The Song of Troy

by Colleen McCullough

  ‘When do we go back to Iolkos?’ Patrokles asked.

  ‘Iolkos? No! We sail for Troy.’

  ‘After this?’

  ‘Troy is a part of my punishment. And Troy means I will not have to face my father, for I will die there. What would he think of me if he knew? Let the Gods spare him that.’

  12

  NARRATED BY

  Agamemnon

  I had my daughter buried at dead of night in a deep grave, unmarked, under a pile of rocks by the grey sea. Nor could I dower her fittingly in death, save to dress her richly and put all her little hoard of girlish jewels on her.

  Achilles had promised to send a message to my wife blaming all of us; I could try to avert that by getting to her first. Yet I couldn’t find the words or the man. What man could I trust who wasn’t sailing with me? And what words could soften the blow I dealt Klytemnestra – what words could lessen her loss? No matter what disagreements had flared between us, my wife had always considered me a great man, one worthy to be her husband. Yet she was a Lakedaimonian, and the influence of Mother Kubaba was still very much alive there. When she learned of Iphigenia’s death, she would try to bring back the Old Religion, rule in my stead as High Queen in fact – and in power.

  At which moment I thought of a man in my train whom I could spare: my cousin Aigisthos.

  The history of our House – the House of Pelops – is horrible. My father, Atreus, and Aigisthos’s father, Thyestes, were brothers who vied for the throne of Mykenai after Eurysthesus died; Herakles should have inherited, but he was murdered. Many crimes were committed for the sake of the Lion Throne of Mykenai. My father did the unspeakable: murdered his nephews, stewed them, and served them up to Thyestes as a dish fit for a king. Even knowing this, the people chose Atreus as High King, banished Thyestes. Who fathered Aigisthos on a Pelopid woman and then tried to foist the child off on Atreus as his son after Atreus married the woman. That was not the end of it. Thyestes connived at my father’s murder and returned to the throne as High King until I was grown enough to wrest it off him, banish him.

  But I had always liked my cousin Aigisthos, who was far younger than I, a handsome and charming fellow I got on with better than I did with my own brother, Menelaos. However, my wife neither liked nor trusted Aigisthos because he was the son of Thyestes and had a legitimate claim to the throne she was determined none but Orestes would inherit.

  I sent for him as soon as I had worked out how much to tell him. His standing depended absolutely upon my good favour, which meant it behooved him to please me. So I sent Aigisthos to Klytemnestra, well primed and loaded with gifts. Iphigenia was dead, yes, but not at my command. Odysseus had planned and executed it. She’d believe that.

  ‘I won’t be away from Greece long,’ I said to Aigisthos before he left, ‘but it’s vital that Klytemnestra doesn’t go to the people and revive the Old Religion. You’ll be my watchdog.’

  ‘Artemis has always been your enemy,’ he said, kneeling to kiss my hand. ‘Don’t worry, Agamemnon. I’ll see that Klytemnestra behaves herself.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, I was hoping for spoils from Troy. I’m a poor man.’

  ‘You’ll have your share of the spoils,’ I said. ‘Now go.’

  The morning after the sacrifice I woke from a wine-soaked sleep to find the day clear and calm. The clouds and wind had fled during the night; only the water dripping off the tent eaves spoke of the moons of storm we had endured. I forced myself to offer Artemis thanks for her co-operation, but never again would I petition the Archeress for help. My poor little daughter was gone, not even a grave stele to keep her from anonymity. I couldn’t look at the altar.

  Phoinix was in my tent flap agog to commence embarkation; I decided on the morrow if the weather held.

  ‘It will hold,’ the old man said confidently. ‘The seas between Aulis and Troy will stay as placid as milk in a bowl.’

  ‘In which case,’ I said, suddenly remembering how Achilles had criticised my supply plans, ‘we’ll offer to Poseidon and take a chance. Cram the ships, Phoinix. Cram them to the gunwales with food. I’ll ransack the countryside for it.’

  He looked startled, then grinned. ‘I will, sire, I will!’

