land.’
The two youths took the bread they had been given but barely touched it to their lips, and repressed their anger. It was clear to all that the challenge had only been deferred. The king allowed silence to fall over that gesture for several long moments, then began to speak again in a firm, commanding voice.
‘So, Pyrrhus will draw his phalanx up at the centre, in front of the city gates, while Orestes will remain at the rear with a squadron of chariots to prevent an attack from behind. I will draw up to the right, along with Pylades’s Phocians, and Pisistratus will position his men to the left. I believe that Aegisthus will come out to fight. Over these past years, the city has extended outside of the walls. Many of the elders have requested that these houses and properties not be abandoned to destruction. Hippasus’s sons will signal with the horns when I give the order to attack. Now return to your men, and may the gods assist us.’
Pyrrhus left first; he got into his chariot and raced off towards the north in the direction of the hills. Pisistratus followed soon after, but before stepping aboard his chariot next to the driver, he said: ‘Take care, Orestes. He provoked you deliberately, certain that you would react. That’s a very bad sign. But don’t think about it now. Today we must win.’ He rode off as a veiled sun rose over the mountains. Menelaus, behind them, heard those words with anguish, and his heart was sickened by dark foreboding. He feared that sooner or later Orestes would accept the challenge of the invincible son of Achilles and that he would succumb.
Prince Pylades approached Orestes and said: ‘Pisistratus is on your side. This is important. Whatever Pyrrhus has in mind, he knows that everyone will be against him. Stay away from him, do not let yourself be provoked. Do not play his game.’ And then, when they were in the middle of the courtyard, ready to take their separate ways, Pylades continued in a low voice: ‘It’s evident that the king is greatly afflicted by this; he thinks he made a grave mistake considering Pyrrhus indispensable for the success of this endeavour and asking for his alliance. Say something to hearten him: he must not have doubts and regrets passing through his thoughts today, as he does battle. He must have only revenge on his mind. Farewell, my friend. This evening it will all be done.’
Orestes turned then towards Menelaus and he smiled: ‘Do not worry yourself, uncle. He’s just a boastful boy, and we’re all excited at the eve of the battle. He has already been in combat, while for me this will be the first time on an open field. He merely wanted to lord it over me. That’s all.’
The king shook his head. ‘I am worried,’ he said, ‘I am afraid that this war will generate more bereavement, more sorrow without end. Blood will have blood.’
‘You are right there, uncle: the blood of my father and his comrades must be avenged. Remember that you are Menelaus the Atreid, shepherd of armies. No one can stand up to you in the land of the Achaeans.’ He jumped on to his chariot and flew off towards the south in a cloud of dust. Menelaus remained alone in the middle of the courtyard watching the sun rise slowly in the milky sky. The sheep bleated behind him as their keeper led them out of the fold. The king looked at him, and for a moment wished he were like him, a man of no import who thinks only of finding food for his dinner.
Pyrrhus assembled his Epirotes, lined them up in a column and began to descend towards the plain. Automedon held the reins of his war chariot. Anchialus approached him. ‘You will allow me to speak with King Menelaus? You promised me, remember?’
Pyrrhus regarded him with an ambiguous smile, then gestured to his guards. ‘Keep him here at camp until the battle is finished and you see me return. I don’t trust him; he might be spying for our enemies. No one has ever seen him before, no one knows where he comes from.’
Anchialus struggled as two of the guards led him away to tie him with a rope to a pole at the centre of the camp. He shouted: ‘Man of no honour and no word! You are not the son of Achilles, you are a bastard!’
Pyrrhus turned and shouted back: ‘Do not fear! When I return this evening I shall send you personally to say what you like to my father; you can tell him yourself that I didn’t keep my word!’ His laughter was lost in the pounding of his horses’ hooves and in the roar of the bronze wheels of his chariot.
