by Roger Green
MARLOWE
Dr Faustus
11
The storm of war broke without warning over the doomed city of Troy. Suddenly the Greeks were everywhere, killing the Trojans in their sleep, killing them half awake, killing them in little bands – those few who had time to seize their weapons.
Old men, women, children died on that terrible night, for the ten-year-old fury of the Greeks made them merciless during those hours of darkness.
Priam met his end at the threshold of his own palace. When the alarm broke out he would have buckled on his armour and gone out to fight, but Hecuba persuaded him to remain with her by the altar of Zeus in the courtyard of the palace.
But presently their son Polites came staggering into the yard, wounded and pursued by Neoptolemus who was mad with the lust of slaughter. Right in front of his parents' eyes he struck the unfortunate boy through the body with his spear so that he fell dead on the altar steps before them.
Then Old Priam sprang to his feet.
‘Ah what wickedness!’ he cried. ‘Thus to kill my son before my face! That Achilles would never have done; he was merciful! He gave me the body of Hector when I went to beg it, and treated me kindly, remembering his own father. Surely you are no true son of his!’
So saying, Priam flung a spear at Neoptolemus; but the arm of the old king had lost its strength, and the weapon clattered harmlessly down on to the stone floor.
‘Indeed,’ laughed Neoptolemus grimly. ‘If you find me so much worse than my father you had better hasten down to the realm of the dead and tell him about me!’
With that he seized Priam by the hair, dragged him to the door of the palace and cut off his head.
But all kindness was not forgotten that night. Odysseus saw one of the sons of Antenor attacked by two Greeks, and protected him and helped him home to his house. For he remembered how Antenor had entertained him and Menelaus when they came to Troy to demand the surrender of Helen, and how it was Antenor who had saved their lives when treacherous Paris tried to urge the Trojans to murder them.
So now he hung a leopard skin from the window of the house as a sign that no one in it was to be hurt; and in the morning he saw to it that Antenor and his wife Theano, who had handed over the Palladium, were allowed to escape with their children and servants, and an ass laden with the choicest of their possessions.
Another Trojan prince who was allowed to escape was the pious Aeneas. King Agamemnon saw him walking through the streets with his old father Anchises on his shoulders carrying the holy images from his house, and leading by the hand his little son Ascanius, while Creusa his wife followed behind. Pleased to see such family affection, Agamemnon gave orders that they were to be spared, and Aeneas won safely to the slopes of Ida with his precious burden, and his beloved child. But Creusa was lost in the turmoil as they left the city, and he never found her again.
The two sons of Theseus, Acamas and Demophon, struck no blow save when a Trojan attacked them. But they searched through Troy for their grandmother Aethra who had been a slave attending on Helen ever since Castor and Polydeuces took Aphidna and rescued their sister after Theseus had carried her away as a child. When they found Aethra, still beautiful and regal, though so very ancient, they led her, with all the honour due to a queen, out of Troy and down to their tall ships; and they claimed no other spoils or rewards for their services in the war.
While these things were happening, Menelaus was seeking through Troy for Helen, and at length Odysseus guided him to the house of Deiphobus. There Menelaus entered sword in hand and a fury of jealousy in his heart; but Odysseus remained at the door and fought his fiercest and most desperate battle of any in the whole war.
Up to Helen's chamber went Menelaus, and there Deiphobus met him, heavy with drink and sleep. They fought across the bed, and before long Menelaus struck the sword out of the prince's hand and had him at his mercy.
‘Dog!’ he hissed. ‘Never again shall you see the dawn over Troy town, for justice comes at last, however slow her steps, and no man may elude great Themis. Now black death has trapped you, here in my wife's bower – and I would that I could have dealt out the same punishment to Paris!’
Then he plunged his sword into the evil heart of Deiphobus so that he fell and died there upon the bed, and his wicked spirit fled to the judgement hall of Hades.
But Helen came to Menelaus out of the shadows and knelt to him, love struggling with fear in her wonderful eyes as she looked up at him.
