We tried to make him divulge his scheme. Odysseus would not be moved. ‘Premature. I haven’t fully weighed the pros and cons.’
Gloomily we parted. I passed a restless night.
* * *
War-bands advanced to the reed banks fringing Asopos. The Theban scouts retired, flogging hairy ponies in diminishing feathers of dust. I ordered Aegialeus’ war-band to ford the river; his chariots roved afar on the opposite bank and feinted to the flanks. Creon’s ranks on the skyline remained immovable as walls. At noon I ended the futile ruse and sounded Recall. Chariots returned and re-crossed--all save one. Echemus vented a scream of frustrated rage, brandished his spear and galloped full pelt towards the Theban array.
In helpless wonder we watched him go. Odysseus sucked his teeth. ‘Bent on suicide. The man was always a bit unbalanced--he’s tumbled over the edge.’
A furious deputation--war-band captains and principal Heroes--attended me after we reached Platai. Volubly demanding an end to the daily charade they presented an ultimatum: unless on the morrow I led an assault on Thebes they would elect another commander and then attack. (A distressing confrontation; but the experience lent me guidance later when mutiny simmered at Troy.) Stubbornly I faced the exasperated men and began to reiterate the reasons for my strategy. Odysseus whispered in my ear. ‘This is the crunch. Yield gracefully, Agamemnon. My plan, I promise you, will guarantee success.’
I had no choice: it was that or a rush to disaster, a repetition of the rout inflicted on the Seven. I assured the gabbling Heroes I would let them grapple the foe; and when they had gone turned angrily on Odysseus. ‘I’m committed on your word to sail an uncharted course. Let’s hear the scheme, Odysseus--and pray it’s not a reef on which we’ll sink.’
He unfolded his plan. An old peasant--one of several found in Platai and promptly enslaved--had revealed another mountain pass five thousand paces east, and a track that led from the col to Thebes. Move the Host east, Odysseus urged, follow this track across Asopos, debouch on the Theban flank. In changing front to meet us we would catch them disarrayed.
I considered the manoeuvre, dagger point scratching a dust-sketch to clarify my thinking. ‘No. Not in the form you suggest. We’d be fighting in the end over undetermined ground--maybe on terrain impassable for chariots. But I can modify the scheme to lure Creon over Asopos. Like this.’
Dagger tracing lines in dust, I explained my tactics. A lengthy silence followed. Diomedes said, ‘I’ve never heard anything so infernally dangerous. A flank march across the enemy’s front which leaves your forces dispersed--breaching two basic principles of war.’
‘I’m setting a trap, and traps must be baited. We’ll undoubtedly suffer casualties--but I don’t care a damn how much bait we lose provided the quarry is caught.’
While the sun descended and stars came out the argument battered between us. Finally I said, ‘I lead the Host and decide the battle plan. At dawn I’ll call a council of war and issue operation orders. All this talk has sanded my throat. Ho, Eurymedon! Bring wine, and brim the cups!’
During the night a scout brought a grisly trophy to my house--hurled across the river, he said, chorused by jeers and catcalls. Sadly I regarded Echemus’ head hacked roughly from the shoulders, the bloodless face and sightless eyes, lips drawn back in a snarl. Odysseus clicked his tongue. Diomedes said dourly, ‘A dismal end for the King of Tegea. His war-band will be useless now he’s gone.’
I commanded the relic be decently buried, and went to bed.
* * *
Sunrise gilded Cithaeron’s peaks when Euryalus’ war-band--forty chariots and three hundred spears--marched to the eastern track across the lower spurs, gained the track and advanced to seize the ford across Asopos. The Elian war-band followed, and halted in battle array on the farthest ridge There are six of these falling spurs, divided one from the other by gently shelving ravines. I posted a war-band on each, and gave Odysseus overall direction. Their job,’ I said, ‘is to repel attacks on the positions they hold, and not to advance till I send you word. Then charge--and drive the opposition right across the river.’
Odysseus contemplated the hump-backed ridges. ‘To control the battle I’ll have to move fast between flanks. A chariot can scarcely raise a trot on ground so broken and rough.’
‘Can you ride?’
He sent me a baleful look. ‘We all learned in our boyhood. Haven’t been on horseback since.’
‘You’re starting a refresher course. The going won’t hinder a rider.’
