Odysseus whispered to Telemachus that he should lock all the weapons away and order the gates to the courtyard barred to keep anyone from leaving. Then he sat in the corner while the suitors tried to string his bow. One after another they tried and failed. Then Odysseus spoke: “Gentlemen, would you mind if I tried? I’d like to see if there is any strength left in these old bones of mine.”
The men did not object as he took the mighty bow in hand. The old beggar stroked the wood and in one swift movement strung the bow. He plucked the string, then took an arrow, notched it, and pulled back. It sailed clean through all twelve handles and lodged in the far wall.
Before the suitors could react, he took another arrow and shot their leader through the neck. The suitors moved in to kill him, but Odysseus leveled his gaze at them: “You fools! You bled my household dry and courted my wife while I was still alive, never fearing the gods above. You’re all about to die!”
Odysseus was transformed back to his true self and began to cut the shocked suitors down. One after another they fell while Telemachus joined in the slaughter with his sword. The last to die pleaded with the king to let them pay for what they had done, but Odysseus would not listen. Bodies sprawled about the courtyard as on a battlefield. Odysseus told Telemachus to have the maids clean up the mess, then send his mother down.
When the courtyard had been scrubbed clean, fair Penelope took a seat facing Odysseus. She waited with folded hands. Telemachus asked his mother how she could be so cold, but Odysseus said that if Penelope wanted to test him, then let her.
Penelope looked at Odysseus carefully. He did seem like the man who had left her twenty years ago. Still, she couldn’t be sure. She said it would be best if her maids moved their bed into the courtyard for him since she wasn’t going to share it with a stranger.
Odysseus was angry. Move his bed? He had built that bed himself from the living branches of an olive tree still in the ground. He built his bedroom around it, and around that he built his home. The bed could not be moved. No one ever entered their bedroom but themselves, so no one knew the secret. Had the bed been cut away?
That was the test. Penelope ran to embrace her husband. They held each other as if they would never let go and cried for joy. Odysseus was home at last.
Aeneas
Like the Greeks, the Romans had a story of a warrior who escaped after the Trojan War. He was Aeneas, son of Anchises and the goddess Aphrodite. He sailed from the ruins of Troy to found a new city in Italy. The gods said that this second Troy would give birth to a people who would rule the world.
These people were the Romans and they gave their own names to the gods. Zeus became Jupiter. Hera was known as Juno. Aphrodite became Venus, and Poseidon lorded over the seas as Neptune. By whatever name, the gods ruled the universe and played games with the lives of mortals.
Juno never forgave the Trojan prince Paris for giving the golden apple to Venus instead of to her. She became the enemy of Troy and wasn’t even satisfied when the city was in ashes. It was predicted that Aeneas would found a new and glorious city, but Juno was determined to make his life difficult.
When she saw the Trojan fleet sailing toward the setting sun, Juno flew to the island of Aeolus, king of the winds: “Aeolus, the remaining Trojans are crossing the sea on their way to Italy. Blow them far off course, and I’ll give you a gorgeous nymph to be your wife.”
Aeolus stirred up a storm. The Trojan ships were tossed and scattered as the sky grew black. The winds drove them away from Italian shores toward Africa.
Aeneas stood on the bow of the lead ship and shouted to the heavens: “Oh my comrades who died at Troy, I call you blessed to have perished beneath our native walls rather than in unknown seas. I wish I had died there too, for I can’t take any more of this!”
After a long struggle, a few of the Trojan ships were cast on an unknown desert coast. The rest of the fleet was lost. Aeneas feared these men and their families were dead.
Aeneas took his comrade Achates and headed inland. Soon they met a young girl hunting in the brush. They told her they were castaways. Could she tell them what king ruled this land, and where they might find him?
The girl laughed and said there was no king in this realm but a queen—Dido, ruler of Carthage. She had lately come from Phoenicia to found a new country. Her brother had murdered her husband and driven her from the city of Sidon with her followers. When she reached this land, the native chiefs offered to sell her only as much land as she could cover with the hide of a bull. Dido cleverly cut the hide into strips thin enough to circle a new city. The chiefs were furious at being outsmarted by a woman, but they could not go back on their word. The girl advised Aeneas to seek out this noble queen, then she threw off her mortal disguise and flew away as Venus. Aeneas cried after her: “Mother, why does it always have to be this way? Can’t we ever embrace and speak together without disguise and trickery?”
