by Peter Tonkin
Briseis located the elderly physician in a surprisingly short time. As he straightened above the bandaged body of a Lyrnessan defender, I found myself confronted by one of the oldest men I had ever seen still living. On reflection I realised that the ancient physician’s decrepit appearance was compounded by sheer exhaustion which put bruise-dark rings beneath his eyes. His hair was long, white, thinning and untidy. His back was hunched, stooped by constant bending, his cheeks hollowed and given a ghastly tinge by hunger and white stubble. The eyes in the dark bags were surprisingly bright, however. The hands that he raised in salute were huge and rock-steady. As was his voice, which had nothing about it of the old-man’s quaver I had been expecting. ‘You wish to speak with me, King Odysseus? Make it quick if so, I am busy as you can see.’ He gestured as though his words were not self-evidently true.
‘I do. I studied under Chiron. Why don’t I see if I can assist you as we talk?’
‘Are you sure that would be suitable?’ Mnestheus asked, his white brows raised in simple surprise. ‘I am currently tending men who were lately doing their best to kill you and your friends.’
‘Once the man is down and on the road to Tartarus, hostilities should cease,’ said Odysseus. ‘For a time of truce at least.’
‘An unexpectedly humane attitude, especially in one so widely famed for his prowess as a warrior. Are you sure it is suitable?’
‘If it is suitable for Princess Briseis, it is suitable for me. Indeed, I would wager that if I sent a message to Prince Achilles, he would be willing to come and help as well if he’s not caught up with other duties. He studied under Chiron too, just before the old teacher’s death. So did his companion Patroclus…’
‘Let us not push things too far, Your Majesty,’ Mnestheus chuckled wearily. ‘If your aid is sincerely offered then I accept it gratefully.’
With a little assistance from me, Odysseus undid his sword belt, but when it came to his cuirass, I found I did not have the strength required in my left arm. After all, the battle garment was made of thick leather, doubly thickened at chafing points, covered with hundreds of pieces of bronze that overlapped like tiles on a roof. I was pushed brusquely aside and Princess Briseis herself unloosed the last of the fastenings at the side and helped him heave the heavy, blood-stained garment off, leaving only the golden disc symbolising his authority hanging on the breast of his sweat-stained tunic. Without a second thought, he took this and, as Briseis had done, tucked it under his tunic between the linen and his skin.
As he did this, I laid the armour aside and went to join the three of them once again. The two students of Chiron worked side by side, talking quietly. Princess Briseis and I became their helpers. We soon fell into a simple routine, the princess fetching bowls of water and myself clean bandages. Although my left arm did not function anywhere near as well as my right so bringing bowls was out of the question, both hands worked very well indeed so cloths and bandages were easy for me to carry. Of course it was my ears to which I paid most attention and Briseis made no secret of the fact that she too was here principally as auditor. But soon enough she began to join in the conversation, just as she had joined in the nursing of her sick prince and his brother, fated to fail though their efforts were to prove in the end.
***
‘No,’ said Mnestheus. ‘I noticed nothing strange, except that it was as though the two princes had caught the same sickness at the same time. The Princess’ brothers were not brought here as their wounds were sadly fatal. I had time only for the merest glance. To have done more would have been a waste – I have more urgent duties here among the living and the dying. They had clearly been bested in battle and despatched in the traditional manner.’ As he spoke, he placed some herb I did not recognise on a thigh-wound, fixed it in place with ointment and began to bandage it. If the patient survived, I thought, he would have a scar just like Odysseus’. And his survival seemed to be a strong possibility if not a certainty. The wound looked to me to be several days old and must have been inflicted in the early days of the siege therefore. It had stopped bleeding and showed no sign of festering. The wounded man’s face was easy enough to see in the lamp-light and he seemed to be sleeping with little sign of any fever. Mnestheus might be old, I thought, but he had been well taught and had learned his lessons thoroughly.
‘And were any others brought down with the same sickness as the two princes?’ asked the king of Ithaka, watching as the bandage was tightened in place firmly but gently.
‘No-one.’ The old man shook his head as he straightened.
‘What particular signs of their illness did you notice?’ They moved on to the next body as he asked.
