The crowd began to mutter at this. Agamemnon looked for support to Menelaus, who frowned and glanced away. Nestor murmured something about the spoils already having been fairly divided.
Then Achilles stepped forward again.
‘It can only cause grievance if the king claims what is not rightfully his. No one but you is in question here. Obey the god’s demand and give back the girl. Once Troy has fallen you’ll have all the recompense you could want.’
But this was too much.
‘Since when did Achilles have the right to tell the High King what he may and may not do? I’ve already said that the girl will be released. You can take her back to Thebe in your own ship if you like, along with whatever sacrifices are needed to propitiate the god. But I expect my loss to be made good, and if the army doesn’t give me satisfaction in this matter, then I’ll seize a woman for myself.’
Agamemnon was trembling with rage as he spoke. Achilles held his stare for a moment then glanced at Patroclus with a look that communicated his incredulous scorn for the blustering fool who had led them to this war.
Agamemnon did not miss it. His face darkened with menace. ‘You would do well to show more respect, son of Peleus, or I might just help myself to the woman I allowed you to keep after that raid you made without my consent.’
All the anger that had smouldered between Agamemnon and Achilles for years now combusted to a blaze. ‘What kind of leadership is this?’ Achilles demanded. ‘How can you expect any man to follow you into battle if he knows you’re likely to seize for yourself any spoil he takes? As Apollo is my witness, these Trojans have done me no harm. They’ve never lifted my cattle or ravaged my lands. Nor have they harmed most of us here. The truth is, we came to this war to help you and your brother gain satisfaction for your loss, and now you turn on us, demanding that we surrender our own lawful prizes to your greed. You even dare to threaten me -- Achilles, son of Peleus, I who have borne the brunt of the fighting from the first. If it hadn’t been for me and my Myrmidons you’d still be sitting on Tenedos. Well, I’ve had a bellyful of fighting for an ungrateful fool who makes enemies of his friends and puts his own pride before the good of the host. I see no further point in dirtying my sword to win plunder for you when I get nothing but insults in return.’
Agamemnon had listened to this tirade white-faced, knowing that his leadership was now at stake. ‘Take to your ship then,’ he bellowed before Achilles could turn away. ‘Go home and graze your sheep on Skyros. I have friends enough to fight at my side without suffering your insolence a day longer.’ Breathing noisily, he narrowed his eyes in a baleful glower. ‘But no one defies the High King and gets away with it. I’ll have that woman off you before you go. The host shall see which of us is mightier -- the stripling Achilles or Agamemnon, King of Men.’
In that moment, driven by the impetus of his rage, the hand of Achilles reached for the hilt of his sword. He was about to draw it and run the king through when a voice inside his head restrained him so powerfully that it felt as if an invisible hand was tugging at his hair. It was the voice of the goddess Athena bringing him back to his senses, promising that a day would come when he would be amply recompensed for this outrage.
Achilles stood for a moment, wide-eyed, scarcely breathing, attending to the whisper. Then he pushed the sword back into its scabbard, turned his gaze on Agamemnon, and snatched the sceptre from his hand.
‘You’re a drunkard and you’re a coward,’ he said with cold, dismissive menace. ‘Not once have you dared to lead your men into battle. You’d sooner skulk in your tent and wait for bolder men to win your spoils for you. Well, others may lack the heart to stand against you, but I swear by this sceptre that a day will come when you’ll be crying out for my aid in the heat of battle, and we’ll see then how mighty you are, when Hector is cutting his way through the Argive ranks while you eat out your coward’s heart with remorse for having disgraced the bravest of your warriors this way.’
He threw down the sceptre at Agamemnon’s feet and would have walked away but Nestor rose from his chair and caught him by the arm.
‘Shame on you both for hot-headed fools,’ the old man shouted. ‘Priam and his Trojans will dance for joy when they get to hear about this. I may be an old man -- a lot older than either of you -- but I’ve fought alongside better men in my time. Theseus and Pirithous were my comrades -- great kings both and shepherds of their people. Not one of you here could have stood against them in battle. And if heroes like that were ready to listen to my counsel then so should you be.’ He looked up where Agamemnon was still trembling with rage. ‘Remember your dignity. There’s more to be lost here than a mere woman. And you, Achilles, curb your truculent manner. Remember that the king’s authority derives from Zeus himself. He deserves your respect both as your lord and as the better man.’
