Warriors in Bronze (47 page)

Subduing a qualm - although aware I possessed the king's tacit approval it was slightly alarming to find his spies reported every step - I kept my face expressionless and said, 'Very promising, sire. With your permission I'll organize a meet there directly after the wedding.'

'Certainly.' Tyndareus nonchalantly examined the plastering on a wall. 'I hope you have bloody good sport.'

Despite my self-control I winced. In Laconian rustic idiom the name Broteas
means
'bloody'.

The bridegroom duly arrived; apprehensively I scrutinized his retinue. Pisa could not afford a magnificent cavalcade. He brought half a dozen Heroes, their squires and Companions, thirty-odd spearmen and the usual train of servants: a troop considerably inferior in numbers to Dracios' savage ruffians. Broteas himself belied his gory name: a pale, slim, good- looking man with finely chiselled features, long blond hair and a suggestion of effeminacy in the slack-lipped, petulant mouth. I could understand his appeal for Clytemnaistra: a comely weakling attracting a strong-willed woman who would mother and direct him.

The festivities were splendid and prolonged: banquets, boar and lion hunts, gorgeous reviews on the Field of War, chariot races, games. Contrariwise the wedding in the Hall was a short and simple ceremony. Witnessed by Spartan and Pisan nobles a Daughter cut a lock of Clytemnaistra's hair and dedicated it to The Lady, Broteas took her wrist and declared her his fond and willing wife. The bride, to my vexation, looked radiantly happy and hung on her willowy husband's arm like an oak entwining a sapling.

I departed immediately for Aigion, taking again Talthybius, two chariots and a dozen spearmen who, accoutred in march­ing order, mysteriously appeared as I was setting out. (Tyn­dareus obviously considered that realism demanded more than a couple of men to 'rescue' his daughter.) After passing Dracios' scouts lurking near the defile to give warning of Broteas' approach we encamped under cover in a thicket near by. On the third noonday a ragged ruffian skipped into the thicket,said the column had been sighted and ran to tell Dracios' band hidden on the slopes above the pass. I told my party to stay concealed - they had no active part in the ploy, and the fewer witnesses the better - and hid under tamarisk bushes beside the track.

The column trundled into view, Broteas and Clytemnaistra riding the leading chariot, Heroes and spearmen following, baggage wagons clattering in the rear. They marched without scouts or guards, confident of safety inside friendly Laconia's borders, and entered the defile's mouth and vanished round a bend. As the last ox-cart disappeared a resounding clamour echoed among the rocks, shouts and screams and clashing weapons, the scrape of hooves and stamping feet.

I trotted along the track.

A brutal little battle was coming to an end. The men from Aigion quickly overwhelmed a retinue trapped in a narrow ravine and unprepared for attack. A Pisan Hero or two con­tinued to fight it out, desperately trying to ward with shields a forest of lunging spears. Avoiding the scrimmage I thrust to the column's head. Broteas' chariot lay tilted on its side, frightened horses plunged in the yokes. He sprawled face down in the dust, a spear-shaft slanted crookedly between his shoulder blades. Clytemnaistra crouched above the body, face hidden in hands and crying aloud. I gripped her beneath the armpits and unceremoniously hauled her up.

'Hurry, my lady! Escape while you can!'

I hustled her, terrified and dazed beyond resistance, through confused and noisy wreckage of the ambush. The fight was over, the last Pisan warrior killed. Dracios' men prodded fol­lowers into a bunch and plundered the carts. (Slaves and booty were promised as part of his reward.) Nobody hindered our going; Aigion's lord drilled his scoundrels well. He waited at the throat of the pass, leaning against a boulder above the road. A cynical smile split the swarthy face and he lifted spear in salute. I hurried on, supporting a near-swooning Clytemnaistra.

On reaching the thicket I bundled her into a chariot and took the reins, told Talthybius to mount the second car and the spearmen to make all speed for Sparta. Flogging the horses hard I galloped my prize to safety.

