Warriors in Bronze (32 page)

Wearily the champions grasped hilts and hefted shields and hobbled within sword-reach.

Hyllus tried a lateral cut; his sword clanged the shield's bronze rim. Echemus' riposte was oddly slow, a faltering jab that ended in air. He tottered and his shield swung wide. Hyllus shouted hoarsely, sprang forward, sword aloft. Echemus drop­ped on a knee, gripped hilt in both his hands and thrust up­wards beneath his enemy's armoured skirts.

The blade pierced genitals, bladder and guts. Hyllus collapsed writhing round it like a beetle spitted on a pin. Echemus dragged out the sword, Hyllus screamed in a high thin voice. Echemus put a foot on his chest, rested the bloodied point on his teeth and rammed the blade down hard.

Hyllus arched his back, kicked legs out straight, lay still.

The Heraclids moaned, a rasping noise like shingle raked by a comber's backwash. Argives and Mycenaeans brandished spears and bellowed triumph. Atreus spoke to his Companion; the chariot rolled forward and halted within earshot of the stricken pair of Heroes who had seen from near at hand their leader die.

'Will you honour the agreement?' Atreus called. 'Hercules' son is dead. Your vow demands that your Host immediately retire.'

Fury distorted Iolaus' sullen countenance. 'Your man fought foul. Companions are inviolate in battles between gentlemen. The compact is void.'

'Hyllus didn't stipulate conditions - and you know very well that that archaic convention is nowadays seldom observed. Do you mean to break your oath? The idea of the combat, I gather, was to avoid unnecessary slaughter.' Atreus swung an arm to the serried ranks behind him. 'If you insist on battle, Iolaus, who do you think will come off worst?'

Iolaus studied the double line of chariots, wings projecting far beyond the Heraclid flanks, the spearmen massed behind. Horses don't stand still, they are always shifting and stamping; movement rustled and shimmered the ranks like the waves of a glittering sea, a bronze-tipped cataract poised to engulf all creatures that stood in its path.

He turned his head and looked at his Host; and bit his lower lip so hard blood trickled down his beard.

'Well?' said Atreus gently.

'I abide by the oath,' Iolaus said in muffled tones. 'No one alive today on this field will ever see Heraclids south of the Isthmus.' Eyes like points of fire glared into Atreus' face. 'I swear by The Lady, sire, my descendants will raze Mycenae and obliterate her site from the memory of man.'

He rapped an order. The Heraclids lifted Hyllus' corpse and crammed it in a chariot, turned and galloped away. After much disputation, gesticulation and shouting Iolaus persuaded his reluctant warriors to observe the vow their leaders had made. Slowly the Host dispersed; the backs of the rearguard faded from sight on the Isthmus road. Atreus watched them go, his countenance still as stone.

Adrastus' chariot rattled from the rear and pulled up along­side the king. 'What's all this?' he huffed. 'I thought we were going to attack whether Echemus won or lost. Now you're letting them go!'

'Changed my mind,' said Atreus. 'All promises made by a Heraclid are made on Hercules' behalf. And however much I dislike that bombastic, braggart ruffian he's never been known to break his word. In our lifetime and our sons' I believe we'll be free of the Heraclids. For the price of three men's lives,' Atreus ended sombrely, 'the boon is cheap.'

(I always thought it a barren excuse for Atreus' mental somersault. During one of the king's approachable periods - rare in his later years - I ventured to ask his real reason for sparing the Heraclid Host at Corinth. 'You don't think Hyllus offered single combat from the goodness of his heart, do you?' Atreus inquired acidly. 'He saw himself outnumbered and out­manoeuvred, and tried to retrieve the situation by an appeal to ancient traditions, to the duels fought when Zeus' sons were carving out shares of the land. Could have made sense when they led two men and a boy apiece. Three thousand troops paraded on Corinth's plain, and battles aren't decided that way any more. But Hyllus' proposal handed me a diplomatic vic
_r
tory. Public opinion is very strong in our warrior society. However shifty and treacherous Heroes actually are, they all pretend they adhere to gentlemen's codes. If the Heraclids break the pact and try to mount an invasion they won't find a single ally, not a Locrian or Athenian, not even a swine-faced Theban. I had Iolaus pronged on the fork of Heroic honour - so why waste Mycenaean lives?'