In the meanwhile, a host of warriors had exited the gate of Mycenae, descended along the valley of the tombs and taken position on the slope that overlooked the plain. Menelaus saw them and signalled to Pisistratus and Pylades to draw up to the right and to the left while waiting for Pyrrhus to come and occupy the centre. As they had established, Orestes deployed his chariot squadron further south to intercept any Argive foray at their backs. Pisistratus, who was the closest to the walls of Mycenae, noticed that the ranks of the enemy were swelling; he whipped his horses and joined Menelaus. ‘There are a great many of them,’ he said. ‘Many more than I expected. What is Pyrrhus waiting for to take his place? I hope they do not attack now. They could put us in serious difficulty.’
‘No, I don’t think they will. And if they are as numerous as you say, that means we have all of Aegisthus’s forces lined up before us; all the better for us, we can keep a close watch on them. For the time being, we will only shorten the distance between the two arrays.’ Pisistratus obeyed, but Menelaus was mistaken about the strength of the force. Aegisthus was hidden to the north with a strong contingent of Argives and a selected group of Mycenaean chariots. His informers had been reporting on the advance of the Epirote army for some time, and he had been waiting for them since the night before in a well-sheltered valley. When Pyrrhus’s column passed in front of them, he had the attack signal raised in silence. The chariot squadron was arrayed in a wedge formation, and at his next signal they stormed full force at Pyrrhus’s column, still in marching order. The Argive infantry charged forward at a run.
By the time Pyrrhus realized what was happening, the head chariots were already upon them. They mowed through his marching column like a scythe cuts down stalks of ripe wheat, leaving the ground behind them red with blood and scattered with mangled limbs. The cries of the wounded tore through the heavy morning air, resounding over the nearby mountains, and the echo cast them down to the plain. But the armies of Menelaus and Pisistratus were too far away to hear them and Orestes, even more distant, had the neighing of his stallions in his ears, and the din of the chariots as they patrolled vast stretches of the territory all around.
The Locrians of Pyrrhus’s rear guard withdrew to the hills, and the concerted shouts of their commanders lined them up rapidly in combat order. In the immense confusion, the warriors who had fought at Ilium with Ajax Oileus exhorted their comrades to throw all the stones they could find on to the ground before them to hinder the charge of the enemy chariots, and their commanders had the archers advance on all sides. But the terrified Epirotes fled in every direction, falling in droves under the spears of the seasoned chariot-borne marksmen of Aegisthus. The Mycenaean had meanwhile identified Pyrrhus’s chariot and was loosing his squadron, widened into a pincer formation, upon it.
The sun, veiled since early that morning, was now hidden by a front of black clouds driven by a strong northern wind that made the dust swirl under the racing horses’ hooves and under the wheels of the chariots launched at full speed across the plain.
Pyrrhus saw the tips of the pincer closing in on him from the right and from the left, and he felt that all was lost. He turned his eyes towards the hills and saw the barricaded Locrian contingent shooting swarms of arrows at the assailants, decimating the warriors on the enemy war chariots.
‘There!’ shouted Pyrrhus at his charioteer. ‘You must get us there before they close us off. Save me, Automedon, and I will make you king of Tiryns!’
But Automedon had already seen the only route of escape and was urging on his left horse, pulling at the reins with all the strength of the arms that had once prevailed over the gallop of Balius and Xanthus. His pursuers, intuiting the manoeuvre, whipped on their teams to cut off his path. Automedon shouted: ‘I will take you to safety, son of Achilles, but look out! The chariot there on our left will succeed in cutting us off unless you slay the driver.’
But Pyrrhus was not listening, and seemed to be out of his mind; ‘Faster, faster! Force over!’ he shouted.
Automedon could not complete the curve any more sharply without causing the chariot to overturn. He pulled a javelin onehanded from the quiver at his side and thrust it at Pyrrhus, shouting: ‘Strike the charioteer, now!’ Contact with the weapon seemed to rouse Pyrrhus; he grasped the massive ashwood pike in his fist and turned towards the closest chariot, where the enemy was already taking aim with his bow. He weighed the javelin and hurled it with all his might. The point of bronze tore through the charioteer’s cuirass at his waist, pierced through his belly and came out the other side. Without its driver, the chariot careened and overturned, dragging down the two chariots close behind it in a tangled mass of men and horses. Automedon urged his team onward, loosening the reins at their necks; they flew towards the line of the hills, to safety. Aegisthus and the others pulled up short,