Agamemnon shook his head. ‘This arrogant young thug doesn’t know the meaning of respect.’
Achilles came back at him at once. ‘Because I see nothing worthy of it in your drunken folly.’
Again Nestor intervened. ‘The girl was given to you at the king’s own hand, Achilles. He is within his rights to take her back again.’
Achilles stared from Nestor to Agamemnon with all the contempt that youth reserves for the stupidity of the old. ‘So now we see what Agamemnon’s word is worth,’ he said. ‘Very well! Let all men note it. But if he tries to take a single other thing off me I swear my spear will run black with his blood.’ Then he turned away and walked off through the silent host with his friend Patroclus stiff and angry at his side.
Seeking to recover command of the situation, Agamemnon immediately gave orders for Odysseus to take ship and return Chryseis to her father, along with a generous number of cattle to be offered as sacrifices to the god. He then retired to bathe himself and offer his own sacrifices to Apollo on an altar by the shore. But the rage was on him still. He stood in the smoke blowing from the roasting ox-thighs, knowing that he would lose all authority if he failed to force Achilles to bow to his will.
Two hours passed and the girl did not appear. At last he summoned his heralds and told them to go to Achilles with a demand that he hand over Briseis at once.
The heralds found Achilles still passionate with rage where the Myrmidon ships were propped on stakes along the westward reaches of the strand. Patroclus sat beside him, throwing stones at the sea, angry and incredulous at the way his friend had been treated. The Myrmidons stood round them, feeling their leader’s shame, muttering together, and glowering at the heralds’ approach.
Aware of the injustice of his mission, Talthybius found it hard to deliver his master’s demand, but Achilles sensed his apprehension and quickly dispelled it. He asked Patroclus to bring Briseis out of his lodge, and then turned back to the herald. ‘Be my witness here before the gods, Talthybius. I have done as that madman commands, but never again will I raise my spear and sword to come to his aid. Tell him to remember that when his host is fighting for its life among the ships.’
Briseis was weeping as she came out of the hut. Achilles had always treated her well and everyone present knew that the girl could expect nothing but humiliation at Agamemnon’s hands. But of all the players in the conflict she had the least power over her own fate. She could only pray to the gods for her protection as she was led away by the heralds. The cries were lifted back to Achilles on the wind.
Before she was out of sight, he turned away and sat for a long time alone, watching the waters break against the shore. His eyes smarted with the fury of his injured pride as he thought of the deathless fame and honour he had hoped to win by fighting in this war, and there was such hatred for Agamemnon in his heart that he could scarcely breathe for it. The gods had promised him that if he came to Troy his life would be brief but glorious, yet he had suffered the ignominy of Agamemnon’s insults and had now banished himself from the coming fight. And what glory could there be in this recalcitrant isolation? There was, it seemed, as little justice among the
gods as there was among men.
But then he remembered how Athena’s voice had come to him in his rage, and he recalled the promise that the goddess had made him. Surely his life must still be singled out for a glorious purpose? Sooner or later he must be vindicated.
A Duel in the Rain
After nine protracted years of war, the army of Agamemnon had now endured another bitter winter, witnessed the stoning of Palamedes, suffered a debilitating onslaught of pestilence, and seen the ardour of its champion extinguished in a disgraceful public brawl. The murmurs of mutiny which had already stirred in Aulis were sounding even louder now, and they found a rancorous spokesman in an ill-favoured soldier named Thersites.
This fractious rabble-rouser was a distant kinsman of Diomedes, but while the fleet had been stuck in Aulis he had become vociferous in his support for Palamedes as a man of shrewder qualities of leadership than the vacillating and ill-tempered elder son of Atreus. It may well have been Thersites who started the rumour that Agamemnon had conspired with Odysseus against Palamedes, but in any case his seditious influence now began to thrive with every performance he gave of his satire show about the squabbling leaders. The common soldiers watched it, laughed and applauded, and came away increasingly convinced that this whole expedition against Troy was badly led and would finally prove futile.
Only an optimistic fool could have imagined that an army in such a state would be eager for the coming fray. Agamemnon was not the wisest of men, but neither was he a fool. Nor, since the sacrifice of his daughter, was he left with any degree of conviction that this war would go well for him. He was amazed, therefore, to jump from his sleep early one morning, having dreamed with startling clarity that the gods had promised him a speedy victory.
