Vengeance at Aulis (The Trojan Murders Book 2)

by Peter Tonkin

  v

  High King Agamemnon strode out of the tent in silence, his face as white as the marble of Mount Pentelicus. His attendants who had been waiting outside fell in around him – and that was just as well because it seemed for a moment that they would need to hold him up. He paused for a moment, spitting orders. Several attendants sped away, running in all directions through the camp. Then the High King was in motion once again. As we watched him walk away, Diomedes said, ‘A wedding, eh? I wonder who’s getting married.’

  ‘Princess Iphigenia, clearly,’ said Machaon. ‘But as to who she’s marrying, your guess is as good as mine!’

  ‘Surely it shouldn’t be too hard to work out,’ I said, buoyed up by the promise of my captain’s imminent return. ‘It has to be a king or a prince at least. And how many are suitable, available and unmarried? Most of them are either married already, too old or both. Amongst the younger generation, who do we have? Palamedes and Aias for a start. Leitus of Boeotia, Prince Ajax isn’t married yet…’

  ‘I’m just married to my lovely Aegialia,’ remember, warned Diomedes. ‘So don’t get carried away and put me on your wedding-list!’

  ‘Thalpius of Elis,’ I persisted.

  ‘And the vast majority of the others were suitors for Helen’s hand alongside Meneleus,’ said Diomedes. ‘They’re all from the same generation as Iphegenia’s father therefore, and far too old, though King Nireus of Syme is wearing outstandingly well. And they’re all married!’

  ‘Well, I concluded, ‘let’s hope it’s not Palamedes or Aias. I wouldn’t wish either of them on the daughter of my greatest enemy!’

  We left Machaon’s tent but I hesitated almost at once. Odysseus was going to arrive soon. Perhaps I should wait at his tent. Then I remembered that much of what I wished to show him was aboard Thalassa, so I would have to go via the ship, no-matter what my final destination. Then it struck me that Elpenor’s message would put a whole new aspect onto the investigation in any case. Would Odysseus want to become involved in something as sordid as the murders I had been investigating when the festivities of a royal wedding were just about to start?

  ‘Make up your mind, lad,’ said Diomedes. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I want to see King Odysseus arriving,’ I said – or rather blurted.

  ‘Well, that’s easily done,’ said the young king. ‘He’s escorting Queen Clytemnestra and the children. He’ll be going to see them safely to High King Agamemnon’s tent.’

  So as Diomedes went directly to his own tent to give Nestor the news – if he didn’t already know it - I went down to Thalassa as quickly as I was able and hauled myself aboard. ‘The captain’s back!’ I called to acting-Captain Eurylocus as I grabbed the shattered foreleg and the skull, stuffing them into my bag beside the daggers and the arrows, excitement overcoming the second thoughts I had already started to entertain about the appropriateness of bringing such violent matters to a wedding festival. ‘He’s accompanying Queen Clytemnestra. Apparently Princess Iphigenia is getting married to one of the suitable young kings or princes.’

  ‘Perhaps the High King’s hoping that such an auspicious occasion will make the Goddess change her mind and let the wind loose,’ said Eurylocus sceptically. ‘As long as he doesn’t mess it up like King Admetus did in the stories old King Nestor likes to tell. I hear there have been vipers loose in the camp today already.’

  ‘A wedding ceremony to appease Artemis. That hadn’t occurred to me,’ I said, dismissing the snake story with a shrug. ‘Do you think there’s any chance…’ I stopped because I realised I was asking the wrong man. I ought to be asking Ikaros: he’d have a good idea of what the High Priestess and the Oracle would think of the notion – or rather what they thought the Goddess would think of it. Then something struck me: I hadn’t actually seen Ikaros since the Bear and his companions had carried the Rat’s body off, no doubt to be disposed of in whatever ritual his master King Aias dictated. He must have followed them to the Locrian camp, I supposed, and would have no idea that matters had changed in his absence. However, I had no intention of going to try and find him. I was going to get to Agamemnon’s tent with all possible dispatch in case Odysseus arrived before I got there. Though to be fair I was also interested to see Queen Clytemnestra and Princess Iphigenia, though the maiden would probably be veiled. Clytemnestra was sister to the kidnapped Helen, Queen of Sparta and wife to Menelaus. Helen was supposed to be the most beautiful woman alive, and her sister was hardly less lovely. As far as I had heard, the only real difference was that Helen had blonde hair and blue eyes while Clytemnestra was dark. Their characters were different too by all accounts: Helen was cheerfully sunny but fatally biddable; Clytemnestra had an unbreakable will and a memory for slights and insults rivalled only by that of the Goddess Artemis herself. But rumour had it that the budding beauty of Agamemnon’s favourite daughter Iphigenia bid fair to outdo both her mother and her aunt in time and rival even the exquisite Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty.

