Warriors in Bronze (12 page)

'As lovely a pair as ever I've seen.' His voice was husky, the
tones abruptly changing, obviously recently broken: a contrast
to the resonant bellow which later made his war-cry famous.
'Venetic blood - they must be a handful to drive! You are ..

'Agamemnon son of ... Atreus.'

'Ah, yes.' For a moment Diomedes' eyes held mine; the
glance warned me he knew all about my parentage. Which
was hardly surprising: family trees and lineage are among the
subjects most discussed by men of noble blood. 'We heard
rumours of your trouble with the Goatmen. You —'

His father and Atreus ended a low-voiced colloquy. 'Dio­medes, you ride with the Marshal's Companion Phylacus. Get
mounted!'

'Oh, dear.' Diomedes sighed heavily. 'The old boy coddles me
like a new-born lamb. Atreus' reserve chariot, I suppose? Nurse-
maided in the second rank, as I expected. Well, maybe one
day ...' Smilingly ,he climbed to the empty place beside Phy­lacus and engaged that dour character in sprightly conversa­tion. Atreus mounted, lifted his spear. Scouts trotted ahead; the
column clattered and crunched the stony road to Tiryns.

Flat and open countryside extended on either hand until,
some hundred bowshots short of the point where the citadel's
ramparts climb into view, scrub-stippled hills closed in on the
road to make a narrow, twisting path just wide enough for
four men marching abreast. I handled the horses gingerly:
drainage ditches bordered the track and stunted olive and
tamarisk bushes leaned from the banks and brushed our shoul­ders. At a bend that was tight as a fully-crooked elbow a droop­ing clump of myrtle overhung the way.

A white-clad figure leaped from the leaves, a spearhead
flashed in the sun.

A Companion is taught, when a footman attacks from a
flank, to swing instantly towards him to shorten the length of
his lunge. Instinctively I obeyed the tenets instilled in months
of training, and hauled savagely on the reins.

The turn, though slow - the horses moved at a walk - was
enough to deflect the aim. The point scored the Marshal's lifted
shield, glissaded past his helmet. Quick as a falling thunderbolt
Atreus lunged his spear. I heard a high-pitched scream that died
in a bubbling wail.

I reined the horses sliding on their hocks. Atreus tugged his
spear out, jumped from the car and lifted it high and plunged it
down.

A single shriek, and sounds like an animal crying.

Shaking at the knees, I controlled my frightened horses.
Atreus straddled a squirming form that scrabbled hands on
stony earth and jerked in the throes of dying. The body arched
and crumpled. Atreus leaned on his bloodied spear, both hands
clasping the haft, and watched his attacker die. His head was
bowed; he stayed curiously still and silent.

Phylacus' chariot rounded the bend. He halted, flung reins to
Diomedes and pelted sword in hand to help his lord. I craned to
see the body, half hidden by myrtle boughs, and glimpsed a
white contorted face, glazed eyes fixed and staring.

Plisthenes.

The chariot's leather-thonged floor rocked beneath my feet
like the deck of a storm-tossed ship. I clutched the rail. The
horses stamped and sidled; numbly I felt the bits.

Atreus roused himself. 'Quick, Phylacus! Take his arms, help
me drag him under the bushes.' A snap in his voice like break­ing sticks. 'We must hide this unfortunate corpse lest the men
imagine omens and refuse to travel further.' Together they
bundled the body into a cleft between rocks which oleanders
shaded. Phylacus scuffled earth across a scarlet puddle. Atreus
plucked a handful of leaves and scrubbed his spearhead clean,
brushed his hands together and remounted.

'Drive on!'

I flicked the reins, wheels grated on grit. Atreus stared
straight ahead, and spoke between lips that were set and stiff.

'You saw who he was?'

I nodded dumbly.

'I have killed my son. The Lady will demand requital. I must
sacrifice....' The sinewy hand that held the rail clenched till
the knuckles whitened. 'He could not have hatched this ambus­cade alone. Someone pricked him on. Not difficult to guess. ...'

The road debouched from the pass; Tiryns' greystone towers
reared on the horizon. I glanced back. A vulture circled lazily
over the slopes where Plisthenes lay.

He was my father. I searched in my heart for sorrow, and

found no emotion at all.

* * *

We met little opposition from the Heraclids. Ostensibly to
celebrate Hercules' birthday Thyestes entertained them with a
feast in the palace Hall. By mid-afternoon, when our warbands
arrived, they were mostly screeching drunk. Atreus halted the
chariots at the ramp that climbed to the gate, dismounted all
the Heroes and led them at a run through forecourt and palace
courtyard. They burst into the Hall and surrounded the stupefied
Heraclids. Spearmen followed fast, blocked the doors and lined
the painted walls.

