Warriors in Bronze (16 page)

I have lingered over this episode for two reasons: it intro­duced me to combat and, more important, invigorated the ex­pansion of Mycenae's power which began when Electryon
stormed Corinth sixty years before; continued when King
Sthenelus laid Nemea under tribute; and had wilted since in
Eurystheus' languid hands. The escalade at Midea helped to
found the mighty empire Mycenae rules today.

It also had another curious aftermath. A quarter-century
later, brooding on Scamander's banks, I remembered Atreus'
tactic and devised the fall of Troy.

As
a newly-fledged Hero I abandoned
my
palace quarters
near
Atreus'
and my mother's apartments and started
a separate
establishment in a commodious house
by
the northern
gate.
Supported by revenues from my Midean estates I
furnished the
rooms
luxuriously, buying marble
tables
inlaid with
rosettes of
ivory and gold, cedarwood chairs intricately
carved, bronze
cauldrons and tripods, vases of dark
green
mottled
stone from
Laconia,
patterned rugs and hangings
woven
in the
town. Tunics
and
mantles and gaudy robes filled
beechwood chests in store
rooms, and jars abrim with fragrant oil and
mellow vintage
wine
sentinelled the walls. Clymene was pleased,
but
not
so
pleased when I sent to Nauplia for slaves and she found
herself
sharing
favours
with a brace of willowy
Cretans
:
good house­
maids, handy
at
the looms
and
remarkably agile
in bed. Cly­mene
sulked.

'Who expects one woman to satisfy a Hero?'
I asked her
brusquely. 'You run the house and order the servants.
Isn't that
enough?'

'Common peasant bitches,' she sniffed.
'I wonder you bear
the
smell
!
'

'It's part of your job to see they wash
-
and don't
be
such
a
snob. When next we sack a city I'll take a royal
daughter.
That'll put your nose out of joint - your father in Pylos
was
only a lordling!'

Clymene feigned humility. 'My breeding is
coarser than
yours, I know
-
who can match Pelopian blood
?
-
but all my
arts in love I learned from you.' She smiled demurely.
'Is
Agamemnon's pupil less versatile than a couple
of Cretan
sluts?'

I
laughed, and fondled her breasts; and hastened
out to
inspect
a
pair of thoroughbred sorrels a dealer
had brought
from Euboia. Besides providing myself with horses I had to order
armour
from the smiths. While tradition governs warriors and
war, and
accoutrements remain unchanged through many years, in
the
matter of mail two schools of thought contend. One swears
by
the ancient fashion - somewhat modified - our ancestors
brought from Crete: a leather corselet, helmet and greaves -
all
of which depend for proper protection on a body-length shield
of the waisted or concave kind. (The bards insist that Zeus and
his followers fought naked, disdaining even corselet and
greaves.) This school - the traditionalists - say a soldier so
equipped is quicker and more active than one weighed down in
mail.

Their opponents hold the opposite view: Heroes riding
chariots don't jump around like fleas; a warrior wounded is a
warrior the less, so protection is of paramount importance.
Hence they wear the strongest armour that hammer and bel­lows can forge, virtually impenetrable by any brazen blade.
These clanking Heroes deride the conservative school and pride
themselves on moving with the times - though the type of mail
they favour was introduced, so Atreus said, by a former Lord
of Midea far back in Perseus' time.

The fossilized thinking of military minds was a factor that
hindered me later.

I held no strong opinion either way and followed the
example of Atreus, a convinced 'modernist'. The smith forged
me backplates and breastplates, chin-high gorget, shoulder-
guards and arm-shields and a knee-length skirt descending in
triple overlapping flounces. All were solid metal, tried and
tested bronze. The leather-workers' guild constructed a close-
fitting oxhide casque and sewed upon the outside boars' tusks
ranged in rows. Interwoven straps lined the helmet's interior
and rested on a skullcap made of felt. A horsehair plume dyed
scarlet bannered the crest. I favoured a waisted shield five hides
thick, a ten-foot spear and thrusting sword, and brazen greaves
fastened at the back by silver wire. The whole outfit cost fif­teen oxen; and until I grew accustomed I waddled beneath the
burden like a pregnant woman eight moons gone.

