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and glorious, the light so clear you could see spears glint on Argos' faraway hilltop. Atreus stood on the tower that guarded the Northern Gate, and contemplated a vanishing dust cloud pluming the Argos road. Thyestes' migration plainly brought to a fruitful conclusion some devious design he con­cocted, and I expected him to be pleased. Atreus' demeanour, on the contrary, was grave and forbidding. When the column disappeared from sight he murmured under his breath, 'Thy­estes and Plisthenes gone. The way rolls clear ahead. The time has come.'
    He turned and laid a hand on my wrist. 'You believe me to be your father?'
    I stared, astounded. 'Of course. What else—'
    'Such was my intention. So I have ordained it over the years since Plisthenes . .He stopped. His grip tightened, vivid blue eyes held mine.
    'Prepare yourself for a shock, Agamemnon. I am your grand­father, and I'm going to marry your mother.'
    My throat went dry, my legs were straws. 'You're my ... I don't understand. Then . .. who is my father?'
    'My son Plisthenes.'
    Atreus guided me firmly down the steps. The compassionate tone he had used to soften the revelation melted from his voice, and he said brutally, 'Pull yourself together! The heavens haven't fallen; nothing is changed. Sit on this bench - and stop snivelling, boy! '­I collapsed on a stone bench some long-forgotten builder had provided at the foot of the tower's steps. Atreus propped his shoulders against the rampart's massive stones, and looked at me balefully. 'Feeling better? Nothing, as I said, has changed. Since infancy you have believed me to be your father. In all but name I am. One generation divides us. What does it mat­ter?'
    'But... Plisthenes,' I stammered. 'Why have you ...'
    'Shut your mouth, and listen. When I was sixteen years old I married a woman called Cleola, who bore me Plisthenes and died before she saw him. I brought him up - as I've brought you up - and taught him all the elements of statesmanship and war. He was tall and strong, radiantly handsome and, unlike your typical Hero, extremely intelligent. He was born to be king - or so I decided. Even Thyestes liked him, and made him something of a protege.'
    A chariot rolled past on its way to the gate. Atreus absently acknowledged the Companion's salute.
    'I looked round to find him a suitable wife, and settled on a daughter of the Cretan royal House: Aerope, Catreus' child. I brought her back to Plisthenes, and she bore him you, Menelaus and that girl - what's her name ? - Anaxibia. Then I let Plisthenes go with Hercules to Thrace to buy horses for Eurys­theus. It seemed a harmless expedition - but I hadn't allowed for Hercules. Rather than disgorge the ox-hides and bronze the king had provided for payment he decided instead to raid the herds, swooped with his ruffians and stole what he could and fled. Not fast enough - a warband overtook him. Hercules won the fight that followed and escaped unscathed.'
    Atreus paused and bit his lip. 'Plisthenes was not so lucky. He returned as you saw him, grievously wounded, the wits bashed out of his head. The years I spent in teaching him were wasted.'
    'Is he quite ... mad?'
    'No. Plisthenes has lucid moments when he's apparently sane as you or I. He has become entirely biddable, and will obey to the letter any command you give him.'Atreus levered his shoulders from the wall, put a hand beneath my chin and glared into my eyes. 'Get this into your head, Agamemnon : I intend one day to rule Mycenae!'
    'But,' I gulped, 'you ... we ... are not of the reigning House. King Eurystheus has five sons. How can —'
    'You' re damnably obtuse today, young man! Wake your ideas up! Don't you see? Backed by the Host and influential nobles I shall seize the reins of power when Eurystheus dies, banish his sons - I may have to kill them - and rule in his stead. There'll be a dynastic upheaval: except for the sons and that villain Hercules - who doesn't count - Eurystheus is Perseus' last descendant. An