Warriors in Bronze (4 page)

But I cannot honestly say I missed my mother.

A delicate subject.

Aerope was then about twenty-five years old, small and dark,
vivacious and voluptuous and fatally attractive. Lively hazel
eyes in an oval face the colour of old ivory, a flawless skin,
short tip-tilted nose and wide red mouth. Her open bodice
revealed imperious breasts, nipples painted scarlet, inviting the
clasp of a lustful masculine hand.

Lest sunlight darken delicate complexions many of the
palace's noble ladies lounged all day indoors gossiping and
prinking, only venturing out at evening to take the air in litters
or to lie on rooftop couches watching the world go by. Not
Aerope. She handled the reins as cleverly as any Companion,
and followed boar hunts dressed like a man in kilt and deerskin
boots, galloping her chariot over the roughest going. Amid all
her entertainments she found time, in successive years, to bear
me and Menelaus and our sister Anaxibia: a harmless little
creature who lived in her mother's apartments and hardly
enters my story.

Aerope had forbidden us unannounced visits to her rooms
since a day when Menelaus and I, both very young, trotted in
unexpectedly and found Atreus caressing her in a most fami­liar way. We were neither surprised nor shocked; to small
children the relationships of adults are both esoteric and un­interesting; but Atreus, flushed and annoyed, ordered us
sharply away. We ran out, hurt and chastened.

On the occasions, nowadays infrequent, when I visited my
mother I expected to find Atreus there - and usually did. She
inquired sweetly after my health, hoped I was not overworked,
and exclaimed at my physique - I was growing fast and
developing hard muscles. Atreus amiably ruffled my hair and
tweaked an incipient beard. I answered as manners dictated
and left when politeness permitted. These were duty visits,
which did not altogether account for the awkwardness I felt
when talking to them together, an embarrassment never sensed
when I met them individually.

Which was strange, for where else should my father be

except at my mother's side ?

* * *

A messenger driving lathered horses arrived from Tiryns with
news that flung the palace into confusion. That remote, maj­estic figure King Eurystheus of Mycenae hastily called his
Councillors to the Throne Room and, behind closed doors,
debated an intelligence which was obviously disturbing. With a
fourteen-year-old's avid curiosity aroused I loitered in the
vestibule until the Councillors, looking serious, spilled into the
Court. Atreus came out last, walking slowly, chin in hand. His
eyes lighted on my face and the absent expression cleared.

'Anxious to discover what it's all about? Well, there's no
harm and' - he spoke half to himself - 'it's time you began to
learn the intricacies of government. Word has come to Tiryns
that Hercules sacked Pylos and killed all King Neleus' sons save
only Nestor.'

Everyone knew of Hercules, Warden of Tiryns, who years
before had left his native Thebes under a cloud, fled to My­cenae and taken service under King Eurystheus. He was a
mighty warrior whose deeds resounded throughout the land
and far beyond the seas.

I said so.

'Maybe,' said Atreus sourly. 'The king at first employed him
as a huntsman, and Hercules - by nature a rover - roamed all
over Achaea destroying beasts of prey. If you judged by his
bragging you'd conclude that no one else had killed lions and
boars before. Over the years he developed into a sort of hatchet
man and troubleshooter - Eurystheus allotted him all kinds of
unpleasant labours. He's collected during his travels a ruffianly
gang, scum of every description, commanded - so far as they
can
be commanded - by his son Hyllus.'

'How did it happen,' I asked, 'that Hercules became Warden
of Tiryns?'

Atreus sighed. 'The man is a robber, a freebooter, and more
than a little mad. He lifted cattle and horses; and angry rulers,
knowing him Eurystheus' man, sent embassies to complain.
The king recalled Hercules and, to keep him quiet, gave him
charge of Tiryns.''Yet he has managed to sack Pylos.'

'He led a warband into Arcadia in pursuit of cattle raiders.'
Atreus gritted his teeth. 'Fair enough - but he lost the rustlers-
track and instead marched clean across Achaea to attack a
realm with which we have no quarrel! This is the kind of
anarchy we had in olden times before Perseus branded order on
the land!'

'So,' I said, 'what now?'

'The king has summoned Hercules to Mycenae to account for
his invasion. Eurystheus
must
control the lunatic, or he'll have
a dozen rulers reaching for our throats! I wish I could devise a
way of getting rid of him once for all. The trouble is,' said
Atreus sombrely, 'the blaggard has become a legend in his life­time, and attracts worshipping supporters - Heroes who should
know better - besides his riffraff rabble.'

