The Girl From Ithaca

by Cherry Gregory

  “But I can prepare enough to heal your brother, with perhaps a small amount left over. Can you grind these seeds into a fine powder? It’ll take some time. I’ll find a few special herbs I cultivate in my wood,” she said, her coldness having melted now she was busy.

  She left me alone for a while and I glanced around at every rustle of the leaves or dance of a shadow, dreading that I should see the god Hermes. The messenger Hermes was one of the kindly gods. He guided travellers and protected children, as well as helping shepherds and cowherds. But I didn’t want to meet any god, even one who preferred to persuade rather than fight. To women even more than men, gods were trouble. If they disliked you, they could punish or kill. If they liked you, you risked rape, seduction or the god disguising himself as a lover. I pounded the seeds. It was best to keep away from the gods.

  Oenone returned and began to relax as she worked, extracting juice from berries and giving me more seeds to grind. She paused sometimes to talk of Paris. What could I do? Time was slipping away and perhaps my brother’s life with it, but I was in no position to hurry her or show impatience.

  “How innocent Paris was. He knew nothing, not even that he was the king’s son,” she said. “He was content with his simple life and I would never have told him he was a prince of Troy. We were together by this pool. We were in love. We were happy.” Oenone put down her knife and turned to me. “Then Hermes came. Paris had never seen a god before and he felt important when Hermes called him by name. I tried to pull him back, but he pushed me away. Yes, my lover pushed me away.”

  Tears flowed down her face as she described the message from Zeus. “Hermes told Paris he’d been chosen for an important task, because he was handsome and knowledgeable in love, yet untainted by the ways of the world. Poor Paris was young. He didn’t know the tricks that gods play. He thought it was an honour to be called.”

  I wondered what Zeus had wanted of Paris. What terrible thing had made Paris leave Oenone and the mountain, claim his right as a prince of Troy and then sail to Sparta to steal Helen?

  “He followed Hermes to that smooth stone over there,” Oenone said, pointing to a rock in the middle of the clearing. “On the stone Hermes placed a large golden apple and told Paris he was to award it to the fairest.” She laughed bitterly. “To the fairest. Do you know what that means?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be many things.”

  “That was the problem, the gods could not agree and Zeus refused to make a decision, so they asked Paris, innocent Paris, to do it for them.”

  “But where had this golden apple come from?” I asked, handing her the powder I’d made.

  “Ah, it begins with a wedding of a goddess with a mortal man. You have heard of Thetis and Peleus, the parents of the savage Achilles?”

  I nodded. “Achilles told us all the gods came to their wedding and gave wonderful presents.”

  “All the gods, except one. It was arranged quickly and they forgot to invite Eris, the goddess of strife. In revenge, Eris rolled the golden apple at the feet of three goddesses and declared it was for the fairest. Immediately, the goddesses fought over the apple. The argument went on and on for many days and the gods grew tired of their shouting, weeping and general disruption. They begged Zeus to settle the debate.”

  “And Zeus refused?”

  “He knew he risked enraging the two goddesses not selected and all three had a good claim. Hera, wife of Zeus thought she deserved it because she was the most important and powerful. Then there was Athena, the daughter of Zeus. She claimed the apple because she was wise and gave mortals good advice. Last of all was Aphrodite, the goddess of love. She said the apple should be hers because she was the most beautiful and graceful of the three.”

  “But how could Paris decide? It was impossible.”

  Oenone sighed. “I warned him if he awarded it to one, he’d make enemies of the others, but he said I was jealous and ignored my advice. Foolish, foolish Paris! As they came before him and offered him bribes, such terrible bribes to tempt a boy like Paris, I knew he’d never feel contented again.”

  Hera declared she’d give him wealth and power if she was declared the fairest. Next Athena strode up to him, dressed in battle armour, her grey eyes flashing. She promised Paris wisdom and knowledge if she could have the prize.”

  Last of all, the goddess Aphrodite stood before him naked. She treated him like a lover, stroking his hair and caressing his lips with her fingers. She promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. Straight away, without any thought, Paris presented the golden apple to Aphrodite.”

