Authors: Colleen McCullough
Both Thersites and Sinon sat without moving, their dark eyes riveted upon my face, now and again breaking their scrutiny of me to turn their heads and assess the calibre of the men they had been lumped with.
Suddenly Thersites cleared his throat. ‘Go ahead, sire, tell us the rest,’ he said.
I told them the rest. ‘So you see why I regard you as the most valuable men in the army,’ I said towards the end of it. ‘Whether your role is to transmit information to me or to concentrate upon making trouble for those who administer Troy, you will matter in the scheme of things. A safe system of communication will be set up, liaisons and meeting places arranged between those of you in more or less permanent residence within Troy, and those of you who will pay only fleeting visits to Troy. Though the work is very dangerous, you’ll be fully equipped to deal with the risks by the time you’re asked to start work.’ I grinned. ‘Besides which, it’s work you’ll find really interesting.’ I rose to my feet. ‘Think on it until I return to you.’
Diomedes and I retired to an anteroom, there to sit talking and drinking wine while the sound of voices rose and fell on the other side of the curtain.
‘I presume,’ said Diomedes, ‘that you and I will also enter Troy from time to time?’
‘Oh, yes. In order to control men like these, it’s necessary to demonstrate that we’re willing to take even bigger risks than we’ll ask of them. We’re Kings, our faces are recognisable.’
‘Helen,’ he said.
‘Exactly.’
‘When do we start to make our visits?’
‘Tonight,’ I said placidly. ‘I found a good conduit in the northwest section of the walls big enough to admit one man at a time. Its opening on the inside of the walls is more concealed than most, and isn’t guarded. We’ll dress as poor men, explore the streets, talk to the people, and escape tomorrow night the same way we got in. Don’t worry, we’ll be safe enough.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it, Odysseus.’
‘Time to join the others,’ I said.
Thersites had been elected spokesman for the group; he was on his feet waiting for us.
‘Speak, cousin of King Diomedes,’ I commanded.
‘Sire, we’re with you. Of those remaining when you left the room, only two decided against your offer.’
‘They don’t matter,’ I said.
His eyes mocked me; Thersites knew their fate. ‘The life you’ve outlined for us,’ he went on, ‘is a much better one than kicking our heels inside a siege camp. We are your men.’
‘I require an oath of each of you to that effect.’
‘We will swear,’ he said stolidly, knowing that the oath would be too awful even for him to break.
After the last man had sworn, I informed them that they would live in units of ten men, one of whom would be their officer, to be chosen by me after I got to know them better. However, I knew two men well enough right there and then: I appointed Thersites and Sinon the co-leaders of the spy colony.
That night we entered Troy with relative ease. I went first, Diomedes following close behind; the conduit just took the width of his shoulders. Once inside we slipped into a cosy alley and slept until morning, when we emerged to mingle with the crowds. In the big marketplace inside the Skaian Gate we bought honey cakes and barley bread and two cups of sheep’s milk, and listened. The people were unconcerned about the Greeks occupying the Hellespont beach; the general mood was cheerful. They regarded their towering bastions with loving eyes, and laughed at the idea of the Greek behemoth sitting impotent scant leagues away. One and all seemed to think that Agamemnon would give up, sail away. Food and money were plentiful, the Dardanian and Idan Gates were still open, and traffic proceeded through them as usual. Only the complicated system of lookouts and guards atop the walls themselves demonstrated that the city was ready to close the Dardanian and Idan Gates the moment danger threatened.
The city, we learned, was endowed with many wells of sweet water, and contained a large number of granaries and warehouses in which nonperishable food was stored.
No one contemplated a pitched battle outside; what soldiers we saw lolled or wenched, had left their arms and armour at home. Agamemnon and his grand army were openly laughed at.
Diomedes and I started work in the spy colony the moment we returned to the camp, and we laboured. There were those who showed great aptitude and enthusiasm, but there were others who flagged, who walked about with long faces. I had a quiet word with Thersites and Sinon, who agreed that the misfits should vanish. Of the three hundred original recruits I ended up keeping two hundred and fifty-four, and thought myself lucky.
