The Warrior, page 20
part #3 of Orestes Series
Was that not the truth? I had a son, and Mycenae a royal heir. The future of the House of Atreus was assured.
II.
Argolis
Chapter Fifteen
Early one morning in late winter, I informed Hermione and Elektra that I was marching my men west to Kleitos’s estate, where the ground was flatter and better drained, to practice maneuvers; it mattered little that neither woman believed me, only that they held their tongues.
From the postern gate, we marched northward, and pitched camp in a meadow just before dusk. I forbade the men to light fires, and, not having told them their destination or purpose, had to quash their mutterings. Soon. I slept a little, and reminisced about those frantic days and nights ten years ago when Timon and I had crossed the same wild country.
An hour before dawn, I had the men awake and creeping through the mountainous pass separating Argolis from Corinthia. Winter was slow to leave the highlands; the wind had risen with sharp teeth, forcing us to keep moving in order to stay warm.
Pylades had advised me to watch for his agent, who had sent word several days ago that he would meet us on the road a mile from Nemea. Dawn’s first brilliance had begun lightening the sky over the Arachnaion Mountains when he appeared, leaning against a tree, and disguised as a herdsman complete with goats and a shepherd dog. Without a word, he guided us through dense undergrowth to a narrow cave where we could rest and wait.
A general restlessness had overtaken the men, who had begun to suspect that something momentous was about to happen, and about which they had not been told anything. I gathered them around, summarized the situation, and, scratching a rough map of Nemea in the dirt where the light streamed into the cave, I separated the men into squads with precise instructions.
“You’re not to raze the citadel or pillage it, but deliver it untouched into our hands. You’re to kill the sentries and anyone else who offers resistance or attempts to raise the alarm, but you’re not to stop and loot whatever you find, or rape the women.” That pronouncement elicited long faces and more grumbling. I held up my hand for silence. “Do you think we intend to stint you? We have Nemea’s tallies, so we know exactly how much Lord Chromios possesses in gold, livestock, and slaves. Curb your lust, do what you’ve been trained to do, and as you’ve been commanded, and by tomorrow evening you shall have your reward from among the spoils.”
So we rested and waited in that dark cave, while outside in the cool spring air merchants, farmers, and townsfolk went about their tasks, and the Nemean assembly conducted their business, little suspecting that at this time tomorrow they would have a new master.
Three men took the first watch. Although the cave sat a quarter-mile from the road, and was camouflaged by thick brush and other debris, I instructed the sentries to kill anyone—man, woman, or child—who ventured too close. Yes, the agent had reassured me that our refuge was not a sacred cave or haunt for local youths, yet his knowing about its existence meant that others did, too.
I hunkered down in my sturdy wool cloak, and puffed warm air into my hands; the cave was dank and cold, even with sixty-one men crammed into its hollow. Each man carried only a buckler, sword, and enough food and water to last two days. We would move on Nemea with no chariots, no spears, and no great host. As it was, I had never fought a pitched battle, only carried out raids on Phocian brigand dens, and a stealth assault on Mycenae. Those experiences surely worked to my advantage, yet so much depended on forces outside my control. Would Artemis send the wind again tonight as she had done the last four nights, or would she capriciously withdraw her favor? And would the citadel guard who had taken gold to unlatch the postern gate actually do so, or would he betray us to his lord?
The agent assured me that the sentry was entirely untrustworthy, insofar as his self-serving nature was concerned. “But a little gold, some sour wine, and a wet cunt will buy his loyalty for an hour,” he said.
An hour would serve.
I dozed on the hard ground, listened to the scattered and mumbled conversation from the rear of the cave, and waited for the sun to set; it might as well have been a midsummer’s day, dusk was so long coming. At last, as the afternoon light started fading, I roused the men, and directed them to eat and prepare to move out again. Our last action as the sun set was to beseech the gods for their favor in tonight’s enterprise, yet as we had brought no animal to sacrifice, we had to make do with some sour wine splashed onto the rocks.
