Warriors in Bronze (34 page)

We entered the arms of the bay. Rollers curved and broke on the sand; serried reeds like olive-green lances palisaded the mouth of a stream.

A penteconter lagged three lengths behind her sisters, her oarbeats ragged and faltering. 'We'll get that one at least’ the master promised. Faintly I heard orders shouted; the pirate's sail whipped free from the sheets; the helmsman hauled on his oar with all his strength. Larboard oars dripped clear of the water, starboard dug in short quick strokes. The galley spun in her tracks. Timed by an urgent pipe both oarbanks drove her straight for
Aithe.

'Down sail! Down mast!' our master roared. 'Out pole! Pre­pare for ramming!'

The penteconter's bows were aimed at our starboard quarter. Our helmsman pushed his sweep;
Aithe'
s bows swung larboard, angling away from the enemy. I watched the threatening prow approach, bow wave frothing, ram like a shark's fin slicing the waves. Why, I dithered, mouth gone dry, expose our beam to the ram ? I braced myself for the shock of collision. At arrow- shot range the master shouted 'Ship starboard oars!' and flung his weight on the steering oar.

Propelled by the sweep of the larboard oarbank
Aithe
turned like a pony. Her starboard rowers slipped oars inboard, grabbed spears and swords from straps. In a crash of riven timbers and splintering oars our ram gouged the pirate's hull. Her mast snapped short and the flying sail smothered her crew in the stern. Our seamen lifted the fending pole, butted beak on enemy strakes and thrust to release the ram.

The impact had flung me flat on the deck. I climbed to my feet and lugged out sword. Cretans swarmed over the sides and tumbled aboard. Our rowers rushed to meet them, and a savage little battle erupted in the forepart. I scrambled over benches, mast and sail and oars. A burly naked Cretan lunged a spear- thrust at my head; I lifted shield and parried the point, plunged blade to the hilt in his belly.

I needn't have doubted the oarsmen's endurance; inside a hundred heartbeats they had hurled the assailants back or overside into the sea. The sailors' weight on the pole pushed
Aithe
clear; with a creak and a crack the ram came free and we drifted away. Water surged through the shattered hole in the penteconter's hull. She listed and started to settle. Bowmen appeared at the side rails, arrows whirred and thumped in wood. A seaman shrieked, and tore at the feathered shaft spiking from his stomach.

'Damned Cretan bowmen!' the master grumbled, 'Out oars! Back water!'
Aithe
retreated crabwise and paddled beyond range. He eyed the sinking ship, men jumping overside and swimming for shore. 'She's done for. What d'you want now, me lord?'

The two remaining penteconters had rowed themselves on the beach, keels ploughed deep in sand. Crewmen raced for the dunes.
Aithe's
sister galleys, following hard on enemy sterns, were likewise preparing to beach. I remembered Atreus' warn­ing about raiding Cretan coasts. Be damned to that. The pirates were in my grasp and I meant to close the fist.

'Get under way. We'll beat those fellows to shore and kill them as they land.'

Spaces in the oarbanks yawned like gaps in teeth: rowers had been wounded in the fight. Keels rasped on shingle, oars rattled inboard and the squadron's crewmen waded ashore, weapons in hand and baying for blood. They swarmed over sand and tussocky grass in pursuit of vanishing Cretans. I ordered
Aithe's
men to stay on the beach, slay the sunken galley's crew as they swam ashore, and afterwards to fire the two beached penteconters.

Malia lay inland a short way beyond the dunes: the devas­tated skeleton of a large and prosperous city. Gaunt grey roofless walls, great tumbled stones and fallen pillars, weeds flourishing in cracks of the Great Court's paving, sand-drifts covering floors and piled at the bases of buildings. A brittle coating of ash hurled long ago from Thera encrusted open surfaces and crunched beneath my feet.

Mud-walled, grass-thatched hovels squatted among the ruins and vomited terrified families when swords appeared from the sea. Some of the pirates we chased attempted to rescue their kin; others fled for the foothills; a few made a stand behind rubble and walls and shouted defiance.

