‘Suspicious sods--they forbade my men to land. After fording Scamander we climbed the road to a plateau south of the citadel and found a broil of activity. They were holding the annual fair.’
Menelaus elucidated. The fair started in early summer and lasted two moons. Priam’s subjects gathered from the surrounding country to build wooden booths for the merchants; a shanty town that straggled across the plateau. His war-bands kept order, and exacted tolls on every convoy by land or sea. Ships from many kingdoms crowded the shores near Scamander’s mouth: Thracian galleys, Carians and Lycians, storm-beaten penteconters from Phoenicia, Rhodes and Crete.
‘I recognized Mycenaean and Spartan merchantmen beached in the rows of ships,’ Menelaus said sourly. ‘Ruddy blockade busters! Political considerations seldom deter traders when a handsome profit beckons.’
Besides seaborne visitors, convoys came overland, mules and oxen and great leather-hooded wagons bringing wool and hides from the Phrygian plains, wine and slaves from Mysia, silver from far Alybe, salt and furs and precious, mysterious amber. The fair was a hive of bargain and barter, a meeting place for merchants of every race and realm from the Euxine shores to Egypt, a simmering stewpot of manners and tongues.
‘After the fair is over the Trojan countryfolk return to their villages, and Priam and his retainers sit down to feast through the winter on the profits and tolls they’ve taken. All this, mark you, in addition to their routine trade in Colchian gold and Krymeian wheat--the imports denied to Achaea.’
I concealed impatience, listened politely, and mooted the object of his visit. ‘After the conference in Sparta you voted against a Trojan war. Are your views changed?’
Menelaus scratched the auburn mat on his chest and said flatly, ‘We have to smash Priam. He’s arrogant, aggressive and a threat to our existence. But Troy is wealthy and resourceful, her warehouses, store rooms and granaries bulging to the rooftops. I’ve seen them and I know. You’ll never starve the citadel out. Even if completely invested--which is damnably difficult--she’s reserves enough to stand a two-year siege. Maybe three.’ He paused. ‘Yes, Agamemnon--I’ll lead Sparta’s Host to Troy.’
I gazed across the plain, caught the flash of a spear on a faraway hill--you can see the mount of Argos only in the crystal air of spring and early autumn. I had always assumed a sit-down leaguer as out of the question, starvation a weapon denied to my hand. Troy must be taken within a year, the limit our homeland husbandry demanded. Menelaus’ discouraging discourse made no difference to my plans.
‘How did Priam receive your proposals?’
‘Turned them down flat. I offered treble tolls on cargoes of wheat and gold, promised any share he liked of the Euxine trade. No good. After all, why the blazes should he accept? He now owns the monopoly Mycenae used to hold and is sitting tight.’
‘Did you indicate any--um--consequences?’
‘Yes. Took my courage in both hands and threatened war. Priam simply giggled. Said the navies of Mycenae, Pylos and Crete combined couldn’t force the Hellespont against his Trojan squadrons. Which we know. The thought of a seaborne invasion seemed never to enter his head.’
I held my breath. Menelaus, despite his excellent qualities, is hardly a skilful diplomat. ‘I trust you didn’t slip him a hint.’
‘Of course not.’ Menelaus spat neatly over the balustrade. The gob fell far below at the feet of a pompous steward whose protuberant eyes searched the sky in wild surmise. ‘But I could see Hector was worried. A quietly-spoken, friendly, far-seeing fellow, unlike his obstreperous father. He did the honours during my stay, took me hunting in the countryside, showed me Priam’s famous horse herds. And tried to pump me, ever so gently, about a general mobilization of Achaea’s Hosts against Troy. I think he has a fairly good idea. The Lady knows where from.’
‘Troy can afford to pay spies in Achaea. Perhaps Diomedes has talked, or that Arcadian idiot Agapenor. No matter. Now let’s cut to the gristle. Where can we land ten thousand warriors from eleven hundred ships?’
‘There’s only one place.’ Menelaus drew his dagger, stooped and scratched on the balcony’s painted tiles. ‘Here’s the Trojan coast, bending away at the Hellespont. Scamander flows northwards, thus; Simoeis’ lower course meets the sea two thousand paces east, like that. Here’--a cross on the plaster--‘is Troy. Our ships must land between the river mouths. Both have sheltered estuaries joined by sandy beaches--and a hill hides the view from Troy.’