The agent reappeared, guiding us from the cave as a waning moon rose in the east, and leading us across the road through the groves and fields girding Nemea. A chilly breeze buffeted my face where my close-fitting leather helm left it bare. By midnight, gods willing, we would be indoors warming ourselves by braziers, and victorious; that thought kept me going despite the leaden ache of uncertainty twisting in my belly.
Skirting Nemea’s lower town took time, as we had to proceed cautiously in the near-blackness, on unfamiliar terrain, going single file with each man touching the shoulder of the man before him, lest we become separated and scattered; that was how my uncle’s Phocian warriors approached brigand dens, and how Atreus had led his men along Midea’s precariously steep paths decades ago.
I rested my hand on the agent’s shoulder, having, in effect, placed my fate and that of my sixty men in the hands of this stranger. But moving in this manner was tedious, a challenge for men who liked running headlong into battle brandishing their spears and tall shields. Wait, wait. I counted my breaths, and measured my steps, reminding myself that the advance was always harder than the actual fight.
Fingers grasped mine, squeezed them hard—a prearranged signal that we were ascending to higher ground. As I sent the signal back, beginning with Aglaos, I could make out the citadel walls rising on my hand, a heavy black mass against the star-spangled night sky. Men were stationed on those walls, men who might glimpse some slight movement in the shadows, or hear a suspicious rustle, a hastily muttered curse, and... My nerves were trying to get the better of me, creating dilemmas where none should exist. I had foreseen those contingencies, hence the dark clothing, the light armaments, and setting out on a night where our movements would be covered by the distracting whistle of the wind.
I fumbled along the masonry wall on my left, and inched over rough paving stones as the road climbed toward the postern gate. Sixty paces, the agent had said, would bring us to the lintel overhanging the gate with its stout wooden door. Blessed Athena, and Hermes who watches over thieves, I thought frantically, let the gate be unattended and unlatched. Perspiration beaded my forehead despite the biting cold. Lend us your favor, and we will heap your altars with spoils.
The agent once again took my hand, and pressed it flat against rough wood; it took me a second to realize that it was, at last, the postern gate. I heard a scratch, and then the creak of hinges, far too loud for my ears, when even my own breathing sounded to me like a bellows. When no one raised the alarm, my next coherent thought was that the traitor had done his work. I tightened my grip on the sword in my right hand, and sent the word back to get ready.
I followed the agent inside, slipping with my companions into the hollow right beneath the lintel. Slowly, we spread out, hugging the shadows along the walls, so all everyone could be inside the citadel before the killing started. I waited a space, then whispered a command to the closest companion, who in turn passed the word on. Everyone had their orders. Now, it was time to fan out and see the task done.
Twenty-five men moved like black beetles through the darkness to dispatch the sentries guarding the walls and courtyards. Death would come as an unwelcome guest, with a hand over the mouth, a blade thrust between the ribs, a slashed throat, and a muffled cry. In addition to the agent, who knew his way from the postern gate to the royal apartments, and my retainers, I took twenty more men to help me secure the megaron.
All sentries and everyone else who might raise the alarm must die, with no exception for gender or age. When we reached the megaron, we divided up, and approached the aithousa from separate directions. A glowing brazier before the doors cast a pool of firelight in which I glimpsed the two guards on duty stomping in their boots, and burrowing under their heavy cloaks for warmth. Lazy fools! Should an enemy threaten, they would have to fumble for their spears!
My prediction held true. They never saw us coming until it was too late, and then, as they struggled to find their bearings, it took only two men to silence them. Phemios and Iobates maneuvered the double doors open so we could slip into the vestibule.
Chromios had let his servants sleep indoors tonight; the embers glowing on the hearth revealed dozens of men, women, and even children slumbering in cloaks and fleeces on the floor. I had hoped it would not be so, but having come this far, turning back now on account of a few servant women and their children was beyond contemplation. I steadied myself for the inevitable, reflecting on how the Fates had woven our threads together to bring us to this undesirable pass. At least it would be quick.