‘Very few. They were both unconscious when they finally came to me and even when he stirred, Prince Mynes seemed to have lost the power of speech. I noticed that both of them were stiff, their limbs were difficult to move. Once again, the prince as the occasionally conscious one demonstrated symptoms more clearly and I believe that he was effectively paralysed.’ He signalled to one of his helpers and he offered a handful of various herbs.
Odysseus turned to Briseis, meeting her gaze above a copper bowl of gently steaming water. ‘When you were tending them earlier, what did you notice? What did they complain of? What was it that prompted you to bring them to Mnestheus?’
The princess hesitated.
The ancient physician said, ‘But it was not the princess who brought them. She was occupied elsewhere. They were brought down by Hepat, a couple of the girls who help her and some of Demir’s men.’
‘Hepat, Khloe and Thalia were in charge of nursing them towards the end as I told you,’ said Briseis. ‘Of course, Hepat called on me to make the final decision to bring them down, though we both agreed they would only get better if the gods assisted Mnestheus.’
‘Which, sadly, the gods did not,’ said the old man.
‘Not even the Great God Teshub?’ wondered Odysseus cynically.
‘Not even Teshub,’ admitted Mnestheus guardedly.
‘But still,’ probed Odysseus, ‘there must have been a reason Hepat summoned you, highness, some symptom or some worsening of symptoms that made you decide Mnestheus was their only hope.’
‘It was the convulsions,’ Briseis admitted, her face pale, her hands, for the first time, trembling. ‘Hepat called me when they began to writhe and spasm as though the Furies had got inside their bodies. They were drooling, spitting, fouling themselves. Beyond speech but making noises we could not comprehend. And then, as suddenly as they started convulsing according to Hepat and the others, they went still, almost as solid as statues. That is when she sent for me and I told her to clean them up and bring them down.’
‘And yet even then, you did not bring them yourself. Even though one of them was your prince and your husband?’
Seeing Briseis’ hands beginning to shake more fiercely still, Odysseus gently took the bowl from her and passed it to another of the physician’s helpers, an act she appreciated as little as she appreciated Achilles’ intervention in her confrontation with Aias. ‘I had other responsibilities,’ she said, her voice and her gaze both far steadier than her hands.
‘Indeed,’ said Odysseus. He took a deep breath. ‘If I have understood correctly, you were taking command of the palace’s last defences. That is why you needed Prince Mynes’ golden sign of authority, though as I have come to know you a little better I must admit that I am surprised you felt you needed it to bolster your standing. I’m sure the palace guards would have followed your orders whether you had it or not. And, from the look of things you did a better job of it than whoever commanded the defences of the lower city and the citadel. I believe I have seen the faces of some of the commanders I met on my visit here in happier times lying around us now. Can I assume that almost your whole command structure was incapacitated, by battle if by nothing else?’
Briseis didn’t answer. Instead she levelled that spear-sharp gaze at him as though she wished her looks could kill as effectively
as Medusa’s.
Odysseus nodded, taking her silence to signify admission that what he said was true. But it didn’t quite end there. ‘And the old king’s illness, together with concerns about the fitness of his son your husband to command an army ready and able to face Agamemnon’s Argives must have worried some of your more powerful allies to the south as well as to the north.’ He stopped, turned and looked back at the patient whose wounded thigh Mnestheus had just bound up. ‘How else can you explain the presence of this man in the ranks of your army? A diplomatic ambassador and advisor called to arms in the crisis?’
Briseis’ face set as though she had seen the gorgon herself, and Mnestheus looked little better.
‘Who is he?’ I asked, utterly bemused by this turn of events.
‘This, lad,’ said Odysseus, nodding towards the wounded man, ‘is Prince Glaucus, cousin to the Trojan ally Sarpedon, prince and general of the Lycans, who, when I last had news of him was waiting with his army at the city of Myletus at the mouth of the River Meander, five days’ hard sailing or ten days’ forced march south here.’