Immediately he summoned his captains and told them of his dream. A figure had appeared to him there in the form of his most valued counsellor Nestor, demanding to know why he lay sleeping when Zeus himself had opened up the way to Troy. He swore that the dream had left him in no doubt that the Argives should arm themselves immediately and profit from the good will of the gods, for their golden chance to take the city had come at last.
His commanders stood about him, listening in astonished silence. Even Menelaus was taken aback by the abrupt change in Agamemnon’s mood, for he too had been oppressed by his brother’s irascible fits of gloom. Yet here he was, restlessly striding his tent as he talked, and filled with a brash confidence that seemed justified by nothing in the circumstances of yet another grey day in which a gritty wind, heavy with the threat of rain, blew over a camp still recovering from sickness.
Agamemnon stared back at their bewildered faces in frustration. ‘What’s the matter with you all? Do you only believe in evil omens? The wind has changed, I tell you. The gods are with us again. The time to strike is now.’
Privately flattered that the god had chosen to manifest in his own form, Nestor was the first of the counsellors to respond. ‘I think everyone is as surprised by this as I am, and I have to admit that . . . well, in our present circumstances, if anyone else had come to me with a dream like this, I would have been hard pressed to take it seriously.’ He turned, smiling, to his colleagues ‘But this is an extraordinary day, gentleman. Zeus, the greatest of gods, has given this dream to our chief of men. Can we afford to question it? I say we should marshal our forces at once in the knowledge that the gods now favour us.’
Odysseus gasped with incredulity. ‘Have you seen what’s going on out there? If you ask that rabble to pick up their weapons and fight they’re more likely to make a run for the ships. Some of them are still sick. Others are close to mutiny. Get out and listen to what that scurrilous rogue Thersites is saying to them. It’s obvious they’re in no shape for battle.’
Caught between the dream and that grim reality, Ajax and Diomedes glanced uncertainly at one another. Idomeneus was frowning at the floor.
‘Can I count on no one here except Nestor and my brother?’ Agamemnon demanded. ‘I thought I’d brought leaders of men with me, not a craven pack of curs. But look what happens -- Palamedes betrays me, Achilles skulks off and sits sulking in his tent. And now you, my closest friends start backing off just when I need you most! All right. Go home then, if that’s how you all feel. I’ll fight this war on my own if I have to. At least I know the gods are with me.’
‘No one’s talking about going home,’ said Odysseus quietly, ‘dearly though some of us would like to do so. We’re merely asking for a realistic appraisal of our circumstances.’
‘And you think you’re a better judge of that than the gods themselves? Is that it? Well forgive me if I beg to differ. Nor do I intend to waste my time listening to a mongrel like Thersites.’ Agamemnon turned impatiently away, ordering his squire to bring him his cloak and staff. Then looked back at his discomfited generals. ‘Before you prate to me of caution, consider this. We have reliable intelligence that some of Priam’s Asiatic allies left for home during the winter months. So we almost certainly outnumber him now. Yes, there’s still sickness in the camp but the worst of the pestilence has lifted since I made the offering to Apollo, and we can’t sit about licking our sores for ever. Nine years we’ve already given to this war -- nine years -- but it was prophesied that in the tenth year Troy would fall and the tenth year has come. The omens are in our favour at last. And now the gods have sent a dream that gives me warranties of victory. If you are men, and leaders of men, you will get out there and rally your troops. Troy can be ours by the end of the day -- if you have the heart for it!’
There was a fire in Agamemnon’s eyes and a fervour in his voice that none of them had seen for a long time. Menelaus was exhilarated by this sudden renewal of his brother’s passion for the cause. Ajax and Diomedes felt their spirits lift at his defiant challenge, and rather than split the leadership at this crucial moment, Idomeneus nodded his assent. Only Odysseus was still shaking his head as he left the tent praying to Athena for inspiration.
The nine heralds went about the camp calling the Argive host to assembly. When all but Achilles and his disaffected Myrmidons had taken their places on the benches, Agamemnon stepped forward, holding the great staff which had been made by Hephaestus and passed down from Zeus to Hermes, and thence to Pelops and his son Atreus. Agamemnon had seized that staff when he took the throne of Mycenae, and all his authority as High King of Argos was vested in it. His army listened in disgruntled incredulity now as he proclaimed his intention to launch an assault on Troy that very day, and when he had finished speaking, the assembly ground fell silent except for the buffeting of the wind.
