The Gates Of Troy (31 page)

‘So, I hear you’re a king now. You look like it, too: majestic appearance, powerful bearing, grey hair . . .’

‘Thanks. I wish I could say the same for you, but you look as young and handsome as you did ten years ago.’

‘Listen, have you spoken to Agamemnon yet?’ Diomedes asked, lowering his voice confidentially.

‘I spoke to him the night before we left for Troy,’ Odysseus replied, surprised by the sudden change of direction. ‘But not since we arrived at Aulis. Is something wrong?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve been his friend for a long time and I know him well, but since all this business started with Helen and Troy . . . well, he seems different.’

‘Concerned, perhaps?’ Odysseus suggested. ‘Or pressured? It’s understandable.’

‘Perhaps. But you’ll be able to judge for yourself soon.’

And with that he would say no more.

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE
C
OUNCIL OF
K
INGS

T
hey heard the clamour of voices long before they reached the edge of the camp. After they passed the last tent, Talthybius and Eteoneus led them through a belt of sycamore trees to a pair of tall, grim-looking standing stones, placed there by an ancient people long since forgotten. These formed the gateway to a large, natural amphitheatre that opened out to the east, giving a view over the crowded bay far below. They walked out into the midst of at least a hundred kings and other nobility, who were crammed on benches around the rocky slopes of the arena, talking noisily.

Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus recognized many of them from the courtship of Helen in Sparta. Most prominent was Great Ajax, the king of Salamis, whose vast bulk took up most of the bench he was sitting on. On his left – the antithesis of the giant warrior – was his half-brother, Teucer the archer, who sat twitching and blinking like an owl and constantly wiping his large nose on the back of his hand. To Ajax’s right was his namesake, Little Ajax, so called for his short stature and to distinguish him from his titanic friend. To Eperitus’s disdain, he saw that the man’s pet snake – a hideous brown serpent with a long, pink tongue that constantly darted from its scaly mouth – was coiled about his shoulders. Its master fixed Odysseus with a sneering look and spat into the dirt.

Odysseus, who had not forgotten their contest for the hand of Penelope, chose to ignore the Locrian king and looked about at the other familiar faces on the benches. Menestheus, king of Athens, was seated beside Idomeneus of Crete; both were handsome and richly dressed, with noble looks that befitted the great power each man wielded. King Elphenor was there, who ruled over the island of Euboea on the opposite side of the straits, as were Agapenor, king of Arcadia, Tlepolemos, king of Rhodes, Iolaus, king of Phylake, and many other renowned names. Among the lesser men were Palamedes, seated on the bench nearest Agamemnon, and Philoctetes of Malia, son of Poeas. The last time Odysseus and Eperitus had seen the latter, he was a young shepherd boy who had been awarded the magical bow and arrows of Heracles for agreeing to light the great hero’s funeral pyre; now he was a tall, lean young man with a chaotic mop of light brown hair and a wispy beard on his chin. But he was not the only one who had changed in the past decade. Some of the former suitors to Helen had aged visibly; others seemed to have grown in stature; still more had grown in other ways, allowing their bellies to expand through overindulgence and too little fighting.

At the far end of the basin were the Atreides brothers, Agamemnon and Menelaus, seated on high-backed wooden chairs. Unlike the rest of the council, they watched the newcomers in stony silence. Agamemnon, to Eperitus’s surprise, looked as if he had not slept for days: there were dark circles under his eyes, which were bloodshot and heavy-lidded, and his usually meticulous hair was unkempt. More shocking was the way his rich clothes seemed to hang about him. Agamemnon had always boasted a well-fed, athletic physique, similar to the other warriors gathered about the arena, but in the time they had been away on the mission to Troy the Mycenaean king had become drawn and thin.

Standing at Agamemnon’s shoulder was an old man wearing a purple cloak and a golden belt that glittered in the warm evening light. King Nestor of Pylos wore his grey hair short and kept his beard neatly trimmed; though not a tall man, he boasted a powerful physique and the hard-bitten aspect of a seasoned warrior. His nose had been broken in some battle or boxing match of the past, and the top of one of his large, disc-like ears had been sliced off many years before by an opponent’s sword. Like the Atreides brothers, he had his eyes fixed on the newcomers as they stood in the centre of the arena.