Then he followed his mother’s advice and made his way toward Carthage covered in a mist she provided.
The Trojan prince was impressed. Everywhere citizens worked like bees in a hive. Some raised the citadel, others laid out building sites and dug wells. Older men met in their senate to draft laws and elect judges. Aeneas wished his own city could be underway, but it seemed now as if the dreams of the Trojans had been lost. They could never establish a new home with only the men who had survived the storm.
As Aeneas entered the palace he was surprised to see pictures of the Trojan War carved on the temple of Juno. Here was the combat of Achilles and Hector, the cursed wooden horse, and weeping women driven away in chains. Suddenly Queen Dido appeared looking like a goddess. Aeneas was even more amazed when he saw the captains of his missing Trojan ships next to her. They were asking Dido for help in finding their leader, the great Trojan warrior Aeneas, whom they feared was lost forever. The queen pledged to help the men in their search.
Suddenly Venus swept away the mist and Aeneas himself stood before the queen and his men. He thanked Dido and praised the fine city she was building. The queen stood in awe of the Trojan hero. She invited him to send for the rest of his shipmates and join her for a feast in the royal halls. They were welcome to stay in her city as long as they wished—even settle there. Aeneas sent a messenger to tell his men to come to the city. He was especially eager for his young son Ascanius, called Iulus, to see the splendid town of Carthage.
Venus watched with worry in her heart. Juno would surely find a way to turn the people of Carthage against her son and his men. She knew it was not the fate of Aeneas to live in Carthage, but to found his own kingdom in Italy. She needed a way to keep Dido friendly until her son was ready to sail. This was clearly a job for her other son, Cupid. She snatched Iulus and put him into a deep sleep in her own palace. Cupid took the form of the child and worked his magic on Dido. She was enchanted with the boy and fell in love with him and his father. By the time dinner was served, she was determined to make Aeneas her husband and have the Trojans and Carthaginians build the new city together.
While she held Iulus in her lap, Dido asked Aeneas to tell her of his adventures, leaving out no detail. Aeneas began his story.
It would take a man with the silver tongue of Ulysses—or Odysseus as the Greeks called him—to do justice to my tale. You know what the Greeks did to my city, since it is carved on the walls of your temple. Let me share with you the fall of Troy from the other side, along with all the pain and grief we have suffered.
You know well the story of the horse built by iron-hearted Ulysses. You know how no one listened to the warnings of Cassandra or the priest Laocoon to destroy the gift of the enemy. I will not retell the story of how we brought the horse inside our walls and feasted while Ulysses and his band waited for us to fall asleep.
But that night I lay beside my wife, Creusa, under the moon’s quiet light when suddenly Hector appeared to me in a dream: “Aeneas, get out of Troy now! The Greeks are already in the city. Our home has fallen and you cannot save it.
Take the images of the holy gods of our fathers with you along with all the Trojans you can gather and flee. You must survive to found a new city so that Troy may live again.”
I awoke and ran to the window. I could see Greeks everywhere setting the homes ablaze and slaying everyone they could find. The fire roared and flames licked the sky. I grabbed my armor and weapons and prepared to fight. I found a few other Trojan warriors ready to make a final stand. We ran through the lanes fighting like madmen, then made our way to the palace of Priam. It was too late to save the king. The cursed Greeks murdered him, then killed all the men and marched the women back to their ships as slaves.
When I saw the body of Priam, I came to my senses and thought of my own father, Anchises, who was unprotected. On my way to our quarters, I saw Helen standing alone. I took my sword in hand determined that the cause of all this bloodshed would not live. But suddenly my mother appeared before me: “Sheath your blade, my son, and flee this city. Helen is not to blame, nor is Paris. The gods themselves are behind it all. Look, I will show you the truth.”