Though Eurystheus did not evict the men who held the
Midean manors, their tributes flowed to Mycenae; Atreus be­came a richer man and the king extremely wealthy. Over­ruling his Marshal, who advised for dynastic reasons that the
man was better dead, he banished Amphiaraus. He went to live
in Argos; it was rumoured he had foretold Midea's fall, and
thereafter earned a reputation as a seer. Following a lenient
policy
-
pointless to sack towns and devastate land whence he
intended to gather tribute - Eurystheus allowed Amphiaraus'
son Alcmaeon to rule Midea in his stead. Everyone was reason­ably happy; and ox-carts from Midea's cornfields swelled My­cenae's granaries.

'Which removes for a time the threat of famine,' Atreus
said, 'but the people will still go short. Sooner or later we
'll
have to break the Theban hold on Orchomenos.'

About this time - or perhaps a little later; nowadays my
memory is apt to go astray - Jason returned from Colchis.
Word arrived from Tiryns that
Argo
had anchored in Nauplia's
bay. Jason, the messenger added, resolutely refused to beach his
ship or allow anyone on board: he held a cargo for delivery to
none but King Eurystheus in person. Rumours of his return had
reached us from Iolcos where he first made port; stories of his
exploits during a two-year expedition multiplied like maggots
in a corpse. He, his ship and crew were names in everyone's
mouth; men wanted to meet the mariner and hear the truth
from his lips.

Eurystheus renounced dignity - you don't normally summon
kings - and escorted by palace Heroes drove to Nauplia.

Galleys bristled a sandy beach in rows; every owner had his
own particular slip. A wharf of quarried stone jutted from the
tide mark a bowshot out to sea; here ships were moored to
offload heavy cargo. Seamen clustered in groups on wharf and
beach, squatted beside the galleys and cobbled sails and cables,
planed the oars. Away to the left reared Nauplia's natural
breakwater, a rocky arm of land two hundred foot-lengths
high; on the seaward face a cliff fell sheer to the sea. (Aerope's
Leap, the people called it, after a doom-laden day in the future.)
Solitary in the bay a long black penteconter rocked lazily on
the swell.

Eurystheus drove down the beach till the wheels sank deep
in sand, dismounted and greeted Thyestes who, surrounded by
attendants, waited to receive him. The Warden of Tiryns wore
a gold-embroidered cloak and a vindictive expression, and
gestured angrily towards the galley.

'The harbour master commanded the fellow either to beach
or moor at the wharf; he refused both. Spearmen went in a
boat to enforce the orders; Jason, damn him, manned the bul­warks and fended them off Is his cargo too precious for
ordinary men to see?'

'It
wouldn't surprise me,' Eurystheus said quietly. 'Call to
him, my lord: tell him the king is here.'

Thyestes
cupped hands and bawled across the water. The
anchor thumped aboard; oars rattled on tholes and paddled
Argo
to
the wharf. Sailors whipped ropes round bollards. Jason
leaped ashore and saluted, back of the hand on forehead.

Sun
had burned the mariner's features brown as plough-
turned
soil, sea rime cindered his beard. Smilingly he said,
'I
come to repay
my debt, sire. Half
of
all I brought from Colchis
awaits you
in the hold. Care
to
see it?'

He
handed king and Marshal on deck; a jerk of Atreus' head
signalled me aboard. Thyestes stayed on the wharf, muttering
in
his beard and eyeing with growing interest a vivid appari­
tion
sitting
in
the sternsheets: a remarkably beautiful woman,
red-haired,
red-lipped, fierce green eyes in a face like flawless
marble.
Seamen lifted planks which covered the hold. Leather
sacks
reposed on the garboard strakes. Jason unknotted thongs,
opened
wide
the mouths. Gold dust glittered like sun-rays
in
the
darkness of the hold.