Inching forward, stepping over fleeces and sprawled limbs, I found my first victim, and slashed my sword across the man’s throat. His limbs jerked spasmodically, his eyes opened, but the only sound he could manage before he went slack was a surprised gurgle. The woman beside him stirred, started to wake. I turned on her, clapped a hand over her mouth, bore her down, and pushed my sword between her breasts. From there, I continued on to the next victim—a man snoring through a bushy black beard—who needed to be silenced; he died without ever waking, blowing like a bellows one instant, and his shade flown the next.
Around the hall, some of the servants, roused from their sleep by some inherent sense of danger, started to open their eyes, to sit up, but not a single one uttered more than a muffled scream. I saw a man smash a child’s skull with his fist, and a woman’s head cleaved nearly from her shoulders, without actually seeing. Ares always accompanied me during such times, a fearsome ally who guided my sword hand, and drove away the twin compulsions of empathy and horror that turned decent men from such slaughter.
Then a man’s hand grasped my shoulder, inciting me to spin around, my sword poised to strike; only the sight of Phemios’s broken nose and brown eyes stopped my hand. “It’s done,” he said.
Done. Trembling from the rush of the god’s presence, I stood still, and glanced around. The megaron was awash in splayed corpses. Dark blood soaked the fleeces, spattered the lion frescoes.
We found the stairs, and began climbing toward the lord of Nemea’s apartments. Chromios had a wife and five children. I ordered Iobates to take twelve men, secure them, and carry out my other orders, while I dealt personally with my recalcitrant vassal.
The two sentries posted outside the royal apartments proved no match for Mycenaean warriors blood-charged and fresh from the slaughter. Thestalos slashed the nearest man across the throat, leaving him twitching in a widening pool of his own blood. Phemios rushed the other before he could even draw his sword, and with his spear transfixed the man through the belly and into the wall; when he wrenched the weapon free, the dying man’s entrails exploded from his abdomen to land with a squelching sound on the floor. I swallowed my gorge at the appalling stench.
Chromios heard the commotion. Upon bursting into his apartment, I caught him rising half-naked from his bed, reaching for his spear. Thestalos, who raced ahead, knocked it from his grasp and shoved him back onto the mattress, where his terrified young bedmate had drawn the fleeces up to her chin. Aglaos grabbed her by her long hair, hauled her screaming from the bed, and pushed her into a corner by the shuttered window.
I marched to the bedside and leveled my sword at Chromios. Blood slowly dripped from the blade onto the snowy fleeces, staining them with crimson. “We warned you not to ignore our demand for tribute,” I said. “Now, yield.”
Chromios knew the sound of my voice, even though, disoriented from sleep, he had to squint to see me. His dour expression twisted into a scowl. “Agamemnonides, you—” A woman’s scream from the next apartment distracted him, drove him to lunge forward, halting only as the tip of my sword broke the skin above his heart to send a ribbon of blood trickling down his wiry chest.
“Get back!” I ordered, without withdrawing the blade. Chromios could obey, or impale himself through his obstinacy. “As Zeus is our witness, no harm will come to your wife or daughters.”
“What about my sons?” he snarled. I did not speak; my silence was answer enough. He grasped the fleeces between his hands as if he would rip them apart, and howled.
As the grief-stricken Chromios could not see reason, never mind submit, I had him confined to a small chamber with food, water, and clothing, and assigned three guards to watch over him before going to deal with his women. A pair of teenaged youths lay facedown in widening pools of blood in the corridor between the lord’s and lady’s apartments. Their loss was a genuine shame, but necessity and their father’s defiance had dictated their deaths.
I found Chromios’s middle-aged wife and three daughters huddled fearfully around a brazier. They had not been molested, as per my orders, but neither had they been allowed to dress themselves. I removed my helm, and said calmly, “Do not be alarmed. We are the king of—”
“We know who you are,” the lady of Nemea answered coldly. “Shame on you, King Orestes, who were our most honored guest, to murder—”
“Because you are obviously frightened and grieving, we will excuse your outburst, but you will remember who you are talking to, and what we can do.” I hardened my tone. “We are within our rights to sell you and your daughters into bondage, if we so desire.” Small and frail-looking as she was, the lady held her head high, though she did not interrupt me again. “Your husband is alive and unharmed. As long as he submits, you and your daughters will be treated according to your station, and granted every courtesy.”
