Warriors in Bronze (23 page)

For a second time I sketched the sorry tale. Atreus stood rock-
still, one hand grasping sword hilt, the fingers of the other
traced a moulding on his cuirass
-
a boar's head, viciously
tushed. When I came to the scene in Aerope's room I stam­mered, the words sticking in my throat. 1 sent him a nervous
glance. A look like death rampaging ravaged his face.

I described the compact agreed with King Adrastus.

In a voice like the hiss of sword from sheath Atreus said,
'The doom I devise for Thyestes shall make men shrink from
the telling. Aerope ...' His face twisted. Visibly he controlled
himself, lifted his chin and stared at a garish wall-frieze of
warriors battling bulls. 'You bartered away the cities we took.
You did right. Adrastus shall stand by his bargain.'

He left me on the bench, returned to the throne and said,
'Sire, I honour the agreement Agamemnon made. Now, where
is your Host?'

Adrastus said smoothly, 'Mustered, as I promised, in the cita­del and town, ready to march at dawn.'

'At dawn?' Atreus looked at the sunlight shafting clerestory
slats. 'At dawn? Half the day remains, sire. Sound the trum­pets, assemble your men. I lead them to Mycenae directly
they've yoked the chariots!'

The king turned helplessly to his Leader of the Host. A won­dering admiration crossed Tydeus' swarthy features. 'It shall be
done, my lord. We'll be hammering Mycenae's walls before the
day is out!'

*
* *

The Host marched; and I remained in Argos. Courteously but
adamantly Adrastus refused to let me go: until Atreus as King
of Mycenae ratified the treaty I must remain his guest. The
king relented enough to permit Menelaus' departure. 'You're
the valuable hostage, Agamemnon,' he confided, 'the son
Atreus cherishes most. He doesn't give a damn for Menelaus.'

Guardian Hero alongside I anxiously paced the ramparts of
Argos' deserted citadel and saw nothing of Mycenae's bloodless
taking. Thyestes viewed the approaching Host, armour gleam­ing in westering sunlight, counted more than a thousand men
and considered the hundred-odd spears he commanded. He col­lected his family, including Pelopia and a son named Tantalus,
and fled by a secret postern above Perseia's stream. They
vanished in the mountains and were lost in evening dusk.

Submissive Heroes opened the gates; Atreus strode to the
palace, told Tydeus to man the watch-towers and post strong
guards on the walls. He summoned to the Throne Room every
nobleman in Mycenae - a handful had run with Thyestes - and
extracted from the treasury Eurystheus' crown and sceptre.
Under the wavering light of torches he seated himself on the
throne, removed his helmet and donned the golden crown and
proclaimed himself King of Mycenae, Tributary Lord of Tiryns,
Nemea and Corinth and lesser cities under Mycenae's sway.
The nobles loudly acclaimed him - Tydeus' Heroes, grimly
alert, lined the Throne Room walls - and Daughters sanctified
the ceremony by burning a lock of his hair.

A son of Pelops ruled the realm that Perseus founded.

Menelaus described all this at Argos the following day.
Adrastus smilingly signified I was free to go where I would and
loaded me with gifts - a gold two-handled cup, bronze three-
legged cauldrons, jars of oil and seven fleeces. The cunning old
rascal might well be generous: the tributes of Midea and Asine
henceforth flowed to his store rooms. Including, I remembered
sourly, those from my own demesnes.

Driving back with Menelaus I broached a topic we had sedu­lously avoided - an unpleasantness tucked to the backs of our
minds. 'Is our mother ... safe?'

The road descended a slope in a series of bumpy shelves;
Menelaus pulled to a walk and made a face. 'Thyestes refused
to take her. Left her to face the music alone. The man's an
abomination!'

The gradient eased; Menelaus whipped the stallions to a
trot. I said, 'Has Atreus seen her?'

'No. She's confined to her apartments, allowed one servant to
attend her wants, and a guard has been set on her door. No­body dares to mention her name to Atreus. I wouldn't either, if
I were you. He has changed greatly, Agamemnon, very taut
and grim, all the sparkle gone. Thyestes, by the way, is declared
officially banished.'

My brother had something else on his mind, some wretched
news he could not nerve himself to tell. He made a business of
guiding the horses round an insignificant pothole. I said, 'Come
on, Menelaus. What's worrying you?'

He flicked an imaginary fly from the offside stallion's quarter
and said, 'You won't like this. Directly we ran from Mycenae
Thyestes sent spearmen to sack your house and kill everyone
inside. All your slaves are dead.'

I hung on hard to the chariot rail. 'Clymene?'

'Clymene also.'