  I shook my head in despair. “The most beautiful woman in the world was not Aphrodite’s to give. She was already married. She was married to Menelaus of Sparta.”

  Oenone put her finger to her lips. “The goddess of love has never been a respecter of marriages. Neither is she one to plan ahead or think about her actions.”

  She took my powder and mixed it with the berry juice. “I’ve told you this because I want you, as a Greek, to understand the war should not be blamed on Paris. Aphrodite bewitched him into loving Helen. He has no control over what he does. One day, when the war is over and Helen has been sent back to Sparta, he’ll be released from the curse and return to me. I’m the only one who truly loves him. His family may pretend to care, but they showed their true worth when they abandoned him on this mountain.”

  I hoped Paris would return to Oenone, just as I hoped to return home. I hoped for these things, but I knew our lives could never be as they once were, before the war. Too much had been lost, too much destroyed.

  Oenone mixed all the powders and juices and poured the liquid into a large vial. She smiled as she watched me tuck the precious package into the pouch inside my cloak. “Mix the liquid with watered wine and let him take two sips, as the sun rises and as the sun sets, until he recovers. One small tip that Zeus will allow me to reveal is the herb called prunella. It is quite common and has a blue flower, do you know it?”

  I nodded. I’d seen the insignificant looking plant growing by the river.

  “The juice from prunella will heal a wound far more quickly than anything your man Machaon can provide, in spite of his faith in Apollo. When he’s impressed by your skill, tell him that Oenone from Mount Ida trained you. You’ll do that for me?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “So go now, go heal Odysseus if you can.”

  Oenone didn’t speak to me again. With her long hands, she signalled that I was free to leave and then strode back to her place beside the rock pool. When I reached the wood, I glanced back at the clearing and saw her staring at her reflection once more. I raised my hand to wave but she never looked up.

  I retraced my steps through the woods and past the other pools. Standing on top of the slope, I looked for Agenor. First I saw the horses and then Agenor sitting beside them. Cupping my hands, I called his name. Immediately he jumped up and stood waiting at the bottom of the cliff.

  Carefully, I edged over the ledge and began my descent. I climbed down slowly, aware of the vial tucked inside my cloak. Resting on one of the jutting rocks, I called to Agenor again.

  “I found Oenone.”

  “And she gave you the remedy?”

  “Yes, yes, we have it.”

  He climbed up to meet me. Soon my foot touched his outstretched arm and I slid towards him. He took my weight and helped me down the rest of the way.

  “Then take a drink while I get the horses harnessed,” Agenor said. “They’re eager for more exercise.”

  Soon we were hurrying along the pine forest track, feeling again the threat of that dark and gloomy place. Struck by an uneasy sensation of being watched, we rode in silence. Twice I caught something flicker in the corner of my eye. Spinning round, I found nothing but the shadowy trees. Only when we’d emerged into the sunlight did I feel safe enough to reveal Oenone’s story.

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX

  Dogs of War

  Long shadows spr
ead across our path as we rode through the foothills, back to where we’d rested that morning. Waiting for nightfall, Agenor finished the last of the wheat cakes and we shared the remaining cheese and dates.

  The horses grazed nearby as we sat on the grass and watched them. For a few unhurried moments, it felt as if we were in Ithaca, enjoying an evening ride, before going home to the family and a comfortable bed.

  “Your father let me choose the names,” Agenor said, sweeping Star’s furlock to the side to reveal a star shaped mark. “I named them after these small white patches on their foreheads.”

  I’d not noticed that before. I inspected Jewel and found her white patch too. She nuzzled up to me, nosing under my cloak, expecting the tit-bit that she was obviously used to receiving. “Sorry Jewel, we’ve no food left, but if you get us back in time to save Odysseus, I’ll give you treats every day for the rest of your life.”

  “She’ll keep you to that; she’s the greediest horse I’ve ever known,” Agenor laughed.