Then Menelaus raised his bloodstained sword, and a terrible urge went through him as he thought of all that he had suffered for this woman's sake, and all the woes she had brought upon Greece and Troy.
Yet in a moment the sword fell useless from his hand, and as he gazed upon that beauty which surpassed the beauty of all other women, the rage and jealousy went out of his heart. She knelt before him, the magic Star-stone rising and falling on her white breast, while the red drips fell and vanished – fell and vanished – and left no stain. And suddenly, he knew that there was no stain on her either, and that their love had been only interrupted by the spells of Aphrodite – but not broken.
‘Helen!’ he said, and in another moment he held the World's Desire in his arms, and the bitterness of the long years fell away from them and was forgotten.
Cold morning dawned over the stricken city, and still the Greeks slew and slew until the streets and houses were heaped with dead. And without the city the captive women were herded together in weeping droves among the piles of loot. Cruel Neoptolemus took Andromache as his prize, and flung Astyanax, Hector's baby son, to his death from the walls of Troy.
‘He is a fool who kills the father and lets the children live,’ was his brutal excuse. ‘If the boy had grown to be a man he might have sought to slay me, since my father slew his. And we want no more kings of Troy!’
Aias the wild son of Oileus tried to grab Cassandra as his share of the more noble captives, but she clung to the statue of Athena and begged him to spare her, since she was sworn to the service of the gods of Olympus. Aias however shouted that he feared neither god nor man, and dragged her roughly away.
Then the whole temple was shaken with an earthquake, and the very statue turned up its eyes in horror. And when Agamemnon heard of this, he had Aias chased out of the Greek camp with
threats of execution, since his deed might call down the vengeance of Athena on them all. Agamemnon, however, felt that as the deed had been done, it was a pity to lose so lovely and highborn a captive, and he took Cassandra himself to be his handmaiden.
But Aias sailed away in a fury, cursing Agamemnon and defying all the Immortals, and Athena in particular. But Poseidon wrecked his ship in a great storm and he was cast up on a rock in the middle of the sea where he drew himself into safety above the raging waves. This was his last chance, but still his pride was unbroken, and he taunted the Immortals, crying:
‘You are not gods, why you cannot even drown the man who has insulted you!’
The lightning flashed ominously through the storm clouds, but in his madness Aias cried again:
‘You think to frighten me with your thunder, do you? Lightning, I defy you!’ At this Zeus took the matter into his own hands and hurled a thunderbolt which split the rock and sent Aias to his doom on the instant.
When Troy had been thoroughly pillaged, and the captives taken down to the sea-shore, the Greeks set fire to the town. Then the tall towers burned, and the houses were reduced to ashes. The falling buildings brought the walls crashing down with them, and the Greeks completed the destruction so that only the foundations remained over which the weeds grew and the earth was piled up, until three thousand years later the remains were uncovered, and today stand gaunt and mysterious above the plain to bear witness to the basic truth which blind Homer wove into the first and greatest of romantic tales.
The Greeks went down to their ships and remained for a while encamped near the Tomb of Achilles at the mouth of the River Scamander; some even cr
ossed the Hellespont to the utmost tip of Europe: for the winds blew strongly across the Aegean Sea, and there was no sailing west or south.
When Menelaus led Helen down to the ships, the soldiers cried out that she must be slain, and took up stones to cast at her. But when they beheld her beauty, the stones fell from their hands, and they stood in awe as if she had been an Immortal, nor had they any further wish to do her aught but honour.
Day after day the winds were contrary, until Calchas declared that, just as when they left Aulis, there must be a sacrifice of a royal maiden.
That same night Neoptolemus dreamt that his father Achilles rose from the tomb, shaking his terrible spear and crying:
‘Shame on you, Greeks! All have your reward from the spoils of captured Troy, save only I! Give to me the prize which by right is mine, even the fairest of Royal Maidens – Polyxena, daughter of Priam. If I have her not, never will you come in safety to fair Hellas!’