Though not one member of the council had been allowed to bring their weapons – a wise precaution in view of the arguments that often occurred between nobility – a dozen heavily armed soldiers stood behind the Atreides brothers, with one more by each of the standing stones, guarding the entrance to the meeting. They were clearly an elite, probably from Agamemnon’s personal guard, who were dressed in ceremonial armour of an antiquated style unfamiliar to Odysseus and Eperitus. Their highly polished bronze breastplates were supplemented by further bands around the stomach and waist, as well as shoulder-pieces and neckguards that rose above the chin. On their heads they wore domed leather helmets with cheekpieces tied beneath the chin. Horsehair plumes sprouted from the top and fell across the back of the neck, while rows of boars’ tusks covered the helmet to give both ornamentation and protection. They wore inlaid greaves over their shins and carried tall, ox-hide shields with an outer layer of polished bronze that gleamed fiercely in the light of the setting sun. Their spears, swords, axes and daggers stood as a reminder to the gathered kings that, though this was a council of equals, Agamemnon still held the greatest wealth and power.

Agamemnon nodded to Talthybius, who beat his stave three times on the ground.

‘My lords,’ the herald announced in a strong, clear voice that commanded silence from everyone gathered, ‘I present King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes, and King Diomedes of Argos, son of Tydeus.’

‘Please take your seats,’ said Agamemnon, pointing to an empty bench by one of the standing stones. ‘Talthybius – the wine, please.’

The herald nodded to a steward, who clapped his hands twice. Immediately a swarm of slaves appeared from the line of trees that topped the lip of the amphitheatre, bringing kraters of diluted wine to the members of the council. As soon as each man had been served, Agamemnon stood and raised his cup in both hands, tipping a small amount into the dirt at his feet.

‘Most glorious and mighty Zeus, Lord of High Heaven, father of the gods, grant us clear minds as we debate the future of Troy, and if this mighty fleet is to sail with vengeance to the shores of Ilium, give us the wisdom to choose a single leader, one who will unite the Greeks against our common enemy and lead them to certain and uncompromising victory. Now is the time for men to act, for better or worse, and I call upon you to witness the oaths that we take today and see that they are kept.’

Agamemnon drained the rest of the wine and handed the krater to his steward. The other members of the council stood as one and poured their own libations, offering silent prayers to whichever of the gods they honoured most. Eperitus, like Odysseus and Diomedes next to him, prayed to Athena, and after his few words asking the goddess to ensure there would be war against Troy sat back down.

He adjusted the thick cushion that had been handed to him by a slave and turned to look at Agamemnon. The king sat back in his chair and rested his chin on a fist, his golden breastplate reflecting the purple skies above and his red cloak turning scarlet in the dimming twilight. His tired blue eyes surveyed the faces of the men crowded on the rows of benches, dispassionately assessing whether they were for the war or against it. Agamemnon’s cold demeanour had not thawed in the ten years since Eperitus had first met him, and the shadow of exhaustion resting on him did not seem to have reduced his ability to disguise his feelings beneath a remote exterior.

‘Brother,’ Agamemnon said, turning to Menelaus. His voice was soft but clear, and the few conversations that continued quickly died away at the sound of it, leaving the amphitheatre hushed and expectant. ‘Brother, for the sake of those who don’t yet know, take the floor and recount for us what happened in Troy.’

‘With pleasure,’ Menelaus growled, walking out to the middle of the arena and facing the gathered Greeks with his fists firmly on his hips. ‘Palamedes, Odysseus and I have just returned from Troy. Against my better judgement, I allowed Odysseus to persuade me into seeking the return of my wife and son through
diplomacy
, even though I’ve been itching to wash my spear in Trojan blood ever since Paris stole my family from me.’ The Spartan king held his shaking fists out before him and received a murmur of approval from the benches. ‘But despite our peaceful intentions, they treated us like a pack of curs. Priam – this fornicating old lecher the Trojans call their king – made us wait a whole day before he’d see us.
Us
– kings and princes of Greece! We slept the night outside the walls of the citadel, in the home of a Trojan elder, and when Priam finally allowed us into his presence, he didn’t even ask our names or our business in Troy. I had to tell him the purpose of our mission myself, and then they nearly killed us!’

