The Song of Troy (30 page)

Agamemnon sighed deeply. ‘So be it. Ten years. I think the price is worth it. We have much to gain. However, I shall put the decision to the vote. You must want it as much as I.’

He got to his feet and stood before us. ‘I would remind you that almost all of you here are either Kings or the Heirs of Kings. We in Greece have founded our concept of kingship on the favour of the sky Gods. We threw off the yoke of matriarchy when we replaced the Old Religion with the New. But while men rule they must look to the sky Gods for support, for men have no proof of fertility, no intimate association with children or the things of Mother Earth. We answer to our people differently than we did under the Old Religion. Then, we were the sacrificial victims, the hapless creatures the Queen offered up to appease the Mother when the harvest failed, or the war was lost, or some terrible plague descended. The New Religion has freed men from that fate, it has elevated us to proper sovereignty. We answer for our people directly. Therefore I am in favour of this mighty enterprise. It will be the salvation of our people, it will spread our customs and traditions everywhere. If I return home now, I am humbled before the people and must admit defeat. How then can I resist if the people, sharing my humiliation, decide to return to the Old Religion, sacrifice me and elevate my wife?’

He sat down on his chair and put his white, shapely hands on his purple-draped knees. ‘I will see the vote. If any man wishes to withdraw and sail back to Greece, let him show his hand.’

No one moved his arm. The room was quiet.

‘So be it. We stay. Odysseus, Nestor, do you have any further suggestions?’

‘No, sire,’ said Odysseus.

‘No, sire,’ said Nestor.

‘Idomeneus?’

‘I’m well content, Agamemnon.’

‘Then we had best get down to details. Patrokles, since you’ve been appointed our cupbearer, go and summon food.’

‘How will you divide the army, sire?’ asked Meriones.

‘As Odysseus suggested, a rotation of contingents. However, I do add one proviso to that. I think the Second Army ought to have a hard core of permanent men, men who will remain with it throughout the course of the war. Some of you in this room are young men of great promise. It would chafe you to sit before Troy. I must remain at Troy all year, as must Idomeneus, Odysseus, Nestor, Diomedes, Menestheus and Palamedes. Achilles, the two Ajaxes, Teukros and Meriones, you’re young. To you I entrust the Second Army. The high command goes to Achilles. Achilles, you’ll answer either to me or to Odysseus. All the decisions on active service or within Assos will be yours, no matter how senior the men might be who’ll come from Troy to do their six moons’ duty. Is that clear? Do you want the high command?’

Achilles sprang to his feet, trembling; I could hardly bear the brightness of his eyes, yellow and strong as Helios Sun. ‘I swear by all the Gods that you will never have cause to regret your confidence in my leadership, sire.’

‘Then take the high command from me, son of Peleus, and choose your lieutenants,’ said Agamemnon.

I looked at Odysseus and shook my head; up flew one red brow and the grey eyes twinkled. Wait until I got him alone! Huddled hatching, indeed.

16

NARRATED BY

Helen

Under the shadow of Troy Agamemnon raised a city stone by stone; every day when I stood on my balcony I looked out over the walls and down to the Greeks sitting by the Hellespont shore. They toiled like ants in the distance, rolling boulders and piling the trunks of mighty trees into a wall which stretched from sparkling Simois to cloudy Skamander. Houses proliferated behind the beach itself, tall barracks to accommodate soldiers over the winter, grain bins to store emmer wheat and barley away from rats and weather.

Since the Greek fleet arrived my life had grown a great deal harder, though it never was what I had imagined before I reached Troy. Why is it that we do not see the future clearly on the loom of time, even when it is depicted there, manifest? I should have known. I ought to have known. But Paris was my all; I could get no further than Paris, Paris, Paris.

In Amyklai I had been the Queen. It was
my
blood legitimised Menelaos on the throne. The people of Lakedaimon looked to me, Tyndareus’s daughter, for their wellbeing and their contacts with the Gods. I was important. When I rode in my royal car through the streets of Amyklai its populace abased themselves before me. I was worshipped. I was adored. I was Queen Helen, the only one of Leda’s divine quadruplets left at home. And, looking back, I realised how full was my life there – the hunts, the sports, the festivals, the Court, the diversions of all kinds. I used to tell myself that time hung heavily on my hands in Amyklai, but now I knew that in those days I had no concept of what boredom actually entails.

