Warriors in Bronze (42 page)

(I heard scandalous stories whispered later about the re­lationship between Leda and her swan: impossible calumnies probably spread by victims whom the bird had pecked and buffeted.)

Pleasant though my social diversions were, however amusing or entertaining the people I met, I kept in mind the serious purpose bringing me to Sparta. In casual conversations during banquets, games or hunting I broached to King Tyndareus the question of alliance. I trod carefully: from a purely Spartan viewpoint Mycenae gained the advantages, Sparta few or none. Her neighbouring kingdoms posed no threat - though Tyndareus, like Atreus, expressed a doubt concerning Nestor's in­tentions - and quarrels that raged in lands to the north were distant enough to leave her immune. Sparta therefore pursued a policy of armed neutrality and discovered no useful benefits in allying herself to others.

I emphasized the Theban menace, and Thebes' hold on the Orchomenos comlands, a monopoly now consolidated by Ad­rastus' defeat. Sparta, overpopulated like other realms, suffered perennial shortages of wheat - a scarcity stressed by the savage famine not so long before. We were driving to a lion hunt when I raised the point; Tyndareus sprang his horses and said, 'All Adrastus' fault. He should have mobilized a proper Host. You can't take Thebes with two men and a boy.'

The trouble was,' I hinted, 'Argos has no regular allies to call on, no cities outside the realm to help in time of need.'

'Including, if I may say so, Mycenae. Atreus kept well clear."

'Atreus, sire, as you surely know, was committed to another war. Otherwise,' I lied, 'he would certainly have joined Adras­tus' Host and destroyed the power which prevents Orchomenos supplying your granaries.'

'H'm.' Tyndareus fisted the reins left-handed and cracked his whip. 'Are you proposing an offensive alliance for a future joint campaign against Thebes? If so, Agamemnon, you're wasting your breath.'

'Certainly not. King Atreus' strategy is purely defensive. He fears, with reason, a Theban war on Mycenae. Were we con­quered, sire, Argos could be overrun in the following year. Then it's your turn. Against separate disunited kingdoms Creon might be victorious; against Sparta, Mycenae and Argos to­gether he has no chance at all.'

Tyndareus steered carefully between gnarled olive trees that overhung the track. 'Has Argos agreed a confederacy?'

'Not yet. Her losses in the war have disorganized the govern­ment; Adrastus seems incapable of ruling. Diomedes is re­storing order and will undoubtedly see the advantages of a Mycenaean-Argive union. More so if Sparta joins.'

'I'm not afraid of Thebes. Creon would bitterly regret march­ing into Laconia. But...' Tyndareus thoughtfully scratched the butt of his whip on his jaw. 'If he attempts an invasion, and is thoroughly defeated, we could follow up and liberate Orcho­menos. I admit we've felt a pinch since the corn supply dried up. A pinch,' the king said pointedly, 'Mycenae hasn't suffered since she tapped the Krymeian cornlands.'

'We are fortunate,' I murmured, glumly anticipating the favour-for-favour Tyndareus was after.

'If I consent to a defensive alliance with Mycenae will you in return agree to ship wheat annually to Sparta?' ‘These huckstering kings! I said, 'At market prices, presum­ably? You could hardly expect the cargoes to be delivered as tribute!'

Tyndareus grinned. 'At cost price, shall we say ? Our Scribes will calculate details. Provided you agree in principle I'll dis­cuss the proposal in Council.'

I gripped the rail while the chariot bucked on a boulder, and considered the proposition. A trade pact really required Atreus' approval: I had no authority to barter Mycenaean corn. On the other hand the concession achieved my object. I had very little idea of the deal's financial aspects, whether we could afford it, the minimum price to be set. Gelon accompanied my train: I would as usual seek his counsel.

'If you allow, sire, I shall talk to my advisers and give you an answer later.'

'Very wise. Never commit yourself before considering the economic implications - which means consulting Scribes. Heroes can't grasp such tricky problems. Where would we be without our grey-robed rascals?' Tyndareus reined in a grassy gully where hounds and huntsmen waited. 'Here we are. I promise you a snorting chase - Castor says a man-eating lion roams these hills!'

