Warriors in Bronze (11 page)

Battle chariots are gaudy vehicles, painted blue and yellow
and crimson, frames gilded and inlaid with ivory and decorated
by silver plaques. Ivory medallions sometimes adorn the reins -
stupid and risky, Phylacus growled, shaking a grouchy head.

A Companion has to master more than driving. I learned the
art of selecting horses by make and shape, the blood-lines,
breaking and training, grooming, feeding and stable routine -
every aspect of horsemanship. I spent more time in stables then
racketing round the Field of War behind two pulling Kolaxians,
and soon acquired the distinctive smell which hovers around
Companions. Aerope, when I visited her, ostentatiously nosed a
phial of scented oil; Atreus sniffed and laughed. A fine healthy
reek, Agamemnon. No matter - Phylacus allows you'll make an
exceptional driver: you have the gift of hands. And so you
should, with your pedigree - Pelops gained his kingdom by
winning a chariot race!'

My instruction continued throughout the stormy winter
months; neither cold nor rain nor sleet deterred a hardy,
waterproof Phylacus. With the coming of spring he put me
through the aspiring Companion's test: a narrow serpentine
course marked by fragile earthenware jars which culminated
in a low mud bank and the Field's twin watercourses raging in
spate. I took it all at a searing gallop, broke two jars and
finished triumphant, chariot and horses intact.

'You'll do’ Phylacus said. 'Not bad at all, after only five
moons' training. Some take as many years to pass the test.
Don't think,' he continued grimly, 'you know it all. There's a
lot to learn yet, which only battle can teach you.'

I was eager to be appointed Companion to some Hero,
preferably at Tiryns or Corinth - I longed to see new faces and
taste a fresh environment; Mycenae had cloistered me too long.
Atreus, when I broached the matter, shook his head. 'You're an
important person, Agamemnon, and likely to become more so
as time goes by. Unfitting you should serve a petty lord. No - I
shall make you one of my Companions. What greater honour'
- a wide grin - 'than to drive the Marshal of Mycenae into
battle? Sooner than you think, perhaps. You never know with
that Hercules mob in Tiryns. They behave worse when their
leader's away - drowned by now, I hope
-
than they did when
he was Warden.'

Atreus explained. Thyestes had sent him bitter complaints
about the conduct of Hercules' followers. Since all were land­less men they subsisted on Tiryns' resources and drained the
citadel's store rooms. Thyestes quoted a list of offences: they
entered the palace precincts unbidden, demanded the choicest
meat and oldest wine, became uproariously drunk and invaded
the ladies' apartments - one ruffian had been killed by an out­raged husband, and a full-scale riot barely averted. They looted
merchants' shops, raped the peasants' women and stole their
sheep and cattle. Finally, a few days since, a gang commanded
by Hyllus raided a herd of horses on one of the Argos estates.
King Adrastus of Argos threatened reprisals. Thyestes humbly
apologized and sent to Mycenae for help.

'It seems fantastic,' Atreus commented, 'that a scant two
hundred rascals can stir up so much trouble. Of course they're
tough and ruthless, desperadoes to a man, every one recruited
by Hercules himself for just those nasty qualities. A mistake to
treat them lightly - but they have to be removed.'

When the Council discussed Thyestes' tirade Atreus recom­mended a punitive expedition be sent immediately to Tiryns,
there to join the garrison in exterminating the Heraclids - as
Hercules' kin and followers were generally called. King Eurys-
theus demurred. He felt the bonds of service and the obliga­tions he owed Hercules forbade killing his relations while the
man himself was away on the
Arga
venture: an act of shock­ing treachery the whole world would condemn. Moreover, he
continued, descending to practicalities, Hercules sprang like
himself from the ancient House of Perseus, and through his
father Amphityron had powerful kinsmen in Thebes. A mas­sacre might lead easily to war. The king allowed that the
Heraclids be banished from the realm; any severer measures
were politically unwise. Atreus argued that to leave the brood
alive merely postponed a crisis: it left the Heraclids free to
gather allies at leisure and descend upon the kingdom when
they judged the time propitious.

Eurystheus, however, would not be moved.

Over the next few days Atreus perfected his plans. Surprise
was the key; he therefore shunned a levy of arms which would
disturb the entire countryside, make Hercules' followers won­der and put them on their guard. He decided on a warband
formed from the palace Heroes and those who owned estates
around Mycenae. To provide an invincible force - odds of three
to one, he judged, should prove decisive - he sent to Argos
requesting similar action. Adrastus, smarting under Hyllus' out­rage, willingly agreed. On an appointed day the warbands
would meet at Argos, swoop together on Tiryns, seize and
disarm the Heraclids and escort them to the Isthmus north of
Corinth. Thyestes was informed and told to warn his Heroes,
providing he could do so without alarming the enemy.