I learned all about boredom after I arrived in Troy. Here I am no queen. Here I am unimportant in the scheme of
everything.
I am the wife of a minor imperial son. I am a detested foreigner. I am constrained by rules and regulations I have neither the power nor the authority to set aside. And there is nothing to do, nowhere to go! I can’t snap my fingers and order a car, go into the countryside or watch the men playing games or drilling at being soldiers. I can’t escape from the Citadel. When I tried to venture down into the city everyone from Hekabe to Antenor protested that I was fast, immoral, capricious enough to want to go slumming. Didn’t I understand that the moment the men around some low tavern saw my exposed breasts I would be raped? But when I volunteered to cover them, Priam still said no.

My own apartments (Priam had been generous in that respect – Paris and I occupied a large and beautiful set of rooms) and the chambers in which the noblewomen of the Citadel gathered were suddenly the limits of my world. While Paris, my wonderful Paris, I have discovered, is a typical man. He wants – and gets! – his own way. Which doesn’t include keeping his wife company. I am there for love, and love is a short business once the lovers have no new things to learn about each other.

After the Greeks came my life, boring though I had already deemed it, worsened. People looked at me as if I was the precursor of disaster and blamed me for Agamemnon’s advent. Fools! At first I tried to convince the Trojan nobility that Agamemnon went to war for no woman, even his sister-in-law twice over: that Agamemnon had talked of war with Troy as far back as the night the priests quartered the white horse and I was given to Menelaos. No one would listen to me. No one
wanted
to listen to me.
I
was the reason the Greeks were there on the beach along the Hellespont shore.
I
was the reason the Greek city grew behind the mighty wall they erected from sparkling Simois to cloudy Skamander. Everything was
my
fault!

Priam was very worried, poor old man. He perched himself on the edge of his gold and ivory chair instead of sinking back into it the way he used to. He plucked strands from his beard, he sent man after man to the western watchtower to report back to him on Greek progress. Since the day I had walked into his Throne Room he had run the full gamut of emotions, from glee at having tweaked Agamemnon’s nose to sheer bewilderment. While the Greeks gave no indication that they planned to stay he chuckled; while the promise of aid came from his allies he looked happy. But when the Greek defence wall began to rise his face fell and his shoulders sagged.

I was quite fond of him, though he lacked the strength and dedication of a Greek king. A man had to be very strong to hold onto what was his in Greece – or have a brother strong enough for both. Whereas Priam’s ancestors had ruled Troy for aeons. His people loved him as Greek peoples could not love their Kings, yet he held his duties more lightly, being secure in the tenure of his throne. The word of the Gods was not so precious to him.

Old Antenor the royal brother-in-law never ceased to carp at me; I hated him more than Priam did, and that was saying something. Whenever Antenor turned his rheumy eyes upon me I could see them burn with enmity. Then his mouth would open and he would start, on and on and on. Why did I refuse to cover my breasts? Why did I beat my servant girl? Why did I have no womanly skills like weaving and embroidery? Why was I permitted to stay and hear the men’s councils? Why was I so open with my opinions when women had none? There was always something to criticise, Antenor made sure of it.

When the wall behind the Hellespont beach was finished, Priam’s patience with him came to an end.

‘Be silent, you old simpleton!’ he hissed. ‘Agamemnon did not come here to get Helen back. Why would he and his subject Kings spend so much money just to retrieve a woman who left Greece of her own free will? It’s Troy and Asia Minor Agamemnon wants, not Helen. He wants Greek colonies in our lands – he wants to stuff his coffers full from our vaults – he wants to pour his ships through the Hellespont into the Euxine. My son’s wife is an excuse, nothing more. To return her would play into Agamemnon’s hands, so I’ll hear no more from you about Helen! Is that quite clear, Antenor?’

Antenor dropped his eyes and made a flourish out of his bow.

The Asia Minor states began to send their ambassadors to Troy; the next assembly I attended was swollen with their ranks. I couldn’t keep all the names straight in my head, names like Paphlagonia, Kilikia, Phrygia. Some of their representatives meant more to Priam than others, though none was treated lightly. But of all of them Priam greeted the delegate from Lykia most fervently. He was the co-ruler of Lykia with his first cousin, and his name was Glaukos. His first cousin’s name was Sarpedon. Paris, who had been commanded to attend, informed me in a whisper that Glaukos and Sarpedon were twinnishly inseparable, and lovers into the bargain. A foolish thing in Kings. They had neither wives nor Heirs.

