Chapter Text
Achilles was twisting yarn listlessly when he heard the girls giggle as they came back from collecting the laundry.
Normally he would have gone with them, but he was bored, bored bored, and they would have shoved the laundry into his face, asking him if he could tell the difference between this sheet laid out to dry on sorrel, versus that peplos laid out on that patch of clover, or the one with that tiny lavender patch.
He couldn't be bothered to tell the difference! They all smelled like hot sun and grass, anyway, how was he supposed to know the difference?
And they only wanted to play ball while waiting for the laundry to dry; if he stayed alone at the trees, he could at least use the distaff that Deidamia had dumped on him when he'd first arrived and pretend it was a shittily weighted spear when no one was in sight.
"And did you see?" Hippothoe giggled over her pile of pale wool. "He was so tall! And so - so - handsome - he was wearing such a beautiful cape too!"
"He was as tall as Heracles," Thalia said, eager to add on. "But less bulky, I think. Do you think it's Theseus?"
"Ew, no," Clio said, making a face. "Theseus is old, and dead."
"He's not yet dead!" Euterpe said.
"Old though," Clio said, "Right, Euterpe?"
Achilles had perked up at the news of a visitor - someone who was big and tall. A warrior?
"Who's here?" Achilles said, happy to throw the spindle with the stupid yarn into its basket. "Was he a warrior?"
"All I saw was that he was walking to the palace," Hippothoe said, as Euphrosyne laid out a plain linen sheet for Hippothoe to dump the clean and dried laundry on and they could all start to fold it up and pack it for return to the palace.
"How many men were with him?" Mother had said to beware warriors, who would come to cheat him to his death - Achilles didn't know what to think about that - Mother rarely showed up but to stare at him, determined to keep him safe but warriors would have no reason to lie to him. Or rather, even if they did, Achilles knew he was too clever to be fooled by them anyway.
And besides, there had been warriors enough coming to the palace, often enough Achilles had been bored of being scared of them. Mother was a Goddess, but she didn't know how warriors were, since she had spent most of her time with the sea and the sea nymphs and Sea gods - she had barely seemed to understand the difference between a javelin and a fishing hook.
"A whole party," Myrtea said, "but it looked like just he was the most handsome."
"Our Pyrrha is the prettiest," Deidamia said, and glared at Myrtea.
Myrtea huffed. "I said handsome, didn't I? Pyrrha is pretty, but the visitor was handsome - taller than even Pyrrha, you saw!"
Achilles tried not to roll his eyes - he didn't need to be praised - no warrior needed to be praised for his looks. Deidamia reached into the basket as her sisters started to bicker about Achilles' looks versus this stranger.
"Pyrrha!" Deidamia said suddenly. "What did you do to this yarn?" she held up the spindle, and all of the girls gasped at the extremely clumpy, lumpy yarn.
"Eh," Achilles said, "I… was distracted? You know I'm shit at it --"
"Now I'll have to redo it," Deidamia said, heaving a loud, exaggerated sigh, and the other girls started poking Achilles in the arm to go and apologise.
Achilles shook off their hands - but they kept poking him in the thigh too - now giggling because it had turned into a poking-game, and him even smacking their hands never did anything.
"Sorry," Achilles told Deidamia, scowling. "I'll cut it off." Not that he could undo it - it'd just fall apart into shreds if he tried and then Deidamia would make faces at him again.
"No! I should make you undo it instead," Deidamia said, archly, tipping her chin up - and ah. That was how she'd behaved, ever since nearly a month and a half ago, when after he and Deidamia had been… experimental, one night.
The other girls giggled as Achilles felt his ears redden, which was annoying, because they found it funny when his face got red as his hair.
"Or something else instead?" Achilles offered, "Like… you could do my hair," he offered extremely reluctantly, and immediately all the girls shrieked in glee, forgetting to fold the laundry to immediately pull ribbons out for Deidamia to take her pick.
Achilles sighed. Maybe he should have offered to fold the laundry instead.
He would have to wait till they got done with his hair and then the laundry before they could head back and finally he could find out who and how many were visiting today.
The ones visiting, it turned out, were Basileis Diomedes of Argos and Odysseus of Ithaca, and Patroclus.
There were plenty of people named Patroclus, Achilles thought, and it wasn't important that Clio and Thalia hadn't bothered to wait to listen for his patronymic - they had come running to tell the rest about Diomedes, Diomedes of Argos, and more details about how handsome he was.
"He was tall and broad, so much taller than his companions," Thalia said, "and such lovely dark brown hair. His shoulders are so thick and broad -" She'd described a shape in the air with her arms so round and wide that Achilles didn't think even Chiron's horse-thick waist was even that thick. "- and his calves!"
The girls giggled some more.
Argos, they all knew. Diomedes of Argos.
"Was he wearing a sword?" Achilles asked - wishing he'd gone down himself to serve them refreshments - but Pyrrha was a foster-daughter and very shy, supposedly, so he rarely got the chance to go down and observe things for himself.
"Oh yes," Clio said, "It was this big -" and waved her hand down towards her ankles and Achilles told himself that he should volunteer for serving duty as soon as possible, even if it meant shoving one of the girls out of the way, if only so he'd get to see actual accurate details for himself and not whatever passed for 'intel' from the girls.
"And covered in brown leather," Thalia added. "He really looked like he's Perseus! So handsome - he must be a descendent of Perseus."
"Did he mention Thebes?" Achilles asked, in some dwindling hope.
"Oh, of course not, he just introduced himself and the others to Father," Thalia said, "And I held the tray to him, and he said thank you, like this -"
That wasn't particularly good intel, Achilles thought - though he did listen as eagerly for whatever details Thalia and Clio had. None of the girls were particularly interested in the details of the weaponry, or their stances, or whoever this other basileus Odysseus was - Achilles had never even heard of Ithaca, but if he was a basileus, then there was something to note about him too. He should go down and scout them out himself, he thought.
"Perseus," said Euphrosyne, a little dreamily, and reached out for her own precious plate, looking at its portrayal of Perseus killing the sea-monster with the gorgon's head. "If he looked like this, he must be so heroic."
"Exactly, he looked exactly like that," Thalia said. "And he probably rescued his wife like that too - his wife… Ariadne?"
"That's Theseus' wife," Deidamia said, reprovingly. "She will one day stab him with a dagger, and serve him right."
"Aegialia," said Hippothoe, starting to take out her spindles to start spinning. "Diomedes married Aegialia after he won Thebes."
