They do not disappoint when encountered in the flesh. Near Agamemnon, but obviously not siding with him in the argument now raging, is Odysseus—a full head shorter than Agamemnon, but broader in the chest and shoulders, moving among the Greek lords like a ram among sheep, his intelligence and craftiness visible in his eyes and etched into the lines on his weathered face. I’ve never spoken to Odysseus, but I look forward to doing so before this war ends and he leaves on his travels.

On Agamemnon’s right is his younger brother Menelaus, Helen’s husband. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve overheard one of the Achaeans gripe that if Menelaus had been a better lover—“had a bigger cock” was the way Diomedes crudely put it to a friend within my earshot three years ago—then Helen wouldn’t have run off with Paris to Ilium and the heroes of the Greek isles wouldn’t have wasted the past nine years on this accursed siege. On Agamemnon’s left is Orestes—not Agamemnon’s son, left at home and spoiled, who will someday avenge his father’s murder and earn his own play, but only a loyal spear-carrier of the same name who will be slaughtered by Hector during the next big Trojan offensive.

Standing behind King Agamemnon is Eurybates, Agamemnon’s herald—not to be confused with the Eurybates who is Odysseus’ herald. Next to Eurybates stands Ptolemaeus’ son, Eurymedon, a handsome boy, who is Agamemnon’s charioteer—not to be confused with the far-less-handsome Eurymedon who is Nestor’s charioteer. (Sometimes here I admit I’d exchange all these glorious patronymics for a few simple last names.)

Also in Agamemnon’s half of the circle tonight are Big Ajax and Little Ajax, commanders of the troops from Salamis and Locris. These two will never be confused, except by name, since Big Ajax looks like a white NFL linebacker and Little Ajax looks like a pickpocket. Euryalus, third in command of the Argolis fighters, is standing next to his boss, Sthenelus, a man who has such a terrible lisp that he can’t pronounce his own name.