‘All of us have merchants screaming in our ears to reopen the Hellespont. We have to obtain more tin and copper. The cannibal barbarians of the north and west are casting eyes our way. Some of us are ruling states grown too populous, with all the concomitants of that – poverty, trouble, riots and plots.’ I looked at them sternly. ‘Make no mistake, I am not going to war merely to get Helen back. This expedition against Troy and the states of coastal Asia Minor has the potential to do far more than accumulate wealth and give us unlimited cheap bronze. This expedition offers us the chance to colonise our surplus citizens in rich and underpopulated territories not too far away. The world around the Aegaean already speaks Greek of one form or another. But think now of the world around the Aegaean as absolutely Greek. Think of it as the Greek Empire.’

Ah, how they liked that! Every last one of them took the bait greedily; in the end I had no need to invoke the Oath, and was glad of it. Avarice was a better taskmaster than fear. Of course Athens was with me all the way; I had never doubted that Menestheus would back me. So, when he came, would Idomeneus of Crete, the third High King. But the fourth – Peleus – would not. The best I could hope for were some of his subject kings.

Several days later Menelaos came back with Nestor. I had the old man brought to me at once. We sat in my private parlour with Palamedes, though I dismissed Menelaos; prudence dictated that he should go on believing Helen was the sole reason for war. The inevitable outcome of her recapture had not yet occurred to him, a good thing. Once she was back in our hands, she would have to part with her head.

I had no idea how old the King of Pylos was. Even when I was a boy he was ancient and white-haired. His wisdom was legion, his grasp of a situation no less acute today than it had been then; there was no sign of senility in his keen, bright blue eyes, no tremor in his beringed fingers.

‘Now what is this all about, Agamemnon?’ he demanded. ‘Your brother grows sillier, not saner! All I learned from him was some wild tale about Helen’s being abducted – hah! First time I ever knew that young woman needed force! And never tell me you’ve been gulled into indulging his whims!’ He snorted. ‘War over a woman? Really, Agamemnon!’

‘We go to war for tin, copper, trade extensions, free passage through the Hellespont and Greek colonies along the Aegaean shore of Asia Minor, sire. Helen’s absconding with the contents of my brother’s treasury is the perfect excuse, that’s all.’

‘Hmmm.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that. How many men do you hope for?’

‘Present indications say about eighty thousand soldiers, with sufficient noncombatant helpers to bring the total up to more than one hundred thousand. We should launch a thousand ships next spring.’

‘An enormous campaign. I hope you’re planning it well.’

‘Naturally,’ I said haughtily. ‘However, it will be a very short business – so many men will overrun Troy within days.’

His eyes widened. ‘Do you think so? Agamemnon, are you sure? Have you ever been to Troy?’

‘No.’

‘You must have heard tales about the Trojan walls.’

‘Yes, yes, of course I have! However, sire, no walls in existence can keep out a hundred thousand men.’

‘Perhaps… But my counsel is that you wait until your ships are beached at Troy, when you can better judge the situation. Troy, they tell me, is no Athens, with a walled citadel and a single wall running down to the sea. Troy is completely enclosed by bastions. I believe you can win your campaign. But I also believe it will be a long one.’

‘We will have to agree to differ, sire,’ I said firmly.

He sighed. ‘Be that as it may, neither I nor any of my sons swore the Oath, but you can have us. If we do not break the power of Troy and the Asia Minor states, Agamemnon, we – and Greece! – will fade away.’ He examined his rings. ‘Where is Odysseus?’

‘I’ve sent a messenger to Ithaka.’

He clicked his tongue. ‘Tch! Odysseus won’t come to that.’

‘He must! He swore the Oath too.’

‘What do oaths mean to Odysseus, of all men? Not that any of us can accuse him of sacrilege – but he devised the scheme! He probably swore it backwards under his breath. At heart he is a peaceful man, and I gather he’s settled into a contented rut of domestic bliss. He has quite lost his old zest for intrigue, I am informed. Happy marriage does that to some men. No, Agamemnon, he will not want to go. But you must have him.’

‘I realise that, sire.’

‘Then go and get him yourself,’ said Nestor. ‘Take Palamedes with you.’ He chuckled. ‘A thief to catch a thief.’

‘Should I take Menelaos too?’

His bright eyes twinkled. ‘Definitely. That will prevent his hearing too much about economics and too little about sex.’

We journeyed overland and took ship in a little village on the west coast of the Isle of Pelops to sail the windy strait to Ithaka. As we beached I surveyed the island dourly – small, rocky, a trifle barren – hardly a fitting kingdom for the greatest mind in all the world. Picking my way up the bridle path to the single town, I cursed the fact that Odysseus had not even thought to furnish his only suitable beach with transportation. In the town, however, we managed to find a few fleabitten donkeys; profoundly glad that none of my courtiers was present to witness his High King perched sideways on an ass, I rode to the palace.

Though it was small, the palace came as a surprise; it was rich looking, with lofty pillars and the best paints indicating that its interior would be sumptuous. Of course his wife had come dowered with huge lands, chests of gold and a king’s ransom in jewels – how her father, Ikarios, had protested at giving her to a man who couldn’t win a footrace without using trickery!

I expected to see Odysseus waiting in the portico to greet us; word of our advent would have flown from the town. But when we slid gratefully off our ignoble steeds we found the place silent, deserted. Not even a servant appeared. I led the way inside – Zeus, what frescoes! – magnificent! – feeling more puzzled than offended, to discover that from one end to the other the place was devoid of life. Not even that cursed hound, Argos, which Odysseus took everywhere, bayed at us.

A pair of wondrous bronze doors told us where the Throne Room was; Menelaos pushed them open. We stood on the threshold amazed, taking in the quality of the art, the perfect poise of the colours, and the sight of a woman crouched weeping on the bottom step of the throne dais. Her head was muffled in her cloak, but when she raised it we knew well enough who she was, for her face was tattooed in a web of blue with a crimson spider on her left cheek: the insignia of a woman dedicated to Pallas Athene in her guise of Loom Mistress. Penelope spun.

She leaped to her feet, then dropped to her knees to kiss the hem of my kilt. ‘Sire! We did not expect you! To greet you with such an exhibition – oh, sire!’ Whereupon she burst into a fresh flood of tears.

I stood looking and feeling ridiculous, an hysterical woman wound about my ankles. Then I caught the eye of Palamedes, and had to smile. Why expect the usual when one dealt with Odysseus and his own?

Palamedes leaned over her to whisper in my ear. ‘Sire, I may find out more if I scout a little. May I?’

I nodded, then lifted Penelope to her feet. ‘Come, cousin, calm yourself. What is the matter?’

‘The King, sire! The King has gone mad! Absolutely mad! He doesn’t even recognise me! He’s down there now in the sacred orchard, gibbering like a lunatic!’

Palamedes had returned in time to hear.

‘We must see him, Penelope,’ I said.

‘Yes, sire,’ she said, hiccoughing, and led the way.