'Well,' Iphigeneia said, 'if the others are no worse than that... I suppose it exercises the horses.'

The young man's smile broadened. 'Certainly it does that,' he said. 'Us too.'

He was tall; even standing thus he was not much below eye level with the two girls on their small horses. It was immediately clear to the jealous eye of Sisipyla, to whom he paid small attention, that despite his smile and his casual words, this unexpected morning encounter, outside the usual round of the palace, had thrown him into some confusion. He bore himself with the confidence of the privileged class to which he belonged; but his face expressed his feelings more than perhaps he knew, a face rather broad at the temples for a Greek, deeply tanned, with prominent cheekbones and brown eyes generally careless in their regard, but not so now, Sisipyla noted – there was no mistaking the admiration in them. Neither he nor the princess had eyes for her; she was at leisure to take him in, and she was compelled to admit that he made a handsome figure as he stood there, with his tallness and ardent looks, his hair the colour of dark straw, his legs shapely and strong without heaviness below the short kilt, the breast of his sleeveless tunic stitched in gold thread with his clan sign of the dolphin. The princess's feelings were less easy to read. Her gaze was always open and direct, not easily deflected; but now she glanced away, as if unwilling to return such close looks.

'You will have been to deck the trees,' he said, in the tone of one who has glimpsed an important truth.

And this at last made Iphigeneia smile. Her smiles came rarely, but they were captivating when they came, warming her face with joy. 'That was not such a difficult deduction, cousin,' she said, 'seeing the day it is and the robes we are wearing.' The smile faded and her face returned to its usual expression of serene gravity. 'Is there news from Aulis?'

Macris shook his head. 'Nobody knows anything. My father says they have made a chain of beacons, and the last one will be visible across the water at Megara. They have people waiting there to ride down with the news that the wind has changed and the ships have set sail.'

His father was in command of the garrison left behind at Mycenae and a second cousin of Agamemnon. Both the father, and now the son – since his recent twentieth birthday – belonged to the Followers, an officer corps of charioteers, who alone had the privilege of riding into battle, the bulk of the army always fighting on foot. When the Mycenaean force had set out for Troy he had been away, in the Cyclades with an uncle, trading for obsidian. Since returning he had spent his time checking the guard posts overlooking the approaches from the north, making sure the sally-ports and posterns in the walls were properly maintained, badgering his father for permission to join the expedition and – increasingly – thinking about Iphigeneia. Aware now that he should be moving aside to let the princess pass, he cast round in his mind for a topic that might delay this a little. But he had not much play of mind when it came to topics. All he could hit on was his own situation. 'My father still hesitates to give me leave to join the army,' he said. 'Though I hope to weary him out in the end.'

It was Sisipyla's suspicion, which naturally she kept to herself, that the young man had not been quite so persistent of late in these attempts to persuade his father. She was beginning to wonder how long they were to be detained here. Macris was standing in the middle of the ramp, they could not proceed until he moved – which at present he showed no sign of doing.

'Well, you are the only son,' Iphigeneia said, 'and some must stay, we cannot be left undefended. But of course you must be sorry to be left behind here, when your friends have gone. Then there is the fame for those who do well in the fighting and have a good war, and all the spoils when Troy is taken.' Her eyes shone, saying this. The just cause of the war, the avenging of the insult to her uncle Menelaus, the heroism that she was sure would be displayed on the field of battle, the wealth and prestige that victory would bring to Mycenae and her father and the whole family, herself of course included, all this made a single shining shape in her mind.

Macris looked at the glowing face a little above him, framed by the folds of the veil. It entered his mind to say a very bold and felicitous thing, that he wouldn't change places with anyone, that Troy was all very well, but those there didn't have the prospect of seeing Iphigeneia every day. But these were things too large for him to say; moreover they did not correspond to the truth of his situation. Without making a name for himself, he hadn't a chance; and he would never make a name for himself as an officer of the garrison at Mycenae, however well he performed his duties. Iphigeneia was said to be her father's favourite; he would be seeking a brilliant match for her. Macris was ambitious and well aware of his personal advantages, but his own father had no great name and the family was not rich. With all this in mind, he said nothing, simply gazed mutely and intently.

'Then there are the ancestors.' Glancing away again from this sustained regard, Iphigeneia's eyes had lighted on the ring of upright stones marking the grave circle where the rulers of Mycenae lay entombed in their narrow shafts, the kings and their consorts, with their rings and weapons and gold face-masks and favourite hunting dogs. 'They will be honoured in the war,' she said.

'Indeed, yes.' Not able to frame his lips to praise the daughter, Macris felt all the more eager to speak well of the father. 'It was a noble work on Agamemnon's part to bring the sacred site within the walls. He has a true sense of his duties to his ancestors and to the House of Atreus.'

It had been one of the last public works the King had engaged in before mustering his forces for Troy. The grave circle, which had always lain outside the citadel, had now been brought within it by the building of new walls and a new supporting terrace. The graves had been refurbished, the seals renewed and stones erected to mark the circle.

'You hardly noticed the graves before,' Macris said, 'when they were outside the walls. A stranger could pass by without even knowing they were there at all. Now you can't miss them. People come to make votive offerings and pour libations. All honour to your father, he has performed a great patriotic duty, he has shown that he understands what is due to his family.'

These words were pleasing to Iphigeneia, for her father's sake and because she recognized the intention behind them. But she was watchful of her dignity, and the pleasure came mixed with the immediate decision neither to show it nor protract it. She smiled slightly and inclined her head a little and edged her mount forward, finally obliging the young man to give ground.

Sisipyla was preparing to follow when the gate behind them was again opened and a single rider came through, reining in a horse lathered with sweat. Seeing the princess, he instantly dismounted and went down on bended knee. But when he rose again it was to Macris that he spoke. He had ridden from the lookout post on the far side of the Arachneus Mountain. They had seen a party of riders approaching in the distance, from the north, on the more easterly road that came down through Tenea. Not a large party, perhaps twenty-five. They had still been too far away, when he had left the post, to see what colours they were carrying, or whether they were carrying any. He had thought it better to come at once, at first sight of them.

'Yes, you did well,' Macris said. 'You had better look to the horse – you have ridden him hard. I will see that the message is conveyed.' His look and bearing had changed with the news. The times were dangerous, the garrison was under strength; until these newcomers were identified it was as well to take no chances; it was a small force, but there might be a larger one behind. He took leave of Iphigeneia, mounted the chariot once more and turned the horses on to the road leading up to the palace.