Men do not go armed to palace banquets, so there was
virtually no resistance. Iolaus, dagger on high, tried to rush
Tydeus; the Argive commander butted his shield and bruised
the attacker's ribs. Hiccupping and winded, he vomited his
meal. Hyllus, owlishly dignified, protested incoherently; At­reus told him amiably to save his breath. The captives were
herded into Tiryns' echoing galleries where, with exits closed
and guarded, they huddled cramped and crowded in the dark.

From crannies in the citadel and town spearmen rounded up
a handful of lesser followers who had not attended the ban­quet. Some bore weapons and tried to resist; slaves buried them
outside the lower citadel. By evening all were accounted for in
one way or another; and the Heroes of Argos, Mycenae and
Tiryns gathered in the Hall to recover from their exertions and
swallow food and wine. The occasion developed into a celebra­tory revel; lamps and torches were lighted and the feasting went
on till late at night.

Diomedes, the only witness to Plisthenes' killing besides
Phylacus and myself, was not of course aware of his identity
and tried to elicit a reason for the corpse's hurried disposal.
'Unlucky omens my foot!' he declared. 'Who cares when a
brigand dies?' I was more than a little sozzled for the first time
in my life - that agonized squealing sang in my ears like a
threnody heard in dreams - and answered roughly. 'Do you
question the Marshal's wisdom? You saw a robber get his
deserts - that's all. So keep your mouth shut!'

Diomedes looked at my eyes, and said no more. Thyestes hardly shared in the general merriment. His manner
distrait, the sunken sea-green eyes wary as a wolf's, he ans­wered shortly Atreus' cheerful banter. His mind seemed else­where, brooding secret problems. Often I caught him shooting
puzzled glance at the Marshal. Atreus refused to respect his
brother's reserve, and persistently and boisterously engaged
him in conversation. Finally he clapped Thyestes' shoulder.

'What ails you, man ? I've rid you of an irksome pest! Aren't
you glad to see me?'

Thyestes answered tonelessly, 'Of course. I'm only sorry you
have to go so soon. You leave at dawn?'

'At dawn. An easy march to Mycenae, then a longish haul to
Corinth the following day. We'll have to guard our villains
carefully when the road goes through the mountains.' He sent
the Warden of Tiryns a friendly smile. 'Those passes can be
dangerous.'

Thyestes, face inscrutable, traced with a fingertip the graving
on his goblet: a winged and hawk-beaked griffin. 'So? You
have a sufficient force to discourage intruders. Neither Goat-
men nor cattle raiders ever attack strong warbands.'

'True. But,' said Atreus genially, 'you'll hardly believe the
things some idiots try.
A
lone bandit jumped our vanguard on
the Argos road. Killed him at once, of course. Fellow must have
been mad
!
'

Thyestes raised the goblet, drank deeply and set it down.
'Undoubtedly.' He scrubbed the back
of
a hand across his
mouth. 'With your pardon, I must go. I have business to
attend: arrangements
for
the transport accompanying you to
Corinth.'

Atreus watched him stride from the Hall. The smile had left
his lips, his features hardened in ruthless lines and his eyes were
cold and cruel.

*
* *

The column left at sunrise. The pace was hampered by baggage
carts and mules and the wives, concubines, relatives and slaves
belonging to the Heraclids - a rabble that outnumbered the
prisoners themselves. Thyestes had suggested selling the lot;
they would fetch good prices in Nauplia's slave market. Atreus,
remembering Eurystheus' strictures, reluctantly dissented. He
confiscated their chariots, hounds and horses - a mediocre
assortment - and divided them among the senior Heroes.

We reached Mycenae in late afternoon and corralled our
captives in the citadel for the night. After a weary march
through mountains the following day - each Heraclid escorted
by a vigilant spearman - we passed by Corinth and halted near
to nightfall on a cliff-hung road that traverses the Isthmus.
Atreus herded the Heraclids to the front. 'From here you're on
your own,' he told Hyllus and Iolaus. 'Keep walking - and
don't come back!'

Hyllus' angry eyes glittered in the dark. 'Don't imagine, my
lord, that you've seen the last of the Heraclids. We will
return!'

Atreus made a contemptuous noise, turned and remounted
his chariot. 'To Corinth, Agamemnon, fast as you can make it
in the dark.' I whipped the tired horses and drove very care­fully indeed: the road was carved in a cliff side, and a preci­pice fell like a wall to shoreline crags.

Atreus roused himself from silent meditation. 'Hyllus is
probably right. Depends on what support they can find in
Megara and Athens. And Thebes is always ready to stir up
trouble. I foresee a fight in the future.'