The small man next to him at the window shrugged, a motion which looked strange on him. “Who can say?”
“No riddles,” the king said. He felt very tired. “I took a risk there. Answer my question, Thersites.”
The bard fingered his lyre. “I’m a storyteller, not a seer.”
“Give my body to the dogs!” Menestheus cursed. “Will you give me a straight answer?”
“I’d say it should work.” Thersites didn’t seem to notice the king’s outburst of temper. “The Trojans will grasp at any straw if it holds out hope for the return of their princess. Whether Agamemnon will approve is another matter.”
“Yes,” Menestheus said heavily. He stared out across the sea, where the Trojan’s ship was dwindling in the distance. “Whether Agamemnon approves is always another matter.”