Everyone sighed a little - Diomedes was the perfect man, Achilles heard very quickly and in great detail. Besides his looks, he was gloriously victorious in everything. This, Achilles knew - nothing Diomedes of Argos had done had ever failed - he'd been victorious in every battle, had slain every enemy of his father's, his uncle and his grandfather's, and even after taking over Argos, he had continued on a long string of wildly successful campaigns and never once lost.
If Perseus was a hero of legend, Diomedes was the hero of their modern times.
Though of course the girls were more inclined to talk about, with great relish, the sheer number of great trophies that Diomedes must bring back to glorify Argos - all the captives and slaves he must have brought back, to greatly honour Aegialia. They could imagine the great halls of Argos, huge and echoing in white limestone - or maybe marble, now, with how rich Argos must be -
"Do you think," Euterpe said, as the thought suddenly struck her, "he's here to talk trade? Maybe he wants to trade for our statury and stonemasons."
That caused an entire flutter of cooing and gushing over the idea - what kinds of riches would Diomedes have brought, to facilitate such trade, they wondered. Beautiful jewellery, great cauldrons of immense size? Perhaps richly decorated chariots -
Achilles usually wouldn't mind listening - and adding - to details of potential rich war prizes. But trade was boring - who cared about the statues of Skyros, even if they were very big and impressive? He'd seen them once enough, and while he understood that they would be impressive in a great hall, he was more interested in the battles that Diomedes had won to get those spoils he might trade with. Unlike the girls, Achilles knew and understood the point of spoils: prizes as a reward for accomplishment and prowess in battle - a gold cup was nothing important unless it was wrested from a great warrior's own table, as he was bested at spear point.
Now they were wondering what statues Diomedes, son of Tydeus, might commission - war-ready and protective Athena, or stern and imposing Zeus? Maybe a statue of his grandfather, or maybe -- here Thalia and Clio giggled, illicit -- of himself and his great deeds, defeating the enemy of Argos, the Thebian princes who deserved the title no longer at their vanquishment?
Achilles didn't bother to correct them - he knew the details of the campaign of the Epigoni in Thebes itself. Or at least, the overarching narrative, and Diomedes had killed none of the princes of Thebes, because the Thebians had been cowards and fled the moment one leader of theirs had been slain. But there had been other fights all the way to Thebes, and there were more campaigns after for Diomedes of Argos, and those details were what he was desperate to hear.
If Patroclus - if his Patroclus was here, he thought, wistful, then they might talk about it. They might break down all the battles they'd known and heard from Chiron, compared what they knew and guessed how Diomedes would have made one choice or another. Snuck down to look at Diomedes himself and try to guess who was his teacher, and how exactly he would move, in a sparring ring.
If he could, he'd even want to spar against Diomedes himself - Achilles was very sure he'd win, but he wanted to see how he'd win, and how long he'd take. Patroclus was always ready to yield, and yield quickly, though Achilles knew Patroclus could go further and longer, but Patroclus rarely put out his best efforts against Achilles unless Achilles pleaded and insisted.
Now he wished he had even that most boring kind of spars that ended in less than a minute - the girls did no sparring, and the only games they cared for was ball, and chasing each other in the meadows, while festooning Achilles with frippery and flowers.
"Girls." All the girls stifled their giggling, looking up at Clymene, main head maid of the household - she was the most trusted and highest ranked maid of Skyros, the one who had taken Achilles from Thetis' hand herself, given him the sternest look that had made him quail, and placed him in the girls' quarters at Achilles' mother's orders.
She was the one who enforced the Duties that Euryte, wife and basilinna of Lycomedes, gave out; earlier Clymene had given the girls (and Achilles) the laundry and the orders to go down to the river.
"All of you are to come down to entertain the guests," Clymene said, giving them all a stern look - any untoward giggling or excitement would be reported immediately to Basilinna Euryte, who took, very seriously, the fact that unless otherwise ordered, her daughters, birth or otherwise, were to be kept separate from strange male visitors, with as little non-public interaction as possible in order to entertain as few thoughts of other men as possible.
The girls of Lycomedes were to be perfect refined future wives, the ideal picture of maidenhood, educated in refined things such as music, singing, dancing and weaving, each and every one sylph-like examples of feminine virtue and manners and nothing like the bald faced women of Sparta.
There were plenty of maids and servants to do the other work, Basilinna Euryte had said; no daughter of hers was to coarsen her hands with the coarse work of cooking; any other work, they were too young for. Time enough for them to learn when they were on the cusp of being married.
The girls all nodded, seriously. When Clymene glanced at Achilles, he too tried to keep his nod detached and unconcerned, and this time Clymene was satisfied at not having to argue with him.
As soon as Clymene left, the girls all immediately went to fetch their instruments. Achilles had his cithara, though when Deidamia pulled out her own cithara, she gave him a sharp look, and Achilles rolled his eyes. Of course he'd ensure not to play too loudly or too obviously. His mother had said he was to not be noticed by warriors at all; most warriors wouldn't be able to tell a cithara from a beginner's lyre, which was what Myrtea still had, and her lyre was embedded with flashy mother-of-pearl and tin gilded pegs, showy enough to draw any one's eye, if they didn't know instruments.
Achilles had always tried to beg off from this entertaining chore - Deidamia had constantly insisted on being the first and most obvious to perform, to her sisters' accompaniment on their harps and lutes, and when he'd first arrived she had been exceedingly cross at finding out that he could play the cithara better than she could.
Fortunately for Achilles' sanity, Achilles managed to persuade her that he could be her musical accompaniment when she danced. Not so fortunately, if he was to be accompaniment, he would end up playing for hours to boring guests who only wanted to give news of this household or that territory's marriages. Hardly Achilles' idea of entertainment, when he could be outside training with a bow, or actually practicing the cithara on his own.
But this time, the warrior visiting was actually Diomedes. Whatever he was here to say, Achilles wanted to hear it himself. He would know what was important to see and observe.
Deidamia and the others could go ahead and dance, shy foster-daughter Pyrrha was only going to accompany on her cithara and observe everything there was to observe of basileus Diomedes of Argos, warrior and basileus who had never lost a single battle.
Diomedes nodded to the maid who opened the door, showing him to his room.
And then politely shut it on her before she could try to do - well, anything, before he could take a sweep of the suite.
It was huge.
Not the largest he's been in, of course, but much larger than he expected, considering that he and Odysseus were here on a mission to - well, recruit. And trade. This sort of thing didn't normally warrant such a huge room, he thought, as he took in the many large lounging couches, the very large bed and the large tub in the side chamber with its screen that didn't actually do anything but get in the way if he needed to move quickly.
