Achilles: Why, what a wonderful speaker you are, Agamemnon. It certainly inspired me to great heights. High treason, in fact.

Menelaus: Achilles.

Achilles: No, let me speak. To Agamemnon. You've been nothing but insulting and heavy-handed since this war began, and I'm sick of it. And yesterday was the last straw.

Patroclus: What happened yesterday?

Achilles: The High King here decided that he didn't have enough treasure. Instead of getting more honestly by despoiling the corpses of the dead soldiery, he decided he would steal something of mine -- my slave girl, Breseis.

Agamemnon snickers

Menelaus: Agamemnon. Agamemnon, come on.

Agamemnon: No! I can do what I want. I'm High King. King of all the Greeks.

Achilles: She's mine, Agamemnon. I don't care if you're King of Heaven, she was my slave. And you're going to give her back!

Odysseus: Watch yourself, Achilles. You're stepping rather close to that lofty goal.

Achilles: And he's stepping close to common thuggery! Briseis, Agamemnon. Now.

Agamemnon: I will not be bullied by some peasant recruit!

Menelaus: Brother, please.

Agamemnon: Don't you interfere. Listen, Achilles, you were a poor, stupid, slack-jawed yokel I decided to be kind to and let into my army--

Patroclus: Actually, his mother was a goddess.

Agamemnon: --but as soon as I show kindness, what happens? The idiot boy stabs me in the back. The prodigal son has returned... with a vengeance!

Nestor: Time was when a spoon had three parts to it. Folded up real neat.

There ensues an uncomfortable pause. Finally, Achilles resumes the conversation with a vengance.

Achilles: Exactly! Even Nestor agrees with me. Give back Briseis.

Agamemnon: I don't feel like it. Go back to your mud hut.

Menelaus: I'm sorry, Achilles. I'm sure Agamemnon just means to--

Agamemnon: The only thing I mean, little brother, is that Achilles is too used to getting his own way. I'm just making sure the kid doesn't get spoiled.

Patroclus: Agamemnon, you don't even want her.

Agamemnon: Neither does he. No, Achilles' more of a family boy. He's very close to his mother. Some would say he has an Oedipus complex.

Odysseus: Now, I went to school with Oedipus, and he's not as morally corrupt as the populace tends to postulate. In fact, desire for his mother was no more so than the average filial respect of male offspring to a maternal figure; a case of mistaken identity, however, soon rendered matters much more complex, and, you'll forgive me, beyond the comprehension of minds of personages such as yourself, who are unwilling to pursue the matter at a greater level of depth.

Agamemnon: Well, Achilles, she's made it abundantly clear that she wants me, so you can slam that loose farmerboy jaw of yours shut, you knuckledragging, monkeyfaced city slicker from yokeltown! There's nothing you can do about it, so go take your anger out on Patroclus. He's more than willing to take it.

Achilles: That's it! You asked for it! Monkeyfaced, indeed! I'll kill you!

He draws his dagger to attack, but Agamemnon nonchalantly lets his menacing sword slide partway from its sheath. Menelaus, and the Greeks too, move to protect Agamemnon (with the exception of Nestor, who's oblivious to these proceedings.) Swords are drawn with a shink!)

Achilles: Good heavens. Something is holding back my arm. It must be the Goddess Athene.

Agamemnon: I thought so. The good goddess always seems to protect you from danger, like at the last minute when we dared you to eat Nestor's undertunic. Like at the last minute before entering battle.

Chorus:
Owl-Eyed Athena spirals down
From the clouds above, beloved one
Of Zeus our King, in rainbow gown.
Her hair of sweetened gold is spun.
A visit from a one so high
Means one of these two facts:
Grace too holy to decry
Or Achilles just plain cracked.

Achilles: She speaks to me! Oh, that sweet voice! Yes, Athene? (Focusing his eyes on Agamemnon)...oh-ho, yes, I agree. What? Why can't I kill him? ...oh, yes. That's a much better idea.

Patroclus: Achilles, what is it? What's she saying?

Achilles: She told me how to hurt Agamemnon even more. I'm going to leave his little army to rot in the fields. Until he apologizes and returns Breseis, I won't arm. I won't fight.

Patroclus: But you're their best soldier! What will they do without you?

Achilles: Grovel on their knees to get me back again. That's the plan anyway.

Patroclus: But Achilles!

Menelaus: No, it's perfectly fair. It doesn't matter anyway, because my brother plans to make an apology, right now.

Agamemnon: I certainly will not. I was right. Achilles is spoiled rotten. This will teach him a lesson.

