"King Agamemnon!" the soldier shouted, skidding to a halt before the two kings.
Agamemnon's brow furrowed in irritation. "What is it?" he demanded, his tone sharp and impatient.
The soldier swallowed hard before speaking. "It's... it's the old man, my lord. The father of the woman you captured. He has come to the camp."
"What?" Agamemnon's frown deepened, his face darkening with confusion. He hadn't expected this. The father of the priestess? Here? He had known about Chryses, of course—everyone knew of the old priest of Apollo. But what fool would walk into the lion's den, unarmed and alone, to beg for the release of his daughter?
