Warriors in Bronze (41 page)

Survivors of the massacre trickled in. The Argives had fought a battle which hadn't lasted long, and the Scavengers pursued to the mouth of the mountain defile. Few spearmen escaped, baggage and followers were lost; only Heroes driving the fleetest horses eluded the sodomites' spears. Three-quarters of the Host that had marched so bravely from Argos was either dead or enslaved.

King Adrastus, a broken man, stayed mourning in his tent. His Heroes, numbed by disaster, moved about their duties like men walking in their sleep. Diomedes brooded, and nursed a baffled fury. 'The villainous bastards broke the truce!' he gritted between his teeth. 'One day, by The Lady's grace, I'll take a seven-fold vengeance!'

It seemed improbable; and anyone who trusted a Theban's word deserved everything he got.

When the dribble of survivors ceased Adrastus struck camp and marched for the Isthmus. So, in miserable defeat, ended the war of the Seven against Thebes.

* * *

At Mycenae I reported events to Atreus, who had recently returned from campaigning. 'No more than I expected,' he observed. 'A badly organized operation, doomed from the start. Now Thebes is cockahoop; the victory has increased her-in­fluence and power. Argos won't recover for years. I wonder,' he murmured, 'whether we should try to take over; perhaps send Adrastus an embassy backed by the Host, demand he abdicate and unite the kingdoms under Mycenae's rule.'

'You'd have to fight. Diomedes now is Leader of the Argive Host. Tydeus' death has envenomed him, changed him over­night from youth to man - a man determined, hard and bitter. Not the kind to passively submit.'

'Diomedes? Oh, I remember - Tydeus' son. You think he'd resist?'

'I do. A valiant warrior who'll soon be renowned. Besides, we should avoid entanglements until Thebes' intentions are clearer. Creon may decide to follow up his victory.'

We were talking on a balcony of the royal apartments. Atreus rested hands on the marble balustrade and frowned at a party of nobles crossing the Great Court below. 'There goes that fellow Copreus, always in a huddle with men I loathe. Don't trust him an arrow-head's length. Invasion? Extremely doubtful. Creon isn't a fool; he knows Sparta, Pylos and Elis would come to our aid against a common enemy.'

'We're going to need them. Whether Creon makes war or not the defeat of the Seven has tilted the balance of power, and some day, sire, you'll have to restore the level - a prospect I don't pretend to relish. The Thebans are first-class fighting men. I was lucky to escape.'

'You?' Atreus turned his head and gave me a peculiar look. 'I wouldn't have let you go if I hadn't been certain you'd some­how save your skin. You're a born survivor, Agamemnon - a reason why I chose you to succeed me.'

I disliked the sardonic inflexion in his tone, and changed the subject. 'I gather Sicyon and Pellene are now tributary to Mycenae?'

'They are. An easy war. Thesprotus yielded Sicyon directly he saw my spears. Pellene proved more obstinate. I stormed the gate, imposed a harsh indemnity and enslaved her remaining Heroes. A warning to the rest when their turn comes.'

Atreus left the balcony, entered an antechamber leading to his bedroom and reclined in an ivory chair. A squire brought cups, and wine in a flagon. 'Try this eight-year-old Cytheran - a change from the sour filth you've been drinking on campaign.' He rolled the golden goblet thoughtfully between his palms. 'You mentioned alliances. I agree - the certainty that he faced united kingdoms would certainly deter Creon. But where now­adays may we find reliable allies ? Neleus has died, and Nestor rules in Pylos. I don't yet know the bent of his foreign policy. Augeas of Elis' hand lies loosely on the sceptre: his son Phyleus in Dyme conspires with Thyestes' - an ugly spasm of hatred contorted his face - 'to oust him from the throne. Adrastus, from your account, is a broken reed, no longer capable of ruling. Anything might happen in Argos. Sparta remains, a powerful realm firmly in Tyndareus' grip.'

He set down the cup on an alabaster table ornately carved with dolphins intertwined. A sun-shaft stabbed the window and haloed the ash-grey head, shadowed the troughs at temples and cheeks. 'We need a strong confederate to discourage the Theban threat. I want you to go to Sparta and offer King Tyndareus a formal alliance. Then I'll appoint you Marshal, and Menelaus will replace you as Master of the Ships.' He stroked the arms of his chair, his eyes remote. 'I'm getting old; it's time I shed a little of the load.'

I said, 'I am honoured, sire.'