  Once it was dark, we set off on the final part of our journey, the horses’ hooves hammering the track like the relentless beat of a drum. Agenor drove them harder than the night before, calling to them and flicking the reins across their backs. With the extra speed, I calculated we’d be back at the camp well before sunrise. I took a deep breath. I had the vial and the worst of the journey was over. All we had to do was return to Odysseus.

  As we hurried on, I grew sleepy. But I couldn’t relax yet, I kept telling myself. That’s when the Trojans would creep up on us. I needed to stay alert, to watch for danger, to concentrate. I rocked with the sway of the chariot. My eyes grew heavy and I forced them open. Shadows were moving across the plain. I nudged Agenor.

  Agenor shook his head. “There’s nothing there. It’s a trick of the moonlight. We’re almost half way and it won’t be long before we’re looking for the stone markers by the river. We’re going to make it.”

  The swiftness of the horses reassured me, though I dragged the ash spear within reach. We made good time until clouds moved over the moon. Agenor slowed the horses to a walk, struggling to make out the track. In the dark, I could almost feel hands reaching out for me, trying to pull me away from Agenor’s protection. I leant closer and felt the warmth and strength of his body.

  A dog howled. Then we heard another, as if in reply. I wondered if the second dog was closer. Moments later, the clouds cleared and Agenor drove his horses on, urging them from a walk, to a trot and then a canter. We raced along like that for much of the night. I’d started to look for the markers, when Agenor pulled the horses up.

  My heart fell. It was Jewel. She was lame in her left hind leg.

  Agenor touched my arm. “It’s nothing. She’ll have picked up a pebble in her hoof. I’ll go and fix it for her.”

  He crouched by the little horse. “Only a stone,” he called, scooping it out with his knife.

  But something moved.

  “Agenor,” I warned, picking up the spear.

  Still kneeling, Agenor cried out as two huge dogs emerged from the darkness. The first dog snarled and bounded towards him. Without thinking, I ran with the spear and thrust the bronze head upwards. The dog leapt forward and plunged onto the point, impaling itself on the weapon. Howling, it continued to fall, twitching and groaning as its heavy weight pinned us to the ground. I struggled for breath as Agenor kicked it away and turned to face the second dog.

  This dog focused on Jewel. The mare, her eyes wide in terror, reared and kicked out. The dog jumped to the side and then leapt to tear at the horse’s belly. Jewel reared again and the dog backed away. Agenor ran forward and drove his sword into the dog’s stomach. It howled and turned to attack the source of its pain. Agenor leapt out of the way and then plunged in the sword a second time. The dog spun round in confusion until it toppled over onto its side.

  Looking up I saw more dogs approaching, slowly circling us. The horses were stamping and on the point of bolting. Agenor grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the chariot. He whipped the distracted horses into an immediate gallop. We surged forward and Star’s hooves pulverised one of the dogs and kicked another into a clump of bushes. Thundering along the path, we cleared the pack of dogs and kept up the gallop until we were sure there were no more. Only then did Agenor slow the horses into their familiar steady trot.

  “You were good with that spear,”Agenor said.

  “You weren’t so bad with Diomedes’ sword.”

  I smiled and tried not to think of the snarling dogs as they leapt at Agenor and Jewel. Instead I kept my eyes on the track, looking for the marker, knowing we were almost there.

  “There it is, see. It’s the crossing,” I yelled.

  Agenor reined in the horses and we listened for wild dogs. There was nothing except the roar of the river and the laboured breathing of the horses.

  “Same as before then, you take Jewel and I’ll take Star. Hold on tight, she’s distressed, but she’ll want to get to camp as much as we do,” Agenor said.

  Gripping Jewel’s halter, I wrapped the lead rope round my wrist and plunged down the bank into the ice-cold water. Both horses tossed their heads and fought against us, Star squealing in fright. My fingers felt numb and Jewel’s halter slipped from my hands as she yanked her head away. I tumbled after her, grabbing hold of the rope again. I was lucky. She’d seen the Greek side of the river and harnessed to Star, pulled the stallion with her. The horses knew they were almost home and needed no encouragement.