'And if Echemus had lost?'

'I'd have charged directly he hit the ground.'

'But... Heroic honour...'

Atreus sighed. 'I had something Hyllus hadn't - power.

Power and honour don't share the same bed, Agamemnon.'

* * *

There was a mighty feast in Corinth that evening. Echemus, the guest of honour, sat on the king's right hand. I have never met a modest Hero; the Tegean was no exception. He re­counted the struggle cut by cut; with every cup of wine his adversary grew bigger and stronger, his own feats more amazing.

"Never thought Hyllus would fall for that old trick,' he hic­cupped. 'Pretend to be tired and lower your guard - hoary as the hills. If I'd been him I'd have backed away, not charged like a drunken bull. Otherwise he fought damned well - doubt anyone else could have beaten him.'

Corinth's resident bard hastily composed some adulatory verses and sang them in the Hall. Verbose and far too long, but the tune had a rhythmical beat; I recognized Orpheus' hand. I have heard the poem sung often since, round campfires and in Halls; exaggerations swell with every telling, Echemus' deeds grow miraculous.

I wonder whether, in ages to come, poets will recite huge lies about me?

Next morning Atreus drove a queasy, blear-eyed Bunus to the Isthmus' neck where it joins the Corinthian Plain. He demarcated a line eight thousand paces long, and commanded the Warden to build on the line a wall from shore to shore. The wall would be twenty feet high, a tower at every hundred paces, a fort in the centre and one at each end. 'Set every slave you have on the work,' said Atreus. 'I'll send you more from Mycenae. The wall will be finished within two years - or Corinth will get a new Warden.'

Bunus blinked, and massaged throbbing temples. I said, "You told Adrastus, sire, you accepted Iolaus' promise. If so, why raise these massive fortifications? No one except the Heraclids threatens Mycenae.'

'Their terms have a limit - fifty years. I build for posterity, Agamemnon, against the day the Heraclids return.'

The huge grey stones are standing now, a barrier pierced by a single gate, watch-towers manned day and night, forts gar­risoned by spearmen. Wasteful in troops and stores, and no­body dreams of attacking the wall. I often wonder whether it's worth the expense. The Heraclids have settled in Doris - native Dorians nowadays live mostly in Arcadia - and give us no trouble.

With Thebes and Troy destroyed and Heraclids contained perhaps I shall evacuate the Isthmus Wall. Perhaps.

soon
after Hyllus' death I received disturbing reports about threats to our overseas trade.

Piracy is an ancient profession and has a respectable history. When your ships on a trading voyage seize a galley more weakly manned or land to sack a village and capture slaves you call it tapping new markets; when somebody does it to you the crime is condemned as piracy. So long as the practice is kept within bounds losses and gains are roughly balanced - but things get out of hand when inconsiderate ruffians make piracy a whole-time occupation.

This was happening now; and the offenders came from Crete of all unlikely places.

Gelon says that in ages past, before the kings from Egypt landed, Crete had ruled the seas. After Zeus' forbears con­quered the island they maintained Crete's naval supremacy until Thera's devastation destroyed their ports and ships. Zeus crossed to Achaea, and afterwards Phoenicians ruled the waves. Knossos, however, revived, and under Minos - a Cretan royal title; similarly Pylos calls her rulers 'Wanax' - defeated Phoenician fleets and gradually restored her ancient maritime mastery.

In Achaea her resurgence passed unnoticed: Zeus' sons were busily establishing their kingdoms, fighting the natives and one another for shares of the land. Around Acrisius' time, when life had settled down, they found Cretans raiding Achaean coasts and waylaying ships.

Such maritime bullying was more than Heroes could toler­ate. Acrisius mounted a seaborne invasion, chose a time when Minos had taken his fleet to wage war on Sicily, landed un­opposed and burnt Knossos to the ground. The Sicilians slew Minos and sank his ships; so Acrisius had no difficulty in placing Asterius, an Achaean noble, on Knossos' throne and thenceforth ruling Crete as a tributary kingdom.