That's all. Leave as soon as you can.' An upraised hand arrested my departure. 'Something else has happened while you've been away. I considered Hercules incapable of further folly - the fellow's in his dotage. I was mistaken. The madman took ships to Troy and raided Laomedon's horse herds. The king was inspecting his horses, virtually unescorted, and the murderous ruffian slew him, grabbed some mares and fled. I suppose Priam will succeed: you didn't like him, did you ? A disgraceful affair - but it can't affect Mycenae.'

Atreus' political prognostications were seldom wrong; but there he made the biggest mistake of his life.

sparta
rules a realm called Laconia, a country of fertile plains divided by mountain ranges. There's a lot of room in Laconia: you can travel all day and see nobody except a shepherd watch­ing his flocks, or perhaps a solitary Hero guarding his cattle and horse herds. Natural barriers help to protect the kingdom against invasion: the sea on the south, and the mountain ranges to east and west. Only on the Arcadian border are natural de­fences lacking. Since Arcadia is incapable of mustering a Host, and Spartans are more competent than most in repelling casual marauders, never within man's memory has Sparta fought a regular war on Laconian soil.

This immunity has set a stamp on Sparta. Unlike all other Achaean cities I have seen (except King Nestor's newly-built Pylos) she has no central citadel, walled and turreted, nor do fortifications girdle the town. In this aspect Sparta resembles Cretan cities; otherwise King Tyndareus' capital has not the smallest affinity with the crumbling decadent splendours of Malia or Knossos.

Security from invasion has not rendered the race effete. Spartans are far from averse to comfort - their bath-rooms are both numerous and superbly appointed, the food, though plainly cooked, delicious - but they disdain superfluous luxur­ies. Seldom have I encountered men so devoted to physical exercises, to hunting, horses, sports and games. Lacking external enemies they fight among themselves, conducting small campaigns, city against city, of a formal, almost ritualistic character.

King Tyndareus was around fifty years old and looked half his age: tall, spare, deep-chested, russet beard trimmed to an arrow-barb point. A ruddy, fresh complexion unlined except for wrinkles at the corners of clear grey eyes. He ruled Laconia firmly yet flexibly, allowing considerable latitude to the War­dens of widely-spaced cities but stamping ruthlessly on the least sign of opposition to his authority. Earlier misfortunes had taught him the arts of kingship. Descended from Poseidon through Perseus on his mother's side, he had succeeded his father on Sparta's throne only to be expelled by a palace revolt. Tyndareus found refuge in Aitolia, where he married Leda, a local chieftain's daughter, sired on her the famous Twins and two girls: Helen and Clytemnaistra. Then the Spartan usurper died in repelling a cattle raid; and a counter-revolution restored Tyndareus to Sparta's rule.

This was the man, and this the kingdom, whose alliance Atreus sought.

I had travelled in considerable state, as befitted an ambas­sador from magnificent Mycenae: twenty Heroes in my train, two hundred spears, a multitude of followers and transport, and a wagon load of presents for the king. Tyndareus allotted my retinue an entire wing of his palace, and gave a sumptuous feast within a day of our arrival. There I greeted again Castor and Polydeuces, returned from the Colchis voyage, and asked them how they liked it.

'Rather dull,' said breeder and trainer Castor. 'No decent thoroughbred horses anywhere we landed.'

'Only some pretty rough types,' said Polydeuces. 'Put ashore at Bebrycos oh the outward passage. The chieftain, one Amy- cus, fancied himself as a boxer.'

'Challenged any of our crew to fight him,' said Castor. 'Wouldn't let us water otherwise.'

'Great heavy fellow, muscular and hairy, like a boulder covered with seaweed.'

'Wore brazen-studded boxing gloves.'

'We had to have water, so I took him on,' said Polydeuces. 'Sparred carefully at first, avoiding his bull-like rushes.'

'Then gave him a bloody mouth.'

'And flattened his nose - a straight-left punch - and pounded hooks and jabs to the head.'

'Had Amycus sagging.'

'He grabbed my left fist,' Polydeuces said, 'and swung with his right. I went with the tug and right-hooked in his ear.'

'Followed by an uppercut to the chin.'

'Broke his jaw.'

'Knocked him clean out.'

'We got our water’ Polydeuces ended.

The Twins kept me entertained throughout my stay. I also met their sisters on various social occasions, though ladies on the whole stayed more secluded than was customary in My­cenaean palaces. The elder, Clytemnaistra, was singularly beau­tiful in a sultry, regal way: full red lips, high cheekbones, black shining hair, green slanting eyes and truly magnificent breasts thrusting above her bodice. Fiery passions undoubtedly smouldered beneath a statuesque and somewhat forbidding appearance.

