The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Eurylochus bowed low as the men approached, momentarily taking his small, piglike eyes off the powerful visitors. His round face, with its pug nose, fat lips and broad jowls was covered with sweat from his balding pate to the layers of his chin.

  ‘Greetings, my lords,’ he announced. ‘Welcome to Ithaca, kingdom of Odysseus, son of Laertes. My name is Eurylochus, cousin of the king.’

  ‘I am King Agamemnon of Mycenae. These men are my brother, King Menelaus of Sparta, and my friend and adviser, Palamedes, son of Nauplius.’

  Eurylochus bowed again. Menelaus turned his stony, tight-lipped face and troubled eyes towards the Ithacan and nodded briefly. Palamedes, a small, black-haired man with a thin, pointed face and clever eyes, simply looked away.

  ‘We are honoured by your presence, my lords,’ Eurylochus continued unperturbed. ‘A feast is being prepared, but perhaps you and your men would like to wash off the salt spray first?’

  ‘We’re tired and will be glad of a hot bath, but first I need to speak to your cousin. Where is the king?’

  ‘On the other side of that low hill, my lord, but if you’re happy to wait for him in the palace I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Our business won’t wait,’ Menelaus snapped. ‘We want to see him now.’

  ‘As you please, my lord. I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Eurylochus,’ Agamemnon said. He nodded towards the thirty armed warriors behind him, who were formed in lines on the road that climbed up from the harbour. ‘It would serve us better if you saw to the needs of my men, whilst Menelaus, Palamedes and I go to find King Odysseus.’

  Eurylochus, who had been instructed by Arceisius to delay Agamemnon for a short while only, felt his duty had been adequately carried out. He turned and pointed at the dirt road that led to Hermes’s Mount. ‘Follow that track up into the woods until you come to an area cleared for farming. Over the other side of the hill is a grove sacred to Athena; you’ll find Odysseus and Penelope there, dedicating their newborn son to the goddess.’

  ‘I’d heard they were without children,’ Agamemnon said, his cold expression darkening momentarily. ‘Nevertheless, I’m pleased to learn Odysseus has a boy. A king needs an heir to take up his legacy, just as Orestes – my own lad – will take up mine.’

  He beckoned a man from the escort and gave him quiet instructions, then led his brother and Palamedes up the track Eurylochus had pointed out. Before long they entered the wood, where the trees were densely packed and tall. The thick canopy of branches strangled out the sunlight and left only a brown gloom that smelled strongly of pine and damp earth. Though they occasionally heard sounds from the undergrowth and were twice surprised by the clatter of wings overhead, no birds were singing, which gave the wood a lonely, unwelcoming feel.

  After a short while the narrow, overgrown path straightened and they saw an archway of yellow daylight not far ahead. In it was framed the diminutive figure of a man, walking towards them. He was muttering angrily to himself, and when Agamemnon spoke he leapt with surprise.

  ‘We seek the king. Have you seen him?’

  The old peasant blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the murky half-light, then he craned his head forward to scrutinize the speaker and his comrades. His sunburnt skin was like leather, but his forehead was as pale as if it had never seen the sun. His black hair was thin and hung in greasy clumps, and the stench of stale sweat that emanated from him was almost unbearable.

  ‘In the name o’Demeter!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where’d yer all come from, then. Are yer gods?’

  ‘If we were,’ Agamemnon began, trying to contain his revulsion at the figure before him, ‘we should have blasted you down to Hades by now for your lack of deference, or turned you into something inhuman – though that already appears to have happened. As it is we’re mere mortals, but it won’t stop me from knocking your eyeballs into the back of your head unless you answer my question: have you seen Odysseus?’

  The old man took no notice of the threat, but at the mention of Odysseus stamped his foot and shook his fists with rage.

  ‘B-loody man!’ he shouted. ‘I divn’t care if he be the king or no, but I won’t tolerate bein’ robbed o’ me cap. That’s bin on my ’ead since I were a lad, protectin’ me brain from the sun, and he jes walks up and whips it off me crown as if it were ’is own. I tell yer, the man’s lost the command o’ his senses. The sun’s sent ’im mad and ’e’s taken me cap to protect ’is own brain.’

  ‘Zeus’s beard, man,’ Menelaus said, his face dark with anger, ‘will you stop your ranting and tell us where he is?’