3: The Feast
i
On top of the citadel at the peak of the acropolis which crowned the hill of Lyrnessus there was a watch-tower. As the sun settled westwards to our right, six of us stood on top of this looking speculatively to the south. Through the thinning smoke of the smouldering city, we could see both the wide reach of the sea and the land which hulked beside it, hilltops seemingly ablaze, valleys already deep in shadows, farmland slowly yielding to forest; farm-buildings as utterly destroyed as those more recently put to the torch in the city. The group comprised five sharp-eyed royal leaders and one partially sighted rhapsode, here at Odysseus’ indulgence.
‘Ten days’ forced march,’ said Patroclus, Achilles’ right hand, next in command of the Myrmidons with five more generals immediately under his personal orders - together, some said, with his prince’s deepest affections. The Myrmidons fought principally by land and that was where Patroclus’ focus lay. ‘Is that what you said, Odysseus? Sarpedon could march his army here in ten days?’
‘Or ship them here with five days’ hard rowing unless they are lucky with the southerly winds,’ added Eremanthus, King of Zakynthos, Odysseus’ second in command. Like his leader and all of the Cephallenian island kings, he was a seafarer. ‘But five days either way.’
‘If he comes by sea,’ said Odysseus, ‘he’ll only be able to bring part of his force. Unless he’s built a sizeable fleet I haven’t heard about. But he’s quite capable of moving fast and in force over land. I mean, look at what we’ve achieved here in the short time since we began our final assault and he’s as gifted a leader as any of us.’
‘So, we watch for him by land because he’s not likely to pose as much of a threat by sea,’ said Aias, the only commander here alone – his right hand Idas King of Kynos, lying dead in the temple of Anu immediately above the temple of Teshub and the five corpses that it contained. The procedures for King Idas’ funeral were already beginning. The more sober members of the Locrian army apparently had them in hand, under the guidance of their own priests – warrior-priests of Poseidon and Apollo, the gods who had held their divine hands over us so far. ‘In the unlikely event that we’re still here in ten days’ time, at least,’ Aias continued. ‘Which we won’t be because there’s no point in hanging around this sewer of a place once we’ve sorted everything out and stripped it bare of slaves and supplies.’
‘Two things about that,’ said Odysseus. ‘First, we’ll be here for four more days at least, no matter how fast we load the supply ships with loot. King Idas isn’t the only dead leader who demands a full funeral and that obviously does give Sarpedon time to strike at us with a water-borne force if he can put together enough ships and move them up the coast in time. Secondly, just because he was a ten-day march away in Myletus when I last had word of him, that doesn’t mean he’s still there, camped on the banks of the Meander, now.’
‘There’s a way to find out,’ observed Aias. ‘Sarpedon’s cousin Glaucus is weak and wounded down in the blood room. It wouldn’t take much to make him tell us all about Sarpedon’s forces, disposition and plans.’
‘No,’ said Odysseus. ‘That would not be the honourable course. And, what with one thing and another, there are quite enough questions about our methods and our honour. We should act as though Glaucus isn’t even there. For the time-being at least. Maybe think of a way to return him to Sarpedon without any further damage in the longer term.’
Aias eyes narrowed. It was as though I could read his thoughts – if we couldn’t torture Glaucus, then maybe Sarpedon would pay a sizeable ransom for his return.
‘These are good thoughts, Odysseus,’ nodded Achilles who had noticed none of this. ‘I’ll send patrols on fast horses to scout south at once. They can warn us of any land-borne approach.’
‘And I will send a pair of my swiftest vessels to warn us if he launches any seaborne attack,’ said Odysseus.
‘In the meantime,’ snapped Aias, clearly unhappy at being overruled once again and probably impatient to explore the idea of ransom, ‘we have a great deal to accomplish and, clearly, limited time in which to do it. As, it appears, we’re going to do it all the hard way.’
‘The honourable way!’ Achilles snapped back as he turned to leave, one arm casually draped across Patroclus’ shoulders.