‘Rest assured, King Glaukos, that when we’ve driven the Greeks from our shores, Lykia will get a large share of the spoils,’ said Priam, tears in his eyes.

Glaukos, a relatively young man (and very handsome), smiled. ‘Lykia isn’t here for a share of the spoils, Uncle Priam. King Sarpedon and I want only one thing – to crush the Greeks and send them squealing back to their own side of the Aegaean. Our trade is vital to us because we occupy the southern corner of this coast. Trade goes through us to our northern neighbours, as well as south to Rhodos, Cypros, Syria and Egypt. Lykia is the linchpin. We believe we must band together out of necessity, not out of greed. Rest assured, you’ll have our troops and other aid in the spring. Twenty thousand men, all fully equipped and provisioned.’

The tears were falling; Priam wept an old man’s easy grief. ‘My heartfelt thanks to you and Sarpedon, dearest nephew.’

The others came forward, some as generous as Lykia, others haggling for money or privileges. Priam promised each what he wanted, and so the toll of men and aid grew. At the end of it I wondered how Agamemnon would ever manage to hold his ground. Two hundred thousand men would Priam marshal on the plain when the crocuses burst through the melting snow in the spring of next year. Unless my erstwhile brother-in-law had either reinforcements or tricks up his purple sleeve, he would be defeated. Why then did I continue to worry? Because I knew my people. Give a Greek enough rope and he’ll hang everyone else in sight. Never himself. I knew Agamemnon’s advisers of old, and I had lived in Troy long enough to understand that King Priam possessed no advisers to equal Nestor, Palamedes and Odysseus.

Oh, those meetings were boring! I attended them only because the rest of my life was even more boring. No one was permitted to sit except the King, and certainly not a woman. My feet hurt. So while a Paphlagonian clad in what looked like soft embroidered skins prated on in a dialect I couldn’t comprehend, my eyes wandered idly over the throng until they lit upon a man at the back who had apparently only just come in. Oh, nice!
Very
nice!

He pushed his way through the crowd easily, taller than any other man present save Hektor, who stood, as usual, beside the throne. The newcomer had all the haughtiness of a king – and one who held himself in high regard into the bargain. I was reminded irresistibly of Diomedes; he had the same graceful walk and hard, warrior air about him. Dark-haired and black-eyed, he was dressed richly; the cloak tossed carelessly back over his shoulders was lined with the most beautiful fur I had ever seen, long and fluffy and tawny-spotted. At the foot of the throne dais he bowed very slightly and stiffly, as a king does to one he has difficulty in admitting is his senior in rank.

‘Aineas!’ Priam said, a curious undertone in his voice. ‘I have looked for you these many days.’

‘You perceive me, sire,’ said the man called Aineas.

‘Have you seen the Greeks for yourself?’

‘Not yet, sire. I came in through the
Dardanian
Gate.’

His emphasis on the name of the gate was meaningful; I now remembered where I had heard his name. Aineas was Dardania’s Heir. His father, King Anchises, ruled the southern part of this land from a town called Lyrnessos. Priam always sneered when he spoke of Dardania, Anchises or Aineas; I gathered that in Troy all three were considered upstarts, though Paris had told me that King Anchises was Priam’s first cousin, that Dardanos had founded both the royal house in Troy and the royal house in Lyrnessos.

‘I suggest, then, that you go outside onto the balcony and look towards the Hellespont,’ said Priam, oozing sarcasm.

‘As you wish.’

Aineas disappeared for a very few moments, came back shrugging. ‘They look as if they mean to stay, don’t they?’

‘A perspicacious conclusion.’

Aineas ignored this sally. ‘Why did you summon me?’ he asked.

‘Surely it’s obvious? Once Agamemnon has his teeth firmly fixed in Troy, Dardania and Lyrnessos will be next. I want your troops to help crush the Greeks in the spring.’

‘Greece has no quarrel with Dardania.’

‘Greece doesn’t need excuses these days. Greece is after lands, bronze and gold.’