Bathing at the stream by the harbour, I found Rhea with Io and Cybele. Without speaking, I knelt down beside them, amongst the rushes that stood like sentries on the precarious edge of dry land. Cybele stifled a sob. Glancing across, I saw Rhea’s bruised and swollen face.
“Cybele and I return to Mycenae today. It’s fallen on us to give the news to Queen Clytemnestra,” Rhea said quietly. She put her arm around Cybele, as if comforting a child.
I turned to Io. She was hanging her head, her long hair covering her face.
“But what about you?” I whispered.
“Agamemnon noticed me last night. He’s ordered me to accompany him to Troy.”
She raised her head slightly as I took in the full horror of her words. Mother and Euryclea tried to keep such things from me, but I’d heard servants talk of how some men treated women under their control, whether a slave, servant or wife. The cook was especially descriptive, when she was in the right mood. If these ordinary men were cruel, how much worse would Agamemnon be? I was way out of my depth but still desperate to give Io what comfort I could.
“I’m, I’m going to Troy too, if that helps a little,” I said.
“Then I’ll have someone to trust and somewhere to hide. Yes, Lady Neomene, that helps. I shall look out for you in Tenedos.”
Chapter SEVEN
The Little Bear and the Moon
The sun was high in the sky when I stood on the platform at the stern of the ship. Evander stood with me, gripping the large steering oar and looking out for cross currents and whirlpools. He was a thickset, muscular man who enjoyed sitting on the Ithacan harbour with a tale to tell any child who asked him, but he was also Odysseus’ most experienced pilot.
I studied the oarsmen on the long benches. Most were resting now, but I knew they’d be able to keep a fast pace for long stretches of time if they needed to because these were the strongest oarsmen in Ithaca, the men who worked on the merchant ships bringing supplies and trade to our island. Under their seats, each rower had leather skins full of water and a bag of barley-meal for when they grew hungry. They needed everything by their side, ready to row all day and then all night if necessary. I saw how they’d stowed their spears and shields underneath the benches, as if they expected an attack while they rowed.
“We’re not at war with Troy yet, so why’ve the oarsmen got their spears ready?” I asked.
Evander smiled. “It’s certainly not for Trojan ships. It’s strange for us Ithacans to understand, but the Trojans have very few ships and little experience of the sea.”
“How do they do their trading then?”
“The Trojan merchants have no need to sail anywhere. Their markets are so famous, trade comes to them.”
“So who else might attack us?”
“Oh, it’s not likely on a swift and well-armed ship like this,” he said. “It’s just a precaution the oarsmen take, out of habit of working on the merchant ships. The cargoes make rich pickings for pirates, but all they’d get from a war-ship is a spear through the belly.”
The rest of the morning I searched the horizon for pirate ships, in case a particularly confident pirate wanted two kings to ransom. While I was keeping watch, I noticed Menelaus and Odysseus in a deep conversation and left them alone. Later, my brother beckoned me down from the platform and led me to a sheltered spot near the back of the ship.
He handed me a blanket. “You won’t be disturbed here, so get some rest while you can. When it starts to get dark, we’ll lower the sail and slow our speed. I’ll show you how I navigate using an especially bright star.”
By dusk, we’d passed through the fast flowing channel between the Greek coast and island of Euboea and sailed into the open sea. With the sail down and the mast dismantled, the men began to row and as they rowed, they sang. The steady rhythm of the oars and the sway of the torch light made me sleepy. I drew Penelope’s blue cloak around me and listened to the songs about dolphins rescuing drowning men and brave sailors who fought against many-headed sea monsters. Slowly the words faded as my mind drifted in and out of a song about the horses of the sea god, Poseidon.
I dreamt of home and my father’s orchard and going down to the sands of North Beach. But Iphegenia emerged from the sea, white faced and with the jagged knife wound across her neck. She stretched out her arms to me, but something was dragging me away.