I sent for a scout and chose the best of their shaggy-coated mounts. (Chariot teams are never trained to be ridden.) Odysseus, grumbling, straddled the bare-backed pony and bumped away.
Diomedes’ men alone remained in the old position before Platai. Ajax’s three hundred chariots stayed concealed behind the village, horses yoked and warriors mounted. Before noonday the Host was widely dispersed in separate detachments extending across the front--crazy dispositions which invited defeat in detail.
Theban scouts observed all these conspicuous manoeuvres. Ponies scampered north to carry the news. Chariots streaked to the river, tracked the bank upstream and down. (Creon possibly among them, but the distance too great to recognize faces.) Voices carried faintly on the sigh of a sun-warmed breeze.
I stood beside my chariot among Diomedes’ Heroes. Never in my life, before or since, have I felt such nervous strain. Sweat coursed down my spine, my palms were damp. Creon saw an attempt to envelop his flank, a move so slow in execution, so obvious, so ineptly performed, that victory if he acted swiftly must certainly fall in his lap. Surely an invitation no commander could resist?
If he refused the lure we must attack across the river and fight on ground of his choosing--an offensive which would probably end in defeat.
Was Creon quick to seize an opportunity?
Or was he lethargic and cautious?
Did he suspect a snare?
The reconnoitring chariots wheeled and went. The sun climbed overhead; shadows shrank to purple pools beneath the skirts of trees. I scanned the distant Theban line till eyeballs watered and ached. Was there a hint of movement? Surely the blur seemed more distinct?
Thrashing his blowing pony a scout galloped in from the river and called in a high cracked voice.
‘Enemy advancing!’
I propped a hand on the chariot wheel, relief so overwhelming it almost loosed my bowels. Diomedes met my look and bared his teeth.
‘We have them, Agamemnon!’
The Theban Host crept nearer Asopos, a wavering line which spread as it advanced. I intently examined their dispositions. Detachments slanted eastwards and marched to face my war-bands on the ridges. Armour in mass remained on their right, directly facing Platai. On reaching the river the whole Host halted, a long disjointed array covering, war-band for war-band, my own dispersed formations along the entire front.
‘Your eyes are younger than mine, Talthybius. What do you make of the chariots opposite Platai?’
My Companion cupped hands and squinted through the dust screen that wheels and hooves had woven. ‘Hard to be certain.’ (The enemy were still two thousand paces away.) ‘Yes ... the charioteers are naked ... carry shields, I think ... bareheaded ..Consternation widened his eye. ‘The Scavengers, sire!’
The Scavengers of Thebes, that feared, ferocious force two hundred chariots strong, Heroes and Companions all sodomites to a man, the terrible band of buggers which twenty years before had thrashed Mycenae’s warriors from Megara’s plain like chaff and slew old King Eurystheus.
‘Excellent,’ I observed. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
Talthybius, by his expression, fleetingly doubted my sanity.
Creon had reacted exactly as I wanted. He detached war-bands to contain my contingents holding the ridges and prevent them threatening his eastern flank. Meanwhile his main striking force--the Scavengers and, in rear, a solid array of spearmen--was poised on the opposite wing to fall upon my Host and roll it up from the
west. A most effective tactic; in Creon’s place I’d have planned the same myself. Unhappily for Thebes he was unaware that Ajax’s formidable squadron lay hidden in the hollow behind Platai.
The Thebans crossed Asopos; wheels sheared water in crystal slivers. I nodded to Diomedes. Time to go.’ His Argive war-band--fifty cars, five hundred spears--trundled off in column to the right to take up battle stations on the nearest ridge: a movement plainly visible to Thebans on the river. I dangled the ultimate lure, a decoy to draw the Scavengers across the front of Platai--a village to all appearances deserted.
I retreated among the houses and drove through narrow streets to the hollow behind. The squadron waited in column, cars closed muzzles to tailboards. Their captain stood at the head, a redoubtable bronze-mailed figure, ten-foot spear and towering shield, helmet flaunting a scarlet plume. Excitement flushed his face, a fighting flame flared redly in his eyes. The dilatory days had irked Ajax and his Heroes--huddled in concealment behind Platai--more than any others in the Host; yet he and his men alone had never questioned my authority.
