Diplomacy
I will kill you. This is what Achilles thinks, eyes narrowed into slits, jaw set, staring down Agamemnon. There, in the tent, the two men stand immovable as Titans; Agamemnon is not about to quail before the younger man's gaze. Despite the thick cloth, they can still hear the faint clanking of armor and shouts of charioteers outside; inside the tent, it is dark and close and dusty, the flaps shut.
No one says anything. Casting a swift glance about him, Agamemnon sees Diomedes' expression of boredom; Odysseus watches the water clock in a manner that suggests that he'd like for them to cut it out now so that he can go have his lunch. (Agamemnon thinks that all clever people are crooked, particularly Odysseus.) Ajax, Zeus love him, is as clueless as a donkey and seems uncertain whether this is something he's even supposed to be seeing.
Finally, Achilles speaks; the words are quiet, but they sizzle like eggs on a hot stone. "Over my cold dead body will you take my war prize."
"Well, mine was stolen."
"What a load of bullshit! You probably got drunk and forgot that you gambled it off to someone." Dice is about the only thing there is to do in the evenings, if you don't fancy a woman.
When neither of them is looking, Odysseus nods to Menelaus, who nods back and scoots a little closer to his older brother.
"How dare you!" Agamemnon draws himself up to his full height, which is not particularly impressive; Achilles is not a tall man, either, but it's easy to forget that when you know who he is. "I've got to carry a heavier load than you can imagine inside your stunted little backwoods head! And you dare outrage me by implying that I am so careless with my share of the loot as to—"
"Calm down," Menelaus says, jerking his brother's arm. When Agamemnon turns, Odysseus snatches the speaker's staff and jumps to his feet.
"I propose that, since we have no business more pressing than the shortage of olive oil and nothing more entertaining to do than watch people use everyone's time for their petty private quarrels, we adjourn for the afternoon. I further propose that both combatants go soak their heads, since it's a stinking tripod that we can get at the next town we sack and it's not like Agamemnon needs another one."
"Hear, hear!" Teucer cheers, only to be stoned into silence by the glares of the men next to him. Agamemnon is a florid, nearly purple color in the face, and his mouth works violently as he glowers at Odysseus and Achilles. He swears they're in collusion somehow. Palamedes would know—he'll have him find out.
"Council adjourned," Odysseus says, swinging the staff.
"You don't get it, do you?" Achilles says, rounding on Odysseus. "You really don't get it. This isn't about a stupid tripod, it's about—"
"Honor and fair play, yes. I know. This is a war, Achilles. All the rules are in suspension." The young warrior, deflated, opens his mouth to argue the point again. Odysseus reaches up to clap him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't let him take your stupid tripod. Have a nice afternoon."