  ‘In field up yonder. And it ain’t me who’s rantin’ – it’s ’im, gibberin’ on like an old maid who’s lost ’er mind to the sun’s rays, stealin’ people’s caps and . . .’

  Menelaus strode past the fool and continued up the path, followed by his brother and Palamedes. Soon they were free of the wood and standing at the edge of a broad, sunlit field that was dotted here and there with solitary olive trees. A third of the soil had been freshly turned to hold some of the overnight rain, and the dark furrows sloped up in long, straight lines towards a ridge. At the point where they ended, a plough stood silhouetted against the skyline. Attached to it was the strangest team any of the men had ever seen: on one side was an ox, the normal beast of burden for such a task, but next to it stood an ass, its tall ears skewed at odd angles as it brayed loudly under the weight of the yoke.

  ‘Why would anyone team an ass with an ox?’ Palamedes asked.

  ‘Perhaps we should ask him,’ said Agamemnon, pointing to a short, heavily built man with a dirty felt cap crammed on his head. His back was turned to them as he walked beside the furrows, sowing seed from a bag over his shoulder.

  But as Agamemnon was about to call out, he noticed a knot of people sitting or standing under one of the nearby olive trees. At the sight of the newcomers a woman left the group and came running towards them, waving her hand and shouting for their attention. As she came nearer, they could see she was holding a baby to her chest and that she was clearly in distress.

  ‘My lords,’ she panted, kneeling before them and facing the ground. ‘Thank the gods that you’ve arrived. It’s my husband . . .’

  ‘Penelope,’ Menelaus interrupted. He offered her his hand, which she took, and pulled her to her feet. ‘Penelope, it’s me, Menelaus. And here’s my brother, Agamemnon. Surely you haven’t forgotten us so easily?’

  Penelope looked blankly at the Spartan king, then at Agamemnon, before allowing recognition to spread over her pleasant features.

  ‘Is it really you, Lord Menelaus? And you, King Agamemnon? Then Father Zeus has answered my prayers for help.’

  As she spoke, she concentrated her thoughts on the time when Polytherses had captured her and told her that Odysseus had been slain. At once, tears welled up in her eyes and began rolling down her suntanned cheeks, which she then hid in the palms of her hands.

  ‘Don’t cry, my dear,’ Agamemnon said, his voice calm and soothing as he took Penelope into his arms and held her. ‘Tell us what’s upsetting you. Menelaus and I are the most powerful kings in all of Greece: if Odysseus is in trouble or danger, we can help him.’

  ‘Dear Agamemnon,’ Penelope said, looking up into his cold blue eyes. ‘I’m so grateful you’ve come now, of all the times you could have come. But even your great power can’t save a man from madness, can it?’

  ‘Madness!’ asked Palamedes in his high, slightly squeaky voice. ‘Do you mean the gods have robbed him of his wits?’

  ‘I mean just that, sir.’

  The three men exchanged concerned looks.

  ‘But how?’ Menelaus asked.

  ‘Who can guess the will of the gods?’ she replied with a sob. ‘We were dedicating Telemachus here to Athena one moment, and the next Odysseus was rolling his eyes and talking nonsense. Now he’s ploughing this field with an ox and an ass, and sowing salt in the furrows.’

  ‘I’v
e heard of Cadmus sowing serpent’s teeth,’ Agamemnon said. ‘But he was acting on the orders of Athena, and each one became an armed warrior. What can Odysseus expect to reap from a bag of salt?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. He’s mad, and the mad do as they please,’ Penelope answered.

  ‘But he was one of the cleverest men in Greece,’ Menelaus said, ruefully. ‘Why, of all the oath-takers, did Odysseus have to lose his mind?’

  Palamedes rubbed his chin speculatively and looked over at the Ithacan king, who had reached the ridge and was already returning, dipping his hand in the bag of salt at his side and casting it with skilful flicks of his wrist over the dark earth.

  ‘Let’s not be too hasty to dismiss him, my lords. We should speak to him and see whether this sickness is temporary or more long-lasting. Here he comes now.’

  They turned to look at Odysseus, who was whistling cheerfully as he sowed. His belt was stuffed with pine branches and he only wore one sandal; the other was tied by its thongs around his neck, and in it was the partly decomposed body of a squirrel. Agamemnon waited until he was almost at the end of the furrow before drawing back his red cloak and stepping forward, his armour flashing in the sun.

