by John Dolan
The laugh makes them flinch a little, but Agamemnon, not noticing, goes on, “Right, three of them now! Well, he can have his pick! I’ll make him my son-in-law! My son Orestes is waiting there now, just waiting for his dear father to come home …”
The Gods, listening, have a good laugh. They know exactly how Orestes will greet his dear long-lost Papa: with a dagger in the belly.
But Agamemnon knows nothing of what awaits him at home, and burbles on: “Akilles will be as dear to me as Orestes! I’ll give him seven towns, full of good hardworking serfs. Right on the sea, good harbor! Cattle, sheep, everything! I have so much I’ll never miss them!”
Agamemnon is drunk on his own voice, boasting even now, a few hours from ruin.
Nestor tries to make the best of it: “Agamemnon, these are fine gifts you’ve offered. Now we need to pick a group to see Akilles. I suggest Fenix, Akilles’ old tutor, and his friends Odysseus and Ajax, and two heralds to make it official.”
Good choices; everyone nods. Nestor finishes up, “We need to hurry, so have the slaves bring us water—you’re our host, Agamemnon, so act like it! Then we’ll pray to Zeus. Maybe he’ll spare us.”
The slaves wash the lords’ hands, and fill their bowls with wine. Everyone is drinking more than usual tonight. Panic is behind their eyes, and every Greek sees himself floating alone in the trough of a huge, dark wave.
Odysseus leads the group down the beach to Akilles’ quarters. He’s the brains; the others are there because Akilles likes them.
As they walk, they whisper prayers to Poseidon, who’s out there under the waves somewhere. They need all the help they can get.
Akilles is on a couch, playing a lyre. His old friend Patroklas lies near him, listening. It’s a relief, seeing Patroklas. He’s Akilles’ best friend, a little older and steadier than his lord. Akilles takes him for granted a bit, speaks roughly to him sometimes, but they’re very close. Patroklas was more like a father to Akilles than old Peleus ever was.
Akilles stands up, still holding the lyre, and says in a flat voice, “You are all welcome. It must be serious business to bring you three, the only Greeks I still consider friends! Patroklas, tell them to bring us more wine, and less water in it this round! We have guests!”
Patroklas, obliging as always, goes to give the slaves their orders, as Akilles leads the party to the couches.
They wait in silence until Patroklas comes back with food. It’s a fine spread: a sheep-haunch, a goat-loin, and the fat meat from a pig’s back. Akilles and Patroklas play host, spit-roasting the meat for their guests. Akilles puts the meat on wooden trenchers with his own huge hands, and passes bread to each guest.
Then he says “Patroklas, make the sacrifice.”
Patroklas picks out the best three hunks of meat and tosses them in the fire. When the sizzle stops; the gods have fed; now the men can eat.
When they’ve all eaten as much as courtesy demands, Ajax nudges Odysseus, who begins,
“Akilles, you’ve given us a fine meal. But we’re here on serious business. The army’s in trouble. Zeus has been blasting us with lightning and Hektor’s killing anyone he sees, because he knows Zeus is on his side. The Trojans swear they’ll burn our ships tomorrow morning, and I’m afraid they’re not just boasting this time. Come back, Akilles. We’ll be wiped out if you don’t.”
Akilles keeps his face neutral, sips his wine. Odysseus leans toward him: “I know you, Akilles. We’ve been friends a long time. You take things too hard! Your father Peleus used to warn you not to hold a grudge. He knew something like this might happen.”
Akilles frowns. Odysseus goes on,
“Agamemnon knows he was wrong. He’s made you a fine offer by way of apology: gold, silver, bronze, and slave-girls, the best-looking ones from Lesbos. Horses, too, prize-winners from his stables! And even one of his daughters. He said he’ll make you a son-in-law, and give you seven rich seaside towns as dowry!”
Akilles shakes his head. Odysseus pleads, “Well, then, think of your reputation. If you fight tomorrow and drive back the Trojans, you’ll be a hero! They’ll sing songs about you for thousands of years!”
Akilles says coldly, “Odysseus, stop wheedling like a peddler. I hate fancy talk. I’ll tell you all right now, I won’t come back. Why should I? For nine long years, I’ve watched Agamemnon keep to his tent while I did the fighting. I took 12 towns! Where do you think those slave-girls came from? I’m the one who captured them in the first place!”