We scoured Malia, hunted stone-flagged streets, searched dilapidated houses, granaries and store rooms, slaughtered every male and burned the huts. Many escaped, dodging be­tween broken houses and hiding in woods on the outskirts. We rounded up women and children, save a handful killed in the turmoil - slaves were in great demand in Nauplia's market. A sprinkle of cattle and sheep and goats grazed on the fields out­side : some we took to replenish our larders, the rest we killed. A search in the huts before burning produced cauldrons, bracelets and golden cups: the pirates' loot from merchant ships and pillaged coastal towns.

By mid-afternoon it was over, and our men returned to the beach. Pillars of smoke coiled skywards from burning penteconters. I stayed for a while exploring Malia, wandering deso­late streets and poking into the palace's shattered remains, walking beneath tottering archways of tremendous hewn-stone gates and examining an altar surmounted by marble bulls' horns. Nowhere was there a sign of fortifications. I speculated on the nature of Cretans in olden times who dared to live for centuries in undefended cities.

Back at the bay I stripped my armour, wallowed in the shal­lows and scrubbed off sweat and blood. We buried our seven dead and feasted royally on pirate beef and mutton. The more personable female captives, distributed among galley crews, were taken into the dunes and comprehensively raped. I en­joyed an acrobatic tumble with a dark-haired Cretan filly - a virgin, as I proved - and relished the contrast between her squealing maladroitness and Ariadne's talents.

While rustling rollers lulled me to sleep on the sand I con­sidered the repercussions of our foray. In flagrant disobedience of Atreus' instructions I had sacked a Cretan settlement; and King Catreus would undoubtedly be displeased. Forebodings disturbed my slumbers; and I was glad to board
Aithe
again and feel the clean salt sea-wind blowing my hair, and sway to the thrust of the oarbanks that carried me home to Nauplia.

* * *

I described the episode to Atreus: he was bound to hear sooner or later, probably in garbled versions, and I judged it best to tell my story first. He did not seem greatly interested. As well you rooted them out: a warning to other pirates, Sidonians and Sicilians,' he observed. 'I'll soothe Catreus' injured pride - send him a herd of horses or such.' His manner throughout the interview was moody and withdrawn, his mind occupied else­where. There were more grey streaks in his hair, new lines on the careworn countenance; the beginnings of a stoop dimi­nished his height.

He beckoned me to a chamber above the Throne Room and pointed from a window across the valley. On the crest of a hill in the distance I saw figures aswarm on a tawny mound of newly-dug earth.

The king said, 'I am building my tomb.'

Which did not necessarily indicate a morbid concern with death though, glancing at Atreus' expression, I felt a moment­ary doubt. Royal tombs from Mycenae's past pimpled the hill­sides surrounding the citadel: Sthenelus, Electryon and others before them. (Perseus, who founded Mycenae's glory, lies at Argos.) Every tomb, so far as I know, was built in the occu­pant's lifetime.

Atreus took me to the site. The scale of the work was enormous. A deep canyon excavated in a hillside led to a vast circular pit dug from the summit downwards, later to be lined with cut stone slabs and roofed by a dome. The sepulchre dwarfed all others, Zeus' tomb a cairn in comparison.

'A new dynasty rules Mycenae,' Atreus explained gravely. 'The sons of Pelops' memorials should not be less magnificent than the Perseids' they succeed.'

I tactfully concurred. An army of slaves and craftsmen worked on a long-drawn task. The Isthmus Wall, then building, also engaged workmen by the thousand. While our expanded maritime trade procured slaves in numbers from abroad these two undertakings together must strain our labour resources. Miletos and other cities provided plenty of slaves, but there was always competition, the supply not inexhaustible. The men would be better employed on the land, in mines and quar­ries and shipyards. However, one does not argue with kings, certainly not with Atreus; and my reservations stayed behind my teeth. Nor was it tomb construction (a dismal pursuit, in my opinion: I have not put mine in hand and never will) which troubled his mind and ploughed the bitter lines from jaw to cheekbones. He called Menelaus and me to the Throne Room's deserted ante­chamber and disclosed the black obsession which gnawed in his brain like a rat.