We debated a likely site for a base camp, discussed the Troad’s topography and the citadel’s defences. Since the earthquake that levelled the city, Menelaus said, the walls had been rebuilt and strengthened to a pitch approaching Mycenae’s. We disputed over a harbour for assembling the fleets in Achaea. I suggested Boeotian Aulis--a day’s sail nearer than Nauplia to the expedition’s goal--which Euboia sheltered from northerly winds, the mainland from the south. Menelaus had never seen Aulis and withheld a verdict. We resolved to journey together to realms north of the Isthmus--‘a recruiting tour’, my brother interjected--and win support from the kings of Euboia and Thessaly, Aitolia and Thesprotia and Cephallenia.
On a balcony where once they played as children the kings of Mycenae and Sparta wove the complex skeins of a deadly rope that throttled the life from Troy. We called for wine and food and swallowed while we argued, and talked down the sun to his flame-shot rest behind Saminthos’ peaks.
As we went downstairs to the Hall Menelaus said casually, ‘Forgot to tell you. I brought Paris home in my galley.’
I stopped in mid-step. ‘Paris? Paris? How on earth--’
‘The fellow had made himself unpopular in Troy by accidentally killing old Antenor’s son in a fencing match. Remember Antenor--the man who wanted your backing to make Telamon of Salamis surrender Priam’s sister? The dead lad's brothers were starting a blood feud, and Priam decided to send Paris away till tempers cooled. Paris fervently agreed--he’s not, I judge, outstandingly courageous. So after a bit of dickering I took him on my ship.’
I said eagerly, ‘Is he here in Mycenae?’
‘No. He insisted on leaving for Sparta directly he disembarked. Seemed highly averse to meeting you.’ Menelaus regarded me thoughtfully. ‘I’ve known others react in much the same way. Can’t understand why. You’re awesome in appearance and the biggest crook alive, but I’ve never found you frightening.’
I disregarded an unjustified slur, and said, ‘Paris knows Troy like the palm of his hand, and everything about her troops and allies. I suggest you drain him of information.’
Menelaus shook his head. ‘Can’t be done. Dishonourable. The man’s my guest-friend; mustn’t treat him as a spy, make him betray his city. Certainly not!’
I sighed. A peculiar king, my brother, beset by foolish scruples and ingenuous ideals. ‘As you wish. Let’s find some solid food; I’m famished after talking all the day.’
* * *
After a moon’s abstinence at sea my vigour astonished Merope. The least splenetic of women, taking life as it came, she nevertheless complained that the palace ladies treated her abominably. ‘They avoid me, never speak, and their children forbid my son to share their games. It’s a lonely life for a child, my lord.’
I recognized the source at once, and admired Merope’s forbearance from mentioning a name. ‘Your solitude shall be ended,’ I said dourly; and strode to Clytemnaistra’s quarters. She dandled the babe Electra on her knee; Orestes dropped a miniature bow and quiver of blunt-barbed arrows and merrily clasped my knees; Iphigeneia mooned by a window mumbling to herself. I affably greeted my queen, instructed Orestes in the arts of notch and draw, patted his curls and chased him into a nursemaid’s arms. A flick of my hand sent everyone save Clytemnaistra and her girl-child from the room.
I said bluntly, ‘You have instructed the ladies of the court to ostracize Merope. Why?’
‘You hurl accusations like hail, my lord,’ she answered silkily. ‘Have you proof? Why should I concern myself in a Boeotian doxy’s
affairs?’
‘Let’s not chop words! You’ll rescind your orders and tell the women to treat Merope courteously.’
She caressed Electra’s hair. ‘Assuming my guilt--which I don’t admit--what shall you do if I refuse?’
I stared in frank amazement. ‘Do you truly believe me powerless to impose my will on a gaggle of spiteful females?’
‘Will you whip them each in turn,’ she sneered, ‘and pile brutality to women on all your other crimes? No, my lord--even your barbarity has limits!’
‘Nothing so crude. A gentle hint to their husbands will end your malicious ban. A nobleman holds his estates on loan from the king, who owns every finger of land. What I have bestowed I can easily remove. Heroes facing dispossession will speedily chasten recalcitrant wives!’
The arm embracing Electra involuntarily tightened. The child whimpered. Clytemnaistra whispered soothingly in her ear. I said, ‘You deceive yourself, my lady, in believing you exert the smallest whit of authority outside this room. Elsewhere I am paramount, you are nothing. Remember it well!’