The door clicked open. "Nice," Odysseus said, coming in before Diomedes could even get the door.
Diomedes watched Odysseus head over to the window and lean out to check. "Anyone trying to enter would have to do so via the garden," Diomedes said, in case that was what Odysseus was looking out for. "But otherwise it's a poor orientation to check for the approach of anyone from the port."
Odysseus snorted, a little laugh. "Of course it is, Tydides. That's the point."
Diomedes raised an eyebrow at him.
"It's meant for you to enjoy the prettiest gardens this side of the island," Odysseus said, clapping his shoulder. "Don't you like flowers?"
Diomedes looked back down at Odysseus' smile, a smooth polished thing, almost like a knife.
"Flowers are fine," Diomedes said, and checked out the window again, in case the view had changed at all between him seeing it and Odysseus exclaiming at its beauty.
It hadn't.
But now Odysseus had chosen one of the couches and stretched out, spreading himself on it, narrow-slitted eyes and pleased knife-smile.
"Does your room not have such a view?" Diomedes said after a moment of watching Odysseus stretching, noting the slight tension in the line of him. Of course, very few were ever fully relaxed around Diomedes, and Odysseus and he had only made their acquaintance less than two weeks ago.
"Of course not, you're higher ranked, you need the space to stretch out." Odysseus sprawled an arm expansively to the side, as if demonstrating how large the couch was that it could fit both of them.
The half-hooded smirk Odysseus sent him made Diomedes tip his head, a little. In this light, Diomedes thought that smirk was hiding something.
Which, of course he was. Odysseus, son of Laertes, Basileus of Ithaca, had supposedly been extremely uneager to fulfil the oath of Tyndareus, the same oath that Diomedes had inherited from his dead uncle - same as he'd inherited everything, lands, sister all - but throughout their trip from Phthias to Skyros, Odysseus had applied his mind with more dedication than Diomedes had seen in some men who were supposedly fighting for their lives.
"And you're hiding something," Diomedes said. "You could claim a higher rank - since you are older and have been basileus longer than I have been."
Odysseus' smile widened, more. "Of course I am. Lying, that is. I also was implying things of a carnal nature." Tipped his chin up, enough that Diomedes could see the strong line of his throat under the short beard, that coil of muscle waiting to spread out, not quite loose, but not entirely tensed.
Diomedes made an interrogative noise.
"No? Ah, alright." And then that line of suggestiveness was gone as Odysseus started to sit up. "So bully the maid to get you extra food then."
Oh.
He wasn't going to say that Diomedes was too young for it. "Were you suggesting fucking Lycomedes' daughters?" Diomedes said, deliberately choosing as crude a term as he could, just to see Odysseus' expression. It wasn't a completely bad idea. It was even in line with what he'd been hinting during the dinner earlier. "It would cause less of a stir than offering to wrestle every single woman in the palace."
Odysseus' mouth opened, shut, eyes widening slightly and then narrowing. "You certainly have some interesting ideas, Tydides," he said. "Bedding a woman is definitely less surprising than trying to fight them all."
"It's a little less straightforward."
Odysseus gave him a look - almost considering - and laughed. "Certainly, and you're a very straightforward type of man."
Diomedes shrugged.
"Ties in beautifully with our … other mission -"
"It would have been very quick to locate the son of Peleus in that manner," Diomedes said. "Wouldn't it?" The way Odysseus constantly gone to check on Sthenelus setting the pace for the oars told him that Odysseus was definitely wanting speed, restless and nearly burning his barely bearded face in the sun, he was out on the decks so often.
Though when they'd arrived, and Odysseus had talked Lycomedes into offering Diomedes one of the highest ranked of guest rooms, closest to the family rooms and other amenities and food, it seemed like he had given up on the idea of this being finished quickly.
If Peleus was trying to hide his son - or the boy's divine mother was doing so, there was no speed to be had.
Odysseus watched Diomedes take a turn around the room, and watched him as he settled on a low chair, adjusting the sword and dagger on his belt.
"We don't want to cause too much a stir," Odysseus said. "After all, we are technically recruiting, and no man likes to be exposed as having a man, no matter how pretty, hiding in amongst his women. And even more, no man, especially young, would like it known he had been hiding behind a woman's veil."
Diomedes nodded. He didn't quite understand that embarrassment - if one had such a prophecy hanging over one's head, of course one's mother would attempt to hide one too.
What more Odysseus himself - who had attempted to get out of his own oath? Laertiades was nowhere near as inflexible as older men usually were.
Interesting.
"Feel free to make use of my couches here then," Diomedes said, "For as many you need to bed."
Odysseus stroked the fleece on the couch, looking just like he was about to purr. "Then, I shall ask you to be an extremely fussy guest."
Diomedes blinked, slowly. "You want me to stay…?" to ensure that Achilles didn't kill him, maybe? "Wouldn't that hamper your attempts to bed-"
"To make lots and lots of guest requests," Odysseus said, as if Diomedes hadn't spoken, "so many maids would come, and I shall be here - " he stretched his arm out on the couch, as languorous and lazy as a leopard stretching out every claw. "- to interrogate them."
Odysseus' smile was lazy, shielded fangs, his fingers sliding into the thick pale fleece, flexing feline-like.
"I suppose," Diomedes said, tucking one ankle behind the other, leaning forward to watch Odysseus paw the fleece like he was trying to pick through its weak spots, "actually bedding each one would be inefficient."
"Mmhmm." Odysseus leaned his face down against the arm of the couch, reached out to the tray next to it, and flicked a finger against its edge. Its metallic ring was louder for it not holding anything. "Yes. And suspicious and rude. We can't ask to - well. I'm not going to. You can do whatever you want, Tydides, I don't presume to govern what the Basileus of Argos does."
That would, Diomedes thought, probably be the first time he met an older basileus who didn't presume what they could tell him to do. Sthenelus might finally be happy at the respect.
"Just tell me when you want the room to yourself, and I shall go," Odysseus said.
As if Diomedes would want to use this room, that Odysseus had acquired for his plot, for anything but the plan ticking along in Odysseus' mind? Odysseus had already allowed him to stay, had included him in the discussion, it would be ridiculous for Diomedes to put the plan on hold for base needs.
"You would ask Patroclus to do so as well?"
