King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Agamemnon, king of Mycenae and son-in-law to Tyndareus, had arrived in Sparta the day before. He was a full score of years younger than his hosts, and yet had a more authoritative bearing than either of them. Tall, athletically built and handsome, his hair was long and brown with a hint of red and his beard was cropped neatly to his jawline. He wore a tunic of purest white beneath a blood-red cloak which was clasped together at his left shoulder by a golden brooch. This depicted a lion tearing apart a fallen deer, and captured with great skill the majesty, power and ruthlessness of the man. Yet his cold expression revealed nothing of his emotions. He ignored Icarius and focused his icy blue eyes on the priest.

‘Well, damn it?’ thundered Tyndareus. ‘What does the dream mean? Are we going to be invaded? Will our halls be filled with enemies?’

‘No,’ declared Agamemnon, quietly. ‘The Greeks are at peace with each other for the first time in years, and I’ll see that maintained. Even if the old man’s dream was sent by the gods, it won’t mean that.’

‘Then what does it mean?’ Tyndareus demanded.

‘This isn’t the only time I’ve had the dream, my lord,’ said the priest, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. ‘For six consecutive nights I suffered the same images, until the gods released me from them last night. I interpret this to mean the men will be guests at the palace. What’s more, they will be here one month for each night I had the dreams.’

‘Six months!’ Icarius exclaimed. ‘How in Zeus’s name are we to feed an army of Greece’s finest warriors until next summer? We can barely even feed our own people.’

Tyndareus waved over his chief steward and ordered more fruit to be brought. ‘I assume, priest, you’ve sent an envoy to consult one of the oracles.’

‘Oh yes, my lord. Naturally.’

‘Then we shall wait on the advice of the gods. Not that I can see any reason for inviting a horde of kings here for winter residence. Can you imagine the fights? No, I think you’ve made a mistake this time; your dreams mean something else, or nothing at all.’

Tyndareus turned from the priest to focus on the Mycenaean king.

‘I’m intrigued by these fantasies of yours, though, Agamemnon. Do you really expect to preserve peace between the Greek nations?

The fruit arrived and Agamemnon selected a slice of melon. He took a bite without spilling a drop of juice.

‘Yes, I do. Greece is tired of civil war. I used to go to the marketplaces and hear the women bemoan the loss of sons and husbands in distant battles, whilst the merchants grumbled about the trade they’d lost because of one war or another. But I’ve seen how happy the people have become during this lull. They’re hungry for peace, and I intend to give them what they want.’

Tyndareus scoffed. ‘How? The merchants and women can pine for peace, Agamemnon, but there are too many fighting men in Greece now. The wars have bred a new class of professional soldier. Each state has a standing army, just waiting for the next call to war – and they’re getting restless. For every shepherd, farmer, potter and bronze-smith in Sparta there’s a warrior. Do you think they’ll be willing – or able – to trade their swords for pottery and ivory trinkets? Maybe you think they can sail to Crete in their upturned shields and sell unwanted helmets to farmers and fishermen? And already your so-called “peace” is falling apart again: what about Diomedes and the Epigoni, laying siege to Thebes?’

Agamemnon gave a pained smile. ‘Diomedes desires peace more than anything else. I’ve spoken about this with him and he’s given me his word that he only makes war to avenge the death of his father. That’s all. He doesn’t fight the Thebans for slaves or plunder.’

‘He may not,’ said Icarius. ‘But his men do. Why else would they fight?’

‘I said peace will continue in Greece, and it will,’ Agamemnon insisted. ‘When the nations realize the benefits of commerce over war, attitudes will change. The people want peace with their neighbours and their rulers are prospering already from the free flow of goods. That’s where peace starts. But commerce alone won’t unite us, nor will even the most solemn oaths. And there’s your question about our restless armies, Tyndareus, always itching to be heroes.’

Tyndareus slurped down the last of his wine and the squire refilled his cup. ‘So what do you propose to do?’

‘If we’re to grow rich through commerce, we need to trade freely outside of Greece.’

‘And we do,’ said Icarius.

‘Not any more,’ Agamemnon corrected. He chose another piece of melon from the platter and took a bite, spitting the seeds one by one into the flames. ‘Have you heard of King Priam?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Tyndareus said. ‘Ruler of Troy, and a powerful man by all accounts.’

‘Too powerful.’ Agamemnon frowned. ‘He’s started imposing a tax on trade passing over the Aegean. He claims the sea for Troy and says all ships must pay him tribute. Something I won’t tolerate.’