Warriors in Bronze (29 page)

'So. We hold our tongues and hope for the best. No point in arguing ourselves silly any more. I'm going to sleep.' Menelaus pulled the blanket to his chin, and added sombrely, 'I foresee a bucket of trouble spilling from this night's work.'

* * *

Atreus held Pelopia's wrist and married her in the presence of Thesprotus and his Heroes. (Thesprotus later received a gener­ous bride-price - oxen, chariots, horses and gold - a cynical twist Thyestes must have enjoyed.) The king and his bride drove to Corinth in borrowed chariots, and he lay with her that night. Next evening they reached Mycenae, and Atreus presented his queen to an assembly of nobles in the Throne Room. I saw astonished expressions, heard whispers murmured in slanted ears. Pelopia had been recognized; before the sun had risen twice the scandal would be broadcast throughout Achaea.

Atreus that day had ten years to live. In all that time I was never certain he discovered her real identity. Certainly no one told him, but a truth universally known is hard to conceal from the person most deeply concerned. Any little incident could have given him an inkling - a change of conversation heading for dangerous channels, a stilted avoidance of awk­ward connotations, incautious remarks overheard. If so, he never openly betrayed his knowledge.

I speculate on this because, as time went by, his attitude towards Pelopia subtly altered. Although his loving lacked the cheerful abandon Aerope had destroyed he was always, in the early days, kindly and attentive. Gradually his manner changed; he saw her less, avoided her company, discouraged her from dining in the Hall and confined to state occasions her appearances in public. Towards the end he quitted the bedroom they shared and slept in a chamber at the farther end of the royal apartments. Frequently he summoned concubines to his couch.

An enduring air of sadness lingered around Pelopia, a constraint in all she said, a guarded watchful manner as though hidden dangers lurked. She seldom smiled; the vivacity I had glimpsed when she spoke with her ladies in Thesprotus' Hall had gone for good. I believed I knew her reasons for unhappiness. I could not have been more wrong.

Eight months after the marriage Pelopia bore a son. A bonny, bouncing baby, I was told. A pity no one strangled him before the cord was cut.

* * *

Before returning to Tiryns I had a long discussion with Atreus and his Curator; they reminded me most forcibly that the ships being built in Nauplia's yards must go trading overseas directly keels touched water. (Merchantmen and warships are identical in build, their functions interchangeable at the peep of a hostile sail.) Though Mycenaean ships from Nauplia already voyaged the seas from Sicily to Rhodes the commerce must be expanded and additional markets sought.

We had arranged for Colchian gold to replace the trickle from Egypt the Hittite wars had throttled; similarly we must tap fresh sources for other products: tin from Etruria, ivory, silver and cloth from Phoenician Sidonia; and establish trading stations far to the north in Thessaly, southwards in Cyrene. Atreus assured me our mariners and merchants needed no en­couragement : predatory and adventurous by nature they asked only for ships and cargoes - which the kingdom would now provide.

I wiped my brow, and demanded more Scribes to help keep Gelon's accounts. Hardly the kind of job, I groused, a Hero wanted chucked in his lap. Atreus said sternly, 'This is your introduction to the business of ruling a realm. Kingship doesn't solely consist of galloping into battle and battering your enemies to bits. Very little, in fact. Most of the time you sit on your buttocks totting up debits and credits.'

Because my new responsibility entailed control of all My­cenaean fleets Atreus granted me the title of Master of the Ships: a style not borne since Poseidon, Gelon averred. An empty reward, I told him grumpily, for a task demanding the knowledge and skills of seaman, Scribe and merchant com­bined.

We returned to Tiryns, and worked for many moons from dawn to dark. I shall not bore you with the details. Gelon and his assistants kept the accounts; I consulted master mariners, navigators and traders; chose sea-routes and destinations; sent commercial envoys - reluctant noblemen from Tiryns - to negotiate with rulers in distant lands across the seas. I voyaged myself to the nearer islands, Crete and once to Sicily; and built
a
second wharf in Nauplia's harbour.

Before two years were out Mycenae had a hundred ships at sea.