Odysseus waved a lazily dismissive hand. "He can do whatever he wants to - but he's not going to be much help in interrogating anyone for Achilles' whereabouts. You couldn't even get a description out of him," Odysseus said, matter-of-factly, and didn't pause for Diomedes to apologise - not that Diomedes was going to, because Diomedes had never professed to be good at interrogation in any form, "so he's irrelevant."
Diomedes considered that, watched Odysseus sprawl out even more, at an ease that meant one going near him would mean going within the reach of his dagger.
"If he and Achilles are friends," Diomedes said, "then if he does summon one of the girls, that's the one most likely to be Achilles."
Odysseus stilled, gaze shooting to Diomedes.
"Tydides," he said, "you are an inspiration."
He was suddenly up from the couch, pacing.
"That's good," he said, "It's a very good idea. We'll need to do some work with the others, so they'll tell us who attended to him - or!"
He stopped in front of Diomedes, bright-eyed. "We could get him here, and ask for someone on his behalf -"
"It won't necessarily mean Achilles will come to him on our summons."
"But it'll give him the idea he can ask for a girl, so when he goes off on his own, he'll ask. And then the others can tell us. We can keep our options open, have more than one way to pinpoint likely suspects."
Odysseus was using we a lot, like this was a conspiracy between the two of them. His smile had warmed up significantly too, as he ran through the options and the logic behind it. Diomedes found that intriguing - that a man could have so many kinds of smiles.
"Well," Diomedes said. "You certainly have planned this well. There is more than enough space here," Diomedes indicated the large sitting area, "for the two of us and one little prince in exile."
"Yes," Odysseus said, spinning in place, and looking perfectly satisfied, "and a maid or two. Or three." He went over to the screen and tub, running his hand over it, Diomedes leaning more to track his path. "I wonder…"
"The tub is large enough for two," Diomedes said, "And at least two maids to serve."
Interrogating the maids while having a bath was an option, he supposed, but it'd mean his sword would be too far away in case one of the maids - or daughters - took severe exception.
Diomedes had not had to fight anyone with an urn before, but he wasn't particularly keen on having the first time be in Skyros, with Odysseus looking on.
Nor did he think Odysseus would want to be vulnerable enough like this, just for this mission. It probably wasn't at all necessary.
Odysseus was looking at him now, fingers still trailing on the tub's edge. "For a room like this," Odysseus said slowly, "and a guest of your honor and rank, it won't be maids."
There was a tiny note of maybe apology in his voice.
Diomedes exhaled.
Diomedes had not asked for rooms of this level of honour before, and he'd never bothered with having hot water, if he could draw the water himself. It was faster, and he didn't have to be separated from his weapons.
But Achilles was unlikely to be hiding as a maid - getting in contact with the daughters of Lycomedes would ensure this moved faster. Maids for information, and the daughters as a way to subtly check for themselves.
"We arrived too late to have a bath drawn tonight," Odysseus said, and he left off examining the tub to return to the room. "So let's be slightly considerate guests, and ask for refreshments instead."
Diomedes nodded, and made himself relax his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"Extravagantly," Odysseus said airily. "I can ask for refreshments, and you can ask for weapon supplies. You know, the stuff for maintaining it."
Diomedes didn't raise an eyebrow at that - Odysseus certainly would know what kind of supplies was needed for weapons maintenance, but if he wished to act like he didn't know… well.
"I was about to break a couch," Diomedes said, "and ask for a new one. I think your idea is better."
Odysseus stopped, stared at him. "Don't break your host's things!"
Diomedes' mouth twitched, a little. "That's why I said your idea was better."
Odysseus' eyes narrowed him, like he wasn't sure he saw what he saw - Diomedes didn't wait for him to confirm it, he went to the door and opened it, and down the hallway was one of the maids - maybe she was the same one he'd shut out earlier.
At his gesture, she came over, glancing up at him through her lashes. "Refreshments for… hm. Two," Diomedes said, and then added a list of supplies. Honestly he could have sent her down to ask Sthenelus to run up a set, but the point was to be slightly considerate, demanding guests. She dipped her head at his order, tried to subtly peek past Diomedes' shoulder, through the space of the door he'd deliberately opened a hair wider than he normally would, at Odysseus, who helpfully wriggled his fingers at her. Her pale cheeks pinked a little, and she bobbed again, eager to be helpful and walk right into their plan.
Two maids returned with a lot more food than was suitable for two guests, even the demanding ones. Diomedes was only this side of disconcerted that Odysseus' plan was working so well - for the maids were eager to set out all the dishes for him, holding the tray to him and handing him whatever he'd even happened to glance at.
When the maid Mikrion, a girl who couldn't seem to keep her hands straight, tried to shove a plate of meats into Diomedes' face when Diomedes simply wanted to reach for the oils to lubricate his leathers, Diomedes looked up at her, narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Leave it," he said.
The girl flushed - then turned white. "I'm so sorry, milord," she said.
Odysseus, opposite the room, laughed. "The Basileus of Argos has had a long day, and wants to care for his weapons. For myself, weaponry will take care of itself. I would love to hear what the fairer sex has to say about these, instead. Did you cook it, my dears?"
The maid all but ran over to Odysseus with her tray, both the girls bumping into each other to get away from Diomedes, unsurprisingly.
Odysseus gave him a flash of a sharp glance behind one of the girls' backs - Diomedes shrugged. Girls - maids or noble daughters - weren't particularly taken with Diomedes at the best of times. Men were much easier to deal with.
The girls were definitely more at ease with Odysseus; Diomedes was also much more at ease with them on the other side of the room, not interfering with his reach or his range, and at a safer distance where he could watch how they moved.
Odysseus was apparently content to talk about inconsequentials - the food, how it was made, who had made it, and praising how prettily they had presented it on what plates, when it turned out the food wasn't made by the girls themselves.
Diomedes could tell they were young, and wore nothing armoured or hidden under their thin layers of fabric - they didn't move like they were trained in killing a man, though of course they could be very well trained in concealing it.
However, their arms were soft, strong enough only to carry their trays of food - and maybe urns of water, but that was nothing to the directed kind of training required in using much heavier and pointier metals heavier than trays.
They probably weren't fighters at all, Diomedes concluded, and continued to polish the edge of his blades.
When the girls were finally dismissed, Odysseus sat up from where he'd been stretched out to coo interrogatively at them.
"They aren't fighters," Diomedes said, just so Odysseus would know of his assessment, though of course Odysseus should have figured as much.
"Maybe if we have you just glare at every girl, we could eliminate all of them but for the one who would attack you instead of running away," Odysseus said, picking up a grape. "Do you have to look like you wish to dismember everyone?"