  ‘Odysseus!’

  Odysseus stopped and looked at the king of Mycenae and his companions. An instant later his face was filled with recognition and joy, and he immediately ran towards them with open arms.

  ‘My lords!’ he cried.

  ‘See,’ Agamemnon said, turning and winking to his brother. ‘A momentary madness, brushed aside at the sight of his old friends.’

  Suddenly Odysseus was on his knees before them and touching his forehead to the ground. Agamemnon’s look of satisfaction turned rapidly to consternation.

  ‘Get up, Odysseus,’ Menelaus said. ‘There’s no need to prostrate yourself like this, and you’re embarrassing us.’

  Odysseus peered up at them from between his fingers. ‘But no mortal – even a king – can dare to look on the faces of Zeus and Poseidon and expect to live.’

  ‘Zeus and . . .’ stuttered Agamemnon. ‘Odysseus, stop this nonsense at once and get to your feet.’

  ‘As you wish, Father Zeus.’

  ‘Don’t you recognize us?’ Menelaus asked, genuine concern on his face. ‘Menelaus and Agamemnon? And Palamedes, who you met at Sparta.’

  Odysseus looked at Palamedes and screwed his face up.

  ‘I don’t remember meeting any satyrs in Sparta. I’ve heard it said they’re the ugliest beasts a man could ever have the misfortune of setting eyes on, and now I know it’s true.’

  ‘Stop this blasphemy, Odysseus!’ Agamemnon commanded, checking Palamedes’s anger with a hand on his chest. ‘We’re mortal men, not gods.’

  ‘Of course, my lord. But why did you leave Mount Olympus to set foot on this humble rock, where I was king before my son took the throne from me?’

  Agamemnon looked questioningly over his shoulder at Penelope, who shrugged forlornly and held Telemachus closer to her chest. Menelaus, now standing beside her, tapped his finger to his forehead and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Have it your way, Odysseus. We come on a mission of the greatest importance: a crime has been committed against my brother – indeed, against the whole of Greece – that needs immediate retribution! A new enemy has raised his head, and if we don’t unite against him now then our wives, our families and our homes will never be safe again.’

  Odysseus folded his arms and scratched his chin while focusing intently on Agamemnon’s right ear. ‘A new enemy, you say? Committing crimes against Greece?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you want my help?’

  ‘If you think you’re well enough,’ Menelaus added.

  ‘Never felt better, sir. But you’ll need an army! Every king from every city in the land must dust off his spear and shield – ornaments for too long – and call their subjects to arms.’

  ‘Yes, yes – exactly,’ Agamemnon enthused. ‘I knew you’d be the first to understand, Odysseus. How many men can you bring, and how quickly?’

  Odysseus’s eyes lit up with a sudden fervour. He opened the mouth of his satchel and showed the salt to Agamemnon. ‘Thousands! Tens of thousands. But not until harvest time.’

  ‘Harvest!’ Agamemnon cried. ‘But that’s over half a year away.’

  Odysseus looked at him as if he had gone mad. ‘Even you gods can’t hurry nature, my lord. I’ve only just sown them,’ he added, indicating the ploughed field with a sweep of his arm. ‘They won’t be full grown warriors until the late autumn. Why, they won’t even be boys for at least two months.’

  ‘By the name of every god on Olympus,’ said Menelaus, storming past his brother and seizing Odysseus by the shoulders. ‘Odysseus, I don’t know if there’s any part of the old you left in there, but you must listen to me. This is no joke – it’s important, urgent! We – I – need every bit of your fighting skill and your cunning. I’m at my wits’ end, Odysseus! It’s Helen. She’s been kidnapped and taken to Troy.’ Tears rolled down the king’s cheeks and fell in large droplets to the ground. ‘Being without her is destroying me. Unless you can shake off this madness and help my brother and me get her back, then I’ll be the one ploughing with an ox and an ass and throwing salt in the furrows.’

  Odysseus looked at him for a long time, during which nobody spoke. Eventually, his eyes turned away to rest on Penelope.

