by Glyn Iliffe
The two men who had not been on the poles began the return journey as Odysseus and the others stood ready with their shields and spears, remaining vigilant whilst their force was divided and at its most vulnerable. Soon they were joined by four more of their comrades, who arrived with the second mule, and not long after that the third crossing brought another four, the provisions for the journey and the gifts for Tyndareus and Helen.
Eperitus had been left with Halitherses and a few others to take the final load across, and as the raft struggled back towards them the landsman from Alybas suddenly felt nervous at the prospect of crossing the torrent. Although he had learned to swim in the mountain pools and streams of his own country, he was not confident in water and muttered a hurried prayer to the god of the river.
The boat thumped against the bank and the two men leapt off and pulled it safely up on to the pebble-strewn ground. As Eperitus considered how to get the last of the mules aboard – a docile creature that he hoped would give little trouble – he noticed that the condition of the raft was deteriorating rapidly. Already some of the hastily repaired lashings had frayed to the point of snapping and a hole had been punctured in the centre of the raft, where a mule had put its hoof through the old wood. But there was nothing for it now but to load up and set off.
He helped push the raft into the water again, then led the mule up onto its ramshackle planks. Wrapping his cloak around the head of the beast, he began talking softly into one of its hairy, oversized ears. Meanwhile Damastor stood against the animal’s flank and signalled for Eperitus to take up position opposite him. Together they took a firm hold of the beast as Halitherses and the last two men of the escort splashed aboard and began to push them out into the rapidly flowing waters. The force of the river hit them straight away, sweeping the raft into an eddy that momentarily spun the flimsy vessel out of control. The men on the poles strove with all their might, their muscles tensing and straining as they fought to steady the fragile platform. For an anxious moment they looked to be lost, but finally managed to regain control of the craft and straighten it back on a course to the opposite shore.
The roar of the water raged in their ears so that they could hardly hear the shouts of encouragement from the far bank. The raft began to ride the strong current, almost bouncing along the surface as the men on the poles fought against the pull of the river. Eperitus watched Halitherses’s ageing face, contorted with the exertion of battling against the current, and debated whether to leave hold of the placid mule and help with the spare pole. Then everything went suddenly and terribly wrong.
With the mule still quiet beneath its cloak and the shore looking temptingly close, Damastor released the animal and shook the stiffness out of his aching limbs. But before he could take hold again, a sudden blast of wind tore the cloak from its eyes. Seeing the rushing water on either side it panicked and kicked out with its strong hind legs. There was a splash and a shout behind Eperitus; in the same instant one of the planks cracked and gave way beneath the stamping hoofs of the mule, tipping it headlong into the water and beyond any help the men could give it.
‘Halitherses is in the river!’ shouted Damastor.
The captain was already being dragged away by the strong current. Pausing only to slip his grandfather’s shield from his shoulder and the sword from his belt, Eperitus dived into the water after him.
Exhausted as he was by the day’s work and the struggle against the river, the freezing cold shocked him back into total wakefulness. The roaring waters threatened to pull him under, but he fought to keep his head above the surface. As he was swept rapidly away from the raft he turned to see the remaining men straining at the poles, still fighting to haul the damaged craft to the opposite bank.
Flailing against the current, he caught sight of Halitherses ahead of him. The old man appeared to be drifting, rather than struggling against the current, and Eperitus realized he must have been caught by the kick of the mule and was unconscious.
With a renewed sense of urgency, he summoned all of his strength and began to swim with the boisterous flow of the river. At first it was hard to control his direction, but by trying to pull ahead of the current he found he was able to angle himself towards the old warrior, who was drifting out into the middle of the river. Deafened by the rushing of the water and buffeted by its constant motion, he could barely stay afloat, let alone keep sight of Halitherses. Then, over the tumult of foam, he caught sight of dark shapes in the water ahead.