* * *

Naturally the affair raised a rumpus in the city: royal bride­grooms are rarely slain so quickly after the wedding. Tyn­dareus, professing astonishment and anger, vowed he would send a warband to annihilate Dracios' gang. (Later on he did so, and massacred every living being in Aigion. 'All the evidence gone,' he confided to me contentedly.) I won unmerited re­nown as the paladin who single-handed rescued Clytemnaistra from rape and death or slavery: the kind of Heroic feat the bards rejoice in telling. Only Talthybius doubted: I saw ques­tions in his eyes that wisely never passed his lips. Menelaus had his suspicions. 'I can't twig what you've been up to, brother,' he snorted, 'but it's unlike you to plunge your hand in a hornets' nest unless you've made sure you won't get stung. Death or glory escapades are not in your line at all.'

I laughed, and swore he was jealous.

Clytemnaistra, meanwhile, retired into the ladies' quarters and nursed her grief. We had exchanged hardly a word during the rapid ride from the ambush; after delivering her at the palace I saw her only at a distance and made no attempt to accost her. 'Leave her alone,' the king recommended. 'She'll recover soon enough. The girl's tough as thrice-boiled oxhide.'

The summer days rolled past, sharpening to winter and mel­lowing into spring. Clytemnaistra emerged from her seclusion, discarded her mourning veil and shared in the palace's pas­times. I met her on social occasions, exchanged civilities and received belated thanks for saving her from Dracios. (By that time he was dead.) I was careful to alter my approach, eschew­ing the banter and bawdy hints which formerly marked my wooing. Instead I endeavoured to impress myself upon her as a serious, respectable and eminently eligible suitor.

Which turned out damnably difficult. While engaging her in edifying and horribly boring prattle I craved to fondle those arrogant breasts, to stroke her belly and loins, probe the secret mysteries hidden between her thighs. I felt so madly lustful whenever I was near her I even forgot the benefits - political and pecuniary - that marriage to King Tyndareus' daughter would scatter in my lap.My restrained and sympathetic demeanour gradually thawed Clytemnaistra's icy reserve; slowly she recovered her acid sense of humour. We conversed easily, without constraint; and she accepted me as her regular escort when walking abroad or driving: a habit Tyndareus subtly encouraged. So, on a sunny springtime afternoon we strolled a path that led to the Field of War where the Twins had arranged an archery competition. At the drystone parapet of a roadside well I stopped, took courage in both hands and said, 'My lady, I have something important to ask you.'

'Here and now?' Clytemnaistra looked at the cheerful throng that surrounded the Field an arrow-shot from where we stood. 'Already we're late for the contest - and Castor has wagered a two-year-old bull on his winning.'

'I beseech you to listen.'

Thoughtfully she scanned my face, recognized the urgency and fervour. 'Leave us, Melite,' she told the lady-in-waiting hovering at her elbow. 'Now, my lord, what is it so crucial that archery must wait?'

'With the king's approval, Clytemnaistra, I offer you my hand in marriage.' I embarked on the ritual pedigree chant accompanying formal proposals. 'I, Agamemnon son of Plis­thenes son of Atreus son of Pelops son of Tantalus sprung from the blood of Zeus declare I shall endow —'

That's enough.' She perched on the well-head's coping, smoothed the pearl-trimmed frill that aproned a billowing skirt. I know your ancestry, my lord, and a good deal more about you than you think. My father has already pressed me to accept you, declaring that in becoming your wife I shall also become in time Mycenae's queen. How can I be queen of a city your foremost enemy holds? I'm no believer in dreams, my lord.'

'Nor I. I shall regain my throne.'

Clytemnaistra plucked off a loosely sewn pearl, dropped it into the well, lifted her head and stared me in the eyes. 'Will you swear on The Lady's Womb ?'

I blenched. No one can accuse me of being over-superstitious, but there are certain vows too terrible to be lightly undertaken. Then I looked at the thrusting breasts, swallowed and said, 'On The Lady's Womb I swear it.'

Triumph glinted briefly in hard green eyes. 'Unendurable torments rack those who break that oath, agonies such as mortals cannot imagine; death, when it comes, is greeted as happy deliverance. I will be your wife, Agamemnon.'

A shout of applause thrummed the air from the Field of War. I said uncomfortably, 'You take me in the hope of win­ning a crown: ambition compels consent. Have you no liking for me as a man, Clytemnaistra, or even love?'