Diomedes looked at him, a little blankly, at what seemed like a scold. "Wouldn't it speed up your interrogation?" he asked. Girls always reacted to him like that. Especially when he started doing weapons care. At least they didn't hang around him and try to shove plates at him
Odysseus shivered, a little exaggeratedly. "Maybe tone it down," he said, "We want to coax information out of them, not scare them so much they wouldn't want to come."
"They like you enough they'll come anyway," Diomedes said.
"And they liked you enough to come with so much food," Odysseus said, picking up a plate of meats and flat breads, and coming over to him, holding out the plate at a reasonable, normal respectable distance.
Diomedes hesitated.
Odysseus wriggled the plate at him, giving him a grin that was still sharp, but not as sharp as earlier. It made his face look bright, light livening him even though he'd just spent more than an hour talking to the girls just now, while managing to handle each plate and eat nearly nothing.
Diomedes put down his knife and the brush he was using to clean it, reaching out for the plate. "Alright. I won't… clean my weapons then?" he said, watching Odysseus' face.
Odysseus gave him an encouraging smile. "Maybe just… not all the time."
"I'll talk trade tomorrow," Diomedes offered, tentatively, after considering it for another moment, "And take the boy out with me - we can at least check your assumption that the son of Peleus isn't hiding amongst the shepherds and manservants."
"Get to know him, yes," Odysseus said, as if they hadn't sailed here together with the boy for a while. Though, of course, Patroclus had clammed up tighter than an oyster every time Diomedes had approached him, eying him with the wariness of a skittish foal being shown a set of reins. It had been slightly annoying.
"And if he's with me, I would have an excuse to come back filthy," Diomedes said, because there was no better way to get to know someone by checking their sword work. Since Patroclus had to fulfil his oath as well, Diomedes wasn't enamoured with the idea of a green child being one of his compatriots in a war. "And then we can call a bath."
Odysseus' smile widened, a flash of bright, excitement and pleasure, across his face. "Oh, an excellent idea," Odysseus said. "Yes." Odysseus glanced at the chamber for the tub and considered - "and then later call him to join us for food and refreshments… yes, that's an excellent start, Tydides."
Diomedes smiled back, picked at the plate Odysseus had handed him.
It was delicious.
In the morning, it turned out that Diomedes had talked to Lycomedes about potential trade, and then gone off to walk the grounds with the younger companion Patroclus.
Because there were strange guests, the girls were to all stay within the palace's walls while the guests were roaming around.
The maids had been quite eager to tell them all about their guests.
"Lord Diomedes? Oh, oh he was terrifying," Agape had said shuddering, "He was glaring like he wanted to kill us, and he kept sharpening his sword and t sounded so awful! Sharp and scrapey and metallic! Like he was going to slaughter chickens!"
Achilles snorted while the girls gasped a little.
The maids kept going on about how murderous and bloodthirsty that Basileus Diomedes was, and Achilles could see how thrilled Deidamia and her sisters were at that.
"He's a real hero," Euphrosyne said, to Achilles. "So strong, and so manly!"
"Obviously," Achilles said. Diomedes didn't have time for girlish giggling. "He wouldn't be able to fight all those wars if he wasn't."
"Just like Perseus," Euphrosyne sighed, glancing to her painted plate, and Achilles did not roll his eyes.
"But Basileus Odysseus - he's got a beautiful, beautiful voice," Mikrion the other maid said. The girls all giggled, and asked for more information.
They'd noticed of course, during the dinner's entertainment last night. The irritating veil and the dimmer lights intended to focus on Deidamia's dancing meant that Achilles couldn't actually see clearly how Diomedes looked like - though he was now quite sure that the Patroclus mentioned was his Patroclus. Patroclus hadn't seemed to recognise him though, his gaze wandering over all of them like he didn't recognise any of them, and Achilles had had to suppress the urge to make some sort of sign, just in case that he'd actually been mistaken.
That damned veil!
But what they could do was hear clearly: Odysseus of Ithaca had one of the best voices that all the girls had ever heard - as modulated as a bard's, and just as compelling. He'd spent the time talking to Lycomedes, heaping pretty praise on the dancing till Deidamia had glowed enough her sisters had had to pull a veil and her himation onto her before Clymene came to scold her for losing her decorum.
Godly, they said, and the maids concurred, talking about how Odysseus had praised the food, the little details of how they'd chosen which plates to use, and how appreciative he was of their courtesy to choose the such good plates of the household.
"And they weren't even the best ones," Agape said, sounding a little bad about it, "but he noticed the paint, and the balance, and was so appreciative of how heavy it all was, when we carried it up."
The girls sighed in appreciation - Odysseus of Ithaca was so clever, so clearly dazzled by Lycomedes' wealth, the girls could preen in reflected pleasure.
"And now he's gone off with the basileus," Mikrion said, "I heard them say so, in the kitchens. And Diomedes of Argos - maybe they will be very hard working today."
It was hot and sweaty work just walking out in the fields, Achilles knew. The girls all knew what that meant; as soon as the maids were gone, they started giggling about who might be tasked to bathe them; at least Diomedes of Argos!
"But if he's so fierce…" Myrtea said, the youngest and most timid of them, and none of her sisters had any patience for that.
"Agape and Mikrion are young," Euterpe said, dismissively, "They're scared at a goat bleating behind them!"
"And besides," Clio said, "a warrior like Diomedes should be fierce. I bet Andromeda wasn't afraid of Perseus when he slew the seamonster."
They all murmured in agreement - who would be scared of a warrior? That was their future husbands, warriors who would never lose, who would bring back glory and spoils for them.
All of them started to argue who might be the ones to get to go give Diomedes that bath - it was almost certain it would happen, if he was out in the fields and quarries - Agape had mentioned overhearing his inquiries for trade for their carved wall pieces - beautiful and intricate brickwork that would fit the inside of a great hall with great splendor - while statues were good for a temple's honour, a great hall's beautiful walls would be for his wife's honour.
And it must be a very lucrative trade, for a great hall had huge big walls, which translated to many carved bricks.
Achilles tuned out that discussion. That was boring.
But he did wonder if there was maybe a way he could go and see this Patroclus - maybe he could confirm it was his Patroclus and then… then… ask him about Diomedes. The girls kept going on and on about Odysseus' voice, and what Diomedes might commission from Skyros - nothing about anything important to a warrior. Hmph.