Clytemnaistra busily comforted Electra, and answered not a word. I strode to the door, turned on the threshold and said, ‘Call your bitches off. Merope’s ostracism will cease forthwith.’ She lifted her head and said meekly, ‘It shall be done, my lord.’
I walked down the corridor, feeling uneasy. Obsequiousness in Clytemnaistra was unnatural as servility in lions. I’d have preferred a stream of invective.
* * *
The Dorian War ended by midsummer. Ajax’s flying column returned to Mycenae, the leader volubly triumphant. The squadron had marched through northern Arcadia hunting for trouble. The enemy proved elusive. They caught and killed a few stray Goatmen but found no trace of Dorians. Then, approaching the borders of Elis, they ran straight into a battle where Dorians had concentrated against the Elian column and penned it in a valley. Ajax dismounted the squadron and descended on their backs in a headlong charge.
Surprise was complete; the Iron Men broke instantly and ran. There was, said Ajax gleefully, a most tremendous killing; the victors counted seven hundred Dorian and Goatmen corpses.
Many escaped, he added regretfully--but no guerrilla forces could afford that scale of casualties.
Meanwhile Nestor had directed his men into central Arcadia, while Diomedes swept the mountains beyond Tegea. Both encountered opposition, and ruthlessly scuppered whatever they met. Though Dorian casualties were not comparable to those Mycenae and Elis inflicted it was clear that the Iron Men and their skin-clad allies had suffered reverses setting them back for years. (Indeed till this very moment when Troy’s smoke coils sully the skies there has not been a single irruption from anywhere in Arcadia.) Convinced we had lifted the threat that enforced large citadel garrisons I journeyed from Mycenae to organize with Menelaus our joint recruiting tour.
Before presenting my proposals to the kings I wanted everything cut and dried down to the smallest particulars of harness straps and wineskins. Gelon and a posse of Scribes therefore travelled in my train. In Prasiai’s harbour I rehearsed for Menelaus’ benefit a practice embarkation, loading horses, baggage, chariots and men on triaconters and penteconters while Scribes observed the procedure and compiled loading tables. My brother dubiously eyed frightened horses skidding on ramps, and recoiled in horror on hearing that his warriors replaced rowers on the benches.
‘Heroes don’t row!’ he spluttered.
‘No? Then who took “Argo” to Colchis? Every man in the crew a Hero, and the ship had fifty oars!’
Menelaus said he could muster sixty sails. (Thirty short of his total deep-sea fleet; but I didn’t expect rulers to renounce all overseas commerce for the war’s duration. Mycenae, after lending ships to landbound Arcadia, still had fifty freighters plying the trade routes.) Shipping capacity governed fighting strength: therefore Sparta would land on the Troad three thousand spears, seven score chariots, two hundred and eighty horses and a numerous following of bronzesmiths, carpenters, saddlers, wheelwrights, squires and cooks and slaves. These last I pruned to the pith: there still seemed far too many.
After heated wrangling we agreed on shipping food for thirty days, enough to tide us over until galleys sent home from Troy could ferry more provisions or--an uncertain proposition--foragers captured supplies on the Trojan plain. Burdened with men and supplies the ships rode low in the water: the freeboard left, to my landsman’s eye, looked dangerously slim. Gelon completed voluminous notes; I then possessed a prototype that all the kings could copy, a pattern they generally followed in embarking their Hosts for Troy.
These labours lasted a fortnight; and we returned to Sparta from Prasiai. After bathing and changing I dined in the Hall, occupying a marble throne on Menelaus’ right. (Tyndareus had taken to his bed, and was seen no more.) Helen sat on her consort’s left; Heroes and ladies shared tables--Spartans accord their women more freedom than anyone save Lesbians. Having eaten nothing since a dawn departure from Prasiai I voraciously dispatched a dish of pork and lentils, contentedly swallowed ten-year Pramnian wine, picked my teeth and surveyed the clamorous room. I knew most Spartan nobles by sight, and spotted a stranger sitting beside the hearth: a slim, wide-shouldered man about thirty years old, blue-eyed and ebony-haired, exceptionally handsome, face vividly alive. He gestured extravagantly as he talked, and obviously delighted the ladies at his table, his witticisms evoking peals of tinkling laughter.
I pointed a thumb. ‘Who is the man by the hearth, Menelaus?’ He ceased stroking Helen’s hand--never have I known a husband so infatuated--and looked vacantly round the Hall. ‘Where? Oh--that chap. Priam’s son Paris I told you about. Like to meet him?’