  As I hurried towards Agamemnon’s tent, my head full of these thoughts, Ikaros appeared at my side. ‘Once I heard the news,’ he said companionably as though we had already been conversing for some time, ‘I knew I’d find you somewhere between Thalassa and the High King’s tent. Do you know when Odysseus is due to arrive?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But I’m surprised that the news actually reached you and that you made it here so quickly. The Locrian camp is one of the outer ones. Did you run?’

  ‘No,’ said Ikaros. ‘I didn’t need to. The Bear and his little funeral party didn’t go anywhere near Aias’s camp. They took the Rat straight to King Menelaus.’

  ***

  The only reason I did not stop and gape at him was my fear that I might miss Odysseus’ arrival if I did so. ‘Menelaus,’ I said. ‘But why would the High King’s brother have anything to do with a creature like the Rat?’

  ‘Only one reason I can think of,’ answered Ikaros cheerfully. ‘King Menelaus must have employed him!’

  ‘To kill poor Sophos and stop the message he was carrying getting to Mycenae,’ I reasoned, slowing my pace as I tried to work things through. ‘But why would Menelaus want to kill the rhapsode and stop the message? Why interfere with the High King’s plans?’

  ‘Perhaps because the High King’s plans somehow interfere with his brother’s plans or wishes,’ said Ikaros.

  ‘Well, I’d be surprised if that were the case!’ I countered. ‘Menelaus simply wants to get to Troy as soon as possible, rescue his beautiful wife from Prince Paris and take her home to Sparta. That seems to be all there is. All this talk of sacking the city, amassing mountains of loot, and getting our fill of slaughter and rapine seems to be coming from Agamemnon and his closest associates.’

  ‘It’s all to motivate the troops,’ said Ikaros. ‘they need good reasons to stick with his plan. Menelaus doesn’t want to plunder anywhere. He probably wouldn’t want to kill Prince Paris if it wasn’t a matter of honour. All he wants is Helen. Home.’

  ‘True,’ I said. ‘So, what in Agamemnon’s plans could be running counter to such a simple desire?’

  ‘Well, as we’ve just found out, the High King plans to keep us all here – whether the wind returns or not – so that he can marry Princess Iphigenia off to one of the thoroughly eligible royal bachelors assembled in and around the camp. That is bound to slow things down with regard to Helen’s rescue.’

  ‘Unless, as Odysseus’ acting captain Eurylocus suggested,’ I said, ‘that the wedding is itself a ploy to distract the Goddess. Or even to make her forget her outrage at the death of the sacred stag and the priestess and release the west wind after all.’

  Ikaros gave a bark of cynical laughter. ‘If that’s his plan, he should just forget it. The only thing that will appease the Goddess is the sacrifice of a child sired by the man who fired that fatal arrow. Until that happens, the thousand ships and fifty thousand men are stuck here and going nowhere unless they decide to go home.’

/>   ‘And if that happens it spells humiliation and ruin for both of the sons of Atreus,’ I said. ‘So Agamemnon and Menelaus have the same long term goal. Get to Troy, get into the city, get back home with either a massive fortune or a flighty wife – depending on which brother you are. Whatever is causing disagreement between them must be more immediate in nature.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ikaros, ‘you must admit the High King has not been particularly active in the unmasking of the guilty man – no matter what his reasons! If he’d been serious about pleasing the High Priestess and appeasing the Goddess, he would never have sent King Odysseus away. He needs to take decisive action but he’s playing politics instead. If I was Menelaus, married to the most beautiful mortal alive and some Trojan princeling was bedding my wife nightly somewhere in his father’s citadel, I’d be verging on madness with rage at my brother sitting on his hands like this, especially when he’d promised to do all he could to help get her back!’

