Menelaos came in first, hangdog as ever. Nodding to us shyly, he hunched himself on a seat in the darkest, furthest corner of the room. Poor, downtrodden Menelaos. Perhaps he was beginning to realise that Helen was a very secondary component in the schemes of his more masterful brother, or perhaps he was beginning to despair of ever getting her back again. The thought of her stirred memories almost nine years old; what a little baggage she had turned out to be! Purely concerned with her own satisfaction, indifferent to what a man wanted. So beautiful! And so selfish. Oh, the dance she must have led Menelaos! I could never hate him; he was too small a man, more to be pitied than despised. And he loved her as I could never love any woman.
Achilles strolled in with Patrokles, Phoinix trailing them the way Odysseus’s hound Argos trailed him whenever he was in Ithaka. As faithful as he was vigilant. They made their obeisances, Achilles stiffly and with obvious reluctance. He was an odd one. Odysseus, I had noticed, didn’t really care for him. My own emotions about him, however, were sufficiently indifferent for me to make a private resolution to warn him to be nicer to Agamemnon. Even if the lad did lead the Myrmidons, he ought not to make his dislike so manifest. To find oneself abandoned out on a wing in battle is easily done – and very hard to pin down to anything more than routine bad generalship. When I saw the expression in Patrokles’s eyes I had to smile – now there was a tender friendship! At least on one side. Achilles took him for granted. He also burned far more for battle than bodily pleasure.
Machaon came in alone and sat down quietly. He and his brother, Podalieros, were the finest medical men in Greece, worth more to our army than a cavalry wing. Podalieros was a recluse, preferring his surgery to councils of war, but Machaon was a restless and energetic man who had the gift of command and could fight like ten Myrmidons. Idomeneus drifted gracefully through the door with Meriones in tow, using the importance of his Cretan crown and his position as co-commander to bow to Agamemnon rather than bend the knee. Agamemnon’s eyes flashed at the slight; I wondered if he thought that Crete was getting too big for his boots, but the High King’s face didn’t say. Idomeneus was a fop, but strongly built and a fine leader of men. Meriones, his cousin and heir, was possibly the better man of the two – I never minded feasting or fighting with him. Both of them had the same openhanded Cretan air.
Nestor trod briskly to his special seat, nodding in passing to Agamemnon, who took no offence at all. He had dandled all of us on his knee when we were babes. If he had a fault, it was that he tended to reminisce excessively about ‘the old days’, and regarded the present generation of Kings as cissies. However, one couldn’t help but love him. Odysseus adored him, I thought. With him he brought his eldest son.
Ajax arrived with his boon companions, his half-brother Teukros and his cousin from Lokris, Little Ajax the son of Oileus. They sat mumchance by the far wall, looking uncomfortable. I longed for the day when I would see Ajax on a battlefield (he had not been near me at Sigios), see with my own eyes those bulging arms wield his famous axe.
Menestheus followed closely on their heels, a good High King of Attika, but with more sense than to set himself up as another Theseus. He was not a tenth the man Theseus had been – but then, nor was anyone else. Palamedes was the last. He sat between me and Odysseus. It was impolitic for me to dare to like him when Odysseus hated him. Why, I didn’t know, though I gathered that Palamedes had injured him in some way when he and Agamemnon went to Ithaka to fetch him to the war. Odysseus was patient enough to bide his time, but he would have his revenge, of that I was certain. Not a hot and bloody revenge. Odysseus ate cold. The priest Kalchas was not present, a curious omission.
Agamemnon began stiffly. ‘This is the first proper council I’ve called since we landed at Troy. As you’re all aware of the situation, I see no point in belabouring it. Odysseus will put the case to you, not I. Though I am your suzerain, you gave me your troops gladly, and I respect your right to withdraw that support if you think fit, the Oath of the Quartered Horse notwithstanding. Patrokles, keep the Staff, but give it to Odysseus.’
He stood in the middle of the floor (Agamemnon had succumbed to the increasing cold and built himself a stone house, even if its presence suggested permanence), red mane flowing back from his fine face in a mass of waves, his great grey eyes stripping us to the marrow, to our true stature: Kings, but men for all that. We Greeks have always honoured foreknowledge, and Odysseus had it in full measure.
‘Patrokles, pour the wine’ was all he said to begin, then waited while the young man went the rounds of everyone. ‘It is five moons since we landed. Nothing has happened during that time outside the confines of a hollow near my ships.’
This statement was followed by a brisk explanation that he had taken it upon himself to imprison the army’s worst soldiers in a place where they could do no harm. I knew why he would not divulge the real purpose of that hollow: he didn’t trust Kalchas or some of the tongues, even if bound by oath.
‘Though we’ve held no official council,’ he continued in his smooth and pleasant voice, ‘it hasn’t been difficult to ascertain the main sentiments among you. For instance, no one wants to besiege Troy. I respect your views, for the same reasons Machaon might offer – that siege brings plague and other disease in its wake – that in conquering by such means, we too might perish. So I don’t intend to discuss siege.’
He paused to quiz us with his eyes. ‘Diomedes and I have made many nocturnal visits to the interior of Troy, where we’ve learned that if we’re still here next spring, the situation will change radically. Priam has sent to all his allies along the coast of Asia Minor, and they’ve all promised him armies. By the time the snow is off the mountains, Priam will have two hundred thousand troops at his disposal. And we will be ejected.’
Achilles interrupted. ‘You paint a black picture, Odysseus. Is that what we were called from our homes to endure – total ignominy at the hands of an enemy we’ve encountered only once? What you’re saying is that we’ve embarked upon a fruitless crusade, enormously costly and without prospect of being paid for by enemy spoils. Where’s the plunder you promised us, Agamemnon? What has happened to your ten days’ war? What has become of your easy victory? No matter which way we turn, defeat stares at us. And in this cause some of us here today connived at human sacrifice. There are worse defeats than to go down in battle. To be forced to evacuate this beach and return home is the worst defeat of all.’
Odysseus chuckled. ‘Are the rest of you as cast down as Achilles? I’m sorry for you, then. Yet I can’t deny that the son of Peleus speaks the truth. Added to which, if we’re here through the winter, supplies are going to be hard to get. At the moment we can take what we need from Bithynia, but the winters hereabouts, they say, are cold and snowy.’
Achilles leaped to his feet, snarling at Agamemnon. ‘This is what I told you at Aulis, long before we sailed! You paid no attention to the problems of feeding a huge army! Choice? Do we have a choice as to whether we stay here or go home? I don’t think so. Our only alternative is to take advantage of the early winter winds and sail to Greece, never to return. You are a fool, King Agamemnon! A conceited fool!’
Agamemnon sat very still, but held onto his temper.
‘Achilles is right,’ growled Idomeneus. ‘It was very badly planned.’ He drew in a breath, glaring at his co-commander. ‘I ask you, Odysseus: can we or can’t we storm the Trojan walls?’
