“They offered no counter terms?” he asked, once I had finished my report.
Without hesitating, I lied, “None. Aleksandros said he would never surrender Helen under any circumstances.”
“Nothing else?”
“He and Prince Hector told me that a Hatti army is marching to their assistance.”
Odysseus’s eyes widened. “What? How far are they from here?”
“A few days’ march, from what Aleksandros said.”
He tugged at his beard, real consternation in his face. “That cannot be,” he muttered. “It cannot be!”
I waited in silence, and looked out across the rows of beached boats. Each of them had its mast in place, as if the crews were making ready to sail. The masts had not been up the day before.
Finally Odysseus jumped to his feet. “Come with me,” he said urgently. “Agamemnon must hear of this.”
Chapter 12
“THE Hatti are marching here? To aid Priam?” Agamemnon piped in his high squeaking voice. “Impossible! It can’t be true!”
The High King looked startled, even frightened. He sat at the head of the council, his right shoulder swathed in strips of cloth smeared with blood and some oily poultice.
He was broad of shoulder and body, built like a squat turret, round and thick from neck to hips. He wore a coat of gilded mail over his tunic, and a harness of gleaming leather over that, with silver buckles and ornaments. A jeweled sword hung at his side. Even his legs were encased in elaborately decorated bronze greaves, buckled in silver. His sandals had gold tassels on their thongs.
All in all, Agamemnon looked as if he were dressed for battle rather than a council of his chief lieutenants, the kings and princes of the various Achaian tribes.
But, knowing the Achaians and their penchant for argument, perhaps he hoped to awe them with his panoply. Or perhaps he thought he was going into a battle.
Thirty-two men sat in a circle around the small hearth fire in Agamemnon’s hut, the leaders of the Achaian contingents. Every group allied to Agamemnon and his brother Menalaos was there, although the Myrmidones were represented by Patrokles, rather than Achilles. I sat behind Odysseus, who was placed two seats down on the High King’s right, so I had the opportunity to study Agamemnon closely.
There was precious little nobility in the features of the High King. Like his body, his face was broad and heavy, with a wide stub of a nose, a thick brow, and deep-set eyes that seemed to look out at the world with suspicion and resentment. His hair and beard were just beginning to turn gray, but they were well combed and glistening with fresh oil perfumed so heavily that it made my nostrils itch, even from where I sat.
He held a bronze scepter in his left hand; his right rested limply on his lap. The one rule of sanity and order in the council meeting, apparently, was that only the man holding the scepter was allowed to speak.
“I have the sworn word of Hattusilis himself, High King of the Hatti, that he will not interfere in our war against Troy,” Agamemnon said petulantly. “In writing!” he added.
“I have seen the agreement,” vouched Menalaos, his brother.
Several of the kings and princes nodded their heads in acceptance, but big, blunt Ajax, sitting halfway down the circle, spoke up.
“Many of us have never seen the document sent by the Hatti High King.”
Agamemnon sighed, almost girlishly, and turned to the servant hovering behind his chair. He immediately went to a far corner of the hut, where a table and several chests had been clustered together to form something like an office.
The High King’s hut was larger than Achilles’s, but not as luxurious. The log walls were bare, for the most part, although the king’s bed was hung with rich tapestries. For all his bluster, Agamemnon kept no dais. He sat at the same level with the rest of us. The loot of dozens of towns was scattered around the hut: armor, jeweled swords, long spears with gleaming bronze points, iron and bronze tripods, chests that must have contained much gold and jewelry. The High King had cleared the hut of women and other slaves. None were here except the council and a few scribes and servants.
The servant produced a baked clay tablet covered with cuneiform inscriptions. Agamemnon passed it around the full circle of councilmen. Each man inspected it carefully, although it seemed to me that hardly any of them could read it. As if to prove my suspicion, Agamemnon had the servant read it aloud once it had returned to his hands.
The document was a masterpiece of diplomatic phrasing. It greeted Agamemnon as a fellow High King, and I could see his chest swell pridefully as the words were spoken. The High King of the Hatti, ruler of all the lands from the shore of the Aegean to the ancient walls of Jericho (by his own humble admission), recognized the justice of the Achaian grievance against Troy and promised not to interfere in its settlement. Of course, the wording was much more roundabout than that, but the meaning seemed clear enough. Even a Trojan would have to agree that Hattusilis had promised Agamemnon that he would not help Troy.
“Yet the Trojans claim that a Hatti army is within a few days’ march, coming to their aid,” said Odysseus.
“Pardon me, King of Ithaca,” said old Nestor, sitting between Odysseus and Agamemnon, “but you do not have the scepter and therefore you are speaking out of turn.”
Odysseus smiled at the whitebeard. “Neither do you, King of Pylos,” he said mildly.
“What are they saying?” shouted one of the princes on the other side of the circle. “I can’t hear them!”
Agamemnon handed the scepter to Odysseus, who stood up and repeated his statement in a clear voice.
Ajax blurted, “How do we know this is true?”
They argued back and forth, then finally commanded me to tell them exactly what had been told to me. I got to my feet and repeated the words of Aleksandros and Hector.
“Aleksandros said it?” Menalaos spat on the sandy floor. “He is the prince of liars.”
“But Hector agreed with the story,” Nestor said, hastily taking the scepter from my hands. As I sat, he rose and said, “If this tale of a Hatti army had been told our herald merely by Aleksandros, I would agree with King Menalaos…” On and on Nestor rambled, secure in the possession of the scepter. The gist of his statement was that Hector was an honorable man: If he said that the Hatti army was approaching Troy, that meant it was true. Hector was a man who could be believed, unlike his brother.
“That means disaster for us!” Agamemnon cried, his narrow little eyes actually brimming with tears. “The Hatti army could annihilate us and the Trojans at the same time!”
Everyone seemed to agree.
“They have fought battles against the Egyptians!”
“They conquered Akkad.”
“And sacked Babylon!”
“Hattusilis marched on Miletus and the city opened its gates to him, rather than have his army batter down its walls.”
The fear that spread around the council circle was palpable, like a cold wind that snuffs out a candle and leaves you in darkness.
None of them seemed to know what to do. They dithered like a herd of antelope that sees a pride of lions approaching and cannot make up its mind which way to run.
Finally Odysseus asked for the scepter. Rising, he said calmly, “Perhaps Hector and his wicked brother are wrong in their belief that the Hatti are marching to their aid. Perhaps the Hatti troops are nearby for reasons of their own, reasons that have nothing to do with our war against Troy.”
Mumbles and mutters of dissent. “Too good to be true,” said one voice out of the grumbling background.
“I suggest we send a herald to meet the Hatti commander and ask what his intentions are. Let our herald carry with him some sign of the agreement between Hattusilis and our own High King, to remind the Hatti commander that his king has promised not to interfere in our war.”