They freeze into a tableau -- the soldiers looking on, horrified, as Agamemnon crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue at the glaring Achilles, Patroclus tugging at his arm whilst Menelaus raises his eyes to the heavens, etc. Enter, on another part of the stage, and obviously from a slightly different locale, Helen and Priam. She moves with a sad gait.

Priam: Come, Helen; to tell the truth, I have no idea what the enemy is like. You lived with them; can you identify them for me?

Helen: I don't know. I can't seem to do anything right. I'm useless. I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to start anything. You've been so good to me.

Priam: Come, now! Why don't you tell me who that one is, over there? He's short, but built like a barrel. There's a cunning look to him.

Helen: That's Odysseus, the father of Telemachus.

Odysseus disengages himself from the freeze.

Odysseus: This bander of paltry insults doesn't even border on the intellectual! Won't either of you select the rational response? Exit

Priam: And that wise-looking old man?

Helen: That's Nestor, Glory of the Greeks. Some say that while Odysseus is the cleverest, Nestor is nonetheless the wisest of any mortal.

Nestor defrosts.

Nestor: I'm sorry to interrupt, but it seems to me that neither of you are potters. I wonder, who will make my pots for me? And using that handsome ablative horseman, no less. Pour a libation and see for yourself. Exit

Priam: The surly one?

Helen: Achilles, the mightiest mortal warrior.

Priam: Then, that one there must be his beloved Patroclus.

Helen: The gentlest soul, I swear it.

Priam: And the rude young man? He would have a regal bearing...were it not for that tongue.

Helen:(Automatically) Agamemnon, son of Atreus.

Priam starts at the name of Atreus.
Agamemnon and Achilles defrost.

Agamemnon: I don't care! I really couldn't care! Frankly, Achilles, I could beat you in a fight any day. We don't need you.

Achilles: You little ---! He moves to attack him; they exit with Patroclus, vainly trying to at once defend and restrain his friend.

Priam: There's only one left. My dear, is this...?

Helen: Yes, that's my Soldier.

Priam: Menelaus, a Spartan. Can such a soldier be gentle enough for you, my dear?

Helen: Agamemnon's far more Spartan than he. Menelaus is a warrior, but kind. Kind, and brave, and strong; he deserves more than a harlot like me.

Priam: Don't say such things! Your pretty mouth wasn't made for self-degradation...or for the praise of our enemy.

Helen: Atreus. Why does that name frighten you?

Priam: It doesn't frighten me, my dear. It's just that the House of Atreus is a bad family. Generation after generation comes to a sticky end; father murders son, or son murders father, or mother kills father; I hear that Agamemnon's father killed his nephews and fed them to their parents.

Helen: That's—-that's... that's horrid.

Priam: (With disturbing relish and a grin) Gruesome, eh? Oh, don't worry. He was stabbed in a revenge killing. Then Agamemnon and Menelaus killed Atreus' murderers—-are you following this?

Helen: I'd always wondered why Menelaus never introduced me to his parents.

Priam: Strange, though, isn't it? All of the House of Atreus seem to hate their parents with a fierce passion... and yet the siblings get along consummately.

Helen: They're all they've got, I suppose.

Priam: And no wonder! Dreadful people, the lot of them! Now, don't worry your pretty head about these things. I'll be over there... doing whatever I do... Exit.

Helen pauses, looking out. She reaches a decision.

Helen: Soldier! ...Menelaus! Soldier!

Menelaus stirs, and looks about.

Helen: Up here! Soldier!

Menelaus: Who goes there?

Helen: It's me. I'm Helen. Look up!

Menelaus continues to search for the voice, and, pursuing it, exits on the opposite side of the stage. Disappointed, Helen walks towards where he left, and stops. Enter Cassandra.

Cassandra: (In a sing-song) He-len.

Helen: Cassandra. Have you more bad news? You've brought us enough sorrow already with your raven's visions.

Cassandra: Is it bad news I bring? What world is this, when such things are considered lamentable? Speak not before you know.

Helen: What is it?

Cassandra gestures towards the place where Menelaus exited, and smiles secretively.

Helen: Menelaus? What about him?

Cassandra: He'll live to kiss you again. And honestly, too.

Helen is more upset by the mention of him, and doubtful besides. She hastily exits.

Cassandra: This was the only fair vision I've had for aeons, and even this disturbs the sheep around me. No one bothers to even ask anymore. Hallo, Cassandra! Tell me about yourself! Who gave you the gift of prophesy? Prophesy, a gift? Sister, you are in the wrong. It's a curse, a curse given to me by Phoebus Apollo himself. Phoebus Apollo cursed you, poor priestess? Yes; it's a gloomy truth, isn't it? To be sure. Tell me the story of this curse of yours! Tell me how Apollo tormented, how he persecuted Cassandra in his temple!