***
The kings and princes went clattering down the stairway that joined the watch-tower to the palace. I paused a moment alone, looking around. An afternoon breeze had swept the low clouds eastward and then died. The early evening was a dead calm. Had it not been for the sounds made by the scavenging birds and dogs as they fed, the lamentations of the prisoners and the gruff orders of the soldiers guarding them, the spectacle would have been a peaceful one, especially in contrast to today’s brutal warfare. Immediately to the south, the thinning pall of smoke above Lyrnessus rose straight into the sky, beyond it, lay the view that the kings and princes had just observed. I turned right round, straining my eyes and there, far to the north, at the uttermost edge of my vision, were several more black columns: smoke from the fires of the troops guarding Thebe, or what was left of it, beyond another expanse of farmland rendered derelict by war. I gazed at that for a few more moments, thinking of Odysseus’ words. How swiftly Lyrnessus had fallen in the end even though it had done so in three sections – the lower city, the citadel and finally the palace itself. In contrast, how long it had taken Agamemnon to break through the determined resistance at Thebe. And how brutal had been his reprisals in consequence, starting with the execution of King Eetion’s entire family; women, children and all. Then, my mind still occupied, I turned once more. To the east beyond a broad band of farms, fields and pastures as unkempt as those to the north and the south, the thickly forested mountains of Anatolia rose, one behind the other, marching away until they became the lands ruled by the Hittite kings from their fortress city of Hattusa. I turned back to glance northward at that distant smoke once more, wondering whether the units Agamemnon had left guarding Thebe would be fast enough and strong enough to help us if Sarpedon did attack.
But then, with a shake of my head I turned away once more. There was no question of help from any quarter. If anyone attacked us, we were on our own. Alone, perhaps, but by no means powerless. To the west, lay our reassuringly impressive forces. At the foot of the city’s outer wall was the open space where Achilles, Odysseus and all their generals rode their twenty or so chariots, challenging any heroes among Lyrnessus’ defenders to personal combat. Then there was the encampment that housed the besieging armies, behind that, the wide golden beach and beyond the sand the warships which had brought us all here and the supply ships that had armed, fed and watered us until we broke through the Werst Gate. A forest of masts which seemed to stretch half way to the horizon on either hand and away towards the skyline dead ahead at whose most western extremity the dark hulk of Lesbos was just visible rising abo
ve the water. Between the gates in the wall, the tents and the supply ships, teams of Myrmidon soldiers were bringing out the plunder that had filled the agora, livestock and all. From this height, they did indeed look like ants going busily about their business. The prisoners would be next, I thought. I stood, gazing down at the heartening spectacle, wondering how even a war-lord like King Sarpedon could put together a fleet to rival it. Or an army with a realistic chance of doing any serious damage to ours.
It had taken more than one hundred ships to bring our forces to Lyrnessus. One hundred warships with almost as many supply ships in attendance. Achilles, the notional leader of the expedition, had fifty ships, each packed with Myrmidon soldiers; Aias had forty Locrian vessels, all equally well filled with warriors and Odysseus a mere twelve Cephallenians but his army was the equal of the others in fighting skill if not in numbers. The vessels carrying the leaders and their senior lieutenants were, like Thalassa, beached. This allowed the commanders to come and go at will, though each was also furnished with a command tent ashore. The rest of the warships sat at anchor further out with only watch-crews aboard – all the rest of their complements were in the linen and leather city that housed our armies. The supply ships sat in shallow water where their cargoes could be brought ashore easily – and the spoils from the sacked city could equally easily be taken aboard. This was happening at the moment as sturdy boats were pushed and poled between the shore and the fat-sided, wind-driven vessels.
Each sleek warship carried fifty warriors doubling as oarsmen together with a ship’s crew comprising a dozen or so sail handlers and navigators – about half the number needed to work the fat craft whose internal spaces were filled with capacious holds rather than broad rowing benches. That meant we had a fighting force of more than five thousand well-armed warriors backed up by nearly four thousand handy sailors. If there were more than that number of prisoners, they were mostly women or girls and the difference was largely made up of infants. Any boy strong enough to carry a sword had clearly either made the dangerous journey south to join Sarpedon with the refugees from the city, as well as those from Thebe, or had taken a place in the city’s defences and was now either lying in Mnestheus’ blood room or supplying food for the ravens and the dogs. The women, mothers, wives and sisters to the warriors were simply stunned with grief at the slaughter of their men and the prospect of spending the rest of their lives as slaves.