  Agenor and I nodded to each other as we caught our breath. All four of us were exhausted, but it didn’t matter anymore. We were on the Greek side of the river and we’d almost reached Odysseus. Once through the marshes, Agenor relaxed and loosened the reins, allowing the horses to trot to the boundary gate.

  A large man with a torch stepped out to inspect us.

  “We’re Greeks, let us pass,” Agenor shouted.

  “Ha! Is that the Ithacan stable boy?” cried a familiar voice.

  Ajax himself walked towards us and held the torch to my face. “Lady Neomene! There were some who said you’d never come back. But I knew you’d return.”

  He unbolted the gate and we rode straight towards the Ithacan camp. All I could think of was Odysseus and Ellissa. As Agenor pulled up the horses, I jumped down and rushed into the hut, hardly able to breathe.

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Return

  Ellissa sat by Odysseus’ bed, slumped forward as though sleeping. I moved closer and looked at my brother. Odysseus was deathly pale, but he was still breathing.

  “Ellissa,” I called.

  For a moment she didn’t seem to recognise me. Then she gasped and stretched out her arms. “Agamemnon said I’d not see you again!”

  “I’m safe, I’m safe and we’ve got the remedy.” I let go of her hands and reached inside my cloak. “All we have to do is mix this with watered wine.”

  Ellissa took the vial. “I’ll see to this. It’s my turn now.”

  I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. Suddenly aware of my wet clothes, I dragged them off and found a clean tunic. Lying on my bed, I watched Ellissa give my brother the mixture she’d made up for him. Satisfied she knew what to do, I whispered my thanks to Athena, wrapped myself in a blanket and fell asleep.

  “His fever’s down, and his breathing’s deeper,” Ellissa said, when I woke late the next morning. “Oenone’s remedy has saved him.”

  Odysseus’ recovery was rapid. By the afternoon, colour had returned to his face and it looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. In the evening, Ellissa and I were eating a meal of bread, nuts and apples by his bed, when his eye lids flickered.

  Did you see that?” I asked.

  “I think he’s waking up, but he’ll be confused at first. Don’t expect him to make sense,” Ellissa whispered.

  Odysseus turned his head to look at us both. “Of course I’m awake and why won’t I make sense?” Then he stared at our plates. “And why are you eating wit
hout me?”

  On the fourth day of his recovery, Hesta spotted me as I carried water from the stream. I ignored her but she called out and tagged along after me.

  “Neo, we were pleased to hear about Odysseus. I’ve got your blue cloak here and we’ve fixed your little brooch. Calchas says he didn’t mean to frighten you. He says he was trying to warn you and protect you.”

  I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly the sort of protection Calchas wished to provide. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her smile, eager to be friendly. It was no use being angry with her; she was the one who had to put up with Calchas all day.

  “It’s kind of you, Hesta,” I said, pushing open the door.

  Odysseus lay on his bed, resting. He’d closed his eyes, acting as though asleep, but I could tell he was listening by the quiver of a smile on his lips.

  Hesta placed the carefully folded cloak on the table. “I’ve given it a wash and it’s come out very well. And see, the brooch is nearly perfect again.”

  I examined the broken clasp. Someone had carefully repaired it with a well-designed piece of wood. It was expert work carried out on something of no real value; not a task in which the Mycenaean king would normally be interested.

  “Lord Agamemnon made sure it was fixed, after I told him how much it meant to you,” she said.

  I felt the smooth woollen texture of my cloak. The colour was now a faded light blue rather than the rich blue it had been once, though parts of the lining still bore evidence of its former brightness. It was a warm day but I flung the cloak round my shoulders and smiled at the pleasure of it.

  Then I searched in the little pocket and found my knife.

  “Agamemnon said the knife belonged to his palace. He thought perhaps you’d stolen it when you were there. He told us there wouldn’t be anything so fine in Ithaca, so we had to make allowances.

  “The arrogant beast! I didn’t steal the knife,” I cried, forgetting to be polite.