Chapter 181: The Dividing of the Eagles

The council tent reeked of blood and smoke.

The stench had seeped into the hides, into the wool cloaks of the kings, into the earth itself. Three days had passed since the Sea Peoples’ night attack, and the pyres still burned on the beach, sending columns of dark smoke into the grey winter sky. The bodies of the dead had been burned with honour, but the smell of them lingered, a constant reminder of what had happened in the dark.

The kings gathered once more, but this time there was no bickering. No posturing. The laughter of the Sea Peoples echoed in every man’s mind, and it had stripped away any illusions they might have had. They were not the hunters anymore. They were the hunted. And they all knew it.

Agamemnon stood at the head of the table, his face haggard, his eyes red from sleepless nights. Beside him stood Menelaus, who had not spoken in days. The humiliation of his wife’s flight had been compounded by the humiliation of the attack—the Sea Peoples had burned two of his ships, and his Spartan elite had been cut down in their beds before they could even draw their weapons. The shame of it was written in every line of his face.

Odysseus sat near the center of the table, his hands folded before him, his storm-dark eyes fixed on the map of the Aegean spread across the wood. Diomedes stood near the entrance, his arms crossed, his face like stone. Ajax sat at the far end, his massive frame still bearing the wounds of the night battle—a gash across his shoulder, a cut on his forearm—but his eyes were clear and hard. Nestor leaned on his staff, older than ever. Idomeneus was near the brazier, his scarred face unreadable. And Achilles was—as always—absent, training with his Myrmidons on the far side of the bay.

"We cannot sit here and wait for them to attack again," Agamemnon began. His voice was hoarse, but it carried. "They came once. They will come again. And next time, they will come with more ships, more men, more fire. We must act."

"Act how," Idomeneus asked. "We cannot chase them across the sea. They know these waters better than we do. They know where to hide, where to strike, where to vanish. We would be sailing into a maze with no exit."

"Then we burn the maze. Island by island. Settlement by settlement. We drive them out of their hiding places and slaughter them in the open." Agamemnon’s hand slammed on the table. "They attacked us in the night. They burned our ships and killed our men. They laughed while they did it. And now they are out there, waiting, thinking we will cower here like sheep."

"Then we hit them first," Ajax rumbled. His voice was like stone grinding against stone. "We find their stronghold and we destroy it. Send me. Give me ships and men, and I will bring you their leader’s head on a spike."

"And how will you find their stronghold," Diomedes asked. His voice was cold, measured. "The Sea Peoples do not have a stronghold. They move. They scatter. They gather when it suits them and disappear when it does not. You cannot destroy a shadow by chasing it."

"Then what do you suggest. That we sit here and wait for them to pick us off one by one."

"I suggest we think before we act. The Sea Peoples are not the enemy we came to fight. They are a distraction. A weapon aimed at us by Troy, or by fate, or by the gods. If we chase them across the sea, we lose sight of the real objective. Troy."

"Troy." Menelaus’s voice was bitter, harsh. "You still speak of Troy while my wife lies in that city, warming another man’s bed. You still speak of Troy while the Sea Peoples burn our ships and slaughter our soldiers. Which war are we fighting, Agamemnon. Which enemy matters."

"Both," Agamemnon said. "We fight both. But we cannot fight them at the same time. Not divided. Not scattered. We need a plan." He turned to Odysseus. "You have been silent. What do you think."

Odysseus did not answer immediately. He studied the map, his finger tracing the lines of the coastline, the scattered islands, the narrow strait that led to Troy. The other kings watched him, waiting. Odysseus was not the strongest of them, nor the most famous. But he was the cleverest, and they all knew it.

"I think," he said finally, "that we must divide the army."

The tent fell silent. Diomedes’s eyes narrowed. Ajax leaned forward. Menelaus looked like he wanted to argue but held his tongue.

"Divide it," Agamemnon repeated. "How."

"Half of us stay here, holding the camp, defending the fleet. Half of us sail east, to the islands where the Sea Peoples are gathering. We hit them before they can hit us. We burn their settlements. We destroy their ships. We force them to defend their own shores instead of attacking ours." He paused. "And when they come for us—and they will come, because they cannot ignore a challenge to their homeland—we will be ready."

"And Troy," Menelaus said.

"Troy can wait. The walls are not going anywhere. The city will still be there when the Sea Peoples are dealt with." Odysseus looked at him. "But if we leave our shores undefended and sail to Troy now, the Sea Peoples will not wait. They will fall on our cities, our villages, our wives and children. We will come home to ashes. That is a guarantee, Menelaus. Not a possibility."