* * *

I put the case to Gelon, and instructed him to calculate the maximum imports of Krymeian corn we could divert yearly to Sparta without harming our own economy, and a price in hides and bronze which would cover costs. Then he was to settle details with Tyndareus' Curator. Gelon's experience at Tiryns, where he accounted every grain that entered the country, well qualified him to decide a question affecting the balance of Mycenae's trade. Because he had cooperated closely with Atreus' Curator, Gelon also understood the kingdom's overall finances. (As, probably, did Scribes of every degree: so closely knit was the sect that information flowed among them like water soaking a sponge.)

After a couple of days he begged my attendance in one of those stark basement rooms where palace Scribes conduct business: tiny windows shedding a meagre light on white­washed walls, shelves in tiers holding drinking cups and pots and jars by the hundred, oak coffers containing inventories inscribed on small clay tablets, a rough wooden table and stools. Gelon bowed me to a seat and studied a papyrus sheet.

'A satisfactory contract, my lord, involving no net loss. We'll have to reduce slightly our exports of grain to Elis, but the price the Spartan Curator agreed allows a small return which balances the deficiency. If you approve I shall inscribe the con­ditions on a tablet for permanent record.'

For form's sake I queried a detail or two, particularly the shipping arrangements, being reluctant to use our galleys in a barely profitable trade. Gelon, however, had secured consent for the cargoes to be carried in Spartan hulls. He never missed a trick.

Curiously I conned the spiky squiggles traced on the papyrus he held. 'A wondrous skill. How you can reduce the sounds of words to signs on clay or paper passes my comprehension.'

'Hardly miraculous, my lord. Calligraphy is an ancient art, practised in many lands. Zeus' people originally brought writing from Egypt to Crete.'

'Extraordinary! So you use Egyptian characters?'

Gelon repressed a sigh. 'No, my lord. The Egyptian Scribes lived a hundred years in Crete, and during that time modified their script to accord with the Cretan language - a form of writing which superseded the original Cretan script. When Thera exploded Zeus' Heroes in Knossos spoke a dialect com­pounding both tongues.'

'So this is a mixture, Egyptian and Cretan?'

Gelon shot me a look which comprehensively expressed a savant's pity for a dunce. 'On the contrary, my lord, these signs express the language you are speaking now. For when Zeus' followers emigrated to Achaea they assimilated the native speech, and his Scribes again adapted the writing. That lan­guage' - he tapped the sheet - 'is what I have written here. Pure Achaean, now universal.'

'Except, presumably, in Crete,' I said, pleased to discover a flaw.

'When Acrisius conquered Knossos,' said Gelon patiently, 'he imposed Achaean speech and mode of writing on Cretan Scribes. Therefore they embrace every country from Crete to the Thessalian borders. No Scribes live in Thessaly or beyond, so' - a contemptuous shrug - 'those realms lack enlightenment.

They keep accounts, I'm told, by scratching notches on sticks.'

'Most interesting.' I stood and patted Gelon's shoulder. 'You've managed the Spartan contract very efficiently. I shall tell Tyndareus Mycenae accepts his terms, and conclude the formal alliance King Atreus desires. Draw the documents ac­cordingly.'

The Spartan Council raised no objections - Councillors sel­dom oppose a king's apparent will. A feast in the palace Hall celebrated the compact. I took ceremonious farewell of Tyn­dareus and his family: a vague stare from Leda, Clytemnaistra's unfathomable look, Helen's laughing gaiety, the Twins' pressing insistence that I stay for a promising hunt. ('A boar as big as a horse.' 'Tushes two feet long.') Tyndareus took my hand. 'We've made a state alliance, Agamemnon, and both of us, I think, have made a friend. If ever you need help call instantly on me. I shall not fail you.'

Such asseverations being the polite currency of leave-taking I replied in kind. I could not then foresee that the worth of Tyndareus' promise was soon to be assayed.

Three moons since leaving Mycenae I took the homeward road, rejoicing in my mission's success, no forebodings clouding my mind. Unhappily The Lady had not transferred to me the prophetic gift She bestowed on dead Amphiaraus.