  ‘So,’ I said, as the High King’s tent came into sight and we could see the two brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon standing in front of it, both dressed in purple and armed in gold, waiting magnificently for the Queen’s arrival, ‘it seems that we have to work on the assumption that, in spite of their show of unity, the two brothers are actually working against each-other.’

  ‘And,’ added Ikaros as the parade of wagons, pack-animals and servants or slaves on foot led by King Odysseus and Queen Clytemnestra side by side in their chariots appeared, ‘it looks as though Palamedes has been working for Agamemnon…’

  ‘While Aias and his murderers are really Menelaus’ men,’ I said.

  6 - The Return of the King

  i

  At first, Queen Clytemnestra’s arrival appeared to lighten the mood in the vast Achaean camp. The sons of Atreus, her husband and his brother, were both apparently overjoyed to see Clytemnestra, Iphigenia and little Orestes who, unlike his sisters Electra and Laodike, was too young to be left behind in the royal citadel of Mycenae. It was only when I eventually got to talk to Odysseus that the first shadows of suspicion that all was not well began to gather.

  At first glance Odysseus himself appeared to be as elated as everyone else at the promise of a royal wedding and the associated festivities which would, at the very least, fill up the next few days if they too proved to be windless. He only let his guard down later, in his tent, long before I had an opportunity to discuss with him the things that I had found out so far. It was not surprising, of course, that my captain’s seeming cheerfulness in company should mask a deeper sadness which only revealed itself in more private moments. After all, he had just parted once again from his own beloved Queen Penelope and his son Prince Telemachus. He had no idea when or if he would see them again because he suspected that many weary years and dangerous campaigns might well stand between his recent parting and his eventual return. And to rub salt in the wound, here was Agamemnon calling his wife and son to-be with him while he solemnised his beloved daughter’s marriage. But the wedding itself was the first aspect which called a dark thought to my captain’s lips.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Odysseus as he sat in his tent soon after his arrival while the crewmen who had accompanied him sent the chariot back to its stable in Aulis, brought various items in and marked others for transport to Thalassa. One of his servants washed his travel-stained feet and legs while he rubbed the side of his thigh, seemingly lost in dream as he continued, ‘it is the thought that any father has when looking on the loveliest of his daughters – that he is soon to lose her to marriage and another man. No matter how much she loves him, the day will come when she loves another man more. This is the dreadful moment at which the High King seems to have arrived. Perhaps that explains the shadows of sorrow and desperation I seem to see beneath Agamemnon’s smile. It is selfish, I know, but there are times I thank the Gods that I have fathered a son. In the mean-time,’ he continued, rousing himself, ‘I have called you here because there are several things I need to discuss with you. The first and most important is that Sophos, the High King’s rhapsode has been killed.’

  ‘I know this, Captain. I have been looking…’

  ‘And therefore,’ Odysseus rode over my enthusiastic reply with a firmness that I attributed to his exhaustion and sadness, ‘the High King is currently without the usual entertainment at his feasts. The first of which is being prepared as we speak. He requires, in consequence, that you wait on him as soon as possible to discuss which of your songs would be best suited to the happy occasion. You will perform it for his guests tonight.’

  Those words stopped me in my tracks and emptied my mind of everything I had been planning to discuss. ‘I had better go at once,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, you had,’ said Odysseus wearily. He stopped massaging the scar that ran up the outside of his thigh – something he only did when he was extremely tired - and waved me away. He had been given that scar by a huge boar during a hunt on Mount Parnassus with his grandfather Autolycus in his youth, much to the horror of King Laertes his father and Queen Anticlea his mother. He had been very lucky to survive. There were dangers in being a father to boys as well as to girls, I thought.

  I was no sooner outside his tent than I realised that I could not, in fact, obey the High King’s summons immediately. The leather bag which currently hung from my shoulder contained the things I wished to show my captain – two daggers, two arrows which appeared to be nothing alike, a skull and a shattered shank. The bag I needed, the one that contained my lyre, was on Thalassa. I turned, therefore and began to run as fast as I could down the hillside towards the shore. The distance was not great – Odysseus liked to pitch his tent where he could see his vessel, even in the distance. I was running along the shore towards the beached ship, therefore, when something else distracted me. I slowed to a walk, frowning. My adventures as I escaped the Rat immediately after his companion had been crushed by the bear had taken me through the Myrmidons’ camp. Their tents were beyond the point where Thalassa lay but they were still easily visible, as were the black ships drawn up on the sand opposite them and it was what was going on here that engaged my attention.