They could not be allowed to leave their apartment, not with the carnage befouling the corridor. Upon leaving, I issued orders to Thestalos and Iobates. “Find some reliable servants to attend to Chromios and his women, and set guards on their doors who will not abuse them or allow them to injure themselves. I need them alive and unhurt, and willing to cooperate.”
“It will be done, my lord.” Thestalos had a gleam in his eye indicating that he wanted something. “That woman in Lord Chromios’s chamber was rather toothsome. Do you want her sent to you?”
From what I had seen, she was barely budded. I liked my women a bit more mature. “Go ahead and take her, Thestalos, as long as you share her with the other companions.”
Wailing from the women in the lady’s apartment raised my hackles, and the corridor was uncomfortably close and rancid. I wanted a breath of fresh air. Iobates and his men accompanied me downstairs, through the carnage of the megaron, and into the empty forecourt.
Midnight. I controlled the citadel, but the town with its second garrison was another matter entirely. Lighting a beacon to summon Menon and his host would have alerted the town that something was amiss, so I sent two messengers who knew the terrain, had them leave by the postern gate, and travel on foot two miles southeast to Menon’s camp. By sunrise, he would have fifty chariots and a hundred spears at Nemea’s front gates.
Meanwhile, I had lost no men during the raid, and only three had suffered any noteworthy injuries: two from their struggles with the sentries on the walls, and a third from twisting his ankle on the darkened stairs. I allowed all the men a cup of mulled wine each, to warm them after the cold march, but forbade them from taking liberties with the surviving servant women, whose hands were needed to scour away the blood and remove the bodies from the megaron. Later, after I secured the submission of the lower town, all sixty men would each have their reward: a golden cup, a tripod, eight head of cattle, and a woman to warm their bed.
Nearchos assigned thirty men to take the night watch along the ramparts, while the agent and my companions discovered the traitor hiding in a storeroom among the pithoi of olive oil, and hauled him into the megaron. He went down on one knee, the fool, to pledge his loyalty, and asked to keep his station, as though he had not just betrayed his lord. I quenched his presumption without delay. “You’ve had your gold, and your woman. What makes you think you deserve more?”
He frowned in bewilderment. Gods, he was an unsightly man, with gaps in his brown teeth, and a sour stench that competed with the vinegar the servant women were using to scrub the floor behind him. Had it not once occurred to him that he might be marked for death, or was he delusional enough to believe that he could persuade me otherwise? “I kept my word, sir, and opened the gate,” he argued. “I always keep my word.”
“Do you know,” I asked him, “how our grandfather rewarded the man who delivered Midea to him?” Confounded, having obviously never heard that story, the traitor shook his head. “You may thank the gods that we are not King Atreus, and that we do not have the time to flay you alive.” His eyes widened as the nature of his ‘reward’ began to dawn on him. Protesting, he started to rise; Thestalos shoved him down again, and cuffed him hard.
He greeted the dawn without a head; that found a new home on a spike overlooking the front gate, before Menon arrived with his hundred and fifty men. Nemea’s garrison, overwhelmed by the sudden, threatening influx of Mycenaean warriors, surrendered without incident. With both citadel and town securely under my control, I bathed in Chromios’s terracotta tub, rested in his bed with his pretty young slave for company. I broke my fast at midday and sent word back to Mycenae that I would be detained another week, to await the formal submission of Nemea’s lord and his vassals.
Chromios and his family remained under strict but benevolent guard. I even visited them, allowed the lady of Nemea and her daughters to anoint and dress the corpses of their slain kinsmen, and accompanied the lord of Nemea to the family’s chamber tomb in the nearby hills to bury his sons among their ancestors.