When Neoptolemus told of his dream, all doubt was at an end. The soldiers cried aloud for the sacrifice: Polyxena, they remembered, was loved by Achilles in his life-time, for he had seen her when she leant from the walls of Troy to fling her bracelets into the scale at the ransoming of Hector's body. It was even said that there had been a secret marriage – of which the Trojans took advantage by adding that Achilles had offered to betray the Greeks if Priam gave him Polyxena.
Certainly it was believed that Achilles demanded Polyxena to be his bride in the Elysian Fields, and Neoptolemus slew her on his father's tomb, despite the piteous prayers of her wretched mother, Queen Hecuba.
The aged queen of Troy was released from captivity after her daughter's death, and given to her son Helenus, who carried her away shrieking curses on the Greeks. The story got about that as soon as he landed with her beyond the Hellespont, Hecuba turned into a black hound – just such a hound as howls at night among the graves, or follows in the train of Hecate the Queen of Witches.
Besides Helenus, the Greeks allowed Antenor to sail away with all his family, servants and possessions. This honest Trojan made his way to the head of the Adriatic Sea and founded a new Troy, which in later days was called Venice. A son of his travelled to the land which was afterwards known as France, and the French royal family could trace their descent from him.
The few other Trojans who escaped from the destruction of Troy fled on to Mount Ida and joined Aeneas who was in hiding there. When the Greeks had sailed – which they were able to do soon after Polyxena had been sacrificed – Aeneas and his companions cut down trees, built great ships and sailed away to seek for a new home.
Early in their wanderings they came to an island on which grazed some fine fat cattle, and there was no sign of any herdsmen. So they killed several, cooked them and settled down for a good meal. But no sooner had they begun to eat than the Harpies – the same winged women with sharp claws that the Argonauts had met and Zetes and Calais had driven away from the land of King Phineus – swooped down and snatched their meat away. Three times they tried to eat, and three times the Harpies robbed them: and after the third time one of the Harpies perched on a rock and cried:
‘You Trojans who kill our cattle and try to drive us from our own island, listen to me! Sail away quickly, and doubtless you will reach the new home which Aphrodite is planning for you in a land called Italy: but I tell you that before you build the walls of your new city, you will be so hungry that you will be driven to eat the very tables on which you place your food!’
After this the Trojan fleet set sail sorrowfully, and met with several adventures during their wanderings. Old Anchises died, and was buried in Sicily; and then Hera stirred up the winds so that several of the ships were wrecked, and the rest of them were driven to North Africa where they were made welcome in the newly built city of Carthage, where the Phoenician called Elissa by the Greeks and Dido by the Trojans, was Queen.
She and her Phoenicians had sailed away from the coast of Asia far to the south of Troy some years earlier, and landed in North Africa where they demanded a site on which to build a city. The king of that country did not want them, but he said: ‘You may have just as much land as the hide of an ox will enclose!’
Dido, however, took an ox-hide and cut it into such thin strips that it surrounded all the lands she needed – and Carthage was built on that site.
After resting there for some time, Aeneas was anxious to sail on his way, but Dido had fallen in love with him and wished him to marry her and become King of Carthage.
Aeneas, however, stole away by night with all his ships: and when Dido found that he had cheated and deserted her, she killed herself. But Aeneas sailed happily on his way, and at last came to Italy at a place called Cumae where dwelt a famous prophetess called the Sibyl. She told him that he was near the spot where he must build his city, and that this city would in years to come rule the world and be called Rome.
On went Aeneas rejoicing, and came presently to a great river with yellow water, which was called the Tiber. Up this he sailed, and anchored at last in a beautiful wood.
Here they landed and collected fruits to eat. As they had lost all their dishes during the voyage, they mixed flour and water and made plates and tables of dough. When the fruits were done and they were still hungry, they began to eat the dough, and the boy Ascanius exclaimed laughing:
‘What, are we so hungry that we even eat our tables!’
Then Aeneas knew that they had reached the place where his new city was to be. He had many adventures before it was built, but all ended well, and he married Lavinia the only daughter of King Latinus who ruled that country.