Then the jeering voice of Thersites rang out from the ranks. ‘Well, we know that Achilles will stay tucked up at home in bed with Patroclus, but does the High King intend to come with us on this expedition -- or will he appoint some other poor bugger to do his looting for him?’
Coarse laughter rippled throughout the host.
Nestor got to his feet and shouted out for silence and respect.
‘Respect!’ Thersites shouted back. ‘Find me ten men in this army who have any respect for the leadership we’ve got and I’ll sack Troy with them myself.’
Agamemnon could feel the blood beating behind his eyes. ‘We cannot all be kings here,’ he bellowed. ‘I have the authority of almighty Zeus to lead this army, and I swear by his thunderbolts that I mean to lead it to victory this day.’
‘On the other hand,’ called Thersites, ‘we could all go home!’ The laughter was louder this time. Encouraged by it, Thersites said, ‘I for one have had enough of parading up and down the coast of Asia to no purpose but filling your coffers with plunder! What about the rest of you?’
A rumble of agreement rose from those immediately around him. A scattering of calls lifted across the crowd. But many of the foot soldiers were as surprised by Agamemnon’s renewed show of vigour and confidence now as his commanders had been earlier, and the rebels were not yet carrying the whole host with them.
Then someone shouted, ‘Le
t’s hear from Odysseus. What does he have to say?’ And the cry was taken up.
Of all the leaders, Odysseus was held in most affection and esteem by the common soldiery. Palamedes had curried their favour, teaching them to play his dice game, and listening to their grievances, but Odysseus had always commanded their respect. They liked his piratical air, and they approved of the fair-minded way he always made his judgement count, whether in debating great affairs of state in the assembly or in settling petty disputes among his men. He was still distrusted by those who had been of Palamedes’ party, but Palamedes was dead, and most of the troopers assembled there had thrown one of the stones that killed him, so they looked to Odysseus for guidance now.
Holding his cloak against the pull of the wind, Odysseus rose to speak. He waited till the throng was silent, and was about to begin when Thersites called out, ‘Palamedes once trusted this Ithacan sheep-shagger, and look what happened to him! Watch out, lads, or he’ll have the skin off your backs.’
When the laughter had died down, Odysseus said, ‘Thersites has a nimble wit. He has a nimble tongue too, and I promise him that if he doesn’t teach it better manners soon, I’ll have it out by the roots! As for his suggestion that you all go home -- well, it sounds reasonable enough. I miss the pleasures of my wife’s bed as much as any man here, believe me.’ He looked across into Agamemnon’s apprehensive frown and then away again. ‘If I thought it made any sense,’ he resumed, ‘I’d take ship for Ithaca tomorrow. But I’ve heard my sheep bleat better arguments than our foul-mouthed friend over there. Just think about it for a minute. You’ve already stuck this war out for nine years -- nine long and sometimes terrible years. Years in which you’ve taken wounds and watched old comrades fall in combat or vomit up their guts with pestilence. And yes, you’ve taken some plunder in that time, and those of you who haven’t squandered it on dice or women could go home tomorrow richer than you came. But just over the other side of that wall sits the richest city in all Asia. It’s fat with treasure and it’s ripe for the plucking! Can’t you smell the women in there? Can’t you hear the rustle of their silks? Ten years we were told it would take before that city fell. You were all in Aulis. You all saw that serpent eating Aphrodite’s sparrows in the tree. And I was given much the same omen myself even before I left Ithaca, so you can understand why I thought twice before setting out on this Trojan junket! My boy Telemachus will be ten years old this year, and I’ve yet to hear him talk, let alone watch him string a bow, so those years have been as long for me as for anybody. But do you think I’m going to throw them all away by heading for home before the job is done? What kind of sense would that make -- to go back empty-handed when, with a little patience and courage, I could take a handsome share in all the golden treasure of Asia with me? You wanted to know what I have to say -- well, this is it. This is the tenth year of the snake, comrades. The gods have promised us that Troy will fall. Those among you who have any heart will do as I intend to do -- take up my spear and sword, and follow our King out across that windy plain of battle and right on through the gates of Troy!’
The War At Troy Page 30