She opened my eyes so that I saw Neptune prying loose the walls of Troy with his trident, shaking the city to its foundations. There was Juno leading troops through the gates. On the citadel stood Minerva, the goddess the Greeks call Athena, her savage shield freezing the hearts of the Trojans. Even Jupiter was stirring the Greeks to conquer and burn. What my mother said was true. All that was left was to rescue my family and escape from Troy.
I found my rooms at the palace still untouched among the burning halls and told my loved ones we must leave. My father said he had already lived too long if he was forced to see his city destroyed. I begged him to change his mind, but he would not budge. Then a tongue of fire flared up on the head of Iulus and danced about, though harming him not at all. My father thanked Jupiter for the holy sign and agreed to escape with me. I placed him on my back and carried him from the palace, with little Iulus holding my hand and my wife a few steps behind. We took the sacred hearth gods from the temple and gathered all the survivors we could find as we made our way through the streets.
We were almost to the walls when I saw that my wife, Creusa, was no longer with us. I searched for her, but she was not to be found. There were Greek soldiers everywhere and the city burned. I told the rest to go on, then rushed back along the streets calling her name. I ran all the way to the palace as the flames swept over the city. Suddenly the ghost of my own wife appeared before me: “Aeneas, there is nothing more you can do for me. I ’m so sorry I fell behind, but fate did not intend for me to make the journey with you. Go now, before it’s too late! Look after our son. Farewell, my love, farewell.”
She slipped through my fingers as I tried to hold her one last time, then disappeared forever. I ran back to the rest of my family now outside the walls. The people gathered there—men, women, children—gazed back at the smoking ruins of our city. I told them our future lay ahead of us, not behind, and ordered them to follow me. I again took my father on my back and my son by the hand, then headed toward the mountains.
At a hidden spot on the coast beneath Mount Ida we built a fleet. I knew I was to found a new city, but I did not know yet where it should be. Trusting the gods, we set off into the unknown. Thrace seemed like a good choice since it was only a few days away and had been friendly to Troy in the past. We landed there and began to build. As I was sacrificing to my divine mother, something frightful happened. I saw a grove of dogwood trees and was trying to tear off some green shoots to cover the altar. Dark blood began to ooze from the ground. A plea rose from the branches begging me to stop. It was a human voice saying he was Polydorus, a friend from Troy. He had been sent to the Thracian king with gold to secure him as an ally. When the ruler heard that Troy had fallen, he slew Polydorus and threw his body in a hole here. Polydorus urged me to flee this cursed land. After giving my friend a proper burial, we set out again across the Aegean.
We came to the island of Delos where there is an oracle of holy Apollo. The god’s voice shook the trees. He told us to seek our ancient mother, for there I would build a city that would someday rule the world. My father said that our ancestor Teucer had sailed from Crete to Troy. Crete therefore must be our maternal land. We sailed there and began to build again. Then a plague struck and raged among us for a whole year. Why had the god sent us to this island to die?
That night I had a dream that the sacred images of our household gods rose up and spoke: “Aeneas, son of Anchises, Apollo never meant for you to settle in Crete. There is a land far to the west, fruitful in its soil and mighty in war. The native people call it Italy. It was the birthplace of Dardanus, your grandfather, six generations past. There lies your true home.”
I told the dream to my father. He said he had made a terrible mistake sending us to Crete. Many times at Troy the prophetess Cassandra had proclaimed that our future lay on the Italian shores. At last we knew our true destination. We boarded the ships again and set off on Neptune’s sea.
A storm blew us away from Crete along the southern coast of the Peloponnesus. The thunderclouds were so dark that even my faithful helmsman Palinurus couldn’t tell day from night. Finally, on the fourth day, the winds ceased and we came to the Strophades islands off the coast of sandy Pylos. The Harpies had settled on these deserted shores after the Argonauts had driven them away from Phineus. We were so desperate for solid ground that we beached our ships and kissed the sweet earth. A fine herd of cattle grazed there, and we killed several for a sacrifice to Jupiter and as a feast for ourselves. When the table was ready, the Harpies swooped down and ruined the meal. We killed more cattle and drew our swords to guard our dinner, but it was no use. The creatures grabbed the food in their talons and left behind a trail of filth. Their leader, Celaeno, perched on a nearby tree and spoke to me: “My dear Aeneas, you would take up arms to drive us away from our rightful kingdom? This is our home, and those cattle belonged to us. Hear me well and remember what I say—as punishment, you will not find your new home until hunger drives you to eat your own plates.” With that she shrieked and flew away, leaving me to puzzle at her words.