Their descendants became Kings of Rome, and in later years Emperors of the Roman Empire. One grandson of Aeneas called Brutus was said to have wandered away to the island of Albion in the North-west, and become king of it: that island was re-named after him and has ever since been known as Britain, and its kings and queens are said to be descended from him.
But Troy itself was never again a great city. Several small towns were built on the spot in after years, but were all soon destroyed and quickly forgotten: its glory departed from it three thousand years ago – to live for ever in song and story, and to stir our imaginations even to this day.
CHAPTER 12
AGAMEMNON AND HIS CHILDREN
*
Not yet to dark Cassandra lying low
In rich Mycenae do the fates relent;
The bones of Agamemnon are a show,
And ruined is his royal monument.
ANDREW LANG
Sonnet on the Iliad
12
After the sacrifice of Polyxena the wind fell and the Greeks were able to sail away; but their adventures were by no means ended: Diomedes, Nestor and Agamemnon were the only leaders who came straight home – and of these only Nestor found all well with his kingdom and was able to settle down comfortably to enjoy his old age in peace.
Diomedes suffered ship-wreck on the way, but it did not delay him for long. However, when he reached Argos he found that his wife had married someone else, and that the people were quite content with their new ruler and not in the least pleased to see him and his companions back again. In disgust he sailed off once more; and finally he came to Italy, settled there and lived to a ripe old age, much honoured by his new countrymen.
Agamemnon was not so fortunate. Ever since the sacrifice of Iphigenia at Aulis, Clytemnestra's hatred of him had grown more and more bitter. Finally she decided that he had forfeited all right to be her husband, and she married his cousin Aegisthus instead.
She did not let Agamemnon know this, however, and she kept a watchman on the roof of the palace of Mycenae to watch for the signal that Troy had fallen, which was to be brought by a series of beacon fires on the tops of lofty mountains.
When the news came of the sack of Troy, she made haste to send young Orestes away to his uncle King Strophius, and she kept Agamemnon's two daughters Electra and Chrysothemis well out of the way. As for Aegisthus, he remaine
d hidden in the palace while Clytemnestra went out to welcome Agamemnon as if really delighted to have him home again.
Agamemnon came up to the palace in great pride and triumph, and entered over a purple carpet as became the Conqueror of Troy. With him he brought much treasure and many Trojan captives of whom the chief was Cassandra, the dark, mysterious daughter of King Priam who could foresee the future but whose prophecies were never believed.
Now she stood on the wide terrace, high above the great plain of Argos, and cried aloud that death waited in the palace – death for Agamemnon and death for herself.
Then, with head held high, she went in to her doom, noble and fearless as befitted a Princess of Troy – and there cruel Clytemnestra slew her.
But first the Queen of Mycenae, still pretending to welcome Agamemnon, led him to the marble-floored bathroom, and bathed him with her own hands, bidding him make haste to the feast which waited them.
Still swelling with pride at this royal welcome after his mighty deeds, Agamemnon rose from his bath, and took the finely embroidered shirt which Clytemnestra had made for him. She slipped it over his head, and the folds of it fell about him, and he was caught in it: for she had sewn up the neck and sleeves.
While he struggled in this silken web, she struck him down with an axe; and Aegisthus came out of his hiding place and helped in the slaying of the King of Men. And when Agamemnon lay dead, Clytemnestra took up her axe once more and went to meet and slay Cassandra: for in spite of her hatred of Agamemnon, she was still jealous.
After Agamemnon was dead and buried, Clytemnestra and Aegisthus ruled Mycenae. He wished to have Orestes killed, but Clytemnestra was not quite so wicked as that, and she refused to say where the young prince was hidden. Her younger daughter, Chrysothemis, did not seem to mind what had happened; but the elder, Electra, hated Aegisthus and could not forgive her mother. Clytemnestra would not consent to her death either, but fearing lest she should marry a prince and persuade him to punish her and Aegisthus she gave Electra to a poor peasant who lived in a cottage not far from the city of Mycenae.
