"Yes." He adjusts his tunic uncomfortably. 

Menelaus stares at him like he has grown a second head. “Whatever could you possibly be implying?”

"Make your own judgement. Many things and many deceptions are within the power of the immortal gods."

“Aetos,” he says slowly. “You have been through great hardship. After the death of Hyranon you took the new Pylian king under your wing, and his disappearance must have troubled you deeply, like the loss of a son to a father. But do you not think that you edge too close to madness right now?”

"No. No, Menelaus, I do not. Have we not seen the gods themselves cluster about this place, aiding now the Trojans, now the Achaeans? Or do you think it beyond their power to take on the aspect of any mortal?"

He scoffs. “You sound like Ambrosios. Have you been at the drink again?”

"Not in a week, and you are not in truth answering me."

He exhales. “Fine. I shall humour you then, King of Crete. In truth, I know not; but he looks like Ophellios and sounds like him too, so it seems that we truly have been granted a miracle. Without the Pylian forces we struggle.”

"A miracle, exactly. But whose, and why, I know not. One thing is certain, Spartan, and that is that the time for wine is over. The gods have not finished with us yet."

“Zeus above, you are being cryptic. What has gotten into you?” 

The Cretan truly has lost it.

Menelaus claps a hand on his shoulder. “Only rejoice, Aetos, for your protégé is returned; by Spartan hands, I might add.”

It's not worth arguing. 

He manages a small smile. 

"They have some use, then."