Startled, I woke feeling cold and shaky. At first I thought I was in my room in Ithaca. Then the singing and the splash of the oars reminded me. I crept past the oarsmen and the sleeping charioteers and made my way to Odysseus at the helm. I’d feel better with him. He stood on his own, staring into the water, his face illuminated by the light of the swinging torch. At the sound of my footsteps, he turned and smiled.
“I’ve sent Menelaus to catch up on some sleep,” he said, nodding towards the middle of the deck. “I don’t suppose he’s had much rest since Helen left. Now, stand over here and look at the stars. See the Little Bear? That bright star in its tail is the light that guides me at night. Unlike all the other stars in the sky, it never moves and always points north.”
He put his arm round me like he used to when I was a child and told me the old and familiar story of how the Little Bear was placed in the sky alongside his mother, the Great Bear. We stood together, listening to the sailors’ songs and telling each other tales of the stars. Later I’d look back on that night and thank the gods we knew nothing of what would befall us on the plains of Troy.
The next day we sailed past Scyros, the island where Achilles had hidden amongst the princesses, and saw no more land until the island of Lemnos appeared like a small pebble on the horizon. As we drew closer, a sailor pointed out its mountain and told me it was once the forge of the blacksmith god, Hephaestus. I stared at it open-mouthed and the sailor walked away chuckling.
When darkness fell on the second day, torches were lit and the rowers picked up their oars again. Menelaus, Odysseus and I ate dried meat near the prow of the ship, though I passed most of mine to Odysseus and I noticed Menelaus left much of his.
“We’re not far from the island of Imbros,” my brother explained. “Once there, we sail south and we’ll reach the Trojan coast by sunrise.”
“I’ll be ready,” Menelaus said grimly.
“Then take my skin of good wine and sleep if you can. You may get little rest tomorrow night, if Helen is at your side.”
Menelaus smiled a little and took the wine, his purple cloak melting into the darkness as he strode towards the stern of the ship. Odysseus returned to his watch and I sat for a while longer, watching the rise of the moon in the early night sky. There she was, Artemis, goddess of the moon, the huntress and twin sister to Apollo. Men said the moon was just like a woman, always changing, always showing a different face. But those who observed her carefully learnt her secrets and saw her as one of the most reliable of gods. Not only did the moon’s journey across the sky tell us what portion of the night had passed, but she revealed the coming of the seasons and the time to harvest the crops.
Now she had turned full face to guide us and I sensed a smile on her lips. Yet Iphigenia died so that Agamemnon could appease her. I shivered and pulled Penelope’s cloak tighter, trying to make sense of the terrible sacrifice on Aulis. Had Artemis really valued a prayer by a cruel man above the life of an innocent girl?
Odysseus called to me. “The wind’s blown up and you look cold, Neomene. Go and lie down, it’ll be warmer there.”
I nodded and left him seeking guidance from the only constant object in the sky, the star to which the Little Bear pointed. I moved along the narrow aisle between the two sets of rowers, listening to their singing and the fall of their oars. Many had slept in the afternoon, when the wind and sail had sped us across the water. Now it was their strength that powered our ship, their muscles flexing silver under Artemis’ gaze. Stepping round the chariots strapped to the mast, I heard the charioteers snoring. Menelaus rested nearby, his chin on his chest, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Fe
tching the blanket Odysseus had given me, I crept back to Menelaus and lay it across him, as an apology for my deceit in Ithaca. Then I curled up in my sheltered spot and waited for sleep.
It was still dark when I woke, but not with the full blackness of night. I lay there for a moment, rubbing the feeling back into my feet. One of the charioteers was talking to the horses in the partition behind me, complaining about the mess they had made, but telling them they’d be on dry land soon. I smiled and stretched my arms, wondering how far we were from Troy.
Odysseus nodded when I climbed up beside him at the front of the ship. “We’ll see the Trojan coast soon,” he said.
“Have you been here all night?”
“Evander replaced me on the middle watch, but I wanted to be one of the first to see the city. I’ve heard the walls and towers gleam in the morning sun.”
