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“Perhaps something even greater and more terrible than this conflict,” Amphiarus agrees. “I don’t believe he’s had the idea yet, but eventually his ego will drive him to war with Mycenae and attempt to install himself as High King. How many of the oathkeepers might be swayed to side with Polynices, while he whispers in their ears? How many Hellenes will die, Hippomedon, to satisfy one man’s ambition? The Heraclidae watch hungrily from the north – the barbarians beyond them are equally ravenous, and have always sought to take what is ours. If Hellas is riven apart by needless war, which of them will strike first? As for your uncle – Adrastus believes that Argos is strong enough to shape these conflicts to our advantage and weather the storm of invasion if necessary, but I am not so certain.”
Amphiarus’ insights strike you as generally accurate – and it’s also true that you hadn’t thought so far ahead, so focused as you are with the current preparations. Amphiarus continues, muttering blackly:
“And there are rumors from the north... There is talk that Polynices is a man bred of sin, although the nature of the crime varies wildly. And then there is the tale of Oedipus putting out his own eyes from last year… There are too many of these rumors to discount them entirely – something foul is at the heart of Thebes, Hippomedon.”
Despite the warmth of the day, you feel cold – a chill spreading over your shoulders and down your limbs. The more you learn of the Thebans, the more you begin to doubt your uncle’s wisdom – a deeply uncomfortable thing for you, famed Argive patriot.
“As for Tydeus…” Amphiarus stops to spit in disgust before continuing –“he is a man driven by an animal’s passions, and a kinslayer. He murdered his brother, Toxeus, on his father’s orders and was exiled for his reward. He admits the crime shamelessly, claiming he is but a dutiful son, and does not even pretend to be ashamed. The idiots of the court believe him to be loyal to a fault, a trait exploited by his criminal father. The truth is that he simply does not care. Be warned, Hippomedon – he is a creature bereft of civilized concerns, and a man in shape only.” You’re stunned by the totality of it – your uncle aligning himself with such ill-omened figures, gambling with the prosperity of Argos. It occurs to you that Amphiarus must have vehemently advised your uncle against this course of action, and was overruled. Amphiarus watches you with a resigned look.
“Now, you must excuse me, Hippomedon – I must propitiate the gods for safe travel. We will need every advantage to survive. Thank you for your visit – I know that you’ll have the army well in order by the time of my return.” You thank him in turn for his wisdom, and return to your chariot. You're greeted by a strange sight - a pothole has opened up spontaneously before Amphiarus' palace, and white-robed servants are busily filling it with sand.