When Diomedes returned to the palace, trailing a very aggrieved Patroclus, one of the servants told them that a bath would be ready for him at his convenience before dinner. No mention of a bath for Patroclus. If Odysseus was here, then maybe Odysseus would protest, since maybe it reflected poorly on how Lycomedes' thought of their party in general. But Diomedes thought that it would be a good thing; he could insist on a bath for Patroclus after his own, Patroclus could be stuck in his huge suite, Odysseus could keep an eye on him and ply him with maids and snacks, which was all in line with the Plan.
It also would show Patroclus just what his poor attitude deserved.
Patroclus had been very reluctant to get into a spar; Diomedes had had to goad him much more than he expected to, even though he was apparently quite well trained and reasonably fast. He'd finally managed to get him to actually show him his ability when Diomedes questioned his teacher's qualifications, if his student was so ashamed of showing his swordwork.
The last time Diomedes had seen such poor attitude was when Diomedes had first set out on his first campaign - several young soldiers wanting glory while shocked at having to actually put their hands to sword and do their own drills. Sthenelus had yelled at them for nearly a full hour and then made them dig latrines.
Diomedes didn't need to yell at people outside of an actual battle situation. Patroclus could just sit and stew in his own dirt while Diomedes had his own bath.
"I'll have a bath now," Diomedes said to the servant. "Where is Laertiades?"
"He's returned to his room, my lord," the servant said, and Diomedes nodded, dismissing him.
It was easy enough to go up to Odysseus' room, rap on his door, before proceeding onto his own suite. He did not dismiss Patroclus - and the boy had to keep following him, no matter how resentful he was.
There were girls already carrying urns of hot water into his suite when Diomedes got to his door. He suppressed his twitch towards his sword, and instead started unbuckling his things.
"That's fast," Odysseus commented behind him. "What a great luxury, to be placed so close to the amenities - the hot water arrives steaming! Isn't it great, Menoetiades?"
Patroclus mumbled something, almost polite, which was more than Diomedes had gotten out of him.
Diomedes left Patroclus to Odysseus, taking his weapons to a short table just next to the bathing screen.
The girls poured their urns into the tub - half filling it with steaming hot water; the small chamber was already starting to clog with steam - Odysseus was right in how impressive it was.
"The princesses will attend to you shortly, lord Diomedes," said one of the maids, coming out behind the screen, and bobbed their head, edging past him to leave.
Even though Odysseus had warned him last night, Diomedes still didn't like the idea of being bathed by others, especially new others. These maids were already here, they could do it --
"There's no need for the pri--"
"It is a huge honour Basileus Lycomedes is showing Basileus Diomedes," Odysseus cut in before Diomedes could complete his words, "we greatly appreciate the favour he is bestowing upon him, having his daughters personally bathe him."
Diomedes shot him a glance. Odysseus pointedly didn't look at him, and instead smiled charmingly to the maids, enough that they giggled. Diomedes gritted his teeth, and managed, "I am honoured."
One of the maids - they weren't the same maids as last night (different heights, different way they stood, but their giggling at Odysseus was the same, and their hesitant look of wary fawns at himself was the same too) - asked Odysseus, with a lot less diffidence than they'd given Diomedes, "is there anything my lords -" and here she directed her voice towards both Odysseus and Patroclus, "- require in the meantime?"
Diomedes could see Odysseus brighten up even more; the maids literally were walking into their plan without them asking. "Oh of course! If you two lovely flowers would have the time… maybe a bath for my young friend here-" Odysseus made to sling his arm over Patroclus' shoulders, paused, and then patted him gingerly. "Poor you, did Diomedes drag you out all over the entire fields of Skyros?"
Patroclus was looking at Odysseus with something that wasn't wariness. "Yes," he said, sounding aggrieved.
"Horrifying," Odysseus said commiserating. "Clearly the man itches to just spar as soon as he gets on firm land. May I request a bath for Patroclus, after Diomedes finishes his?"
The two maids didn't even exchange glances, exclaimed eagerly that of course they'd give Patroclus a bath, eager to agree to Odysseus' request simply for one of his bright smiles and a flattering phrase or two at their industriousness, which clearly reflected well on their master and mistress' fine management and training.
"Is there - anything else?" said the dark haired one, attempting to duck her face and suppress her hopeful mien, and completely failing to do so. Even Patroclus should have noticed - but he was too busy also looking at Odysseus.
Diomedes continued to undress, very slowly, watching Odysseus make a considering sound.
"Oh, I suppose some refreshments… Patroclus has been out all day in the hot sun, he must be starving."
Patroclus attempted to look stoic, but his stomach growled, hugely, on cue. "Ravenous, sir," Patroclus admitted and the maids giggled. Patroclus' face turned red.
"Completely expected," Odysseus said, reassuringly. "Lord Diomedes' physical prowess is absolutely unmatched by any other warrior I've encountered. Anyone would need to eat a banquet after a whole day with him."
Diomedes dipped his chin down as he carefully undid one more button on his shoulder; it allowed him to hide his amused smirk at the flattery, and the completely suggestive winks he gave the maids. Patroclus whipped his gaze to Odysseus, suspicious. Or possibly scandalized. Something - more interesting than the sullen expression on his face Diomedes had had to look at all day. Odysseus was clearly much better at dealing with Patroclus than Diomedes was.
"You would tell me which warriors you've met?" Diomedes said, simply to give Odysseus more of an opening.
And Odysseus took it, his expression smoothed over innocence before Patroclus could actually see anything. "Oh, I could tell you all about every warrior I've met, Tydides! But first -"
He turned to give the maids an exaggerated hopeful look. "I would be in your debt, ladies - we must feed our poor young Menoetiades before he keels over."
"Of course! That would be - we can't let our master's guests faint from lack of hospitality," said the other maid, brown ringlets bobbing as she nodded. "That would be - bad hospitality. We will be right back!"
She turned to leave, but her companion tugged frantically at her elbow. "Wait, Euanthe!" she hissed.
The brown-ringlet girl blinked, and turned right back, clearly eager to find an excuse to stay. "Oh - I - will that be all, my lords? Or-" the dark haired one poked her in the elbow again. "Is there anything else we can do?"
Odysseus hummed, still smiling.
"It is our honour to serve my Lord Lycomedes' esteemed guests," Brown-ringlets, Euanthe said, "We want to make your stay as comfortable as possible."
Her friend nodded.
Their eagerness to be helpful was as palpable as the steam from the bath.
