'His father lived by wrecking ships and taking off the cargoes,' Agamemnon said.' Everyone knows that. He and his gang lit beacons on the headlands of Caphareus to lure ships on to the rocks. If they found any sailors still alive, they–'

'Palamedes is free of blame, that's the point.' Odysseus spoke brusquely. He saw now that Agamemnon, though fully aware of why they had come, was playing for time, trying to wriggle off the hook by slithering into irrelevancies. Despicable. 'He is and you're not,' he said. 'It's got nothing to do with anybody's father.'

'I will have him killed.'

'Far from easy. He is well guarded. And then, as we have said, he is popular, the consequences might be dangerous, unpredictable in any case. No, the remedy lies elsewhere, it was pronounced in your hearing not long ago in this very–'

'You can't kill them all.'

No one knew for a while who had spoken, where this clear and deliberate voice could have come from. It was as if the wind had suddenly found human language. Then, from the look of dismay on his sons' faces, they understood it was old Nestor, until then silent except for occasional low mutters and chuckling sounds. 'When there is division among the people,' he continued in the same clear tones, 'there will never be any shortage of leaders. You put one out of the way, others come forward. It is analogous to the problem encountered by Heracles when he was trying to kill the monster with the hundred heads. But in this present case the monster is not rival leaders but our own discord, the conflicts that divide us. This began, as we all know, with the ill-considered gift of the golden apple by Paris to the Goddess of Love.'

There were some moments of stunned silence while all regarded the ancient counsellor, who now was dribbling a little. His sons wore a look of total consternation, as if their worst fears were being realized. Even Odysseus gulped and swallowed. The old fool had found his voice again – and quite the wrong message. The only one not to seem surprised was Agamemnon, who nodded and said, 'Wise words, we thank you for them. What is this story you refer to? Refresh our memories.'

'Story?'

'Yes, this apple that–'

'Apple? They tried to stop us, they couldn't stop us, no one could stop us, we were unstoppable, it wasn't a javelin, it was a sword, we got away with a hundred cows...'

'There, there, Father, shush, shush,' the sons said, speaking together in visible relief.

'Agamemnon,' Odysseus said, 'I won't mince words with you. My kingdom is Ithaca, as you know. You probably haven't been there but I can tell you it's very rocky. I love the place, I wouldn't dream of living anywhere else, but there is no denying that it is rocky. People who grow up there, they come to resemble the rock. A bit on the rigid side perhaps, possibly lacking in finesse, but absolutely incorruptible. You can't corrupt rock, can you? We are people that speak our minds.'

He paused here, savouring the moment. The King was suffering, it was in his face. Odysseus had seen that look before, in his courtroom at home, on the faces of convicted malefactors awaiting his sentence while he deliberately delayed. Agamemnon knew he was being played with, but he could do nothing, he was helpless. Seeing the King's stricken face, Odysseus felt pleasure gather in his mouth, so that his next words came more thickly. 'We do not make pretty speeches or go in for poetic figures or false comparisons. The leaves of the trees change colour and fall, the flowers of spring deceive us with their promise and sadden us when they wither and die, but the face of the rock endures for ever.' He paused briefly to swallow down the excess saliva. I am the king of these people, I am Ithaca, I am rock personified. So do not expect anything from me but plain speaking and the blunt truth.' Slow down, he told himself, take care, you're enjoying this too much.

He had a mannerism, a way of inclining his heavily muscled shoulders forward as he spoke, as though putting his physical weight behind the point he was making, then drawing his head back sharply to look his interlocutor in the eye, with a great effect of openness and sincerity. Chasimenos' style was quite different; pale-faced and peering, still in his narrow-fitting tunic of a palace bureaucrat, he was continuously shifting his behind on the cushion and shuffling his feet, as if the honesty of his thoughts and words were making things too hot for comfort. Together these two, while still remaining seated, performed a sort of dance before the reclining Agamemnon, a pattern of movements that seemed to keep time with the flapping of the canvas, the wavering shadows cast on the wall behind them by the thin bars of the lamp guard.

'If it hurts you, I can't help it, that's the way I'm made,' Odysseus said. 'This concerns your daughter, as you know.'

Chasimenos gave him a straight look. 'No one will harm my King while I am standing on my own two feet and able to prevent it.'

'My faithful Chasimenos, you will be rewarded,' Agamemnon said, and the words came with just the hint of a sob.

'I ask for no reward but to be there by your side at the conquest of Troy, making a detailed inventory of the booty that falls to Mycenae.'

'This is all very well,' Odysseus said, 'but it isn't getting us anywhere. It certainly isn't getting us any nearer to Troy. Agamemnon, you heard the words of the priest of Zeus. We all did. Those words are all over the camp, on everybody's lips. Croton is widely respected for his upright character and he is known to have the favour of the god.'

'He was contradicted by Calchas.'

Chasimenos squirmed on his cushion. 'My Lord King, what is Calchas? He is a foreigner, an outsider, priest of a god unknown to the Greeks. He has no loyalty to our great cause, he has no idea of patriotism or honour or–'

'Worst of all, he is effeminate,' Menelaus said. 'I noticed that from the start.'

'The facts are not in dispute,' Odysseus said. 'Croton has firsthand testimony, eye-witness accounts. Iphigeneia exalts the mother over the father, she dances with her attendants at the time of full moon, she denies that Artemis is the daughter of Zeus, or any younger than he, she pours libations of milk. In short, she has been possessed by Hecate and has become a witch.'

Chasimenos practised his straight look again. 'Odysseus, take care, a little respect, you are talking about a princess of the Royal House of Mycenae, you are talking about a daughter of great Agamemnon.'

'Faithful servant, I will give you five measures of lapis lazuli. Write it down somewhere.'

'I am talking about what the army believes, rightly or wrongly. That's the only thing that matters. The army has accepted this as the explanation of the wind. If you don't do something about it, or promise to do something about it, the command of this great enterprise will slip from your grasp.'

'The promise would be enough,' Chasimenos said softly. 'A significant future event. Something dear to your heart, offered up for the common good.'

Odysseus gathered himself. The moment had come. Agamemnon knew, it was written on his face, but the words still needed to be said. 'It is not only Croton now. Why should I be the one to bring your anger down upon us only because I am honest and speak as a friend?'

A brief silence followed upon this. The wind had dropped for the moment to little more than a harsh sigh, the sound that a man might make with open mouth in relief from pain, or endurance of it; and this quietness seemed strange, and was remembered, coming at such a moment.

The King rose and his shadow loomed on the canvas behind him, blotting into one dark shape the wavering shadows cast by the lamp guard. Then he moved to his chair and seated himself and raised a haggard face. 'Let me hear,' he said.

He had addressed Odysseus, but it was Chasimenos who spoke now, shuffling forward and coming to his knees before the seated figure of his master. He said, 'Oh King, I would give my life for you at any time it was required.' A lump came to his throat at the trueness of this. 'Take my life now if you need it, kill me as I kneel here. I have only your good at heart. The conquest of Troy will give Mycenae, as the most powerful member of the Alliance, rule over the shores of western Asia and all the Green Water. It will secure for us the trade in amber from the Baltic, in copper and tin from northern Anatolia and in the gold that comes down through Thrace. Control of the straits will fall into our hands, we will be able to levy dues on all the shipping that passes through into the Euxine Sea.'