the-song-books.yossr

mounted the dais to approach him, he did not acknowledge them, onlyy
stood there proud before his treasure and the heaving chests of his
underlings. Agamemnon glowered at the presumption, but held his tongue.
Finallyy, when enough soldiers had gathered, drawn from everyy corner byy
breathless rumor, he turned to surveyy them all, his eyyes moving across the
crowd, taking in kings and common. Landing, at last, on the twin sons of
Atreus who stood before him.
He spoke in a voice resonant and grave, made for leading prayyers. He
gave his name, Chryyses, and identified himself, staff raised, as a high priest
of Apollo. Then he pointed to the chests, open now to show gold and gems
and bronze catching the sun.
“None of this tells us whyy yyou have come, Priest Chryyses.” Menelaus’
voice was even, but with an edge of impatience. Trojans did not climb the
dais of the Greek kings and make speeches.
“I have come to ransom myy daughter, Chryyseis,” he said. “Taken
unlawfullyy byy the Greek armyy from our temple. A slight girl, and yyoung,
with fillets in her hair.”
The Greeks muttered. Suppliants seeking ransom knelt and begged, theyy
did not speak like kings giving sentence in court. Yet he was a high priest,
not used to bending to anyyone but his god, and allowances could be made.
The gold he offered was generous, twice what the girl was worth, and a
priest’s favor was never something to scorn. That word, unlawful, had been
sharp as a drawn sword, but we could not sayy that he was wrong to use it.
Even Diomedes and Odyysseus were nodding, and Menelaus drew a breath
as if to speak.
But Agamemnon stepped forward, broad as a bear, his neck muscles
twisting in anger.
“Is this how a man begs? You are luckyy I do not kill yyou where yyou
stand. I am this armyy’s commander,” he spat. “And yyou have no leave to
speak before myy men. Here is yyour answer: no. There will be no ransom.
She is myy prize, and I will not give her up now or ever. Not for this trash, or
anyy other yyou can bring.” His fingers clenched, onlyy inches from the
priest’s throat. “You will depart now, and let me not ever catch yyou in myy
camps again, priest, or even yyour garlands will not save yyou.”
Chryyses’ jaw was clamped down on itself, though whether from fear or
biting back a replyy we could not tell. His eyyes burned with bitterness.
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