‘Not long now,’ I said. ‘You’ll hit the Scavengers first. Keep your men under close control--no faster than a canter until I lift my spear.’
‘You ride with us, sire?’
‘Of course.’ (Kings are expected to lead their Hosts into battle. An abysmally stupid tradition--should a warlord fall the courage drains from warriors like wine from a punctured jar.)
Crouched behind a house wall I watched Theban war-bands crossing the riverside flats, chariots leading in line, spearmen marching in rear. Order and dressing splintered when they mounted the slopes of the ridges. Chariots lurched in clefts, canted over boulders, swerved round stunted trees and thorn-bush clumps. Progress, geared to the horses’ speed, was difficult and slow.
I switched my gaze to the Scavengers. Their chariots, after fording Asopos, gathered in line on the nearer bank and waited. Creon, a skilful tactician, delayed his decisive flank charge until he had engaged my front from wing to wing. A commander worthy my mettle. I flicked a trickle of sweat from my cheek and glanced at the sun.
Well past noon.
* * *
Time crawled slow as a sleepy snail. I clenched teeth on a yawn, felt fear’s familiar flutterings in my stomach. Twinkling spears and helmets marked Thebans nearing bowshot range from Diomedes’ troops. Tumult travelled thinly from ridges on the right, far beyond my view, where Theban spears and Argive locked in battle.
A ripple like wind-stroked water shuddered the Scavengers’ ranks. An awning of dust like ochre smoke billowed behind their wheels. Then hoofbeats drumming faintly, and wheels rumbling afar. Nearer they came and nearer--a bronze-barbed flooding tide, horses stretched to a gallop, sun-browned naked bodies, hair streaming in the wind, Companions flogging their teams, menacing ten-foot spears.
I beckoned Talthybius, mounted my chariot and called to Ajax.
The Scavengers made straight for Platai across the even plain, and started wheeling left to take our positions in flank. The inner cars never checked the speed; the outer wing began dropping behind however hard they galloped. The whole line curved like a swinging whip-thong.
This was the moment.
I flourished an arm. Ajax’s squadron emerged from the hollow in column, cleared Platai’s buildings and deployed into line at a canter. Talthybius stationed my car in the centre. I glanced to left and right. Serried spears in arrowhead wedges, bay and black and chestnut stallions straining at the yokes, flaring horsehair plumes, red and yellow and blue. Gaudily painted chariots and gleaming brazen armour. Hammering hooves and whirling wheel-spokes, warriors roaring defiance from three hundred lusty throats.
Talthybius flicked his whip, grinned happily and shouted, ‘Hold tight, sire! This is going to be rough!’
I shuffled feet on rocking floor thongs, hefted spear, swung shield aback and gripped, the figwood guard rail. The wedges rippled like combers nearing the shallows. Companions held the pace to a canter and glanced sidelong at my chariot for permission to spring the horses. When three hundred paces of level plain divided our line and the Scavengers’ flank their wing men spotted the danger--far too late. Committed to a charge, they were hopelessly outflanked.
The discovery bred chaos. Their Companions tried to turn, hauled savagely on reins to meet the unheralded threat. The Scavengers’ nearer wing dissolved in utter confusion.
I pointed my spear to the sky.
Like water from a bursting dam the squadron surged to the charge.
The impressions thereafter that stick in my mind are disconnected, indistinct, frightening and unpleasant. Yelling like a madman Talthybius thrashed his horses. I fronted shield, tucked spearshaft under armpit in the fashion Pylians favour, straddled my legs to safeguard balance.
A Theban careered from the welter head-on. Talthybius swerved aside, my spear jarred sharply on bone, plunged deep in a naked chest. I tightened my grip as the man swept by, the ashwood snapped like a twig. A rending crash, splintering poles, colliding wheels and stallions neighing, chariots reeling end over end, shrieks and shouts and whirring weapons.
You don’t mark many details when an armoured charge strikes home.
Handling his team like a craftsman Talthybius jinked through the ferment and emerged behind the shattered Theban line. I drew my sword and peremptorily checked his eagerness to plunge again into the fray. From a haven of space uncluttered by chariots I saw the Scavengers die.
The buggers were brave, and fought to the last, but Ajax’s Heroes outfought them. The squadron’s wedges broke clean through, turned and charged again, trapped the broken remnants against Platai’s granite hovels and slaughtered the survivors to a man. A dust shroud veiled the Scavengers’ bloody end.
