‘There’s no way to storm them, Idomeneus.’
Feeling was rising, sparked by Achilles and fuelled by the fact that Agamemnon chose to say nothing. They were all ready to fly at him, and he knew it. He sat biting his lips, his body tense with the effort of restraining his own anger.
‘Why couldn’t you have admitted that you weren’t capable of planning an expedition as big as this?’ Achilles demanded. ‘Were you less than you are – and were you not what you are by the grace of the Gods! – I would strike you down. You led us to Troy with no thought in your head beyond your own glory! You used the Oath to get your grand army together, then proceeded to ignore the wishes and needs of your brother – how much have you really considered Menelaos? Can you say in all honesty that you do this for the sake of your brother? Of course you can’t! You never even pretended that! From the very beginning your aim has been to enrich yourself from the sack of Troy, and carve an empire for yourself in Asia Minor! We’d all grow fat on it, I admit, but none so fat as you!’
Menelaos cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks, his grief betraying a terrible disillusionment. While he sobbed like a child in pain, Achilles took him by the shoulder and rubbed it. The atmosphere was stormpacked; one more word and they would all be at Agamemnon’s throat. Feeling my sword arm begin to tingle, I looked at Odysseus, standing motionless with the Staff in his hand while Agamemnon locked his hands together in his lap and looked down at them.
In the end it was Nestor who stepped into the breach. He turned on Achilles savagely. ‘Young man, your lack of respect deserves a flogging! What gives you the right to criticise our High King when men like myself do not? Odysseus levelled no charges – how dare you presume to do so? Hold your tongue!’
Achilles took this without a murmur. He bent the knee to Agamemnon in apology, and sat down. By nature he was not a hothead, but there had been bad blood between him and Agamemnon ever since Iphigenia had died at Aulis. Understandable. His name had been used to lure the girl away from Klytemnestra, but Agamemnon hadn’t asked for his consent. Achilles couldn’t seem to forgive any of us, least of all Agamemnon, for our parts in it.
‘Odysseus,’ said Nestor, ‘it’s clear that you don’t have the seniority to manage this collection of noble autocrats, so give me the Staff and let me speak.’ He glared at us. ‘This meeting is a disgrace! In my young days no one would have dared to say the things I’ve heard this morning! For instance, when I was a youth and Herakles was all over the land, things were different.’
We sat back and resigned ourselves to one of Nestor’s famous homilies, though when I thought about it afterwards, I was sure the old man started to ramble deliberately; in being forced to listen, we calmed down.
‘Now take Herakles,’ Nestor went on. ‘Unjustly bound to a king not fit to wear the sacred purple of office, set a series of tasks coldbloodedly chosen to bring him death or humiliation, Herakles didn’t even protest. His word was holy to him. He had nobility of mind as well as might of arm. God-got he might have been, but he was a man! A better man than you can ever hope to be, young Achilles. And you, young Ajax. The King is the King. Herakles never forgot that – not when mired to the knees in ordure, not when slipping on the brink of despair and madness. His very manliness put him above Eurystheus, the man he served. That was what all other men admired in him, honoured in him. He knew what was owed to the Gods and he knew what was owed to the King. To each he rendered scrupulously at all times. Though it did my heart good to treat him like a brother, he never took encouragement from my friendliness – I the Heir of Neleus, he accounted little better than a freak. It was his consciousness of his position as a slave, his deference and his patience won him undying love and the status of a Hero. Ai, ai! The world will never see his like again.’
Good! He was done, he’d give the Staff back to Odysseus and the council could proceed. But he wasn’t done; instead, he embarked upon a new homily.
‘Theseus!’ he cried. ‘Take Theseus as another example! It was madness overtook him, not lack of nobility or forgetfulness of what is owed to the King. High King himself, I never knew him as any other than a man. Or take your father, Diomedes. He was the mightiest warrior of his day, was Tydeus, and he died before the very walls you took a generation later, Diomedes, his life unmarred by dishonour. If I had known what sort of men call themselves Kings and Heirs to Kings here on this beach at Troy, I would never have left sandy Pylos, never sailed the wine-dark sea. Patrokles, pour more wine. I wish to go on speaking, but my throat is parched.’
Patrokles got up slowly, the most put out of all of us; it visibly hurt him to hear Achilles dressed down. The old King of Pylos guzzled an unwatered draught without blinking, licking his lips and sat down on a vacant chair near Agamemnon’s.
‘Odysseus, I intend to steal your thunder. I mean no offence to you in doing so, it is just that apparently it needs an ancient to keep insolent young men in their place,’ he said.
Odysseus grinned. ‘Go ahead, sire! You’ll put the case as well as I could, if not better.’
Which was when I began to smell something fishy. The two of them had been huddling together for days – was this cooked up ahead of time?
‘I doubt that,’ Nestor said, bright blue eyes twinkling. ‘For one so young, you have a remarkable head on your shoulders. I shall sit here, forget personalities and stick to facts. We must approach this business without emotion, understand it without confusion or mistake. What is done is done, that’s first and foremost. What’s in the past must be kept there, not dragged up to fuel grudges.’
He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Consider this: we have an army over one hundred thousand strong, combatant and non-combatant, sitting about three leagues from the walls of Troy. Among the noncombatants are cooks, slaves, sailors, armourers, grooms, carpenters, masons and engineers. It seems to me that if the expedition was as badly planned as Prince Achilles tries to make out, then we’d have no skilled tradesmen. Very well. That needs no discussion. We have also to consider the time factor. Our worthy priest Kalchas said ten years, and I for one am inclined to believe him. We aren’t here to defeat one city! We’re here to defeat many nations. Nations stretching from Troy to Kilikia. A task of that magnitude can’t be done in a wink. Even could we throw down Troy’s walls, it couldn’t be done. Are we pirates? Are we brigands? Are we raiders? If we are, then we would assault one city, go home again with the spoils. But I say we’re not pirates. We can’t stop with Troy! We have to go on and defeat Dardania, Mysia, Lydia, Karia, Lykia and Kilikia.’
Achilles was caught; he was watching Nestor as if he had never seen him before. So, I noted, was Agamemnon watching.
‘What would happen,’ said Nestor almost musingly, ‘if we were to split our army down the middle? One half left to sit before Troy and the other half a free agent. The force at Troy would contain Troy, large enough to be at least of equal strength to any army Priam might send against it. The second force would roam up and down the coast of Asia Minor, attacking, pillaging and burning every settlement between Andramyttios and far Kilikia. It would decimate and ravage, take slaves, loot cities, lay waste the land, never appear where expected. Thus it would accomplish two things – keep both halves of our army amply supplied with food and other necessities – perhaps even luxuries – and keep Troy’s allies in Asia Minor in such perpetual fear that they’ll never manage to send Priam aid of any kind. At no point along the coast are there sufficient concentrations of people to resist a large and well-led army. But I very much doubt that any of the Asia Minor Kings will have the foresight to abandon their own lands in order to congregate at Troy.’