They nod, laugh nervously. It’s true enough.
Akilles waves a huge hand, “Agamemnon always showed up just in time to grab every pretty girl, every gold trinket! You could never find him in a fight, but as soon as I’d killed the enemy, he’d pop up like a camp dog nosing around a spit!”
He mutters, “He only let me keep one thing: that girl Briseis. I liked her. He knew it, too. That’s why he took her.”
It’s true enough. Nobody wants to defend Agamemnon at the moment. But they don’t like this sentimentality about a captive girl.
Akilles sees their reaction and shouts, “No, it’s not about the girl! It’s about respect! He took her back, when he knew I’d quit if he did, so he must value her more than he does me!”
They nod at that; a good point.
He goes on, “Besides … I’ve been thinking about things. Why should any of us fight the Trojans? We’re no kin to Agamemnon and his cuckold brother. Let them get Helen back themselves. I don’t have any grudge against these Trojans! They seem like decent people … for Easterners, anyway. I suppose they love their wives as much as Menelaos does.”
He sneers, “And I bet their wives love their husbands much more than Helen loved him!”
They have a good laugh. You can count on those Menelaos jokes to break the ice.
Akilles relaxes a little, drawls, “I see Agamemnon thinks he’s a great general now, a real military planner, with this wall of his! And his little ditch with those oh-so-scary spikes in it! At dawn tomorrow, he’ll find out his ditch and his wall won’t stop Hektor!”
He turns to Ajax: “Remember when I fought Hektor? He only stood up to me once. Once, in nine years’ fighting! Most of the time, he knew better than to front up to me; he always managed to be where I wasn’t! Except that one time—remember, Ajax? By the oak tree?”
Ajax nods.
“He tried fighting me … for about ten breaths! Then he ran back into the city!”
They all remember that moment. They wait, hoping Akilles has vomited up all the bile in his liver.
But there’s more. He goes on, “Well, from now on Hektor doesn’t need to worry about me, because at dawn I sail for home.”
They didn’t expect this. He’s pleased with their surprise, goes on,
“So you can tell Agamemnon I don’t want his gifts. There are beautiful girls at home, and cattle, and iron. There’s only one thing you can’t buy, and that’s life. So tomorrow I go home. Fenix, old friend, come with me—because this army will never take Troy!”
Fenix, oldest and humblest of the three, sobs out, “My Lord Akilles, please take the gifts! For my sake! I used to feed you when you wouldn’t eat for anyone else. I helped raise you. I’m begging you, come back. You’ll win all sorts of glory, my son!”
Akilles scowls, “I don’t need glory. My mother is a goddess, my father’s line descends from Zeus, and who are you serving? The filthy Atreus-sons! You all know that family is accursed. Keep serving them and you’ll die for nothing. No, Fenix, I won’t go back. You stay here tonight, sail with me tomorrow morning.”
He turns to Patroklas, who’s been sitting quietly at his side: “Patroklas, you’re so slow tonight! Go tell the slaves to make a soft bed for Fenix!”
He stands up, gesturing toward the door. The embassy is over.
Ajax sighs, “I guess we’ll have to tell everybody that Akilles would rather let us all die than give up his precious grudge. I don’t understand you, Akilles! Maybe I’m stupid, but it seems to me th
at even if a man’s own brother gets killed, he’ll take the blood-money and give up the feud. But you … all this fuss about a girl?”
Akilles smiles: “Ajax, we’ve always been friends and I know you’re talking sense, but every time I think of what Agamemnon did to me … No. I won’t fight unless Hektor tries to burn my ships. And I don’t think he’s stupid enough to try it, even if he burns everyone else’s.”
The meeting is over. Slaves fill their cups. Each man spills some wine on the fire for the gods. Then they drain their cups and go.
All but Fenix. He stays behind.
As soon as they return, Agamemnon runs up asking, “What’d he say? Is he going to help us?”
Odysseus says bluntly, “No. He said you should save the ships yourself, you and your wall. He and his men are sailing home tomorrow. He says the rest of us should do the same; we’ll never take the city. Oh, by the way, Fenix stayed with Akilles.”
Odysseus sits down by the fire, tired of talking to people.
