Heir of Troy: The Third Son

The news reached the camp three days after it happened.

A sailor brought it. He had been on one of the support vessels, had seen the smoke rising from the northern island as they sailed away. He had not known what it was at first. Then one of the soldiers had told him, and the telling had spread through the camp like fire through dry grass.

By the time the kings gathered in Agamemnon’s tent, every man in the army knew what had happened. Three hundred dead. A fishing village burned to the ground. The High King’s son had done it, and the High King had ordered it.

The tent was thick with tension as the kings took their places. No one spoke. No one needed to. The silence was louder than any argument.

Diomedes was the first to break it. He had not sat down. He stood near the tent’s entrance, his arms crossed over his chest, his face hard as the bronze of his armour. "You burned a village. Three hundred people. And you did it without consulting us."

Agamemnon stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the map of the Aegean. His voice was calm, measured. "I acted as the High King."

"You acted alone." Diomedes stepped forward, his boots heavy on the packed earth. "We are not your vassals. We are not your subjects. We are kings, and we came here to fight Troy. Not to butcher fishermen."

"The fishing village was a Sea Peoples settlement."

"And now the Sea Peoples know we attacked them." Diomedes’s voice was rising, filling the tent. "You have given them a rallying cry. A reason to unite every tribe against us. They refused both offers and killed both envoys. They were waiting. Watching. Now you’ve given them a reason to strike."

Agamemnon’s expression did not change. "Then let them strike. I will be ready."

"Will you. Will you be ready when they burn our villages while we’re a thousand miles away at Troy. Will you be ready when our wives and children are taken as slaves because you couldn’t wait." Diomedes’s eyes were blazing now. "You dragged us into this war against Troy. You said it would be quick. You said Helen would be returned and the strait would be ours. Now you’ve started another war, and you did it without asking us."

The tent was silent. No one moved.

Idomeneus broke the silence. The old king of Crete had been staring into the brazier, his scarred face unreadable. Now he looked up, and his voice was flat, heavy with the weight of long experience. "The Sea Peoples took four of my ships last year. Killed sixty of my men. Burned a fishing town on my northern coast while my fleet was away." He paused. "I did not weep for them when I heard what your son did. I did not mourn. But I am not a fool, Agamemnon. I know what comes next."

"And what comes next," Agamemnon asked.

"Retaliation. They will come for us. Not because you burned one village, but because you showed them that we are willing to slaughter their children while they sleep. A cornered wolf is dangerous. A cornered wolf pack is a storm." Idomeneus’s voice was flat, heavy. "You have cornered the pack. Now the storm is coming."

Agamemnon turned to him. "Then we fight the storm. That is what armies are for."

"Armies are for fighting wars. Not for provoking them." Idomeneus shook his head slowly. "I brought sixty ships to this war. Sixty ships that were supposed to sail against Troy. Now I must worry about whether they will be needed to defend my own shores instead."

"Your shores will be defended. The Sea Peoples will be crushed before we ever set foot on Trojan soil."

"Will they." Diomedes’s voice was bitter. "You speak of crushing them as if they are a city with walls. They have no walls. They have no cities. They have ships and islands and the ability to vanish into the sea. You cannot crush a people who do not stand still long enough to be crushed."

"Then we burn them out. Island by island. Settlement by settlement. Until there is nowhere left for them to hide." Agamemnon’s voice was cold, final. "I did not gather the largest army in Greek history to sit on a beach and debate strategy. I gathered it to win. And I will win. Against the Sea Peoples. Against Troy. Against anyone who threatens our world."

"And who decided that the Sea Peoples threaten our world." Odysseus spoke now, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade. "You. Alone. Without council. Without debate. You decided that our enemy was not Troy but the Sea Peoples. You decided that the war we came to fight was not the war you intended to fight. And you did not tell us."

"I told you what you needed to know."

"We are not your soldiers, Agamemnon. We are kings." Odysseus leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. "If you cannot trust us with your plans, we cannot trust you with our armies."

The tent fell silent. The fire in the brazier crackled. The wind stirred the hides, and somewhere outside, a horse whinnied in the dark.

Menelaus shifted behind his brother. He had not spoken throughout the entire meeting. Now he cleared his throat, and the sound was so unexpected that several of the kings turned to look at him. "We came here because of Helen." His voice was quiet, tight. "We came because Troy wronged us. Because Paris violated the sacred law of hospitality. Because every kingdom in Greece owed an oath to restore what was taken." He paused. "None of us came here to fight the Sea Peoples. None of us came here to burn villages."

He looked at his brother, and for a moment, something passed between them—something old and complicated and not entirely comfortable.

"But we are here now. And whether we like it or not, we are in this together." Menelaus turned to face the other kings. "If we turn on each other now, we lose everything. The Sea Peoples win. Troy wins. Every enemy we have ever made wins." He paused again. "I do not like what my brother did. I did not know about it until it was done. But I know that if we do not stand together, we will fall separately."

The tent was quiet. Even Diomedes had nothing to say.

Ajax spoke. The giant of Salamis rarely spoke in councils, and when he did, the other kings listened. "My men are fighters. They do not care who they fight. Greeks, Trojans, Sea Peoples—it is all the same to them. But they fight because I tell them to fight. And I fight because I swore an oath." He paused, his massive hands flat on the table. "I did not swear to burn children. I did not swear to slaughter women. I swore to fight men on a battlefield. If you ask me to do something else, you had better give me a reason."

Agamemnon met his eyes. "The reason is survival."

"That is not a reason. That is a fear." Ajax stood slowly, his chair scraping back. "I have never fought from fear. I will not start now."

He turned and walked out of the tent. The hides fell back into place behind him.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The departure of Ajax had changed something. He was not the most eloquent of the kings, but he was the strongest, and his words carried weight. If Ajax was questioning the war, then every man in the army would question it too.

Diomedes looked at Agamemnon, then at the other kings. "This is what happens when you act alone. The coalition fractures. The kings begin to ask questions. The army begins to doubt." He shook his head. "You have not won a war, Agamemnon. You have started two."

Agamemnon’s face was like stone. "Then I will finish both."

Nestor spoke. His ancient voice creaked like old wood. "I have seen many kings, Agamemnon. The ones who act alone... they die alone. A king who cannot trust his allies is a king who will fall."

Agamemnon turned to the old man. "I trust my allies. I simply do not need their permission to protect them."

"And when the Sea Peoples come for us," Diomedes said. "When they burn our cities and slaughter our people because of what you did... will you still claim to be protecting us."

Agamemnon was about to answer when the tent flap burst open.

A soldier rushed in, gasping for breath, his armor covered in dust. He stumbled, caught himself, and stood panting before the assembled kings. "Forgive me, my lords. I bring news."

"What news." Agamemnon’s voice cracked like a whip.

The soldier swallowed. His hands were shaking. "The Sea Peoples, my king. They have gathered. All of them. Every tribe. Every chieftain. Every warrior who can hold a weapon. They are moving."

"Moving where." Odysseus was on his feet.

"Here." The soldier’s voice was shaking. "They are coming here. They say they will burn every Greek city from the coast to the mountains. Every village. Every town. Every settlement. They will not stop until they reach Mycenae itself."

He paused, his eyes wide.

"They say they will not stop until they have wiped you from the earth, my king."

The tent fell into absolute silence.

And outside, far to the east, a storm was gathering on the horizon.