King of Ithaca by Glyn Iliffe Page A

greater than his own. If Tyndareus had supported him, or if Icarius had been king, he would have convened a council of war. But the older man had spoken with authority and truth: decades and even centuries of feuds would not be cast aside lightly. Even the gods themselves could not command the Greek kings to come together under one roof.
    He shook his head in resignation.
    ‘I’m glad you see sense now, Agamemnon,’ Tyndareus said, smiling broadly. ‘Shall I call the bard for a song? Something light, preferably – perhaps a poem in Aphrodite’s honour?’
    Agamemnon sat up and snapped his fingers. ‘That could be the answer.’
    ‘What? A poem?’
    ‘No – the goddess of love! What man can refuse her?’
    The Spartan brothers exchanged puzzled looks. Agamemnon stood and began pacing the floor. ‘Your daughter, Helen, she’s about fifteen or sixteen years, yes?’
    ‘Thereabouts.’
    ‘So she’s old enough to marry.’
    ‘What of it?’
    ‘She’s the most desired woman in all Greece!’ Agamemnon enthused. ‘You see her with the eyes of a father, Tyndareus, but other men . . . they would kill to marry her.’
    Moments of silence slipped by as Agamemnon continued to pace the floor, his leather sandals soft on the flagstones. ‘Have you considered Menelaus as a son-in-law?’ he said after a while.
    ‘I haven’t given Helen’s marriage any thought at all, if that’s what you mean,’ Tyndareus replied defensively. ‘But your brother’s a good man. I’ve liked him ever since you two were boys, when I threw your uncle – that scoundrel Thyestes – out of Mycenae. Yes, Menelaus would probably be my first consideration.’
    ‘Good. I wanted to know that before I asked you about inviting suitors for Helen.’
    Tyndareus shook his head. ‘Oh, I wish I hadn’t drunk so much wine; a man needs a clear brain whenever you’re around. Why should I want to invite suitors to my palace?’
    ‘You asked how I would gather the best of the Greeks under one roof,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Well, that’s my answer. What prince or king would ignore an invitation to pay court to the most beautiful woman of our time? And there’s another lure: I would have become heir to your throne when I married Clytaemnestra, had I not already ruled my own kingdom; that means the right to your kingship will now be passed to the man who marries Helen. With her beauty, power and wealth, the suitors will come flocking to Sparta. Don’t you see, Tyndareus? It’s the priest’s dream.’
    Icarius lifted his cup in a toast to Agamemnon. ‘And when you have them here you’ll convene your council of war. You’re a clever man, Agamemnon. One day you’ll be leader of all the Greeks, and then you can take us to glory.’
    ‘Or death,’ Tyndareus added.

    A figure watched them from a shadowy alcove above. Her raven-black hair was covered by the hood of her white robe and her face was hidden behind a thin veil. Only the gleam of her dark eyes was visible in the shadows as she listened to the plans of the men below.
    Helen’s heart sank. Tyndareus was not even her real father – Zeus had that honour, though Tyndareus did not know it – and yet he had the audacity to put her up for auction like a slave. As for Agamemnon, he was nothing but a butchering megalomaniac. His mind was a maze of political stratagems and his black heart beat only for the glory of the Greeks. If she were a man she would take a sword down to the courtyard and kill all three of them.
    But she was not a man. If she was to stop the king of Mycenae weaving his web about her, she would need subtler weapons than swords or spears. But Helen had learned that the weapons she possessed were more powerful than bronze. She smiled bitterly. From an early age she had been forced to veil her beauty because of the effect it had on the men around her. But as she grew older she had learned how to use that effect to her advantage. Power belonged to men, of course, but men could be