"Oh, in that case," Odysseus patted Patroclus' shoulder again. "A foot bath? And perhaps a wipe-down for Menoetiades, so he can have clean hands to eat while we wait for Lord Diomedes to be done with his bath."
Slightly demanding, considerate guests, Odysseus had said, though the girls didn't look at all like they minded the demands. Especially since they were so eager to offer to cater to it. In fact, they brightened up quite a lot.
They bobbed their heads with echoes of "of course, Lord Odysseus! At once!" nearly forgot to bow to Diomedes before exiting as if their peplos were on fire. Even before they left the room, they poked each other, as subtle as young people who weren't actual fighters thought they were, and whispered, Warriors! Hurry up!.
If it weren't for the fact that the hallway outside was made of very reflective and echoing stone, Diomedes probably wouldn't have heard it.
Their speed was quite respectable though - Diomedes and Odysseus now had the tiniest sliver of time before the entrance of the princesses - whichever two princesses were to show up.
Odysseus led Patroclus to a chair, urged him to sit - and while the boy fussed a little, Odysseus gave Diomedes a wink above his head.
Diomedes nodded back in response, pleased and warmed despite the fact he was going to have to quickly get naked in front of female strangers.
Odysseus had also suggested Patroclus take a bath after Diomedes, in the same suite - in fact he'd also made plans to keep the boy here, just as Diomedes had planned. And Diomedes hadn't even needed to say anything.
It was nice how both of them thought along the same lines - the only others who were on similar terms with him were Sthenelus and Euryalus, and he had essentially known them all his life.
The princesses arrived just as Diomedes got into the water - it had cooled just enough that his skin only flinched slightly at the heat, and he could give them a slight bow of acknowledgement when they came in.
Two princesses, he thought, eying their heights. Myrtea, the shorter, and Clio the taller.
Unlike the maids, the princesses tried to meet his eyes, though when he tried to study them more, trying to make out any masculine features, both princesses dropped their gazes.
"Tydides," Odysseus said, from across the screen, "which warrior did you want to hear about first? Chronologically, or ranked by prowess?"
Diomedes huffed and made himself not stare at the princesses, reminding himself that he was supposed to at least pretend to ignore them. Even if it was hard, now that they were moving around his back.
They didn't have the heavier, purposeful tread of warriors, he noted. They weren't likely to be warriors.
He made himself relax.
"Whichever you prefer. Chronologically, if you wish."
"Ah, then I shall tell you both," Odysseus said, "about Iphitos, son of Eurytus, of Oechalia. He is an excellent archer."
The princesses had had a rough cloth each - starting on Diomedes' shoulders - at the sound of Odysseus' voice, starting to launch into a story about this archer, they paused, movements slowed.
That was good, Diomedes thought, shifting a little, to give the princesses space to work on his shoulders. He was free to ignore their faces now, since Odysseus was giving him audible cover.
"Eurytus - of Oechalia ? He taught Heracles how to shoot!" Patroclus said.
"Indeed, Menoetiades, you are well-informed," Odysseus said, voice warm.
The princesses slowed even further - Diomedes could casually glance to the side - they were both listening intently to Odysseus talking about Iphitos teaching him how to string his great curved bow - "Made by Eurytus himself, and Heracles had learned on it, this great big stiff bow that shot arrows straighter and further than any other bow." - and thus unaware of how Diomedes was checking out their arm musculature.
Pale, of course, uncovered by their peplos - but even the son of Peleus would be pale too if he spent enough time indoors in the women's quarters. Slender - both of them too slender to handle a spear easily, nothing like the strong solidness of Athena.
He deliberately shifted in the water, splashing one of the girls' arms, and she twitched, remembered their work, and went to get more hot water from the urns, pouring it out into a scoop to sluice it over the back of Diomedes' head, to wet his hair.
The other princess, also reminded, started scrubbing Diomedes' arm with renewed vigor; Diomedes analysed the strength behind that too-rough scrubbing - not particularly directed, not using her full strength from her shoulder and back - she was using just her elbow and wrist.
Not a trained fighter.
The one who now was scrubbing at his hair though --
Her callused fingers caught, tangled and tugged at his hair, and he surged, grabbed her wrist, hauling her in closer - sword calluses?
She squeaked, startled, and the other princess gasped.
Outside, the maids who had managed to turn up with wash basins also squeaked at the noise.
"Tydides," Odysseus said, sharply, and Diomedes realised that the wrist he had grabbed was really far too fine-boned to be a man's, however young and pretty he might be. "What is the matter?"
When he turned the wrist, forcing the hand open, he noticed the calluses were all at the fingertips only, not at the base of the palm.
"Calluses," Diomedes said, after a moment. They just were the wrong kind.
The girl - definitely a girl, her veil had fallen as he'd snatched her up and close - was looking up at him, eyes huge and frightened, and she looked far too young to be actually - fifteen? Was she even fifteen?
Well. Fuck. How did girls get fingertip calluses?
"From … the lyre?" he asked her, and awkwardly patted her hand, before letting go of her wrist.
She pulled back, still looking frightened, but nodded.
Diomedes winced.
"Ohhhh," Odysseus said, as if he'd finally hit upon a great lie to cover what Diomedes had almost fucked their plan over with, "Lord Diomedes is a great fan of music!"
"Yes," Diomedes said, in relief. "My apologies, princess, daughter of Lycomedes. I haven't… heard lyre music in a long time - you played beautifully, last night."
"Perhaps," Odysseus said, raising his voice, "the princess could come out here and play instead? Excuse me -" there were some sloshing noises as Odysseus clearly got out of his foot bath - and went to rummage in the chest of some of the goods that Diomedes had brought to trade.
(most of the goods were what Odysseus had bargained, bartered, and otherwise obtained all the way up during their journey to Skyros - they needed to have enough goods to make the story that Diomedes was here to trade a believable one)
The little princess Myrtea took the opportunity to flee Diomedes' presence, which, well, not surprising.
"Here-! Ah, Princess, what do you think of this lyre? It is not as beautiful as your own, I notice, but perhaps you might like to play it, to tell us how good an instrument it is?" Odysseus said.
Diomedes took the scrub-cloth from the other princess' hand - "I can wash myself," he said, as kindly and gently as he could. Maybe it worked - the princess - her eyes looked older, more years removed from the wide-eyed child her younger sister was - handed it to him, and rose to her feet to exit the chamber without obviously running away.
There was the sound of fingers plucking strings. "Oh," the princess said. "It has a very nice sound. Maybe… better than my own."
"Lovely," Odysseus said, "I am so glad we weren't cheated in the trade."
