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The moment comes soon enough – Lord Antenor stands, and for the benefit of your diplomatic party, addresses the hall in accented Hellenika:
“Guests, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the halls of my father, Hicetaon. You have dined, you have availed yourselves on the finest wine and substance that my οἶκος can provide. Now that we have put aside our need for eating and drinking, let us know you – what are your names, and the names of your fathers? From what ports have you sailed, and why have you come to shining Ilion?”
Antenor’s words are grand, his voice and tone metered – again, you are struck by his kingly presentation. He exudes good will – his eyes glimmered in true pleasure as he regards your party in turn. As is custom, your party introduces themselves one by one, in descending order of peerage - the attendants whisper Luwian translations to their respective guests, if needed. King Menelaus is first – and he delivers a short and humiliating address to Antenor, making no reference to Paris’ crimes - Odysseus has transformed the brother of Agamemnon into a prideless beggar, and Menelaus's speech suffers for it - despite his natural charisma, he seems to struggle with formal address – the words escape the barrier of his teeth in odd bursts. Nonetheless, the crowd receives his speech well. Next, Odysseus speaks – but to your honest surprise, he delivers a short and borderline humble speech, introducing himself as a King, but referring to Ithaka as a “humble domain on the far side of Hellas” - he manages to alter his posture as well, rounding his shoulders, and reducing his noble bearing.
Prince Ajax stands, enormous, and delivers a booming address that leaves no doubt regarding his affiliations – he has come to protect the interests of King Menelaus, whatever they may. As Prince of Salamis, the representative of the second-greatest naval power on the Peloponnese, his presence is a reminder that Hellas is capable of making good on High King Agamemnon’s threat of a call to arms. And yet - Ajax makes it unclear what his own opinions might be - he gives no hint about his true thoughts about the conduct of Paris and how the council should conclude. Prince Palamedes is next – and after a summary of his status and family, he delivers a somewhat awkward and over-long recitation of your travels through the Cyclades and up the coast to Ilion. He sits to polite but confused applause.
The Dioscuri stand together, of course – they announce themselves vauntingly, as Argonauts and heroes of a hundred tales. The entire feast hall seems to crane their necks in order to better glimpse Pollux, son of Zeus – an Argonaut and son of Zeus once sacked the city, after all. Together, they do absolutely nothing to abase themselves before Antenor and his family, standing proudly and demanding the attention of all present. Pollux, guileless that he is, finishes his short address as follows:
>cont