These maritime concerns were sometimes interrupted. A warband I sent to harry Goatmen in the Arachneos Mountains returned at half its strength. The commander, a saturnine Hero nursing a bandaged arm, informed me morosely he had not only been heavily outnumbered - which did not matter much with Goatmen - but Iron Men in quantity reinforced the nomads. He showed me his shield. 'Hand-to-hand fight on a hill, and a Dorian bounded down like a boulder loosed by a land­slide. I fronted my shield to ward his slash. Look at the results.' I fingered a cleft in the treble-hide shield from upper rim to waist. 'I tried to parry the swipe that followed; his sword lopped my blade like a leek. Iron, of course. I didn't wait for more.'

The incident confirmed information from other parts of Achaea. Elis, Sparta and Argos reported increasing numbers of Iron Men stiffening the Goatmen. Chasing the hairy savages was ceasing to be a sport. Hitherto they had raided unprotected herds, occasionally but rarely attacking a carelessly guarded manor. Strengthened by Dorian allies they no longer waited for winter to descend from their mountain fastnesses. The charac­ter of the hit-and-run warfare Goatmen normally waged was changing for something more dangerous.

Soon afterwards a hysterical runner from Lasion reported an outlying manor burned to the ground, the occupants mas­sacred, stock driven off or slain. Lasion was in the Arachneos foothills; the town paid tribute to Mycenae; so I mustered every fighting-man available in Tiryns and force-marched through a sweltering summer's day. The Warden had manned the walls; the gates were closed and barred. I considered these panicky precautions surprising and displeasing. Lasion is a tiny fort, the garrison small and defences weak - but fancy a citadel standing to arms for Goatmen roaming loose! The Warden received us gladly, and crowded the warband within walls already packed by husbandmen and animals from the country­side.

I demanded details.

They came on here after burning the manor,' the Warden said. (I've forgotten his name; Goatmen killed him a year or two later.) 'Normally, as you know, they raid and run for the hills. A shepherd warned us, and judged their strength around three hundred. In Lasion,' he added defensively, 'I have three Heroes and fifty spearmen. So I sounded Alarm and closed the gates. As well I did.' The Warden pointed. 'We haven't much of a town; they destroyed the little there was.'

I looked at a scattering of ruined, burnt-out houses, wisps of smoke still drifting. 'Did they storm the citadel?'

'No. Stayed beyond arrow-shot and yelled abuse - gibberish we couldn't understand. Then they went. If ever they try an escalade I doubt we'll keep them out.'

'How many Iron Men did you count in the pack?'

'Fifty or so. Easily distinguished: short leather corselets, small round shields, bronze or iron helmets. Stand out from the Goatmen like falcons among, sparrows.'

When a citadel, however puny, was forced to close its gates, warning beacons flared in tomorrow's skies. I recalled my experience near Rhipe, where a Goatman band of forty con­tained a single Dorian. The proportion had increased alarm­ingly over the years and indicated a Dorian emigration, an effort to settle permanently in Achaea's mountain wilderness. If their aggressiveness was anything to reckon by they would not be content to remain in the hills for long.

I abandoned my gloomy reflections and said, 'We'll chase the brutes at daybreak. Meanwhile keep your garrison standing to arms.'

In the greyness of early morning we easily followed the trail - all warriors are herdsmen, accustomed from childhood to tracking wandering cattle or predatory beasts. The swathe the Goatmen beat was plain as a stone-paved road. We crossed the flatlands below the Arachneos foothills, left chariots under guard - Companions and twenty spearmen - and ascended steep forested slopes. Climbing rocky mountainsides in armour is a pastime worth avoiding. Even in the tree-shade I broiled in a brazen cuirass, tripped on my body-length shield, tangled the ten-foot spear in bushes and branches. Leather-clad spearmen skipped ahead; sweating, swearing Heroes clambered behind.

A hill crest won from a morning's toil revealed the trail - broken twigs and flattened grass, cattle-hoof scrapes on rock - dippping to a valley and soaring to another crest beyond. Suc­cessive ridges in forested tiers mounted to peaks still streaked by winter snow. I unbuckled my helmet strap, wiped sweat from my temples and said, 'I'd hoped the Goatmen would camp in the hills, but they must have marched all night. Too long a start - high in the mountains by now. We'll have to give up.'