As pink dawn crept slowly along the horizon, a long and flat coastline appeared. I strained my eyes, trying to see the towers, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. My eyes closed for a moment. Then a cry from a sailor jolted me awake. I blinked, trying to focus. Another man pointed and I followed his gaze.
There they were, the towers of Troy, proud and defiant and glistening in the sunlight. These were the towers and walls that protected the upper city and kept Helen imprisoned with her Trojan prince. I gripped onto a rope and leaned over the side to get a better view. Many of the sailors did the same. King Atreus had been right all those years ago. The great walls of Troy looked indestructible.
Chapter EIGHT
Helen of Troy
The chariot wheels rattled over a wooden bridge and then tore across the large grassy plain surrounding the city. Menelaus stared ahead, never losing sight of the walls for a moment. In contrast, my brother looked about, taking in anything that might be useful to him later.
When we rode closer, Trojan soldiers marched out of the city gates to meet us.
“They’re only an escort,” Odysseus said quietly.
I stole quick glances at the soldiers as they surrounded our chariots and then divided like the sea before a ship, to march on either side of us. The Trojan weapons looked familiar: swords, round shields, spears and men with bows slung over their shoulders. To my inexperienced eye there seemed no real difference between Greek and Trojan soldiers, except for the designs on their shields and the style of their helmets.
But we have Achilles, I told myself.
And then the nagging doubt: they have the walls.
The escort leader brought us to a halt outside the first set of gates. He was a tall man, clad in bronze armour, with a sword belt slung over his shoulder. I noted his neatly trimmed beard, and as he swaggered over to us and gripped the side of our chariot, I saw his clean nails and smelt his perfume. Despite his tight-lipped expression and austere voice, this man cared more about his appearance than most Greek men did.
“Leave your men and chariots here. They can find water for the horses, and themselves, at the well. You will proceed on foot.” He started to walk away, but then added, as an afterthought, “Your men will be safe and ready for your return. And the lady, do you wish her to walk with you or ride alongside me?”
“Walk, I will walk,” I decreed.
Odysseus nodded. “Thank you, soldier. My sister will walk to the palace.”
We were marched into the lower part of the city, where we were surrounded by voices in strange languages and an air heavy with perfumes and spices. Near the gate, a group of women in long robes and veils glanced around at us, but quickly lost interest and continued with their conversation. The soldiers led us through the main street and I caught glimpses of stalls with unusual fruit and others with bright fabrics and linen. Everywhere there was colour and fragrance.
Once through a large courtyard, we headed towards the massive fortress that circled the upper city. I glanced at Odysseus; he nodded but said nothing. Eventually, the markets were replaced by mud-brick houses and workshops, some tradesmen working on the flat roof of their homes, just as Ithacans did.
A well-dressed man walked past us. I stared at his heavy gold bangles and earrings. Then I noticed his carefully curled beard. Odysseus grinned at me. It was all just a bit too gaudy for Ithacan taste.
The soldiers led us along the track at the base of the walls, towards the large oak gates. I craned my head and saw the soldiers on the battlements. Odysseus nudged me and pointed to several blocks of stone, engraved with the shapes of deformed creatures with grotesque expressions.
“Standing stones of their gods, placed by the gates to protect the city,” he explained. “I’d guess the one with the sun disc is Apollo.”
But their Apollo looked so different. We saw the sun god as a young man, exceptionally handsome and athletic. Here he was squat, with a wide, leering mouth and short legs. Everyone knew the gods were vain and easily offended, so surely they would prefer the Greek picture of them rather than these strange creatures?
I turned back to the gates and found a barrier of sentries ahead of us. They moved aside at the command of the leading soldier and we marched through the heavy gates into a shaded passageway.
“A clever design. Invaders getting this far will be trapped in the narrow alley, fully exposed to the archers up there,” Odysseus murmured, raising his eyes to the watchtowers.
Trojan bowmen stared down at us. I tried to look disinterested, as if such defences were something I saw every day, but I shivered when we stepped into the citadel and prayed no Ithacan soldier would ever have to attack these walls.