  ‘I know what it’s like to love someone so much that you can’t bear to be apart from them. For that reason, Poseidon, I shall tend and water these crops every day until they’re ready. You’ll have your army by the summer, even if they’re only lads. And I’ll get back to the plough this instant – there are thousands more warriors in this bag and I need to get them sown before evening.’

  He patted Menelaus’s arm sympathetically before sprinting as fast as his short legs would carry his ungainly bulk towards the waiting plough. As he reached the top of the ridge, he slipped the leather harness over his shoulders and picked up a long stick, which he applied to the backs of the two animals. The ass brayed angrily and immediately struggled against the yoke, whilst its slower companion took three more cracks of the stick and several shouts of ‘Hah! Hah!’ before it would agree to move. Though unhurried in its movements, its solid bulk prevented the ass from pulling away, and before long the plough was being dragged back down the slope with only Odysseus’s great strength keeping it straight. Every now and then he reached into his satchel and tossed a handful of salt over his shoulder.

  ‘By all the gods,’ Palamedes said suddenly, snapping his fingers. ‘Was one of the cleverest men in Greece, you say Menelaus? I think he still is; but he doesn’t fool me, and I’m going to prove he’s not mad.’

  As the plough came nearer, they could hear Odysseus singing a popular farming song, the words of which he had twisted to a martial theme.

  ‘I sows ’em when it’s frosty,

  The ground as hard as bronze,

  I waters ’em when it’s sunny,

  My beautiful warrior sons.

  I reaps ’em in the summer,

  ’Cos foreign wars demand,

  Then sends ’em in the autumn,

  To die on foreign land.’

  Suddenly, Palamedes turned to Penelope and snatched the baby from her arms. Rushing across the field, he laid the child before the oncoming hooves of the ox and ass, with the iron blade of the plough following behind. Telemachus, hearing the cries of his mother (who Agamemnon had seized and was holding fast), began to scream and kick. Odysseus threw his weight to the right and at the last possible moment steered the team past his son, the hooves of the ox trampling the ground beside his head. In an instant he had thrown off the harness and, abandoning the plough, picked up Telemachus to hold him in the protection of his arms.

  Agamemnon released Penelope, who ran over and received the bundle from her husband. Odysseus then rushed at Palamedes with a terrible fire in his eyes, his insanity forgotten. Palamedes was so pleas
ed with his own cleverness, he only realized his danger when Odysseus’s fist came swinging into the side of his skull. He stumbled backwards and fell into the ploughed soil.

  As soon as Menelaus realized that Odysseus’s madness was feigned, he felt his own anger take hold of him and with a growl slid his sword from its scabbard. Eperitus, Arceisius and Eurybates, who had been watching the events from beneath the olive tree, drew their own swords and ran to protect their king.

  ‘Menelaus!’ Agamemnon shouted. The authority in his voice was so compelling that even Eperitus and Arceisius stopped and looked at the Mycenaean king. ‘Brother, put your sword away. Odysseus was only doing what he had to do for the sake of his family.’

  Menelaus looked at his older brother and realized in a moment that he was speaking the truth. The anger drained from him and he slid his sword back into its scabbard.

  ‘Now then, Odysseus,’ Agamemnon continued. ‘My patience is at its end, so let’s have no more of this charade. Palamedes has outfoxed you, and you’ll just have to accept it. We’re forming an expedition of Greek kings to rescue Helen, so give us your answer: will you come with us to Troy?’

  ‘Why should he?’ Penelope interjected. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark with anger as she clutched Telemachus to her chest. ‘He’s not beholden to you, Agamemnon. He’s a king in his own right, and now he’s a father. Although I have every sympathy for you, Menelaus – Helen is my cousin and this news is like a dagger in my heart – you’ve no right to ask a man to leave his family and go to war on the other side of the world. Odysseus has every reason to stay on Ithaca, and every reason not to go on this expedition of yours.’

  ‘But Menelaus does have the right to ask Odysseus to come to Troy,’ Palamedes said, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his reddened cheek. ‘To demand that he comes, even. Isn’t that so, Odysseus?’

  The Ithacan king placed his arm about his wife’s waist and kissed her on the cheek. He looked at the baby in her arms and touched the tip of his nose with his nail-bitten finger, smiling as the sight of his child momentarily eclipsed the troubles that were about to overtake him. Then, with a sigh, he turned to Penelope and looked her in the eye.