A visitor three days later gave Atreus the chance he wanted.

Journeying with a small retinue a seaman from Iolcos ar­rived on a rainswept winter's day. He announced himself as
Jason, a son of Iolcos' ruling House, and Eurystheus made him
welcome. He had come with a proposal which he explained to
the king in Council on the morning after a banquet in his
honour. I was present in the Hall as Atreus' squire: the
Marshal insisted nowadays I attend him on formal occasions,
often at the expense of my training on the Field.

The Council consisted of older, wiser Heroes on whom
Eurystheus relied. They assembled in chairs in front of the
king, while Atreus and two senior Scribes - Curator and Pro­curator
^[1]
- stood either side of the throne, ready to tender
expert advice on war or economics. Eurystheus invited the
visitor to state his case.

Jason was a stocky man with a neat brown beard, a broken
nose and harsh storm-beaten features. His eyes were black and
piercing; he had a mariner's rolling gait and spoke in jerky
sentences, wasting never a word. He brought information, he
declared, about a land called Colchis, far beyond the Hellespont
on the shores of the Euxine Sea. Had anyone heard of it? No
one had. Very well: he wanted to mount a seaborne expedition
and sail to faraway Colchis. Therefore he had come to mighty

Mycenae, Achaea's wealthiest realm, to seek silver to pay his
shipwrights, supplies to stock the ship and men of courage
and purpose to form the crew. Iolcos, a penurious kingdom,
rent by dynastic dissension, could provide neither one nor the
other.

'What,' asked Eurystheus benignly, 'is the object of so hazar­dous a voyage?'

Jason said tersely, 'Gold.'

The Council stirred in their seats. Nothing makes men jump
like the mention of gold, second only to iron in rarity and
preciousness. Atreus said sharply, 'How do you know? How
can you be certain there's gold in Colchis?'

'Had it from a Thracian who went there overland. Terrible
journey. Took him three whole years. Lost an arm on the way,
but brought back this.' Jason fumbled beneath his cloak and
produced a sheepskin pouch. He loosened the string and poured
in his palm a yellow glittering sand.

'There you are. River gold.'

Eurystheus stirred a fingertip in the little heap. 'It looks
genuine enough. Atreus, send your squire to fetch a goldsmith.
We'll have this assayed.'

When the man arrived Eurystheus tossed him the pouch.
'Examine this thoroughly, and ascertain the worth in sheep and
oxen.' The smith squatted beneath the clerestory where the
light was strongest, unfolded his scales and juggled weights,
gritted the gleaming grains between his teeth and muttered to
himself.

Atreus said, 'There may be gold in Colchis, Jason, but have
you any proof there's enough to make a voyage worth while?'

'The Thracian's word, no more. A river flows through Col­chis to the sea; the bottom's awash with gold. The locals peg
fleeces to the bed. Wool filters the silt and traps the gold. After
a time you haul up a golden fleece.'

The Curator stooped and whispered at length in Eurystheus'
ear. The king meditatively examined his fingernails, and said, 'I
am reminded of a factor which may bear on our discussion.
Achaea contains no indigenous sources of gold; we import all
we have. The bulk comes from Egypt: a supply which over the
last few years has been drying up because their campaigns
against the Hittites absorb Egyptian resources. The situation is
becoming serious: we need gold to pay for imports. So we
must find alternative sources, or trade will quickly decline.'

The audience nodded gravely. I suspect, with after-know­ledge, the king's exposition passed well above most Councillors'
heads. While Heroes cannot be faulted in questions of war and
weaponry their mastery of economics is sometimes frail. But
Atreus grasped the point, and said, 'I agree. We should at least
examine the Colchis deposits.'

The goldsmith returned from the hearth, bowed to the king
and mumbled, 'My lord, the sample is pure high-quality gold,
and worth ten oxen or fifteen sheep.'

Eurystheus lobbed the pouch to Jason. 'We will support your
venture. I shall let you have warriors from Tiryns and My­cenae. Silver will be given you, and ten cartloads of corn and
oil. How many ships are you taking?'

'One. A fifty-oared galley. I call her
Argo.'

'You know your business best.' Eurystheus looked doubtful.
'I'd suppose you needed more. However. Have you recruited
crewmen from the lands you traversed while journeying here?'

'Not many. They believe it a fool's errand.'

'When people realize I'm supporting the expedition you'll
have a flood of volunteers. One condition, Jason. Half the gold
you find will be delivered to Mycenae. Agreed?'

'Agreed, sire.'