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
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
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