  Achilles haunted me. His curses rang in my memory, his contempt seared my marrow. Why he blamed himself I couldn’t begin to understand; he was no more capable of defying the Gods than I was. Yet I felt a grudging admiration for him. He had had the courage to flog his guilt in front of his superiors. I wished that Odysseus and Diomedes had not been so concerned for my safety. I wished that Achilles had lopped my head off, ended it there and then.

  They pushed my flagship off its slips the next morning as dawn was beginning to suffuse the pale sky with rose. My hands planted firmly on the rail, I stood in the prow, feeling it dip and tremble in the quiet water. The start at last! Then I made my way down to the poop, where the ship’s sides curled up and over into a cowl and the figurehead of Amphitryon watched forward. I turned my back on the oarsmen, glad that mine was a decked ship, that the rowers sat atop the deck and thereby left enough room below for my baggage, my servants, the war chest and all the impedimenta a High King needed. My horses were penned up along with a dozen others right beside the spot where I stood, and the sea rushed smoothly not far below the deck. We were very laden.

  In my rear they slipped into the water, big red-and-black ships like centipedes with bristling oars for legs, crawling over the surface of Poseidon’s unfaltering, eternal deeps. Twelve hundred of them altogether when the tally was in; eighty thousand fighting men and twenty thousand helpers of all kinds. Some of the extra ships contained nothing but horses and oarsmen; we are a chariot people, as are the Trojans. I still believed that the campaign would be a short one, but I also understood that we would see no fabled Trojan horses before Troy fell.

  Fascinated, I watched the scene, hardly able to credit that mine was the hand at the helm of this mighty force, that the High King of Mykenai was destined to be the High King of the Greek Empire. But not a tenth of the ships had gone down into the sea before my crew had rowed me out into the middle of the Euboian Strait and the beach was tiny in the distance. I knew a momentary panic, wondering how such a vast fleet could manage to hold itself together through the open leagues ahead.

  We rounded the tip of Euboia in blazing sun, passed between it and Andros isle, and as Mount Ocha faded at the stern we struck the breezes which always blow around the open Aegaean. Oars were fettered gratefully to stanchions, men swarmed around the mast; the scarlet leather sail of the imperial flagship blossomed under the pressure of a southwest wind, warm and tender.

  I strolled back along the deck between the rowing benches and mounted the short steps to the foredeck, where my special cabin was built. In our wake many vessels plied steadily through the swell breaking in tiny waves about their beaked prows. It seemed as if we were staying together; Telephos was standing right forward, turning his head occasionally to shout instructions to the two men who leaned on the rudder oars, steering us straight. He smiled at me contentedly.

  ‘Excellent, sire! If the weather holds we’ll keep up our pace in this wind, it’s perfect. There shouldn’t be any need to put in at Chios or Lesbos. We’ll make Tenedos in good time.’

  I was satisfied. Telephos was the best navigator in all of Greece, the one man who could guide us to Troy without our running the risk of beaching on some strand far from our destination. He was the only man to whom I would have entrusted the fates of those twelve hundred ships. Helen, I thought, your freedom is short-lived! You’ll be back in Amyklai before you know it, and it will give me enormous pleasure to issue the command to cut off your lovely head with the sacred double axe.

  The days passed happily enough. We sighted Chios but pressed on. There was no need to revictual, and the weather was so good that neither Telephos nor I cared to stretch our luck by dallying ashore. The coast of Asia Minor was scarcely out of sight now and Telephos knew the landmarks well, for he had
passed up and down that coast hundreds of times during his career. He pointed out the huge isle of Lesbos to me gleefully, sure enough of his course to sail west of it, out of sight of land. The Trojans would not know we were coming.

  We came to harbour on the southwest side of Tenedos, an isle very close to the Trojan mainland, on the eleventh day after sailing from Aulis. There was no room to beach so many ships; the best we could do was to let them ride at anchor as close inshore as possible, and hope that the clement weather persisted for a few more days. Tenedos was a fertile place, but boasted only a small population due to its proximity to a city held the largest in the world. As we came in the Tenedians clustered along the shore, their helpless gesticulations betraying their awe.

  I clapped Telephos on the shoulder. ‘Well done, pilot! You’ve earned a prince’s share of the spoils.’

  Swollen with his triumph, he laughed, then clattered down the steps to the midships, where he was soon surrounded by the hundred and thirty men who had sailed with me.