‘Foreign dogs!’ Ajax boomed, giving rise to a chorus of angry shouts from the other kings and nobles.

‘If I’d known how these Trojans treated their guests,’ Menelaus continued, raising his voice above the others, ‘I wouldn’t have listened to all this talk of diplomatic solutions. As far as I can see, the only diplomacy the Trojans understand is at the end of a bronze-tipped spear!’

There was a great roar of approval from the audience, a sound that brought a smile to Eperitus’s lips and made the blood pound through his veins. Powerful voices were shouting for the fleet to sail immediately and for Troy to be crushed, though as the Ithacan captain looked around at the many faces he saw some that were silent and thoughtful. Then Odysseus rose from the bench beside him and walked out to stand beside Menelaus, who, after revelling in the tumult for a few moments longer, eventually returned to his seat.

Odysseus waited patiently for the last cheer to die away, then held his hands up.

‘Well, friends,’ he began, ‘I think we can put any ideas of a peaceful solution behind us. I may have been the one who suggested a tactful approach, but let me say this – there are none among you keener for war than I am now!’

Eperitus looked at his king with surprise, wondering at his sudden and suspicious change of mind. All around him the benches erupted once more with belligerent glee, as great-voiced kings vied to outdo each other in their anti-Trojan fervour. Again Odysseus waited for silence to return before holding out the palms of his hands.

‘And why should a man of peace suddenly want war? Well, a peace mission can have more than a single purpose. Menelaus – our great friend who beat us all to the hand of Helen – may think I was wasting my time with all this talk of diplomacy, but can he deny that we now know the strength of Troy’s army? Or the number of her warships waiting in the great bay before the city walls? Or the size of that bay and its openness to attack? What about the breadth of the surrounding plain, and its capacity to support an invading army? Not to mention the ability of the walls, towers and gates of Troy to withstand a siege? Who of you would know the strengths and weaknesses of that city, and how best to attack it if we hadn’t been there already and sized the place up for you?’

Odysseus paused as the men before him murmured among themselves, some nodding in quiet approval of the Ithacan’s great foresight. Eperitus, of course, knew differently, and could only admire his king’s ability to turn a situation to his advantage.

‘And let me make it clear to you, Troy will not fall in a day, or a week, or maybe even a year. The city’s walls are strong, tall and in good repair – they won’t fall to anything less than the most determined of attacks. Those of you who think we’ll storm in like Heracles with his six ships are going to be disappointed. And the armies of Priam and his allies haven’t allowed their swords to rust or their bellies to expand as we have. While we Greeks have been enjoying the fruits of peace, the Trojans have been mustering their forces to
attack us
!’

Odysseus paused for a third time, waiting for the shock of his news to die away before continuing.

‘But let no man think these Trojans will prove easy opponents. They’ll be ready for us, and what’s more, they’ll be defending their homeland. If we attack too soon, without proper preparations, then we’ll pay the price. My advice is that we should treat them with respect and caution, and build up our forces slowly and professionally over a year or two . . .’

‘To Hades with caution!’ thundered Ajax, making Teucer jump beside him. ‘I say we launch at dawn and take bloody revenge to their walls! Look at the army we’ve gathered! Look at the fleet at anchor down there! What reason do we have to be cautious? Let’s slay the men and take their women and gold for ourselves. Nothing else matters!’

The ranks of warriors, who had fallen silent at the thought of long preparations, now gave a huge shout of enthusiasm, but before Odysseus could respond a man stood on one of the higher rows and wagged his finger accusingly at the gigantic warrior.

‘I’d heard you were a buffoon, Ajax, and now I know it’s true.’

Suddenly the arena fell silent and every face turned to look at the speaker. Last of all, Ajax turned his head and looked up with disbelieving eyes. But instead of finding himself opposed by a powerful king, he was greeted instead by the deformed features of a hunchback. One eye was lost in a tight squint, but the other bulged out in a ferocious stare that roamed from face to face.

‘In fact,’ the hunchback croaked, ‘judging by all the oafish cheering, I’d be surprised if there are enough brains in this arena to fill a helmet.’