We sailed north past the coast of Ithaca, rocky island of cold-hearted Ulysses, and cursed the man who destroyed our home. Up the western shores of Greece we journeyed until we saw a small harbor. We anchored there and could not believe our eyes, for beside the banks of a stream was Andromache, widow of Hector, the best of Trojan warriors. “Aeneas, goddess-born, is it really you? Are you a man still alive or a spirit risen from Hades? If you come from the underworld, please tell me of my Hector. Is he well? Is our son Astyanax with him?”
I assured her I was alive, and we embraced as long-lost friends. She said Achilles’s son had taken her as a slave. Then he married her to a fellow Trojan, Helenus, the noted prophet and son of Priam. They had settled here with a few others from Troy.
Helenus showed us all they had built. As I walked through their town, I marveled at the work—and yet I pitied them. It was a small Troy built of wood instead of stone. The walls were scarcely higher than a man. They called a dried-up creek after the great river Xanthus and honored an empty mound as the tomb of Hector. Still, even this shadow of Troy was a glorious sight. We feasted on their simple fare and shared stories of all that had happened to us since the real Troy fell.
Helenus told us by his prophetic gift what lay ahead. We had a long voyage yet before we could establish our city. When we saw a sow the color of snow nursing thirty piglets beneath an oak on a riverbank, our journey would be at an end. We must not sail the shortest route to the western shores of Italy, for that would take us through the straits between the monster Scylla and the dreaded whirlpool Charybdis. Instead we were to voyage all the way around Sicily and approach the blessed land from the west. We must seek the river Tiber, but first we should go to the prophetic Sibyl at Cumae. She would show us the glorious future of the kingdom.
The Trojans from our ships and those from the town exchanged gifts and wished each o
ther well. Andromache was the last to say farewell. She presented a fine robe to my son Iulus and choked back sobs as she said how much he reminded her of her own little boy, thrown to his death from the walls of Troy. With great sadness we left our friends and let the wind carry us toward our new home.
We sailed swiftly across the Adriatic Sea and rejoiced to at last to see the shores of Italy. Our course took us south along the heel of that great peninsula and across its southern coast until we came to the island of Sicily. Before us loomed the fiery Mount Etna, said by some to hold the monster Typhon in its depths and by others to be the forge of the god Vulcan. We pulled through the pounding waves and came at night to a small harbor to refill our jars with fresh water. We were anxious to leave that desolate place, so as dawn arose I gave the order to push off. Just then, a man came running toward us from the inland hills. He was a wretched figure. He stopped when he saw I was a Trojan. I could see him think about running away. Finally he came forward and threw himself at my feet. “O Trojan warrior, strike me down with your sword if you wish. I am a poor Greek from Ithaca who fought against you at Troy, abandoned here by my captain Ulysses. Do what you will with me, but cut your lines and sail away now, before Polyphemus returns!” I was going to ask him who Polyphemus was when we saw a great Cyclops with his single eye gone. He had heard us and was making his way to the ships with surprising speed. I ordered my men to cast off and row for their lives. I took the man with me—I could not leave even an enemy to such a fate—and we pulled away while the Cyclops threw stones at us.
We sailed along the coast of Sicily until we came to a port on the westernmost part of the island. There the heart of Anchises at last gave out. Tears rolled down my cheeks as we sailed away from his tomb. I would never see him again unless it was in the land of the dead.
Gracious Queen Dido, you know what happened after that. A storm blew us to your friendly shores. I have lost so much—city, wife, friends, and father—I can only pray to the gods that better days lie before us.
Heroes of Olympus Page 21
