Am I not supreme commander of the Achaean armies? Why should I always be the one to give up his treasure for the common good? I shall take Briseis. It is decided.’

  Achilles exploded with rage. ‘You pig-eyed sack of drunken shit!’ He drew his sword and fired his foam-flecked fury right into Agamemnon’s face. ‘You bastard son of a mongrel bitch … How dare you? I’ve come all this way to help you win back your sister-in-law. The Trojans have never done me any harm, but my Myrmidons and I risk our lives every day for you and your brother. When have I ever seen you in armour risking death? I should strike you down like the treacherous, whining, stinking, cowardly dog you are.’