Not a Battlefield

The first men of the Danaan host packed Agamemnon's tent. The Mycenaean ruler had called the council of kings to address the rumors that ran among the men, but it was all too clear that he was once again hoping for a reason to abandon the whole enterprise. Watching him, Teucros thought, Queen Clytemnestra must be quite a woman, for him to be so desperate to return home. Although Agamemnon could be proud and abrasive, Teucros felt a silent sympathy for him: it must be hard to have the lead in this expedition by reason of wealth and power, but be so overmatched as a person. Six or ten of the Lords at this council were more famed as warriors, and when Achilles had been alive, no one had bothered to ask whether Agamemnon was on the field.

Beside him, Teucros could feel Ajax slumping deeper into despair. His big brother had little interest in councils, and talking that led to less fighting galled his warrior's heart. Seeing his brother's broad shoulders hunched, Teucros felt the urge to reassure him that, whatever King Agamemnon wished, the Danaans would not be going home. Too many men had spent too much time and blood on this plain to go home without the golden spoils of Troy.

Just then, however, Agamemnon rose. "Lords of the Argives, Princes of Achaea, I have called you to face this question: with our mightiest fighter fallen, how are we to conquer Priam's forces and the walls raised by the Lords of Olympus?"

The other Ajax, the son of Oileus, yelled out, "Built by the gods, my heel! It's a load of superstitious nonsense, a story put about by Priam's lying people to scare us off." His reedy, jeering voice filled the tent, but even standing to speak, he was dwarfed by the sturdier Argives who sat to either side.

"We must not disregard the gods, nor speak ill of them. That path leads to disaster," grey-bearded Nestor spoke up. "What do the omens say, Calchas?"

The prophet mumbled quickly without standing, "The omens are not clear at this time. The gods will not speak on other matters until we have buried our fallen hero with appropriate ceremony." Many of the kings looked relieved that he had nothing more to say on the matter; when Calchas spoke in specifics, it usually meant blood.

Nestor's son Thrasymedes rose to answer that. "We are ready to hold the funeral games in two days. The pleasure of the games may well ease the common men's minds more than anything we determine at this council."

A murmur of agreement went around the tent at that, and Menelaus nodded his golden head vigorously. His brother Agamemnon frowned. "How effective will the games be at cheering the men if we have no clear hope to offer them afterwards? As long as Achilles fought among them, they felt that the gods wished us to win. Now, they retell the story of Apollo and Poseidon building the city's walls, and swear that the Trojans have some secret luck token hidden in the citadel."

"Diomedes and I can scout out rumors of this luck token," Odysseus said quietly. He never needed to raise his voice to get the other kings' attention in council. "We are not afraid to cross into the Trojan allies' camp, as you recall."

"But what about the walls? If the gods built them, no man will overcome them," someone called out without standing.

Teucros looked to his brother, but Ajax had his head down. It rested on him to stand for his father's deeds. As he did, he wished that his brother had his great shield to hold over him, as he often did on the battlefield. Even without that protection, he managed to say what was needed.

"Lords of the Achaeans, Troy can be conquered. Troy has been conquered, and by men of Achaea. My father, and Ajax', sacked the city when King Priam was but a boy, and brought home rich treasures. Do not ask whether we should go back to our homes, but what should we bring back to the plain of Scamander that was here the first time Ilium fell."

"Heracles!" Diomedes called out, laughing. Odysseus, standing close beside him as always, hushed his friend.

"Would you have us dig up his bones?" Agamemnon's dark eyes were round with nervous energy.

"Trouble not the dead," Calchas said, definite for once.

"Perhaps we ought to call on some of his sons to aid us," Idomeneus, the Lord of Crete, spoke in his lilting Minoan accent. Several other leaders echoed him at once.

Gerenian Nestor stood again. "They are a quarrelsome lot, scarcely worth the half of their sire, even when they all agree. Look how they fled from Eurystheus. If we are to have anything of Heracles', let us have his bow! When we started this expedition, we had it with us, and the omens were fair." All the kings listened earnestly to this advice, even though Nestor's grudge against the family of Heracles was well known.

"Philoctetes will put fear into the cowardly Trojan archer, Prince Paris!"

"Send for Philoctetes – it's time to have a strong bow on our side." The whole tent rang with support of Nestor's idea. Teucros felt pleased that what he said had led to the renewal of their enthusiasm; at the same time, gall burned in his stomach to hear his own skill as an archer ignored again.