  By nightfall the last of the fleet was nearby; all the top leaders came to join me at my temporary headquarters in Tenedos town. I had already done the most important job, which was to round up every living human soul on the island. No one could be let reach the mainland to inform King Priam what lay on the far side of Tenedos. The Gods, I thought, were united behind Greece.

  The following morning I set off on foot for the top of the hills which crowned the centre of the isle, some of the Kings with me for the exercise, glad to be on solid ground. We stood with our cloaks flapping behind us in the wind, looking down across the blue, tranquil water to the Trojan mainland a few leagues away.

  We couldn’t miss Troy the city; my first sight of it made my stomach sink. I had thought of it, of course, in the only terms I knew: Mykenai atop the Lion Mountain; the mighty trading seaport of Iolkos; Korinthos commanding both sides of the isthmus; fabulous Athens. But they paled to insignificance. Troy not only towered, it spread as well, like some kind of gigantic stepped ziggurat too far away to discern details.

  ‘What now?’ I asked Odysseus.

  He seemed lost in thought, his grey eyes fixed. But at my question he came back into himself, grinned. ‘My advice is to sail across tonight under cover of darkness, marshal the army at dawn and strike Priam unaware, before he can close his gates. By tomorrow night, sire, you’ll own Troy.’

  Nestor squawked, Diomedes and Philoktetes looked horrified. I contented myself with a smile, while Palamedes smirked.

  Nestor spoke, saving me the trouble. ‘Odysseus, Odysseus, have you no idea of right or wrong at all?’ he demanded. ‘There are laws governing everything, including the conduct of war, and I for one will have no part in a venture wherein the formalities haven’t been observed! Honour, Odysseus! Where is honour in your plan? Our names would stink out Olympos! We cannot disregard the law!’ He turned to me. ‘Don’t listen to him, sire! The laws of warfare are unequivocal. We must obey them!’

  ‘Calm down, Nestor, I know the law as well as you do.’ I took Odysseus by the shoulders and shook him gently. ‘Surely you didn’t expect me to listen to such impious advice?’

  For answer, he laughed, then said, ‘No, Agamemnon, no! But you did ask me what now. I felt obliged to give you my choicest morsel of wisdom. If it falls on deaf ears, why should I repine? I’m not the High King of Mykenai. I’m merely your loyal subject Odysseus from rocky Ithaka, where a man must sometimes forget things like honour in order to survive. I’ve told you how to do the job in one day, and what I said is the only way that could be done. For I warn you – if Priam is given the chance to close his gates, you’ll howl outside his walls for the whole ten years Kalchas prophesied.’

  ‘Walls can be scaled, gates can be battered down,’ I said.

  ‘Can they?’ He laughed again and seemed to forget us, his eyes turned inward.

  His mind was a wondrous entity; it could lock upon the truth instantly. If in my heart I knew his advice was right, I also knew that if I were to take it, no one would follow me. It meant sinning against Zeus and the New Religion. What always fascinated me was how he managed to escape retribution for these impious ideas. Though it was said that Pallas Athene loved him more than any other man, and interceded with her almighty Father on his behalf at all times. She loved him, it was said, for the quality of his mind.

  ‘Someone will have to journey to Troy bearing the symbols of war for Priam and demand the return of Helen,’ I said.

  They all looked eager, but I already knew which men I wanted.

  ‘Menelaos, you’re Helen’s husband. You must go, of course. Odysseus, you and Palamedes will go too.’

  ‘Why not me?’ asked Nestor, annoyed.

  ‘Because I need one of my chief advisers here,’ I said, hoping it sounded convincing. Let him think I was deliberately shielding him from stress and he would fly out at me fiercely. He did eye me suspiciously, but I think the long sea journey must have taken its toll, for he didn’t argue any further.

  Odysseus came out of his reverie. ‘Sire, if I’m to go on this mission, then I ask one favour. Let there be no suggestion that we’re already here, hiding behind Tenedos. Let us give old Priam the impression that we’re still at home in Greece preparing for war. All we’re obliged to do under the law is formally notify him of a state of war before we attack. We don’t have to do more. Also, Menelaos ought to demand suitable compensation for the mental anguish he’s suffered since the abduction of his wife. He should demand that Priam reopen the Hellespont to our merchants and abolish the trade embargoes.’