After a shocked silence, Diomedes grumbles, “We never should have begged him to come back! It makes us look weak, and it didn’t do any good! We just have to do our best without him. Everybody should get a good rest and be ready to fight in the morning.”
They go off to sleep, those who can.
10
RAID
AGAMEMNON CAN’T SLEEP. He keeps getting up to have a look at the Trojans’ campfires out there on the plain. So many! And there are about fifty warriors around each one. All those Trojans, Lycians, and their outlandish allies, just waiting for the sun to rise. Then they’ll swarm over the Greeks’ pitiful wall. And the ships will burn, the Greeks will be chased down like pigs in a gully. Everyone will die. And Agamemnon will be remembered as the one to blame.
He paces back and forth, mumbling, groaning. Sometimes he screams and bashes himself on the head; once or twice he grabs his hair and pulls hunks of it out, ranting at the gods, the Trojans, his cuckold brother, himself.
At last he goes into his tent and comes out with a lion’s skin over his shoulders, as if he can put on its courage with its pelt. He’s putting on his armor when Menelaos steps out of the dark, already dressed. Neither of the Atreus-sons got any sleep tonight.
Menelaos squats by the fire and says, “Why bother getting dressed, brother? If you’re hoping for volunteers to scout the Trojan camp, forget it. They’re too scared.”
Agamemnon mutters, “They have good reason. Do you know how many men Hektor killed today? And he’s not even half-god! One mortal did all that to us! Zeus was with him. The gods are pro-Trojan now.”
They watch the fire in silence.
Agamemnon stands up, groaning, says, “We have to do something! I’m in charge here! I’ll go wake Nestor, maybe he can think of something. You, brother, go wake the others.”
Menelaos stands, but Agamemnon says, “Wait! Menelaos, wake them, but be polite about it. I’ve been thinking; maybe we’ve been a little … high-handed … with the men. So tonight, greet every man you see, Menelaos. Hail him by name, his and his father’s. I want everybody to know that the sons of Atreus are their friends, not just their commanders.”
Menelaos trots off on his errand, and Agamemnon heads for Nestor’s quarters.
Nestor is awake too. Old men don’t sleep much. Nestor sees a monster coming at him in the dark, something with a lion’s head and legs like a man. He blurts, “What? Who’s that?”
Agamemnon shrugs off the lion-skin, tears off his helmet and says quietly, “Nestor, please help me. I think this could be the end of us. Can’t sleep. Did you see all those Trojan fires out there? As soon as they sun comes up, they’ll be over that wall like ants.”
Nestor pats him on the shoulder. “Agamemnon, Atreus-son, you worry too much. It’s not good, either for you or the army. I tell you, I’ve seen gods play with men a long time; What they give one day, they take back the next! Zeus will pull the rug out from under Hektor soon. That’s what the gods are like, my boy! They raise a man up just to knock him down.”
Agamemnon is inconsolable. He squats by the fire, shaking his head.
Nestor wrenches up on his creaky joints, grumbling, “Come with me. We’ll make the rounds of the camp. A king should be seen at a time like this.”
Agamemnon stands to help the old man as Nestor goes on, “Why isn’t that dull-witted brother of yours, Menelaos, with us? He has too much of the turtle in him! Slow as honey in winter, that boy!”
Agamemnon says, “It’s true, my little brother is a little slow to move sometimes, but tonight he’s awake, rousing the others. He came to me tonight on his own.”
Nestor nods, scratching his long white beard: “Well, perhaps I was hard on the boy … Never mind! Now you stand up straight, sir! Act like a king when we meet the others.”
They go to wake Odysseus, but he steps from the shadows already dressed. He knows what they have in mind without being told. They move on to the next tent, where Diomedes is snoring by the fire on an ox-hide.
Nestor calls out to him, but it will take more than the old man’s reedy voice to wake Diomedes. Nestor kicks the snoring giant in the ribs, growling, “Diomedes! Wake up! What are you snoring for, at a time like this? Why, in my day …”
Diomedes rolls over, sits on his haunches. He squints at Nestor, sighs, “Old man, don’t you ever sleep? You’re made out of iron or something.”
Nestor chuckles, “You can return the favor by waking up Ajax, Meges, and the rest of them. If they’re snoring like you were, give them a good kick in the ribs!”