NARRATED BY
Diomedes
A remarkable man, Odysseus. Even to watch him dealing with a slave was an education. At the end of a single moon he had those two hundred and fifty-four men exactly where he wanted them, though they were not yet ready for action. I spent almost as much time with him as I did with my men of Argos, but what I learned from him enabled me to control and direct my troops better in only half the time it used to take. There were no more signs of discontent in my contingent when I was away, no more quarrels among the officers; I used Odysseus’s methods to good effect. Of course I overheard a few jests, caught the sly looks which passed between my Argive officer barons whenever they saw me with Odysseus; even the other Kings were beginning to question the nature of our friendship. I wasn’t upset at all. If there had been truth in what they thought, I would not have minded, nor – to give everyone his due – was there malice or disapproval in it. All men were at liberty to assuage their sexual itches with whichever sex they preferred. Usually women, but a long foreign campaign meant women were less available. Foreign women could never take the place of wives and sweethearts, the women of one’s own land. Better under such circumstances to seek the softer side of love with a friend who fought alongside you in battle, held the enemy off with his sword while you picked up your own.
When autumn was full blown Odysseus told me to go and pay my respects to Agamemnon. I went, curious as to what was in the wind; Odysseus had been doing a lot of huddling with old Nestor of late, but hadn’t told me what was discussed during their huddles.
For five moons we had not seen a sign of a Trojan army, and the mood within our camp was gloomy. Food hadn’t turned out to be a difficult problem, as the coast well to the north of the Troad and the far shore of the Hellespont provided excellent forage. The tribes living thereabouts took one look at our scavenging parties and made themselves scarce. Which could not alter the fact that we were so far from home that we couldn’t contemplate returning on furlough. No orders had come from the High King to disband, or attack, or do
anything.
When I came into Agamemnon’s tent I found Odysseus already there, looking casual.
‘I might have known you’d not be far away when Odysseus turned up,’ Agamemnon commented.
I smiled, but did not speak.
‘What do you want, Odysseus?’
‘A council, sire. There’s much overdue for discussion.’
‘I agree entirely! For instance: what’s going on down in a certain hollow, and why can I never find you or Diomedes after dark? I intended calling a council last night.’
Odysseus extricated himself from imperial disfavour with all his usual grace. A smile began it; the smile which could win over implacable enemies, the smile which could charm a far colder man than Agamemnon.
‘Sire, I’ll tell all – but in council.’
‘Very well. Stay here until the others come. If I let you go, you mightn’t come back.’
Menelaos came in first, hangdog as ever. Nodding to us shyly, he hunched himself on a seat in the darkest, furthest corner of the room. Poor, downtrodden Menelaos. Perhaps he was beginning to realise that Helen was a very secondary component in the schemes of his more masterful brother, or perhaps he was beginning to despair of ever getting her back again. The thought of her stirred memories almost nine years old; what a little baggage she had turned out to be! Purely concerned with her own satisfaction, indifferent to what a man wanted.
So
beautiful! And
so
selfish. Oh, the dance she must have led Menelaos! I could never hate him; he was too small a man, more to be pitied than despised. And he loved her as I could never love any woman.
Achilles strolled in with Patrokles, Phoinix trailing them the way Odysseus’s hound Argos trailed him whenever he was in Ithaka. As faithful as he was vigilant. They made their obeisances, Achilles stiffly and with obvious reluctance. He was an odd one. Odysseus, I had noticed, didn’t really care for him. My own emotions about him, however, were sufficiently indifferent for me to make a private resolution to warn him to be nicer to Agamemnon. Even if the lad did lead the Myrmidons, he ought not to make his dislike so manifest. To find oneself abandoned out on a wing in battle is easily done – and very hard to pin down to anything more than routine bad generalship. When I saw the expression in Patrokles’s eyes I had to smile – now
there
was a tender friendship! At least on one side. Achilles took him for granted. He also burned far more for battle than bodily pleasure.