'Love? Liking? Can emotions so fragile endure in a union such as ours - a marriage based for your part on carnality and policy? Don't look so surprised: I read your motives plainly from the start. As for me, my lord, love died in the pass near Aigion. I am a widow, no longer virgin, and desire simply to retrieve what I can from the wreckage of my life. Do you blame me, drowning in a quagmire of despair, for seizing a rescuing rope?'

I can see now, in the face of so blatant a declaration, I should there and then have abandoned my intentions, ought to have run from Clytemnaistra as from a deadly disease. Instead, recalling the labours involved in building a bridge of deceit and dishonour to span the void that yawned before my goal, I said weakly, 'Time heals wounds. I shall cherish you, my dear, and help you forget the miseries you have suffered.'

I took her hand and helped her from the wall. She said lightly, 'If you plight your troth on a well-head are the omens fair or foul? I must ask the Daughters. And now, my lord, let's go to the Field and discover whether Castor has won his wager.'

* * *

Our wedding celebrations coincided with the arrival in Sparta of Theseus King of Athens. Tyndareus, an economical man, organized joint festivities. Ostensibly Theseus had come in re­sponse to feelers the king had put out for an alliance against Thebes; an excuse which gratified the Athenian's restless itch for adventure and exploration. I had not set eyes on the man since he deserted Ariadne in Naxos. The years had changed his appearance, tinging grey the sun-bleached hair and beetling bushy brows, sinking deep in the sockets his flint-grey eyes. That his perfidy stayed constant was soon apparent.Theseus' wife had recently hanged herself after unsuccess­fully attempting to rape her husband's stepson. Her death removed the last restraint on Theseus' fornications. Gentlemen in general keep concubines to slake desire; but the King of Athens preferred to sink his shaft in ladies of noble birth: a dangerous quirk invariably leading to trouble. Resounding scandals erupted from frequent rapes and seductions; no good- looking woman, young or old, was safe from his depredations. Certain Athenian Heroes, discerning Theseus' lineaments re­flected in their children, were growing a little tired of their ruler, particularly as with increasing age he neglected govern­mental duties and wandered far and wide in search of fresh adulteries. Nor did he confine himself to the opposite sex. A Thessalian called Peirithoos accompanied him everywhere; sel­dom were the couple seen apart. I have not the slightest doubt that Theseus practised sodomy among his other vices - a disease, perhaps, that Athens caught from Thebes.

Tyndareus, content that his diplomacy, seemed to be bearing fruit, feasted the visitor liberally and entertained him royally. Theseus happily accepted everything he was offered; when, between the revels, Tyndareus in Council tried to pin him down to business the Athenian proved considerably less forth­coming. Like every creature bred in that nasty city he was devious and evasive and obviously dishonest. Tyndareus tried bribery - he didn't call it bribery, of course - and Theseus received golden dishes, cauldrons, bronze and thoroughbred horses and tendered airy promises in return. Tyndareus never managed to bind him by an oath, nor would Theseus instruct his Scribes to draw a written compact. The Spartan sadly recognized he had landed in his net a fish too slippery to hold.

Theseus, in short, had no interest in alliances; though he certainly showed eagerness in other directions. His evil reputa­tion caused sensible husbands and fathers to keep a vigilant watch on any female relatives who attracted his attention. I regret to state that a number of ladies shamelessly encouraged his advances; how far the liaisons went I wouldn't care to guess. (The hussies still live in Sparta, still united to their men : what point in dredging up old gossip?) Nobody - except the husbands concerned - minded Theseus' intrigues overmuch; but when he started ogling Tyndareus' younger daughter the most phlegmatic Heroes began to simmer.Helen was rising fourteen, a lovely, vivacious child. Even at that early age she allured men like bees aswarm on heather. Whether she was conscious of her prowess is hard to say; I suspect she had a fairly good idea. I hasten to add I ascribe to the gentlemen forming her little court the most irreproachable motives: her gaiety and beauty aroused in their hearts - I think - nothing but innocent pleasure. Prominent among her devotees was my brother Menelaus. Continually you saw them hand in hand about the palace, a beautiful gold-haired girl and strong-limbed red-headed Hero. He took her in his chariot and pretended to let her drive, small fingers on the reins guided and protected by sinewy brown hands; he gave her a miniature bow and taught her to shoot. Under his tuition Helen was developing into something of a tomboy; her ladies in waiting clicked disapproving tongues.