"What would you have done, if you were cheated?" the other older princess Clio asked - voice a little warmer, just a bit deeper.
"Oh, gone back and challenged them for trading me something poor in quality," Odysseus said. "Have you heard the story --"
And there, Odysseus went on to relate a story about trade and honour - it was light on the trade and heavy on the honour - when Diomedes peeked out, from behind the screen, even Patroclus looked enthralled, for Odysseus was using his hands to demonstrate, bright flitting engaging movement that mimicked fighting but verbally.
Diomedes exhaled, and quickly scrubbed himself off - they still had to give Patroclus his promised bath - but at least they could eliminate two princesses - the little lyre-player and her older sister - both of whom were not the boy they were looking for.
By the time Odysseus wound his story down, Diomedes was out of his bath, oiled and dried, and the little lyre-player princess looked a lot more giggly behind her veil.
Odysseus' story might have had something to do with Autolycus, notorious thief, but reimagined for younger, more delicate ears, so even Diomedes didn't know how it ended. Still, it calmed everyone else down, and the two princesses could take their leave without looking like terrified fawns.
"Please, keep the lyre," Diomedes said, before they could leave. "As an apology for my … rude behaviour."
Odysseus' gaze was approving on him - Diomedes bowed to the princesses, specifically made an effort to bow lower to the little lyre-player princess as he gestured to the lyre.
"All is forgiven," the princess said - and her voice didn't shake, Diomedes couldn't detect any other signs of fear or wariness, so he was relieved to close the door behind them as they left.
The maids were sneaking looks at him - even as they finished up with Odysseus' footbath.
Diomedes sighed internally; hopefully he hadn't screwed the plan up too much. He was going to have to apologise to Odysseus as soon as they sent Patroclus back to his room.
"And then he scared Myrtea -" Clio said.
"I was not scared," Myrtea said, stoutly.
"But he grabbed you and - look, you're bruised -"
When the others cooed over her hand, petted her and fussed about how scared she was, Myrtea scowled.
"He's just clumsy!" Myrtea said, loudly. "He's just a big strong warrior, who doesn't know how - he was very gentle when he realised he grabbed me by accident. And then he apologised, so nicely. While he was so handsome and he bowed to me -"
"AND," she said, lifting her chin. "He knew I was the lyre player! He gave me a lyre!"
"WHAT," Deidamia said.
"He noticed my playing last night," Myrtea said, smugly.
"WHAT," Achilles said.
Myrtea beamed smugly.
"You do know," Odysseus said, as he picked through the trays of refreshments the maids had brought when they'd returned from earlier. "That you can ask for your own needs, right, Menoetiades?"
Diomedes had retreated to a couch, and was quietly and obediently eating whatever Odysseus handed him.
"I - what -"
"Of course," the maid scrubbing at Patroclus' back said. "You are the guest of Lord Lycomedes, of skyros!"
"Our service reflects on our lord's hospitality!" said the other maid, and dumped water on Patroclus' head.
"Glub!"
"I apologise," Diomedes said as soon as Patroclus and the maids left - they had maybe only a few more minutes before the actual dinner, so Diomedes had to be quick. "For my poorly controlled reflexes."
Odysseus stared at him and then rubbed his hand through his hair. "Tydides, if you were one of my Ithacan young men --!"
"I hope it didn't jeopardize the plan," Diomedes said, "the princesses at least didn't seem too frightened?"
Odysseus gave him another look and then paced around. "Well. You fixed it, so it wasn't too bad --"
"Next time.. I did leave an opening that you had to cover for." Diomedes had done so many, today - deliberately drove Patroclus towards Odysseus, which had worked well because Odysseus was someone Patroclus clearly liked better, with his stories and kinder mien; he'd also hesitated too long about the bath, when he knew that there was no other bait appropriate for the princesses, and for his own unnecessary comfort had tried to dismiss the need for the princesses.
That was another point he should remove from himself.
Not just his reflexes.
Odysseus stared at him as he gave him a rundown of the things he had analysed of his own behaviour today, and how he was going to fix it for the future in aid of the plan.
"... maybe you don't have to be so hard on yourself, Tydides," Odysseus said after a moment, and flopped down onto a couch, leaning his chin on his hands, beard grown out enough to shape in sharp definition. "I can cover for any of these. So don't worry about it."
"If it would affect the plan -"
Odysseus shook his head. "No harm done. Or at least, not in the long run - for the plan anyway. It seems," his mouth quirked, a sharp slice of amusement, "the princesses of Skyros are made of stern enough stuff, and their maids take after them. Menoetiades will likely take our bait. Eventually."
"Then tomorrow -"
"Do you want to take Menoetiades out again? Or I can," Odysseus said. "I'd sounded Lycomedes out very slightly about recruitment - he was fairly noncommittal about the idea."
Which wasn't a surprise, all things considered. Skyros was rich enough that they didn't need the fabled riches of Troy. However, there were young men enough who did chafe at the idea of a war occurring and not being allowed to participate; Lycomedes himself was old enough that if anyone went to war, it wouldn't be him, personally, but his territories would stand to benefit from the potential spoils, and political favours that they'd get from lending manpower to another banner. Skyros was close enough to Athens to give some thought about it.
A big territory like Athens, would express gratitude quite materially, if smaller territories like Skyros contributed manpower. And Lycomedes didn't look the type to turn down such material gratitude simply because he was already rich.
He had eight daughters: those dowries had to come from somewhere.
"The boy likes you better," Diomedes said. "And he spoke more to you." and he liked Odysseus' stories. Diomedes was not the type to give stories.
Odysseus hummed, considered it, and then nodded. "Alright. I'll knock on your door if you're back first tomorrow."
Diomedes couldn't help the little burst of warmth at that. It should be feeling repetitive - planning to go out in the day, returning in the evening to try and solicit information from the girls; but the plan was like a puzzle, something he couldn't just smash head first into like a normal skirmish or raid. In a way, this was just like how his father might have been - Tydeus had once talked Eteocles of Thebes out of killing him, convinced his men to a standstill, even if they hadn't been at all inclined to listen to his proposal in the beginning.
Diomedes was not like his father - no one would send him ahead as an Envoy, trusting that he had a higher chance than most at convincing the enemy into giving into their demands.
Odysseus sharing this plan with him, expecting that Diomedes was quick enough to keep up, and able to cover for Diomedes' mistakes?
It was nice, being expected to contribute intellectually, rather than militarily.
Diomedes wouldn't mind if this plan took several more days.