  The entire Myrmidon army was astir. It seemed that all two thousand five hundred of them were vacating their tents, pulling on their armour, grabbing their spears and shields as they lined up, rank after rank, along the firm grassy area behind the dunes. Fascinated and not a little surprised, I ran past Thalassa, looking for a familiar face among the regimented lines. As fortune would have it, I saw Eudorus, one of the five commanders who ranked immediately below Achilles and Patroclus. I had met him when I visited Phthia and he recognised me. The five hundred soldiers of his command had just formed up in front of him and they were all awaiting their leader’s next command. ‘General,’ I called. ‘What is going on?’

  ***

  ‘Orders,’ answered General Eudorus with a philosophical shrug.

  ‘But what is it that you’re being ordered to do?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re off on a forced march,’ he said tersely. ‘To test the men and sharpen up any slackness. Here to Marathon. Leaving now. Armoured and fully armed. Prince Achilles and Patroclus in the lead. On foot like the rest of us. At a run to begin with.’

  ‘Marathon is, what, twelve leagues distant,’ I calculated. ‘Nothing much in the way of roads and some really mountainous sections. Challenging stuff.’

  ‘Right. We’re Myrmidons. Twelve leagues is hardly any distance at all. Marching us that far along the beach would be a waste of our time, even in this heat and even if we ran part of the way. But the terrain to the south of here is what makes it challenging, especially as we’ll have to go round or climb over Mount Parthina. We’ll be at Marathon by nightfall though, no matter what. We’ll sleep out on the plain, forage what we can, pretend we’re on the Troad looking up at the walls of Troy, then wait for further orders.’

  No sooner had he finished speaking than the order to move out came. The ranks of soldiers facing eastwards towards the sea
swung round, moving as though they were all one man, and began to run southwards, General Eudorus at their side. Black armour gleaming, arm-guards and greaves flashing, shields on one shoulder, spears on the other, swords slapping against thighs, helmet plumes flirting like black mares’ tails in the still, sultry air. My mind filled with pleasurable thoughts about what would happen to the murderous Trojan thieves who had robbed and crippled me on the dockside there when the Myrmidons got hold of them. I turned and walked back to Thalassa. As quickly as I could, I climbed aboard, swapped one bag for another and returned to the beach. I was just setting off for the High King’s tent when a frog-faced man I recognised as one of the royal servants came puffing down to the sand only to stop, frowning with confusion.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve been told to deliver a message,’ he said.

  ‘From whom to whom?’

  ‘From the High King. He sends an invitation for Princes Achilles and Patroclus to attend his feast of welcome for Queen Clytemnestra, Prince Orestes and Princess Iphigenia tonight,’ he explained.

  ‘Too late,’ I told him. ‘Achilles and the Myrmidons have left on a forced march to Marathon. They won’t be back for two days, maybe three.’

  The royal servant and I walked back towards the High King’s tent companionably enough. ‘There’s going to be a big feast tonight,’ I observed. ‘I have to sing a song suitable for a wedding at it.’

  ‘To welcome the queen and the princess, yes, though none of us has any idea who the prospective bridegroom is. It’s some kind of secret, apparently. Chief Steward Oikonomos has everyone running around like lunatics. I believe the High King has been taken by surprise.’

  ‘What, that the queen arrived so soon?’ I wondered.

  ‘That she’s arrived at all,’ he said. ‘Oikonomos says he doesn’t think the High King knew she was coming and certainly not on a mission like this! Agamemnon is usually so well-organised. Plenty of planning ahead with detailed warnings for Oikonomos and the rest of us. Not this time! We’re scouring everywhere, looking for almost everything! Oikonomos says it’s a pity we didn’t keep that stag back. It could have hung for a few more days – probably have improved the flavour. But the High King was keen for it to be used so it’s gone and that’s that. Poor Oikonomos is in the agora in Aulis at the moment. There are traders there who will have made their fortune, I can tell you!’