Diomedes grunts, grabs a lion-skin from his tent, and lumbers off into the shadows like a big cat walking on two feet.
Ajax and the others show up one by one. Some are still sleepy, some nervous and wide awake. Nestor and Agamemnon gesture for silence. Without a sound, the group makes its way over the wall, through the ditch, onto the plain. They find a spot without too many stinking corpses and squat on their haunches to talk.
Nestor speaks first: “My friends, we need to scout the Trojans tonight, see if they’re going to attack or withdraw to the town. The man who volunteers to do that will be a hero. Why, we’d each give him a black ewe, oh yes, and her lamb as well, and …”
Diomedes says quickly, “I’ll go. But I’d like someone with me. Two pairs of eyes see better, two brains think better.”
Everyone volunteers, including Menelaos. Seeing his brother offer to go on this suicide mission, Agamemnon steps in: “Good man, Diomedes! You’ve always been brave. Pick anyone you want to go with you, but remember, choose the best man for the job, not just someone with high lineage, like Menelaos.”
Diomedes understands what Agamemnon is up to, but he doesn’t want dull-witted Menelaos anyway. The choice is obvious: “I want Odysseus with me. He’s as brave as any of us, smarter than any of us, and more important, he’s Athena’s favorite; we all know she loves you, Odysseus!”
The others laugh quietly, but Odysseus winces. It’s bad luck to talk about these things. He waves away the joke: “You don’t need to introduce me, everyone here knows me. No more talk. We need to go now, before the sky lightens. And we’d better look like them, or their strange friends. So take off that Greek-model helmet and armor, Diomedes. They’re a dead giveaway. We’ll wear the weird armor those Easterners use.”
Slaves run off, coming back with leather helmets. Odysseus puts on the smaller one, a simple skullcap. Diomedes gets the big one, an ox-hide cap with boar’s tusks sewn onto it. Odysseus takes a bow as well, the Asians’ favorite weapon.
Then the two of them trot out toward the Trojans’ camp.
Odysseus can feel Athena with him. He stops, looks up at the stars and says, “Daughter of Zeus! You’ve helped me through so many hardships; be with me now, and let me and my comrade come back alive, after we’ve hurt our enemies.”
A heron croaks in the dark sky. Athena is here.
Diomedes adds his prayer: “Daughter of Zeus, protect me too! I’ll give you the smoke fr
om a one-year-old heifer, never put to the plow, with gilded horns!”
No heron cry this time. Diomedes will have to hope Athena’s deal with Odysseus includes him too.
The two of them jog on toward the Trojan campfires, lions’ heads pulled over their leather helmets. In the dark, they are two lions running like men.
The Trojans haven’t slept either. Hektor has called them together in front of his tent. He says, “I need a volunteer. He’ll be well rewarded, because it will be a dangerous mission: going to the Greek ships to see if they’re getting ready to sail off.”
No one volunteers.
Hektor isn’t happy. Not one volunteer? The Trojan force is breaking up, the Asian allies keeping to their own campfires. He needs to destroy the Greeks now, before attrition and despair dissolve the Trojan force.
Finally an ugly churl named Dolon says, “If you promise me Akilles’ horses and his chariot, I’ll go. I’m a fast runner; I’ll make it there and back safe.”
Dolon has good reason to take the risk: five sisters, no brothers. That’s five dowries to pay. And another, to get himself a wife, ugly as he is. It will take a lot of gold to buy Dolon a bride. He’s thinking how much Akilles’ godly horses and chariot will bring.
But he’s a bad option. Look at him, misshapen, disgusting. The gods hate ugly people. Still, no one else is willing to go, so Hektor raises his royal staff and says, “I swear, and Zeus may hold me to it, that you’ll have those horses, no one else.”
Dolon puts on a cap of weasel-skin, ties a jackal’s skin over his shoulders, and trots off into the darkness. He looks like a jackal with a weasel’s head, trotting on man’s legs.
He heads for the Greek camp, jumping over the stinking corpses that dot the plain.
Odysseus hears Dolon coming and pulls Diomedes down among the corpses, whispering, “Someone’s coming. Maybe a commoner robbing the corpses, but it could be a spy. Let him go by, then we’ll grab him.”
They lie down on the dust plain like two lions fallen in battle. Dolon trots by.