I could not speak. The rest of the drive has gone from my
mind like frost in noonday sun. I remember at journey's end
Mycenae's grey-gold walls, spearheads gemming the ramparts, a
picture blurred in tears. I prefer not to dwell on my feelings.
You might well deride such weakness: sensible men don't
grieve for slaves; they are nothing but cattle and often less
valuable. I will say only this: of all Thyestes' crimes it was
sweet Clymene's killing which drove me to a vengeance that
horrified the world.

I found Atreus in the Throne Room; he was tense, unsmiling
and very busy. 'A job for you, Agamemnon. Interrogate sur­vivors from Megara, and give me a casualty list - killed, miss­ing and prisoners. We must reconstitute the Host, replace dead
men with sons or kindred, re-allot lands which have lost their
lords, negotiate prisoners' ransoms. Adrastus wants his troops
returned, and we can't have Mycenae defenceless.'

'Have we so much time before the Heraclids attack?'

'Do you think I'd be sitting here if Hyllus and his ruffians
were pouring across the Isthmus? No. They haven't appeared
in force. Raiders are savaging Corinth's fields, but the citadel's
safe. No sign of a strong invasion - yet. They'll be back, so the
sooner we recoup the better.'

(It transpired that we gave the Heraclids so rough a handling
before the Thebans sent us flying that King Aegeus of Athens,
mourning losses, forbade his levy to advance beyond the
battlefield. Hyllus was hot for invasion, the Scavengers indiffer­ent. After bitter disputes the troops dispersed. Hyllus left a
detachment under Iolaus at Megara to harry Corinth; the rest
of the Heraclids retired to Thebes.)

Not a word did Atreus say about my mother, though the
scandal itself was common knowledge - chamber-slaves learn
everything, and you cannot stop them gossiping. He had
vacated the Marshal's apartments and moved to the royal
quarters: a splendid suite which occupied the topmost floor of
a wing above the Great Court. I was told he went to Aerope
only once - a short, low-voiced interview - and nobody knows
what passed, or ever will. She stayed immured, invisible but
somehow palpable, like a decaying corpse in an upper room
whose stench pervades the house.

I met Gelon, come from Rhipe with Diores, cataloguing oil
jars in the palace store rooms, and enlisted his help. I cross-examined returned Heroes and Companions while Gelon noted
their statements on papyrus sheets. Though much of the in­formation was sparse and confused - you don't see much in a
fight but your enemy's threatening spear
-
I was able to tell
King Atreus the losses were less than we feared. Roughly a
third of the Host was either killed or enslaved; the remainder -
Heroes, Companions and spearmen - eventually returned to
their manors. In one way and another the king restored
Mycenae's first-line strength, and the average age was younger
- no bad thing.

Atreus gave Menelaus his greaves, and land on the Argive
border. He granted me a rich estate a short ride from the cita­del, and another demesne near Tiryns. 'You'll still have
revenues from your Midean farms, but it's wrong for my suc­cessor - not for a long time yet, so take that smirk off your
face - to hold only tributary lands. Incidentally, I haven't had a
chance to discover what Eurystheus did wrong, and I want a
detailed report.'

During the hectic days that followed Atreus' enthronement I
annexed Gelon as my personal Scribe (Rhipe ran like a well-
greased wheel, and Diores declared him superfluous) and visited
my new domains, listed animals, freemen and slaves, arable
fields and pastures, manors, byres and ploughs, and calculated
the annual production. Gelon conned the records he made and
announced, 'You've become a wealthy gentleman, my lord.
You own nine cattle herds, four of goats, ten droves of pigs and
twelve flocks of sheep. I believe that only the king has more.'

'We're all landowners, more prosperous or less,' I answered,
'and the king is simply the richest. Atreus has taken all Eurys­theus' demesnes, and his possesions must be ten times mine atleast. So they should be - otherwise why be king?'

I gave Atreus, as commanded, my views on Megara's battle,
emphasized the orderless approach march and the extraordin­ary - to me - conduct of the fighting. 'Is it
really
customary,' I
inquired plaintively, 'for gentlemen to leave the field when
they think they've won enough booty?'

'Yes,' said Atreus. 'It is - but they're supposed to return to
the conflict when they've disposed of it somewhere safe. Why
else do Heroes fight? For honour, allegiance, glory, renown?
Nonsense! Forget the ballads our bards recite - those songs
depicting Heroes as they like to think they are: valiant, proud,
magnificent. Fish-feet! Your average Hero at bottom is a
rapacious, self-seeking, treacherous sod. The only sanction that
controls him is the threat of losing his lands. So he'll follow his
king on campaign, and make it a source of profit.'

This scathing portrayal scarred my illusions badly. I groped
for palliation. 'I think you're unjust, sire. War - and farming - is
the Hero's way of life. Gentlemen spend moons in practising
skill at arms and exercising their bodies.'