‘Indeed.’
A squire carried a summons. Paris rose reluctantly, awarded his charmers a dazzling smile and threaded a way through the tables. He moved gracefully as a cat, his bearing negligently elegant. Saluting Menelaus he said, ‘You command me, sire?’
‘I think you haven’t met my brother Agamemnon.’
I saw quick trepidation in the eyes that turned to mine. ‘Your servant, sire. I hope one day to visit Mycenae again.’ His voice, though slurred by a Trojan brogue, rang musical and clear--a songster to the lyre, I afterwards learned.
I said pleasantly, ‘It’s regrettable your stay was so short. If you’d dallied awhile you’d have seen--‘
‘I offered Paris hospitality in Sparta,’ Menelaus said. He sent me a warning look. ‘I’m glad to provide a haven from--er--temporary troubles which will all blow over in time.’
‘Naturally they will,’ I said. ‘Priam must compel Antenor to bridle his bloodthirsty sons.’
Helen set her goblet on the table and gently chided her spouse. ‘Where are your manners, Menelaus? Won’t you ask Lord Paris to be seated?’
‘What? Yes, of course--certainly. Where’s that squire? Eteoneus, find a chair. Sit down, my lord, sit down!’
Paris gave Helen a radiant smile. She fluttered her lashes and dimpled, the lovely face aglow. (I then ascribed her flush to the heat of the room; now I’m not so sure.) He talked lightly of trivialities, discussed the blood-lines of Priam’s far-famed stud, analysed some doubtful genealogies the bardic ballads assigned to long-dead Heroes and gently ridiculed his own alleged descent from Ganymede and Tros. Entertaining sallies spangled his conversation; Paris exuded charm like perfumed oil. Helen propped elbows on table, cradled chin in hands and listened entranced.
Watching the speaker’s animated features I recalled his history. Priam’s second son, apparently, was exposed at birth because a seer foretold he would cause the fall of Troy (One of the rare occasions I have known a seer to be right.) A herdsman found the babe and brought him up as his son; Paris passed his boyhood on Mount Ida tending cattle. Returning to Troy for the first time since his birth he attended races and games celebrating the city’s foundation. Paris insisted on competing, won a boxing match and foot race and by his grace and beauty so attracted the king’s admiration that the foste
r-father herdsman was emboldened to reveal the paragon’s true identity. A rattle the herdsman produced which he found in the baby’s hands was recognized by his mother and accepted as proof of the tale. (Queen Hecuba, I concluded, was a highly gullible woman.) Paris thereafter lived in Troy as one of the royal family.
I remembered garbled yarns of his early years. A womanizer since puberty, he busily seduced peasants’ daughters who lived on the slopes of Ida, an accomplishment made easier by his comeliness and charm. He became in the end so selective he held beauty competitions, choosing the loveliest entry as his partner in fornication. I cannot vouch for the truth of stories Paris probably told himself while bragging about his exploits--a similar tale, in bardic lays, attaches to dead Hercules. Yet the evidence of my eyes in Sparta’s Hall declared that Paris could fascinate women like a snake paralysing a mouse.
The Trojan ended an anecdote, and bequeathed Helen a lingering look before returning to his table. She dropped her eyes and blushed. Surreptitiously, beneath lowered lids, she watched him cross the room. Menelaus quaffed wine. ‘An amusing fellow,’ he declared. ‘I’m glad he came to Sparta.’
Was it then that the seed of an idea implanted itself in my mind? I have often wondered since, but can never quite be sure.
Chapter 7
After the harvest was gathered Menelaus and I set forth to enlist in our cause the kingdoms north of the Isthmus. We took an escort sufficient to protect a convoy of animals and wagons bearing gifts for the kings we would meet; and included Scribes in the party for explaining to their counterparts the problems involved in supplies and shipping.
I shall not relate the details of gruelling, protracted journeys which lasted through winter and spring and ended the following summer. We marched to the Thracian borders, struggled through tangled mountains to the sea coasts of Thesprotia and the Cephallenian islands, camped in remote wildernesses peopled by men who were little removed from savagery, stayed in dingy settlements which the inhabitants called ‘cities’, chieftains glorified as ‘kings’, the largest hut a ‘palace’. In the northern and western wilds you seldom found paramount rulers; every little lord reigned fiercely independent, an ignorant, stubborn warrior holding himself the peer of any king in Achaea.
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