Disconsolate and hot, the warband retraced its steps. While crossing a fan of shale to the gully where the chariots were harboured I heard a shout and slid down the slope in a shower of stones. Companions and spearmen surrounded the chariots. Men and horses dying and dead littered the ring like fallen petals.

'A rearguard ambush,' Talthybius said. 'Forty-odd Dorians.' He pressed a hand to his cheek; blood trickled through his fingers from a gash that bared the bone. 'They hid in a ravine. Waited till you were gone, then rushed us. We weren't ready; chariots and horses dotted all over the place. They did a lot of damage before we could rally and close. We formed a circle round the chariots and fought for our lives.' Tears diluted the blood on Talthybius' face. 'Your bay stallion is dead, my lord. Panicked and broke his yoke, and one of the bastards speared him.'

I comforted my young companion, tore strips from a dead man's tunic and bound his jaw. I counted casualties: five horses and seven men killed and twice as many wounded. Four Iron Men lay dead. I examined a long grey sword, cautiously thumbed the edge and winced from a hairline cut. A terrible weapon. It rendered our bronze blades obsolete as the Goat- men's chipped-stone spearheads. I sheathed the sword and gave it to Talthybius as recompense for his wound. (He sold it to a Tiryns goldsmith and received ten sheep for the iron's value. I told him he'd been swindled.)We rearranged horse teams (you can't drive one-horsed chariots), loaded badly wounded men, towed the horseless cars behind and shambled back to Lasion. Our reverse frightened the Warden, who demanded reinforcements from Tiryns or Mycenae. Bad-temperedly I answered that, to judge by our experience, every citadel in Achaea would shortly plumb its resources to stem the Goatmen's attacks. I inspected Lasion's walls, and recommended he set workmen to increase the height and breadth, build a tower above the gate, dig a well within the citadel, construct fortified watch-towers on surrounding hills to observe the Goatmen's approach.

'You make it sound, my lord,' he bleated, 'as though Lasion will be permanently under siege.'

'Not only Lasion,' I said sourly. 'Within fifty years there won't be a citadel standing if the Dorians aren't stopped.'

I may have been wrong; I hope I am. Today, in effect, the Iron Men hold Arcadia. I hurried to Mycenae to impress the peril on Atreus.

* * *

A maidservant tilted a silver jug, dripped water over my hands and patted my fingers dry on a soft woollen cloth. Squires brought baskets of wheaten bread and poured wine from golden mixing bowls. Carvers beside the hearth-fire sliced roasted pork and sirloin; a slave slid a loaded platter on the table under my nose. My dagger tested the tenderness. Satisfied, I said, 'The Goatmen, sire, may make our outlying citadels un­tenable.'

A cheerful, noisy cpmpany thronged the Hall. The king feasted Echemus, Lord of Arcadian Tegea, passing through Mycenae to visit a physician in Epidauros who guaranteed curing piles. The guest of honour, taciturn, craggy-faced, stocky and strong, sat on Atreus' right; Pelopia on his left; I occupied a footstool at his feet. Noblemen and ladies ate at tables placed, as usual, in widening rings from the hearth, leav­ing a lane from throne to fireside so that the king could see the fire and feel its warmth.

Atreus rested his head on the throne-back, and picked his teeth with a fingernail. 'I am quite aware of the problem,' he said, 'and one day I shall hack it by the roots. The Goatmen alone are merely a nuisance; supported by iron-armed Dorians they're a menace to civilization. Dorians are the people we have to exterminate. Not easy - and there's a catch: Thebes protects Doris and encourages the Iron Men's raids. So, to tear the roots, Thebes must be destroyed - which won't be done by wishing, Agamemnon. Thebes ranks near Mycenae in influence and power. Our preparations must be thorough, our strategy faultless, our forces overwhelming. You can't mount major wars in a day. It will all take time.'

'Meanwhile,' I said, 'the Iron Men leave Doris in droves to settle in Arcadia.'

Echemus belched and patted his stomach. 'I agree. They swarm in the mountains north of Tegea. I hear - can't vouch for the facts - Dorians have occupied small towns in the depths of Arcadia. May be nonsense. Sinister if true.'