(The visit had a curious sequel. After my departure Tyn­dareus pondered long and deeply; and concluded the Theban peril demanded, not only a Mycenaean alliance, but a con­federation of every city which Thebes' ambitions endangered. Over the years he sent emissaries to various rulers, among them Crete, Locris, Salamis and Athens - the last, indirectly, had vexatious consequences for me - and suggested pacts for mutual protection. He invited lords to Sparta and, so it is said, ratified their oaths by sacrificing horses - a binding and ex­pensive kind of vow. Whatever the truth may be, Tyndareus formed a loose confederation which afterwards gave me a foundation for uniting Achaean kingdoms in the year-long land war we fought against Troy.)

* * *

Priam was showing the first signs of that intransigence which led eventually to Troy's destruction, as Atreus described on my return. 'Laomedon's murder,' he said, 'made Priam very angry - and no wonder. On the grounds that Hercules once served King Eurystheus, Priam pretends he had Mycenaean backing, and that I provided ships for the raid. Rubbish, of course - Hercules sailed from Thessaly. Priam's using the excuse to hinder our Euxine trade.'

'He always opposed Laomedon's granting the passage. What's he done?'

'Forbidden his people to hire us wagons and oxen for over­land transhipment. Extremely awkward. Galleys are having to force the straits in the teeth of winds and currents. At certain times of the year they can't get through at all. And Troy has doubled the Customs duties.'

I whistled. That old skinflint Priam! He'll make a tidy packet.'

'I've sent an embassy to protest, and await results. We can afford extra duties. Colchis' gold has made Mycenae very rich indeed - but you can't eat the blasted stuff. Any restrictions on corn imports from Krymeia are far more serious.'

'All this due to Hercules,' I said between my teeth. 'I'd like to find the sod and kill him!'

Atreus shook his head. 'You're too late. He's dead - The Lady be praised. Struck by lightning and burned to death. High time. He must have been over seventy - a wicked old man.'

(A pest happily removed, but the world is far from hearing the last of Hercules. An inveterate braggart all his life who told exaggerated tales about his doings, an expert self-propagandist, Hercules' career has become a quarry whence bardic epics are hewn. Legends multiply faster as years go by, and find accept­ance among credulous Heroes. Some of the stories are so tedi­ously extravagant that I forbid Heraclean songs to be sung in my Hall.)

Atreus, as he promised, appointed me Marshal and gave me quarters in the palace befitting my rank. Hereditary holdings accompanied the post: he relinquished fertile pastures, farms and vineyards into my hands. In territory, wealth and author­ity I now ranked second to the king. My duties embraced the command and organization of Mycenae's entire Host: the same kind of task, on a larger scale, I had done while Warden of Tiryns.

My primary object being to form a powerful chariot squad­ron capable of fast and flexible manoeuvres I mustered from Mycenae, Tiryns and our tributary cities over two hundred chariots and drilled them on the Field of War in tight close- order formations. At the back of my mind a certainty hovered that sooner or later we had to meet the Theban Scavengers. Only close, controlled manoeuvre could defeat their reckless charge. I had no presentiment the squadron would one day face and slaughter Hector's gallant Heroes.

The reverses the Seven suffered against Thebes set me to con­sidering more effective methods of storming a citadel. I still woke screaming from nightmares where I died on top of a ladder. Never again: there had to be some better way. I put the poser to Gelon. He deprecatingly disclaimed all knowledge of warlike arts, protested that accounting my estates occupied every waking moment - and swiftly produced a sketch. A stout wooden tower, he explained, tall enough to top the enemy battlements, which you moved to the walls on wheels. Pro­tected by the tower's timbers, stormers mounted inside and leaped from the roof to the ramparts.

Sorrowfully I pointed out that every citadel crowned a mound or hill, usually precipitous and rocky - and you could not push heavy towers up steep slopes. Gelon tore the drawing across and confessed himself defeated.

(He must have pondered the problem for the next twelve years. When, confronted by the difficulty of an escalade at Troy, I was nearly reduced to trying those disastrous ladders, he devised a war-winning siegework which, for some queer reason, men called the Wooden Horse.)

I adopted Atreus' methods in ordering column of route and eliminated useless mouths from the baggage train - superfluous slaves and concubines whom certain lords deemed essential on campaign as weapons and armour. Nor did I neglect the spear­men and archers, insisting they drill as regularly as the chario­teers they supported. By the time of the second Theban campaign - known as the Followers' War - I reckon Mycenae fielded the most efficient and formidable Host that ever marched to battle in Achaea.