Glyn Iliffe - The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Up by the gates, with Nestor, Little Ajax and Philoctetes.’

Agamemnon tossed his blood-red cloak over his shoulder and strode up the sand towards the countless sun-bleached tents that filled the land between the shore and the sloping ridge above it. Here, the walls and gates they had built just a few weeks before were the only thing that now stood between the Greek army and annihilation. On the other side were Deiphobus’s victorious Trojans, replenished by new allies under Eurypylus. For days both armies had battled each other across the plains at the cost of thousands more men killed and maimed, but once again the fickle gods had sided with Priam and brought his warriors to the very edge of the Greek camp. And this time when the assault was renewed there would be no brooding Achilles to come to Agamemnon’s rescue.

The King of Men felt his anger rising. The weakness of the kings under his command had brought them to this point, and now their fools of men were threatening to desert back to Greece. It was something he had feared more and more as the years of war had dragged on, but as he walked between the grimed and bloodied soldiers who sat or stood in dispirited groups about the mouths of their tents, he could see it in their faces. Then, as Idomeneus, Menestheus and Talthybius caught up with him – their armour clanking about them – a wounded man leaned across and spat in the dust at the Mycenaean king’s feet.

Agamemnon grasped the handle of his sword and the soldier drew back. His right hand had been severed above the wrist, but to Agamemnon’s shock and disbelief the men around him reached for their own weapons and leapt to the protection of their comrade.

‘Don’t be fools,’ Menestheus warned, standing between them and the King of Men.

Agamemnon felt Idomeneus’s hand on his, pushing his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard.

‘Now do you believe us?’ he whispered, and with his other hand on Agamemnon’s shoulder kept him moving forward. ‘A few more outbreaks of indiscipline like that and we’ll have a full blown mutiny on our hands.’

‘I’ll send a detachment of men and put them under guard until the fighting’s over,’ Menestheus said, joining them. ‘If we’re victorious they can be punished as an example to the rest of the army; if we’re not, then I don’t suppose it matters.’

Agamemnon said nothing. The shock had passed quickly and left him in no doubt that this situation was more dangerous than he had anticipated. Only one thing would save them from destruction now – the arrival of Neoptolemus and the fulfilment of the oracle – but for all he knew Diomedes and Odysseus could still be on Scyros or in the Peloponnese, or have already perished on the long voyage there or back.

They joined the main path that led up to the walls and found Menelaus waiting for them, with Nestor, Little Ajax and Philoctetes the archer at his shoulders. Huge companies of spearmen sat in ranks by the walls, awaiting the order to stand and fight, while behind them many hundreds of bowmen were busily standing their arrows point-down in the dust, ready to fire blindly over the walls into the packed Trojans when the inevitable attack came

‘They’re forming up,’ Menelaus growled as he walked to meet them. ‘Our army can hold them, but there are plenty more men still scattered among the tents whose units were destroyed in the fighting. We need to organise them and the lightly wounded into a strong reserve, just in case the –’

‘Has there been any sign of Diomedes and Odysseus’s sail?’ Agamemnon interrupted, casting a glance over the Aegean.

Menelaus frowned and bit at his bottom lip.

‘A ship has been spotted, approaching from the west. For a while we thought it was them returning, but then it changed course northward – towards Troy.’

‘It could still be them. Why haven’t the galleys we keep ready on Tenedos been sent to intercept it?’

‘When the badly wounded were sent over yesterday I ordered every able-bodied man on the island to return to the camp. That includes the crews of the galleys –’

‘You deliberately disobeyed my orders!’

‘Damn your orders,’ Menelaus snapped. ‘Don’t you realise we need all the men we can get here , not at sea waiting for a galley that’s probably still on the other side of the world? The sail belongs to a merchantman and nothing more. And if you’d kept your mind on the battle, rather than this fantasy over Achilles’s son, perhaps the Trojans would have been pushed back behind their walls again, not us behind ours !’

‘Are you suggesting I’ve led us into this situation?’ Agamemnon hissed, drawing up to his brother.

Every eye was now turned to watch the argument.

‘I’m saying Helenus led us all into a fool’s trap. The oracles he fed us were a lie, designed to have us looking back homeward while all the time Troy was being reinforced by thousands of Mysians. Thanks to him, two of our best fighters are off on a wild rabbit hunt across Greece and we’re pinning all our hopes on a mere boy – whatever his ancestry – rather than believing in our own prowess in battle.’

‘Helenus wasn’t lying,’ Agamemnon retorted. ‘But if you want to assemble your reserve of cowards and cripples, then go ahead. I’m going to the walls.’

Leaving Menelaus fuming with rage behind him, Agamemnon marched over to the gate. Nestor followed him up the wooden steps to the ramparts and together they looked out into the morning sun at their amassed foes. There was a stretch of empty grassland that had been cleansed of the dead during the truce of the previous evening; beyond this, little more than a bowshot from the battlements, stood the ranks of the Trojans and their allies. Thousands upon thousands of infantry waited with their spears and helmets glinting in the sunlight. Before them were dense lines of archers, their bows fitted with arrows and held in readiness, while behind were scores of chariots and row upon row of cavalry.

It was reminiscent of the scene only weeks before, when Hector’s army had laid siege to the Greek camp. Shortly afterwards, they had succeeded in scaling the walls and throwing down the gates before pouring through the Greek tents to threaten the beached galleys. For the first time, Agamemnon wondered at how fruitless the loss of life had been between then and now: thousands of lives expended just to come full circle. The only difference, perhaps, was that the awe-inspiring figures of Hector and Sarpedon had been replaced by Eurypylus and Deiphobus. Agamemnon looked over at the Mysian king standing boldly in the front rank and saw the confidence in his grim face, a confidence justified by his fighting ability. He had brought down many Greek champions in the terrible battles of the preceding days, and none of the surviving kings were able to overcome him. If the oracles were true and not the fantasy that Menelaus claimed them to be, then Neoptolemus would have to be more than a mere shadow of his father to defeat such a warrior. But unless the gods delivered Achilles’s son on to the shores of Ilium before the day was out, it would be too late anyway. For the war would likely be over, and the Greek army slain or taken into captivity.

Then a flash of white on the Aegean caught his eye. He looked westward across the waves and saw the smudge of a sail shining against the blue waters as it steered towards land. For a moment his heart leapt with joy. Then he saw the ship was not heading towards the Greek camp, but north to Troy – the same galley Menelaus had already spoken of. Almost certainly a merchant, as his brother had guessed, chancing the blockade of the city to bring much needed luxuries at extortionate prices. And with every Greek now waiting behind their walls, the daring captain was sure to make his destination and reap a rich reward.