I observed this raging struggle from a distance. Broken chariots, fallen horses, dead and dying warriors sprinkled the field like windblown leaves. Around Platai the battle’s embers crumbled into ash.
Arrayed in three-deep ranks the Scavengers’ spearmen tramped from the river.
Bathed in sweat and gashed on the arm Ajax greeted me joyfully. ‘We’ve beaten the Theban Scavengers!’ he chortled. ‘The squadron is invincible!’ I pointed to the footmen. ‘You haven’t finished yet. Rally your cars and chuck those fellows back!’
Trumpets called and called again; Heroes widely scattered assembled themselves in rank--a shorter line than that which charged the Scavengers: some twenty of our chariots multiplied the debris on the plain. Ajax shouted orders, returned and reined beside me.
‘Will you lead, sire?’
‘No,’ I smiled. The honour belongs to you.’ (I’d led a charge and shown my valour; once was more than enough.)
Talthybius groaned disappointment.
Spearmen are accustomed to follow their Heroes’ chariots, stave off enemy spearmen, bear wounded lords away or help in stripping arms from fallen foes. Unsupported they won’t face mobile armour. When Ajax’s squadron drummed to a gallop the Thebans halted, wavered and ran. Chariots crashed on the fugitives and hustled them into Asopos, killing in scores as they went. I followed the rout at a walk, and halted on the bank. Bodies floated face-down in the water, the current shredded shivering scarlet scarves.
We had broken the Thebans’ main assault. How fared our holding war-bands?
* * *
A clanging of weapons resounded. In diminishing perspective I viewed the struggling knots contending shield to shield. A messenger-scout went galloping to Odysseus. After ordering Ajax across Asopos to demonstrate in force on the farther bank I dismounted, chewed a grass stem, tasted the acrid flavour and contemplated a Theban corpse entangled in the reeds. His skull was split to the teeth, the current wagged his limbs in grisly life. A willow leaned on the water, its shadow’s feathery tips reached midway over the stream. The sun descended gradually on Cithaeron’s jagged crests.
I spat out the stalk and examined the spurs. Time Odysseus shifted stance and moved to the offensive, else night would steal the f
ruits of total victory.
Diomedes’ Argives swept shouting down the slope. The slanting ground lent impetus, superior numbers told. (Factors I relied on from the first: all our ridge-positioned forces outmatched the enemy they faced.) A crescendo of noise from distant spurs denoted a general attack. Odysseus told me later that nowhere on the front could the Thebans make a stand; remorselessly our war-bands forced them to the flats beside the river. There they saw Mycenae’s squadron riding the opposite bank. The spectacle sapped courage, a fighting retreat turned rapidly into a rout.
Asopos’ loitering current had cleansed the Scavengers’ blood; the river again ran red, red as the sunset streamers staining Cithaeron’s peaks. Pursuers and pursued threshed water into foam; in greying twilight the chase fanned over the plain, despairing shrieks and triumphant war-cries mingling in cacophony, a strident paean that hymned the death of Thebes.
Soberly I remounted; Talthybius forded the river.
Threading the wrack of slaughter we arrived at the Theban camp. A ruthless pillaging raged inside the stockaded enclosure; Heroes, Companions and spearmen contended furiously for booty, slew surviving foemen who had found illusory haven, tore down tents and plundered carts, burrowed into baggage. I stayed outside the palisade and did not interfere My Host had fought all day and won a shattering victory: loot was a just reward, the prize for which brave Heroes go to war.
Honour? you ask, and glory? Leave fantasies to bards--they’re paid to spin illusions from the strands of factual squalor.
Twilight deepened to dusk, stars splintered an ink-dark sky. Warriors broached wine jars, a boisterous carousal bellowed in the night. I met Odysseus limping stiff-legged--‘that blasted horse! I’m sore as a ravished virgin!’ We found a tent miraculously unpillaged; Talthybius disarmed me and we stretched on captured blankets side by side. I stared at the ox-hide ceiling, heard Odysseus’ steady snoring, remembered every moment of a day-long dangerous gamble--a hazard compelled by headstrong, half-witted Heroes. Never again, I swore, would underlings deflect me from my course.
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