  I nodded. ‘Good points.’

  We made our way back down the slope towards the town, the more energetic striding ahead of me, Odysseus and Philoktetes in the lead, talking and guffawing like a pair of lads. Both were excellent men, but Philoktetes was the better warrior. Herakles himself had given Philoktetes his bow and arrows while he lay dying, though Philoktetes had been a boy at the time.

  They leaped over tussocks of grass, the clear air a tonic; Odysseus jumped high above a clump of plants and clicked his heels together to demonstrate his agility. Philoktetes emulated him, landing light and lithe. A moment later he gave a short, sharp cry of alarm, his face contorting as he sank to one knee, his other leg extended. Wondering if he had broken it, we all ran to where he hunched panting, holding the extended leg between his hands. Odysseus was unsheathing his knife.

  ‘What is it?’ Nestor asked.

  ‘I stepped on a serpent!’ Philoktetes gasped.

  I went numb with fear. Lethal serpents were rare in Greece, a type of creature very different from the house and altar snakes we loved and honoured so much because they hunted rats and mice.

  Odysseus cut the two punctures deeply with his knife, then bent his head and fastened his lips over the gashes, spitting out blood and venom after each audible suck. Then he beckoned Diomedes.

  ‘Here, Argive, lift him and carry him to Machaon. Try not to jar him, that will drive the poison closer to his vital parts. My friend,’ he said to Philoktetes, ‘lie very still, and be of good cheer. Machaon isn’t the son of Asklepios for nothing. He will know what to do.’

  Diomedes went on ahead of us, carrying his heavy load as comfortably as if Philoktetes had been a child, in a smooth run I had seen him keep up in full armour for a long time.

  Of course we went to Machaon’s surgery immediately. He had been given a good house to share with his much shyer brother, Podalieros; men ail, even before the war begins. Philoktetes lay on a couch, eyes closed, breathing stertorously.

  ‘Who treated the bite?’ Machaon asked.

  ‘I did,’ said Odysseus.

  ‘Well done, Ithakan. Had you not acted so expeditiously, he would have died on the spot. Even now he might die. The poison must be very deadly. He’s had four convulsions and I can feel his heart fibrillate beneath my hand.’

  ‘How long before we know the outcome?’ I asked.

  Like every physician loath to predict a fatal progno
sis, he shook his head. ‘I have no idea, sire. Did anyone catch the serpent, or at least see it?’

  We shook our heads.

  ‘Then I do not know,’ said Machaon, sighing.

  The delegation set off for Troy the next day in a big ship with its decks disarrayed to indicate that it had just made the long voyage from Greece alone; the rest of us settled down to await its return. We kept very quiet, made sure that the smoke from our fires didn’t drift above the hills to betray our presence to any possible watchers on the mainland. The Tenedians gave us no trouble, still stunned by the size of the fleet which had descended upon them out of the blue.

  I saw little of the younger leaders. They had elected Achilles as their chief and looked to him for their example rather than to me. Since the day Iphigenia died he had not come near me. More than once I had seen him, his height and carriage quite unmistakable, but he had pretended not to notice me and gone on his way. Though I could not help but see his methods with his Myrmidons, for he wasted no time and would not let them be idle, as all the other troops were. Every day he drilled and exercised them; those seven thousand soldiers were the fittest, most capable-looking men I had ever beheld. I had been a little surprised to learn that he had brought no more than seven thousand Myrmidons to Aulis, but I could see now that Peleus and his son had preferred quality to quantity. Not one of them was over twenty years of age and all of them were soldiers by profession rather than volunteers more used to pushing a plough or treading grapes. None, gossip had informed me, were married. Very wise. Only youths without wife or babes leap into battle careless of their fate.

  Seven days after it had departed, the delegation returned. Its ship sailed in after dark and my three ambassadors came to my house at once. Their faces told me they had had no success, but I waited until Nestor arrived before I let them say a word. No need to summon Idomeneus.

  ‘They refused to give her back, Agamemnon!’ my brother said, smiting the table with his fist.