Menelaus’s face twisted, but he did not argue. He knew Odysseus was right.

"Who goes east," Agamemnon asked, "and who stays."

"I go east," Odysseus said. "Give me fifteen thousand men. Diomedes. Menelaus. Your son. And five hundred of Menelaus’s Spartans—the elite, the ones who survived the night attack." He paused. "We sail east, we hit their strongholds, and we do not return until the Sea Peoples are broken."

"And I stay here, with Ajax and Achilles and the rest, to defend the camp. Yes." Agamemnon nodded slowly. "But if the Sea Peoples attack here while you are in the east—"

"Then you fight. You hold. And when they try to retreat, I will come from behind with our ships and close the trap." Odysseus looked at the king. "That is the plan. They attack us, we attack them, and when they are caught between two forces, we crush them."

The tent was silent for a long moment. Then Ajax grunted. "It’s a good plan."

Diomedes nodded slowly. "It has merit. The Sea Peoples are not expecting a counterattack. They think we are afraid. They think we will stay here and cower. If we strike first, we take them by surprise."

Nestor leaned on his staff. "It is risky. Dividing an army is always risky. If one half fails, the other half is weakened. If the Sea Peoples defeat the eastern force, the western force is exposed. But it is better than sitting here, waiting for the wolves to come in the night." He paused. "I am too old for this. But if I were young, I would sail with you, Odysseus."

"And me." Idomeneus stood. "I have scores to settle with the Sea Peoples. They took my ships. They killed my men. I want to be there when they learn that Crete does not forget."

Agamemnon looked around the table. The decision was forming, and he could feel it. The Greeks were not defeated. They were angry. And anger, properly directed, could be a weapon.

"Then it is decided," he said. "Odysseus takes fifteen thousand men and sails east. Diomedes, Menelaus, my son, Idomeneus—you go with him. Ajax, Achilles, Nestor, and the rest stay here with me. We prepare the camp for another attack, and when it comes, we will be ready."

He turned to Odysseus. "When do you sail."

"Tomorrow. At dawn. The sooner we strike, the less time they have to prepare." Odysseus’s eyes were hard. "If the Sea Peoples want a war of shadows, I will give them one. But I will not fight it on their terms."

He extended his hand to Agamemnon. The High King clasped it.

"Good hunting," Agamemnon said.

"And good holding," Odysseus replied.

The morning was grey and cold, and the sea was restless.

The fleet split in the harbour, fifteen thousand men boarding the ships that would sail east. The soldiers moved with the quiet, grim efficiency of men who had seen what the Sea Peoples could do and were not eager to face them again but understood that they had no choice.

Diomedes stood at the prow of his ship, watching the coast recede behind him. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his posture—a tension, a readiness—that spoke of a man preparing himself for something terrible.

Menelaus was on a ship nearby, surrounded by his Spartans. They had been the elite of Greece, the finest warriors the Peloponnese had ever produced. And the Sea Peoples had cut them down like cattle. Menelaus would not forget that. He would not forgive it. And when the time came, he would make the Sea Peoples pay for every Spartan life that had been lost.

Odysseus stood at the helm of the flagship, his eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. The wind was in his face, and the sea stretched before him, grey and endless and full of danger.

He did not know if he would return from this voyage. He did not know if any of them would. But he had sworn an oath, and oaths were not broken.

The fleet sailed on, into the unknown.

That night, in the camp at Aulis, the watchmen lit their fires and stood their posts, staring out at the dark water. The Sea Peoples were out there somewhere, hidden in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike.

Agamemnon stood on the beach, looking at the sea. Ajax was beside him, a massive silhouette against the glow of the fires. Achilles was somewhere in the darkness, training still, his Myrmidons moving through their drills with the silent precision of death itself.

"Do you think they will come tonight," Ajax asked.

"I think they will come when we least expect it. That is their way." Agamemnon paused. "But tonight, we are expecting it. Tonight, we are ready."

"And tomorrow night. And the night after that."

"Yes. Every night. Until Odysseus returns, or until the Sea Peoples are destroyed." Agamemnon looked at the sea, at the black water stretching to the horizon. "This is not the war I planned, Ajax. This is not the war I wanted. But it is the war we have, and we will win it."

The fires burned on the beach. The watchmen held their posts. The night stretched on, dark and silent and full of hidden dangers.

And far out on the water, beyond the edge of the firelight, something moved.

A light. Then another. Then dozens, hundreds, spreading across the sea like a constellation of fire.

The Sea Peoples were coming.