I thought her most alluring, a citadel inviting assault. So, finding her seated beside me watching games and races the king arranged in my honour, I exerted myself to be pleasant. My railleries rebounded from a polite, restrained formality; not once did I raise a smile. Intrigued and a little put out - I know from experience that women don't find me repugnant - I per­sisted and grew more daring, offering remarks that bordered on salacity. (But you cannot go too far with noble ladies, at least not in public, and certainly not royal daughters.) Her lips twitched, and a veiled amusement flickered in her eyes.

'Your advances are quite outrageous, my lord,' she mur­mured, 'and hardly to be welcomed by a woman already betrothed.'

The shadow of a smile assuaged the sting. I hastily assured her I intended no offence and swore her shattering beauty had led my tongue astray. Disappointed, I changed to safer topics. But Tyndareus had been listening, and under pretence of in­specting a winning chariot team led me from the pavilion.

'A peculiar girl,' he observed. 'Never quite know what she's thinking. I see you find her attractive.' Gloomily he ran a hand along a horse's withers. 'Unfortunate. She's promised in wed­lock to Broteas of Pisa who visited Sparta a while ago. A distant kinsman of yours, I believe, descended from Pelops. A weak and worthless fellow, but Clytemnaistra fell in love, and he with her. She pestered me into giving consent. I believed it a mistake at the time, and now I'm sure.'

'I've never heard of the man,' I said, 'Pisa's an obscure city. Surely an unworthy marriage for Sparta's royal House?' 'Definitely so - but you don't know Clytemnaistra. She's got a will like granite.' He sent me a speculative look. 'You are ... interested?'

'Your daughter attracts me more strongly than any woman I've known - save one. None the less she's promised to Broteas and you can't break your word ... can you?'

Tyndareus looked at me sideways. 'I suppose not. Broteas has already paid me the bride price. So, however tempting the prospect of a union between our Houses the arrangement has to stand. Most annoying.'

After inviting me to drive the winning team and try its paces he said no more on the subject. Thereafter Clytemnaistra avoided my company, and I was forced to admire her from afar.

Neither then nor later did I love Clytemnaistra in the accepted sense of the word. She was not the kind of woman to arouse such simple emotions. My desire, I believe, rose from pique at her stand-off manner, plain undiluted lust (the sight of her breasts invariably stiffened my weapon) and the advantages of a dynastic marriage joining Sparta and Mycenae - the last certainly being predominant. I made inquiries about this Bro­teas, Lord of Pisa, tributary to King Augeas of Elis; and failed to understand why Tyndareus wasted his elder daughter on a Hero so inconsequential.

I did not, at the time, appreciate Clytemnaistra's formidable character.

Running about the palace far more freely than the older women was the king's other daughter Helen, an enchanting ten- year-old. Hair like golden sunshine shot with the tinge of autumnal beech, blue long-lashed eyes (and how she could use them!), a heart-shaped face and roses-and-cream complexion. Faultless features: a small straight nose, soft curved lips that you longed to kiss and cheeks deliciously dimpled. (I speak of her as a youngling: she is even more beautiful now; and has added to her armoury the arts of entrancing men.) Tyndareus adored Helen, everybody spoilt her; even Clytemnaistra shed her regal reserve when Helen demanded attention, and frol­icked in childish games like a playful kitten.

On reflection, these were the only occasions when I heard Clytemnaistra laugh aloud. I met Tyndareus' consort Leda only once, at a formal audi­ence in the Hall when our embassy first arrived, and afterwards saw her occasionally when she took the air in the palace courts or walked abroad with her ladies. She was skeletal and grey, years older than her husband, an animated wisp so fragile you might suppose a puff of wind would blow her away. Her eyes, a washed-out blue, were ever lost and vague, fixed seemingly on a point remote in space and time; her voice, on the rare occasions she spoke, a thin and reedy fluting. She had a passion for animals and birds, abhorred any form of cruelty - in Sparta a drover looked over his shoulder before laying whip on ox - and during her wanderings about the city had collected in the palace a menagerie of creatures alleged to have been mal­treated. Prominent in the collection was an enormous swan, a cob, which followed the queen wherever she went, indoors or out. A bad-tempered, vicious bird which, hissing and flapping powerful wings, attacked unprovoked any strangers who went near its mistress. Even on ceremonial occasions Leda kept the brute beside her throne, fortunately secured by a golden collar and chain.