Menelaus had arrived with Thyestes' deputation. Since last
we met my brother had gained both weight and height - even
so I topped him by half a head. At sixteen years he was already
full-grown, chested like a wine jar, broad and brawny. I kissed
his cheeks and pulled his auburn hair and asked him how he
did in rocky Tiryns.

'Well enough. I'm no longer Thyestes' squire, The Lady be
praised. I passed the tests a moon ago, and one of the palace
Heroes took me as a Companion.'

'I also. I drive for Atreus.'

'Lucky man. When shall we win our greaves? Any hope of a
fight, do you think, when we sling the Heraclids out?'

I hunched my shoulders. 'Doubtful. The Marshal aims to take
them by surprise.' I hesitated, and said carefully, 'Do you see
anything of Plisthenes ? How has he taken our mother's - um -
re-marriage?'

A sentinel paced behind us, slanted spear on shoulder. (We
were standing on the rampart walk above the northern pos­tern, overlooking an ancient oak tree which sprouted from
Zeus' tomb. A peasant deposited an offering on the surround­ing circle of tall stone slabs.) When the sentry passed beyond
earshot Menelaus said, 'You can't really tell: he shows no
outward signs of knowing it's happened. Maybe he doesn't. He
lives in Thyestes' apartments; the pair are thick as thieves.
And, to Thyestes' credit, Plisthenes has become much more ...
sane. He dines frequently in the Hall, and seems perfectly
aware of all that's going on.'

'Atreus kept him secluded in Mycenae. Perhaps mixing in
society restores the balance of his mind.'

'Perhaps. It doesn't matter any more: the Marshal has got
what he wanted. And yet .
.
.' Menelaus tickled an embryonic
beard. 'Plisthenes gives me the shudders. So harmless, almost
pathetic - but you feel there's something sinister about him.'

'He's our father, Menelaus.'

'Yes. I still find it hard to believe.' Menelaus slapped the stone
that bonded the rampart's crest. 'A gloomy conversation, Aga­memnon, and we won't be long together. I leave for Argos
tomorrow with the embassy to King Adrastus. Let's go to the
stables and admire your stud. They say Atreus' teams are the
envy of all Achaea!'

I linked an arm with my brother's, and we sauntered to the
palace.

* * *

Ten days later Atreus led a warband from the portals of
Mycenae. Proud, excited and a little apprehensive I restrained
the frisky stallions which pulled the Marshal's chariot. (A frown­ing, sulky Phylacus drove his second car in the rear.) Atreus in
full panoply of war-plumed boar's tusk helmet, thrice-
skirted brazen armour, a ten-foot spear and treble-hide waisted
shield - quizzically eyed my handling of the reins. I wore a
Companion's mail of the time - the convention of sparing
Companions in battle was rapidly wearing thin - a metal skull­cap, bronze-studded leather corselet and a short stabbing sword. The company numbered a bare four hundred: thirty-odd
Heroes in chariots, each with his personal spearmen, and a
handful of Cretan bowmen. Scouts on shaggy-coated ponies
trotted in the van. We took neither baggage carts, pack mules
nor donkeys; a minimum of slaves to wait upon the nobles
shambled at the tail. This was a quick in-and-out expedition,
Atreus declared; and for the journey to the Isthmus we would
find supplies in Tiryns.

I still remember the thrill of my first approach to war: the
column swathed in dust, a smell of thyme and horses' sweat,
the sun-shot glint of spears, gleaming brazen armour, helmet
plumes like rippling flames, the crunch of wheels on the ill-
paved road King Sthenelus had fashioned over fifty years before.
('Time we re-laid these roads,' the Marshal remarked as the
chariot lurched on the flags, 'and you could have avoided that
hole with a scrap more care!') He smilingly regarded my
unconcealed enthusiasm and damped my aggressive hopes. 'No
greaves for you today, my lad - we're simply rounding up a
mob of scoundrelly bandits!'

We reached Argos before noon. King Adrastus greeted
Atreus at the gates; a warband half our strength mustered in
the citadel's streets to avoid attracting attention. The king, a
wizened man whose jutting beaky nose curved to a chin like a
warship's ram, had passed beyond the age of leading whirlwind
raids. He presented his Leader of the Host, Tydeus, a black-
bearded black-browed warrior very short in stature and nearly
broad as he was long. An immigrant from Calydon, he had won
Adrastus' favour and married his daughter.

Tydeus presented a fourteen-year-old stripling clad in Com­panion's armour. 'My son Diomedes,' he said. 'He keeps pester­ing for adventure, and I judged this little foray a gentle intro­duction for a youngster green in war.'

I liked Diomedes on sight. Short, square and stocky, with the
promise of strength and agility in wide-framed shoulders and
supple hips. Corn-coloured hair, a snub-nosed, square-jawed
face and honest brown eyes. An engaging directness in speech
and manner concealed, as I learned in after years, a mind as
keen as a newly honed blade. He walked to my chariot, grasped
the rail and examined the restless horses.