If any man was happy on that day, the man was I. Only one thing marred my pleasure: the lad beside me in my chariot, who chafed and figeted because he longed to be in his own car, a warrior rather than a driver. I glanced at him sidelong, my son Antilochos. He was a babe, my youngest and most beloved, the child of my twilit years. When I left Pylos he had been twelve years old. I had answered all his messengers begging that he be allowed to come to Troy with firm negatives. So he had stowed away on a message packet and come anyway, the scamp. On his arrival he had gone not to me but to Achilles, and between them they managed to talk me into letting the boy stay. This was his first battle, but with all my heart I wished that he was still far away in sandy Pylos compiling grocery lists.
We ranged up opposite the Trojans. The line was a league from end to end; I noted without surprise that Odysseus was correct. There were far more of them than there were of us, even if we’d had all Thessalia. I scanned their ranks looking for the men who led them and saw Hektor at once in the centre of their van. My troops of Pylos formed a part of our own van, together with those of the two Ajaxes and eighteen minor Kings. Agamemnon, leader of our van, faced Hektor. Our left flank was under the command of Idomeneus and Menelaos, our right under the command of Odysseus and Diomedes, that inappropriate pair of lovers. One so hot, the other so cold. Together, perfect?
Hektor drove a superb team of jet black horses and stood in his car like Ares Enyalios himself. As big and as straight as Achilles. However, I saw no whitebeards among the Trojans; Priam and his kind had kept to the palace. I was the oldest man on the field.
The drums rolled, the horns and cymbals clashed out the challenge, and the battle began across the hundred paces which still separated us. Spears flew like leaves in the awful breath of winter, arrows swooped like eagles, chariots wheeled and turned to dash up and down, infantry made charges and were repulsed. Agamemnon directed our van with a vigour and alertness I had not suspected lay in him. Many of us, in fact, had not had prior opportunity to see how the rest behaved in combat. Cheering, then, to realise that Agamemnon was competent enough to fare very well indeed this morning against Hektor, who had made no attempt to engage our High King in the duel.
Hektor railed and stormed, flung his cars at us time and time again, but couldn’t break through our front line. I led a few sallies during the morning, Antilochos shrieking the Pylian war cry while I saved my breath for the fight. More than one Trojan died under the wheels of my chariot, for Antilochos was a good driver, keeping me out of trouble and knowing when to fall back. No one was going to have the chance to say that Nestor’s son endangered his old father just to get into battle himself.
My throat grew dry and dust settled quickly on my armour; I nodded to my son and we withdrew to the rear lines to gulp a few mouthfuls of water and get our breath back. When I glanced up at the sun I was amazed to see it approaching its zenith. We drove back to the front line at once, and with a surge of daring I led my men into the Trojan ranks. We did some quick work while Hektor wasn’t looking, then I gave the signal to retreat and we fell back safely into our own line without losing a single man. Hektor had lost upwards of a dozen. Sighing in busy satisfaction, I grinned silently at Antilochos. What we both wanted was the armour of a chieftain, but none had opposed us.
At noon Agamemnon sent a herald into the open to blow a horn of truce. Both armies groaned and laid down their arms; hunger and thirst, fear and weariness became realities for the first time since the battle had begun shortly after sunrise. When I saw that all the leaders were converging on Agamemnon, I told Antilochos to drive me to him too. Odysseus and Diomedes drew up with me as I swung in near the High King. All the rest were already there, slaves hurrying back and forth with watered wine, bread and cakes.
‘What now, sire?’ I asked.
‘The men need a rest. This is the first day of intensive fighting in many moons, so I’ve sent a herald to Hektor asking him and his leaders to meet us in the middle and treat.’
‘Excellent,’ said Odysseus. ‘With any luck we can waste a goodly amount of time while the men get their breath back and eat.’
Agamemnon grinned. ‘As the ploy works both ways, Hektor won’t refuse my offer.’
Noncombatants cleared the bodies away from the centre of the strip separating our two armies; tables and stools were set up, and from both sides the leaders drove out to parley. I went with Ajax, Odysseus, Diomedes, Menelaos, Idomeneus and Agamemnon; we stood and watched this first meeting between the High King and Troy’s Heir with great interest and much curiosity. Yes, Hektor was a future king. A very dark man. Black hair showed under his helm and fell down his back in a braid, and the eyes looking at us as shrewdly as we at him were black too.
He introduced his colleagues as Aineas of Dardania, Sarpedon of Lykia, Akamas the son of Antenor, Polydamas the son of Agenor, Pandaros the captain of the Royal Guard, and his brothers Paris and Deiphobos.
Menelaos growled in his throat and glowered at Paris, but each man feared his imperial brother too much to create trouble. I thought the Trojans a fine group of men, all warriors except for Paris, who was out of place – pretty, pouting, precious. While Agamemnon made his introductions I watched Hektor keenly to note his reaction as he associated a name with a face. When he came to Odysseus he studied our mastermind intently, a light of puzzlement in his gaze. But I didn’t find his dilemma at all amusing; I was too consumed with pity. Men who didn’t know Odysseus the Ithakan Fox usually dismissed him when they met him because of his oddly proportioned body and the untidy, almost ignoble figure he could cut when he thought it politic. Look into his eyes, Hektor, look into his eyes! I found myself saying silently – look into his eyes, know what the man really is and fear it! But Hektor’s nature found Ajax, next to Odysseus in our line, far more interesting and attractive. Thus he missed the significance of Odysseus.
Hektor took in the mighty thews of our second greatest warrior with astonishment; for the first time in his life, we thought, he had to look up into another man’s face.
‘We haven’t talked in ten years, son of Priam,’ Agamemnon said. ‘It’s high time we did.’
‘What do you wish to discuss?’
‘Helen.’
‘That subject is closed.’
‘Far from closed! Do you deny that Paris, son of Priam and your own full brother, did abduct the wife of my full brother, Menelaos the King of Lakedaimon, and did bring her to Troy as an affront to the entire nation of Greece?’
‘I do deny it.’
‘The lady asked to come,’ Paris added.
‘Naturally you do not admit that you used force.’
‘Naturally, since we had no need to use force.’ Hektor blew down his nostrils like a bull. ‘What do you propose in this very formal language, High King?’
‘That you return Helen and all her goods to her rightful husband, that you repay us for our time and trouble by reopening the Hellespont to Greek merchants, and that you do not oppose the settling of our Greek people in Asia Minor.’
‘Your terms are impossible.’
‘Why? All we ask is the right to peaceful coexistence. I would not fight if I could attain my ends peacefully, Hektor.’
‘To accede to your demands would ruin Troy, Agamemnon.’
‘War will ruin Troy faster. You defend, Hektor – never a profitable position. For ten years we have enjoyed Troy’s profits – and the profits of Asia Minor.’
The parleying went on, pointless words tossed to and fro while the soldiers lay on their backs in the trampled grasses and closed their eyes against the sun’s glare.
