Somehow I reached my tent; the first thing I saw was the chair in which I had held her. Patrokles sat in another, weeping. When he heard me he took a sword from where it lay on the rug at his feet and knelt before me, the sword extended.

‘What is this?’ I asked, not knowing how to take more anguish.

The tip of the weapon went to his throat, he offered me its hilt. ‘Kill me! I failed you, Achilles. I took away your honour.’

‘I failed myself, Patrokles. I took away my honour.’

‘Kill me!’ he implored.

I took the sword and flung it away. ‘No.’

‘I deserve to die!’

‘We all deserve to die, but that won’t be our fate,’ I said, fingers busy with the buckles on my cuirass.

He began to help me; habits are ineradicable, even in pain.

‘I’m to blame, Patrokles. My pride and my ambition! How could I leave her fate hanging on such thin, flimsy strands? I was learning to love her, I would have married her gladly. No shame in it to divorce Deidamia – she was a shrewd plot between my father and Lykomedes to keep me out of trouble. You told me to send Iphigenia straight back to her mother, and that was sound advice. I said no because I couldn’t bear to imperil my position in the army. I listened to pride and ambition, and I fell.’

The armour was off. Patrokles began to stow it away in its chest. Always acting as my servant.

‘What happened then?’ I asked him as he poured wine for us.

‘It looked good,’ he said, coming to sit opposite me. ‘We got the deer.’ His eyes darkened, gathered tears. ‘But I decided not to share the glory with Automedon. I wanted all your praise for myself alone. So I went with the deer and hid behind the altar on my own. Then the creature grew agitated, began to bleat. I had forgotten to drug it! Had Automedon been with me, we could have muzzled it. But on my own – impossible. Kalchas found me. He’s a warrior, Achilles! One moment I was staring up at him, the next he had taken hold of the chalice and struck me with it. When I came to I was bound hand and foot, a cloth in my mouth. That is why I beg you to kill me. Had I taken Automedon, all would have gone as planned.’

‘To kill you, Patrokles, would mean I’d have to kill myself. Too easy. Only as living men can we eke out our punishment. As dead men we feel nothing, shades knowing neither joy nor pain. No fitting retribution,’ I said, the wine sour on my tongue.

He swallowed, nodded. ‘Yes, I understand. While I live I must remember my jealousy. While you live you must remember your ambition. A worse fate than death by far.’

But Patrokles did not have to remember the look in her eyes, the contempt. What must have passed through her mind between the time they told her the truth and the moment Kalchas’s knife found her throat? How must she have thought of me, who had acted like her well beloved, then heartlessly abandoned her? Her shade would haunt me for the rest of my life. Short and glorious, then! Let my life be short and glorious.

‘When do we go back to Iolkos?’ Patrokles asked.

‘Iolkos? No! We sail for Troy.’

‘After this?’

‘Troy is a part of my punishment. And Troy means I will not have to face my father, for I will die there. What would he think of me if he knew? Let the Gods spare him that.’

12

NARRATED BY

Agamemnon

I had my daughter buried at dead of night in a deep grave, unmarked, under a pile of rocks by the grey sea. Nor could I dower her fittingly in death, save to dress her richly and put all her little hoard of girlish jewels on her.

Achilles had promised to send a message to my wife blaming all of us; I could try to avert that by getting to her first. Yet I couldn’t find the words or the man. What man could I trust who wasn’t sailing with me? And what words could soften the blow I dealt Klytemnestra – what words could lessen her loss? No matter what disagreements had flared between us, my wife had always considered me a great man, one worthy to be her husband. Yet she was a Lakedaimonian, and the influence of Mother Kubaba was still very much alive there. When she learned of Iphigenia’s death, she would try to bring back the Old Religion, rule in my stead as High Queen in fact – and in power.

At which moment I thought of a man in my train whom I could spare: my cousin Aigisthos.

The history of our House – the House of Pelops – is horrible. My father, Atreus, and Aigisthos’s father, Thyestes, were brothers who vied for the throne of Mykenai after Eurysthesus died; Herakles should have inherited, but he was murdered. Many crimes were committed for the sake of the Lion Throne of Mykenai. My father did the unspeakable: murdered his nephews, stewed them, and served them up to Thyestes as a dish fit for a king. Even knowing this, the people chose Atreus as High King, banished Thyestes. Who fathered Aigisthos on a Pelopid woman and then tried to foist the child off on Atreus as his son after Atreus married the woman. That was not the end of it. Thyestes connived at my father’s murder and returned to the throne as High King until I was grown enough to wrest it off him, banish him.

But I had always liked my cousin Aigisthos, who was far younger than I, a handsome and charming fellow I got on with better than I did with my own brother, Menelaos. However, my wife neither liked nor trusted Aigisthos because he was the son of Thyestes and had a legitimate claim to the throne she was determined none but Orestes would inherit.

I sent for him as soon as I had worked out how much to tell him. His standing depended absolutely upon my good favour, which meant it behooved him to please me. So I sent Aigisthos to Klytemnestra, well primed and loaded with gifts. Iphigenia was dead, yes, but not at my command. Odysseus had planned and executed it. She’d believe that.

‘I won’t be away from Greece long,’ I said to Aigisthos before he left, ‘but it’s vital that Klytemnestra doesn’t go to the people and revive the Old Religion. You’ll be my watchdog.’

‘Artemis has always been your enemy,’ he said, kneeling to kiss my hand. ‘Don’t worry, Agamemnon. I’ll see that Klytemnestra behaves herself.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, I was hoping for spoils from Troy. I’m a poor man.’

‘You’ll have your share of the spoils,’ I said. ‘Now go.’

The morning after the sacrifice I woke from a wine-soaked sleep to find the day clear and calm. The clouds and wind had fled during the night; only the water dripping off the tent eaves spoke of the moons of storm we had endured. I forced myself to offer Artemis thanks for her co-operation, but never again would I petition the Archeress for help. My poor little daughter was gone, not even a grave stele to keep her from anonymity. I couldn’t look at the altar.

Phoinix was in my tent flap agog to commence embarkation; I decided on the morrow if the weather held.

‘It will hold,’ the old man said confidently. ‘The seas between Aulis and Troy will stay as placid as milk in a bowl.’

‘In which case,’ I said, suddenly remembering how Achilles had criticised my supply plans, ‘we’ll offer to Poseidon and take a chance. Cram the ships, Phoinix. Cram them to the gunwales with food. I’ll ransack the countryside for it.’

He looked startled, then grinned. ‘I will, sire, I will!’

Achilles haunted me. His curses rang in my memory, his contempt seared my marrow. Why he blamed himself I couldn’t begin to understand; he was no more capable of defying the Gods than I was. Yet I felt a grudging admiration for him. He had had the courage to flog his guilt in front of his superiors. I wished that Odysseus and Diomedes had not been so concerned for my safety. I wished that Achilles had lopped my head off, ended it there and then.

They pushed my flagship off its slips the next morning as dawn was beginning to suffuse the pale sky with rose. My hands planted firmly on the rail, I stood in the prow, feeling it dip and tremble in the quiet water. The start at last! Then I made my way down to the poop, where the ship’s sides curled up and over into a cowl and the figurehead of Amphitryon watched forward. I turned my back on the oarsmen, glad that mine was a decked ship, that the rowers sat atop the deck and thereby left enough room below for my baggage, my servants, the war chest and all the impedimenta a High King needed. My horses were penned up along with a dozen others right beside the spot where I stood, and the sea rushed smoothly not far below the deck. We were very laden.