Rocks. They rose like broken teeth from the river, each one surrounded by a head of foaming water. Eperitus tried shouting to his friend over the roar, but knew it was useless. He hauled himself forward with all his might, desperate to gain precious moments over the current that was sweeping Halitherses to certain death. All the time he willed his captain to return to his senses, if only briefly, and realize the peril he was in.
Fortune carried Halitherses unscathed between the first two rocks. A moment later Eperitus plunged between them himself. Three more rocks rose up ahead of them, evenly spaced like the prongs of a fishing spear. Then Halitherses woke from his stupor and turned to see the murderous doom he was being swept towards.
With whatever wits and energy were left to him, Halitherses fought against the current and won Eperitus the fragment of time he needed to catch hold of him. He pulled him just wide of the boulders and kicked for the bank. His lungs on fire and his body numbed with cold, he angled towards a smooth rock that jutted out into the river like a jetty, offering them their only hope of shelter before the current carried them to their deaths. Though stunned and weak, the old captain had enough sense left to realize where Eperitus was aiming at and kicked out with him.
As they swept by it, Eperitus reached out and caught hold of the rock. It tore the skin from his palms, but he got a firm grip and pulled on it against the fierce current. Half senseless with exhaustion, he hauled them both to relative safety behind the shelf of smooth stone. At that same moment something reached down and touched his shoulder.
‘Take my hand,’ a voice shouted. ‘Quickly.’
Looking up, he saw Odysseus silhouetted against the bright sky. Eperitus shook his head and indicated Halitherses. ‘Take him first. I can hold on a while longer, but he’s weak.’
With what little strength he had left, Eperitus lifted the old man out of the swirling water and within reach of Odysseus, who caught him under the shoulders and hauled him up as if he was a baby. Moments later Eperitus felt a hand close around his wrist and Odysseus’s immense strength pulling him free of the river. He slumped onto the broad, flat top of the rock and vomited the liquid he had swallowed.
‘No, I didn’t use it,’ Odysseus answered when Eperitus asked him about the clay owl Athena had given him. He glanced about himself to ensure that nobody could hear. ‘It’s safe in my pouch. I’ll only call on her if Ithaca itself is threatened.’
They were drying themselves around a fire by the bank. Miraculously, Halitherses had only been stunned by the kick of the mule, and now sat opposite them eating barley broth from a wooden bowl, seemingly unaffected by his trials. The mule had been dashed to death in the rapids. Despite the fact that its load would now have to be shared between them, the men were all happy to be across the river alive and together.
It was early afternoon already, but they could not afford to waste time recuperating from their ordeals. The urgency of their mission forced them to strike their makeshift camp and march south again towards Messene. The land was becoming hillier as the eastern mountains rose beside them and they found very little sign of human life in the curiously deserted land. By last light they had not seen a single person and decided to find shelter in a small grove of trees on a conical foothill, where they made a fire. As the evening drew in and the men got weary of talk, Halitherses thanked Eperitus for saving his life and promised to return the gift.
‘Until I have that chance, though,’ he continued firmly with a smile, ‘you are still under my orders and will be ac
corded no special favours. Therefore I have to remind you it’s your turn to take first watch tonight.’
‘Keep an eye out for werewolves,’ Odysseus added unhelpfully, curling up under his cloak and closing his eyes.
Eperitus did not welcome his joke as he picked up his shield and spear and trudged out alone to the edge of the ring of trees. Sitting down at the top of the rock-strewn slope, he looked out at the land before him. To the south rose the mountains that lay between them and Messene. Not far to the west was the coast, and beyond it the sea. The sun had long since sunk behind the horizon, leaving the land between mountains and ocean in a stagnant twilight. Although they had met nobody on their journey to this place, Eperitus now saw that here and there in the quiescent landscape lights were beginning to show. There were not many of them and he was unable to see whether they marked farms, homesteads or whole villages, but at least he knew they were not alone in that strange country.
Suddenly a howl broke the stillness of the evening. Startled, he jumped up and looked about himself. Another call came in answer and he realized they were distant, far away from where he stood guard. Nevertheless, he longed for company and hoped that one of the others might join him.