Machaon came in alone and sat down quietly. He and his brother, Podalieros, were the finest medical men in Greece, worth more to our army than a cavalry wing. Podalieros was a recluse, preferring his surgery to councils of war, but Machaon was a restless and energetic man who had the gift of command and could fight like ten Myrmidons. Idomeneus drifted gracefully through the door with Meriones in tow, using the importance of his Cretan crown and his position as co-commander to bow to Agamemnon rather than bend the knee. Agamemnon’s eyes flashed at the slight; I wondered if he thought that Crete was getting too big for his boots, but the High King’s face didn’t say. Idomeneus was a fop, but strongly built and a fine leader of men. Meriones, his cousin and heir, was possibly the better man of the two – I never minded feasting or fighting with him. Both of them had the same openhanded Cretan air.
Nestor trod briskly to his special seat, nodding in passing to Agamemnon, who took no offence at all. He had dandled all of us on his knee when we were babes. If he had a fault, it was that he tended to reminisce excessively about ‘the old days’, and regarded the present generation of Kings as cissies. However, one couldn’t help but love him. Odysseus adored him, I thought. With him he brought his eldest son.
Ajax arrived with his boon companions, his half-brother Teukros and his cousin from Lokris, Little Ajax the son of Oileus. They sat mumchance by the far wall, looking uncomfortable. I longed for the day when I would see Ajax on a battlefield (he had not been near me at Sigios), see with my own eyes those bulging arms wield his famous axe.
Menestheus followed closely on their heels, a good High King of Attika, but with more sense than to set himself up as another Theseus. He was not a tenth the man Theseus had been – but then, nor was anyone else. Palamedes was the last. He sat between me and Odysseus. It was impolitic for me to dare to like him when Odysseus hated him. Why, I didn’t know, though I gathered that Palamedes had injured him in some way when he and Agamemnon went to Ithaka to fetch him to the war. Odysseus was patient enough to bide his time, but he would have his revenge, of that I was certain. Not a hot and bloody revenge. Odysseus ate cold. The priest Kalchas was not present, a curious omission.
Agamemnon began stiffly. ‘This is the first proper council I’ve called since we landed at Troy. As you’re all aware of the situation, I see no point in belabouring it. Odysseus will put the case to you, not I. Though I am your suzerain, you gave me your troops gladly, and I respect your right to withdraw that support if you think fit, the Oath of the Quartered Horse notwithstanding. Patrokles, keep the Staff, but give it to Odysseus.’
He stood in the middle of the floor (Agamemnon had succumbed to the increasing cold and built himself a stone house, even if its presence suggested permanence), red mane flowing back from his fine face in a mass of waves, his great grey eyes stripping us to the marrow, to our true stature: Kings, but men for all that. We Greeks have always honoured foreknowledge, and Odysseus had it in full measure.
‘Patrokles, pour the wine’ was all he said to begin, then waited while the young man went the rounds of everyone. ‘It is five moons since we landed. Nothing has happened during that time outside the confines of a hollow near my ships.’
This statement was followed by a brisk explanation that he had taken it upon himself to imprison the army’s worst soldiers in a place where they could do no harm. I knew why he would not divulge the real purpose of that hollow: he didn’t trust Kalchas or some of the tongues, even if bound by oath.
‘Though we’ve held no official council,’ he continued in his smooth and pleasant voice, ‘it hasn’t been difficult to ascertain the main sentiments among you. For instance, no one wants to besiege Troy. I respect your views, for the same reasons Machaon might offer – that siege brings plague and other disease in its wake – that in conquering by such means, we too might perish. So I don’t intend to discuss siege.’
He paused to quiz us with his eyes. ‘Diomedes and I have made many nocturnal visits to the interior of Troy, where we’ve learned that if we’re still here next spring, the situation will change radically. Priam has sent to all his allies along the coast of Asia Minor, and they’ve all promised him armies. By the time the snow is off the mountains, Priam will have two hundred thousand troops at his disposal. And we will be ejected.’
Achilles interrupted. ‘You paint a black picture, Odysseus. Is that what we were called from our homes to endure – total ignominy at the hands of an enemy we’ve encountered only once? What you’re saying is that we’ve embarked upon a fruitless crusade, enormously costly and without prospect of being paid for by enemy spoils. Where’s the plunder you promised us, Agamemnon? What has happened to your ten days’ war? What has become of your easy victory? No matter which way we turn, defeat stares at us. And in this cause some of us here today connived at human sacrifice. There are worse defeats than to go down in battle. To be forced to evacuate this beach and return home is the worst defeat of all.’