Thyestes remains at Elis. My spies report he is concocting schemes to oust me from the throne. King Augeas isn't privy to his plans - he's anyway beyond the age to engage in risky ventures - but my brother is finding support among young, adventurous, ambitious Elian Heroes. He is also trying to suborn nobles in our tributary cities. He has ripped my honour in shreds,' said Atreus in a voice like a falling sword, 'and now he aims at my crown. Thyestes must be destroyed.'

'Surely,' I protested, 'he reaches for a star beyond his grasp. How can an exile collect forces enough to defeat Mycenae's Host - the strongest in Achaea?'

'He has found a tool: Phyleus, King Augeas' eldest son. Years ago Phyleus and Hercules, then in bondage to Augeas, started some treacherous intrigue - I can't remember the details. Augeas banished them both. Phyleus has recently returned to Dyme, a short day's march from Elis across the northern border.'

'Another banished outlaw lacking a following,' Menelaus said.

'On the contrary. Phyleus' relations in Elis consider him badly treated and strongly support his cause. Thyestes en­courages the malcontents, went to Dyme and saw Phyleus. They've made a pact. In return for fomenting a palace uprising, deposing old Augeas and putting his son on the throne, Thyestes has won Phyleus' promise of military support against Mycenae.'

I said contemptuously, 'Are we afraid of an Elian Host?'

'No - although they can mobilize a formidable array. The real danger is internal. If Thyestes can rouse a rebellion in Mycenae and her tributary cities to coincide with invasion from Elis he has a fair chance of success.'

I said, 'He'll have to dangle tempting rewards in the shape of treasure and land - neither of which he possesses. So I don't see how—'

Thyestes will
promise
rewards,' said Atreus harshly. 'Would you stake
any
Hero's loyalty against an offer of gold and demesnes ? I can count on my fingers the lords I would trust to resist a big enough bribe.'

Menelaus said, 'Have you no idea who the potential traitors are?'

'Copreus, for one, here in Mycenae. Three in Corinth - not Bunus - three in Nemea, one or two others. Surmise based on intelligence reports; I have no proof. Nor do I need it. I could have them killed tomorrow on the off-chance - and conse­quently make more enemies among their kindred. Until they actually show their hands it isn't worth the trouble.'

The antechamber had not been swept since the morning's audience; a mess of petitioners' litter strewed the chequered marble floor: a shattered wine jar, bits of bread and biscuit, a kilt belt's broken buckle, a cloak crumpled in a corner. I picked up a papyrus fragment some Scribe had dropped, and absently studied an indecipherable scrawl. 'So, sire, what do you intend to do?'

'Send you and Menelaus to tempt him back to Mycenae.'

The paper fluttered from my hand. 'Persuade Thyestes to leave Augeas' protection and enter the lion's den? You must think the man insane!'

'Not so, Agamemnon. Thyestes, like any exile, yearns for his native land. A vulnerable weakness. I shall send him sumptu­ous gifts, assure him all is forgiven, promise him safe conduct and guarantee his life. His estates shall be restored intact - provided he stays in Mycenae. I believe the bait sufficient. Moreover' - a sardonic inflexion - 'once ensconced in the palace he can more easily weave his plots against my life.'

'I don't understand.' Menelaus rubbed his russet hair. 'You said Thyestes must be - um - eliminated. Yet, having brought him here, you are bound by your oath to let him live.'

Atreus said tonelessly, 'He shall not be killed.'

I said, 'Your purpose, sire, escapes my comprehension. You invite a scorpion to nestle in your boot.'

'I know what I'm doing. Now remember this. Before you meet Thyestes you must learn by heart the terms I offer and, before witnesses, repeat them to him exactly as I have stated them to you. Without the smallest variation, Agamemnon.'