They did not, and he was left alone in the deepening darkness. The wolves, if that was what they truly were, did not call out again and the unsettled landscape began to reclaim its serenity. Above him the stars shone bright and sharp, as if newly created, and an owl hooted as it hunted in the dales below the hill. Then a sudden noise broke the stillness.
Eperitus seized his spear and stood up, squinting into the darkness. There before him stood a man. Eperitus could make out nothing of him in the darkness, only that he was groaning as if in pain. Suddenly he stumbled forward. Eperitus raised his spear to defend himself, but at the last moment recognized the handsome features of the man’s face. Throwing the weapon aside, Eperitus reached out and caught him.
It was Mentor.
Chapter Ten
THE FALL OF ITHACA
The first of the suitors had arrived. Helen lay on a couch that had been draped in the finest purple cloth. A slave girl was busy trimming and polishing her toenails, ready to be painted. Beside her waited a small jar of plant and berry juices, mixed by the slave earlier that morning to make a thick red pigment.
Her maid raised one foot and started carefully applying the pigment. ‘What do you think of Menelaus, my lady?’
Helen smiled, knowing her answer would be spread rapidly through the servant’s quarters, if not the entire palace. ‘Tell me what you think, Neaera.’
The slave girl blushed. ‘Well, he’s handsome and strong with beautiful auburn hair . . .’
‘Which is thinning on top,’ Helen added.
‘I don’t have your height, my lady, so I can’t tell. But he’s a fine-looking man nonetheless, very wealthy, and he treats everyone as if they were royalty. Even slaves.’
Helen withdrew her foot and sat up, sighing with frustration. ‘Yes, he’s all of those things. Although I’ve only met him once, he also seems a kind-hearted, thoughtful man with good manners and a love of the simple life. And if Agamemnon is to be believed, I won’t find a man amongst his peers who has such fairness of mind, modesty of character, depth of intelligence or courage of spirit.’
‘Oh, my lady,’ exclaimed the slave with excitement. ‘Then you will marry him?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, I won’t. Menelaus doesn’t inspire the least morsel of desire in me.’
The slave girl looked deflated. ‘Then who will you marry, my lady? Diomedes is coming. And Ajax, they say.’
‘That oaf!’
‘I’ve even heard that Achilles will come,’ Neaera persisted. ‘Surely you can’t turn down someone as handsome as Achilles?’
‘How do you know how handsome Achilles is?’ Helen scoffed. ‘Besides, don’t you know that Achilles is little more than a boy? How can I fall for a boy, whatever his pedigree?’
‘Then who, my lady?’ Neaera implored. With all the bets that were being placed in the palace, the slave who managed to obtain the secret of Helen’s true desire could win enough money to buy their own freedom.
‘Do you really think I’ll be allowed to choose?’ Helen asked bitterly. ‘Tyndareus is only interested in Agamemnon’s favour, and Agamemnon is only interested in a marriage of power. He knows that whoever wins me inherits my father’s throne. That’s why they will choose Menelaus, because Agamemnon’s brother will eventually become King of Sparta and the Atreides will be the most powerful dynasty in Greece.’
The slave girl looked at the princess for a moment. The politics of power meant nothing to her, but she recognized the sadness beneath her mistress’s anger. ‘Then who do you like most?’
‘None of them, Neaera,’ Helen said, throwing herself back onto the couch. ‘Does that win your wager with your friends for you? There isn’t one of those supposed noblemen who inspires any passion within my heart. What would I want with an overdressed, obnoxious, arrogant buffoon, however pretty he is or how nice he smells? I don’t care how many men they’ve killed or how many cities they’ve plundered: I want a man who makes me feel my heart beat in my throat when he enters the room. I couldn’t care less if he’s ugly, or even if he’s poor, within reason, as long as he takes me away from all this . . .’ she swept a white arm through the air, ‘paraphernalia. Find me a real man who doesn’t give a damn for power or the glory of the Greeks, and who can take me from this palace, then I’ll tell you who I really favour.’