Asterius placated native Cretans by assuming the Minos title; then raided a Phoenician town and carried off Europa, a local chieftain's daughter. From these two spring the Cretan Royal House. The ruling Minos, third since Asterius and an aged man who sired my maternal grandfather Catreus, was therefore Achaean by blood. Though Mycenaean hold on Knossos loosened over the years, and tribute has been remitted, he naturally kept on friendly terms with his powerful Achaean neighbours.

Hence, when a battered penteconter - a twenty-flve-a-side oared galley - limped into Nauplia's harbour and her master related a running fight against ships undoubtedly Cretan I found it hard to believe him.

Other sources confirmed his story. Survivors described a roving Cretan squadron raiding islands lately colonized by set­tlers from Mycenae. Ships voyaging on the Rhodian route mysteriously disappeared: a surviving crewman swore the enemy Cretan. I reported the tales to Atreus, who sent an em­bassy to Minos protesting against his seamen's depredations.

Minos denied responsibility. He said a band of pirates occa­sionally used Malia as a base - a shanty town arisen on the ruins of a city the earthquake waves engulfed centuries before. He had sent warbands to evict them; but the pirates embarked at sight of a spear and fled beyond the horizon.

Atreus summoned me to hear his delegates' reports. 'All very unsatisfactory,' he declared. 'Minos, if he wanted, could easily crush the nest. They probably pay him a share of the loot for beaching their ships at Malia, and the king makes a nice little packet.'

I said, 'Shall I take a squadron and burn the place?'

'Nothing much to burn, from what I hear - a scatter of huts among fallen stones. Besides, Minos would certainly take um­brage, and we don't want to start a war. Knossos can launch a powerful fleet.'

'By all accounts the pirates have only three galleys. With your approval, sire, when next I hear of a strike I'll sail a triaconter squadron - six fast ships - and try to intercept them.'

'Yes. You may be lucky. Blasted nuisance, though - six ships less on the trade routes.'

I returned to Tiryns, and hadn't long to wait. One of our galleys beaching at Cythnos found a fire-wreathed town and three sails disappearing in sea-mist on the skyline. A dying fisherman confirmed the raiders Cretan. (You can always tell a Cretan by his accent: they speak our tongue with guttural intonations derived from the native language.) The news was two days old. I launched my triaconters and, hoping the pirates were heading for Malia, set a course for Melos in hope of cutting them off. Thanks to a following wind we reached Melos four days later, and saw not a sign of a ship except a peaceable galley from Troy.

Hunting pirates at sea is like searching for an amber grain in sand. They might be anywhere. In spring-bright days we cruised across sunlit seas, sailed from island to island and landed to make inquiries. At nightfall we hauled the ships ashore and lighted driftwood fires to cook our meals, after­wards reposing on soft warm sand, sipping from wineskins and watching the stars swing slowly across the heavens. A carefree life untrammelled by conventions governing life in citadels: no audiences or parades or ceremonial dinners, no Scribes or stewards or slaves, my sole attendant a fourteen-year-old squire called Eurymedon.

Nowhere did we find word of Cretan pirates. We sailed round Naxos and put in at a shelving, sheltered strand where ships could be safely beached - not so easily come by on these rocky island coasts. A large fishing village clustered round the haven, boats bottoms-up on the beach, nets spread out to dry, a penteconter tilted on her keel. The appearance of a six-ship squadron roused frenetic activity: spearmen ran to guard- towers and gathered on the shore, women and old and young hastened towards a rock-built fort on a hillside above the town. In those days Mycenae's maritime grip had hardly begun to close; no dominant power ruled the sea; coastal settlements constantly feared attack.

Within six years I made the seaways safe.

The rowers of my triaconter -
Aithe
was her name - backed water beyond arrow-shot; her leather-lunged master bawled our identity and asked permission to land. Rowers grounded keels, jumped overside and hauled the hulls ashore. I splashed to the beach, greeted a greybearded elder clad in a leather cuirass which drooped on his skinny frame like a windless sail, and shortly related our mission. No - he had neither seen nor heard of Cretan pirates.