Odysseus took me by the elbow and hurried me along. “Keep up with me.”
“They’ve got jewels in the street,” I whispered.
“They’re just stones that glitter.”
“Well, it’s still beautiful.”
Odysseus frowned. “Don’t admire the enemy.”
“They’re not our enemy …”
“Shhh,” Odysseus hissed, as an elderly Trojan walked towards us.
“Welcome to Troy. My name is Antenor, advisor to King Priam,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Let me assure you that if you’ve come peacefully, searching for an agreement that avoids war, I’ll support you in our assembly.”
Menelaus strode forward. “I am Menelaus, King of Sparta. Helen is my wife. I believe you hold her in the city.”
Antenor bowed his head. “Welcome, King Menelaus. Helen is indeed here in Troy and I am pleased to report she is in perfect health.”
“Then I come for her, to take home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, at least not unless King Priam permits it. First we must submit your case in the assembly hall.” Antenor glanced at my brother and spoke quietly. “You will be King Odysseus of Ithaca? You’ll need to persuade King Priam, three of his sons and a military advisor. The task is not an easy one, though Prince Hector is prepared to see reason.” He looked at Menelaus again. “Please follow me.”
Antenor led the way up a set of stone steps.
“Three of Priam’s sons,” I whispered to my brother. “Will one of them be Paris?”
He took my arm again. “Probably, but all is not lost if Hector will listen. And you keep quiet, understand?”
I nodded and followed Antenor, all the while wondering why he’d singled out Hector as listening to reason. Did it mean the other men would not? We climbed higher and higher, until we stepped onto the walkway around the battlements. My hair blew across my face and I clung onto Penelope’s cloak.
“So it’s true what I’ve heard about the winds of Troy,” Odysseus cried.
Antenor turned back and smiled slightly, unable to hide his pride. “Yes, refreshing in the summer and bitterly cold in the winter.” He glanced at me. “You like our view of the sea? Come, if you look out from the east wall, you will see Mount Ida.”
He guided me to the opposite side and I saw the mountain, so high that its peaks were in the clouds. “People say Zeus himself likes to sit on the summit and watch all that happens in our city,
” Antenor said.
I smiled as I pictured Zeus sitting on top of Mount Ida, seeing nothing but the clouds that blocked his view. It felt safer that way. Menelaus coughed his impatience. Antenor bowed his head and mounted the last few steps towards the shrine at the very top of the citadel. I paused to look at the large building, but Menelaus and Odysseus strode ahead to the palace gates and I had to run to catch up. Then we were through into a paved courtyard, Odysseus flashing me a look, a look that reminded me not to be so friendly with Antenor. I tried to think of the old man as our enemy, but it was difficult to feel threatened when he was eager to share the wonders of his city.
In the entrance hall, servants stood aside, bowing their heads in respect for the elderly official. He led us down a long corridor and eventually stopped in front of a pair of ornate doors. I held my breath as an attendant pushed them open, so that together they swept inwards into the large assembly hall.
The herald stepped back when Antenor himself continued to lead us to the opposite side of the hall. I lowered my eyes as we approached a platform. Without looking up, I glimpsed the king sitting on a throne, with four distinguished-looking men standing at his side. Antenor announced us formally, showing me the courtesy of stating my name and not ignoring me as many Greek officials would have done.
Priam studied us in silence and I snatched a closer look at him. He was white-haired, his face heavily lined. He took up his sceptre and pointed it to the nearest of the men at his side.
“This is my son and the heir to my throne, Prince Hector of Troy,” the king declared. “He is known as a great war commander amongst allies who have required our military support.”
Black-haired Hector examined us all with dark, intelligent eyes.
“And this is Paris, my second son,” Priam continued.
Fair-haired Paris stepped forward and gave a smile that lit up his handsome face. It was the same charismatic smile that must have charmed Helen, and led her to forget her home, her husband and her young daughter. Standing only six paces from this man, I almost understood why Helen had run away with him. Quickly looking away, I concentrated on the third man.
The Girl From Ithaca Page 7