Neaera looked down, ashamed. Despite her mistress’s wilful and often petulant nature, she loved her with all her heart and was sorry to have upset her. It was a slave’s privilege to be burdened with a mistress’s deepest worries, so Neaera knew how much Helen despised the idea of becoming the prize of a wealthy prince. For all her beauty and wealth there was still one thing beyond Helen’s grasp: freedom. It was a desire the slave girl understood fully.
‘Do you never wear any clothes when you’re in your room, sister?’
A young woman stood in the doorway eyeing Helen’s nakedness with undisguised amusement. She was tall and lean with pale skin and long, red hair, which swept around her protruding ears to fall down to the middle of her back. She had an attractive face with thin lips and staring eyes, but was dressed all in black, as if in mourning.
Helen smiled knowingly. ‘If my body repels you, Clytaemnestra, you shouldn’t come here unannounced.’
The woman entered anyway and, indicating to Neaera that she should leave, sat down next to her sister. They had not seen each other for over a year, but Clytaemnestra had decided to come to Sparta with Agamemnon and Menelaus to visit her family.
‘I’ve been listening from the doorway, Helen. You should be more careful of who’s eavesdropping when you speak disparagingly about my husband.’
‘I don’t care who hears me,’ Helen replied, sitting up and taking her sister’s hand. ‘I’m speaking the truth, after all. You know Agamemnon thinks of nothing else but power and ruling the whole of Greece.’
‘He will rule Greece,’ Clytaemnestra stated simply. She stroked her sister’s hands affectionately and sighed. ‘He always gets what he wants, as I’ve found to my loss. But he also wants peace. He’s sick of the constant wars – I think they all are – and the only way to achieve that is to unify Greece.’
Helen stood and picked up a piece of clothing from the floor, draping it about her flawless body. The white cloth was so fine that it hid nothing of her nakedness.
‘How convenient that Greece should be unified under Agamemnon, though,’ she insisted.
‘I’m sure he would gladly serve under somebody who he thought was more capable of rule than himself,’ Clytaemnestra added calmly, used to her sister’s outbursts. ‘But like all of his kind, Agamemnon just feels there is nobody more capable.’
‘You sound like you agree with him!’ Helen said angrily. She strode over to the window that overlooked the courtyard, where a gro
up of guards stared up at her. Their eyes lingered for a brief but longing moment, then as one they switched their gazes to the ground, unable even to meet each other’s eyes with the vain desires that lay behind them. She turned to look at Clytaemnestra, shaking her head bitterly. ‘How can you even sympathize with what he thinks and what he wants? It was want of you that made him murder your first husband and butcher your baby as you held it against your breast! They were the only living things you’ve ever really loved. How can you stand that monster?’
Clytaemnestra glared at her younger sister. ‘What choice do I have? Agamemnon is the most powerful man in Greece, and I’m just a woman. And what is a woman without a man, Helen? We can’t bear arms or declare ourselves kings. We’ve both seen what happens to wives who lose their husbands and have no sons or married daughters. If they’re young enough they can sell their bodies; otherwise they’re abandoned and forced out of the community to scratch a living in the hills, or to die. A slave is better off than a freeborn woman: at least she has food and a roof over her head.’
‘It wouldn’t matter to me,’ Helen insisted. ‘I would never forgive. Never! And I’m surprised at you, Nestra. You were always the strongest of us all, even the boys. You should have been born male.’
Clytaemnestra laughed and allowed herself to relax. She beckoned her sister over and embraced her tightly, turning her face away to hide her tears. ‘I may endure him, Helen, but I’ve never forgiven him. Agamemnon still thinks I wear black in mourning for my first husband, but he has faded now in my memory, along with all the good things. I wear black because it angers him, and reminds him I’m not his in my heart. Every breath I take fuels my hate for him. My only joy is in knowing that, as his wife, I can deprive him of the love he should otherwise have received from another. He took my love, so I will deny him his. It’s the same when he comes to me at night. I don’t give myself to him, Helen, only my body. Do you understand?’
