The Girl From Ithaca

by Cherry Gregory

  Odysseus had some sort of coughing fit.

  “So glad to see you recovered, Lord Odysseus,” Hesta declared, with a very slight bob of the head.

  Odysseus smiled at her. “Thank you, Hesta. Don’t let me interrupt your conversation. I believe Neomene was about to say how she really got the knife.”

  “I didn’t steal it! Clytemnestra gave it to me, to protect her daughter, Iphigenia.”

  “I merely reported what he said, but I knew he was mistaken,” Hesta said. “You’d never want anything of his.”

  “Goes to show,” said Odysseus, “even the great Agamemnon can get it wrong sometimes.”

  Hesta studied my brother and then looked back at me. “I suppose he does, on those very rare occasions. And it’s difficult to believe, but even Calchas makes the odd mistake.”

  She smiled, bowed her head at Odysseus again and walked out of the door. Odysseus and I stared at each other.

  “Odysseus, is she laughing at us or laughing at Agamemnon and Calchas?”

  “Probably laughing at all of us. She’s either very stupid or exceptionally clever, or perhaps just confused,” Odysseus murmured, stretching his arms and yawning.

  “That isn’t much help. With your great mind, I’m surprised you can’t be more precise.”

  “And with all your contacts round the camp, I’m surprised you don’t ask Phoebus. Now please, all your chatter has tired me. Wake me up when the meal is ready.”

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

  Achilles’ Way

  Now that Odysseus had survived, I was safe from Agamemnon. Nevertheless, a variety of rumours spread around the camp that Agamemnon had planned to kill either Odysseus or myself. I caught snippets of conversation as I passed huddled groups of men or heard the whispers by women who cast furtive glances and then looked away. A few stories were almost true, but most didn’t trouble with facts and developed into wildly fanciful tales that became a source of entertainment around the camp—entertaining to everyone apart from Agamemnon. Agamemnon found himself ridiculed in almost all of the stories and ordered his body guards to stop men talking. It was an impossible task and seemed to confirm and encourage the rumours instead of silencing them.

  The story Ellissa most enjoyed was one circulated amongst Ajax’s men. Ajax’s favourite slave, Tecmessa, found us one morning at the stream, and being as open and sincere as her master, made no attempt at hiding what she’d heard.

  “Cadmus told me how Lord Odysseus was wounded,” she said, sitting down beside us. “He heard it from one of the stable boys who’d been talking to the Spartans. I think he was very brave to defend you like that, Ellissa.”

  I dropped the washing stone and stared at her. Ellissa was staring too. This was the first time we’d heard mention of Ellissa in any of the rumours.

  Tecmessa shook her head. “King Agamemnon was wrong. Cadmus says taking a man’s slave is as bad as stealing his horse.”

  “That’s true. Very true,” Ellissa replied. “Did Cadmus say what happened?”

  “Only that Agamemnon demanded you were handed to him, saying he was entitled to have the best cook, not Odysseus. Were you there when they fought?”

  “No … I didn’t see them fight,” Ellissa said.

  Tecmessa patted her arm sympathetically. “It was lucky the stable boy was there. He must have saved Odysseus’ life.”

  “He did. Odysseus would have died without him. We’re very proud of Agenor, aren’t we, Neo?”

  I focused on the question, rather than the details. “Yes, and grateful too. I think my brother will reward him well when we get home.”

  Ellissa’s face crinkled with amusement when Tecmessa left.

  “You let her think the silly rumour’s true!” I cried.

  “But I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t tell the truth either.”

  Ellisa smiled. “I’m an Ithacan now. I’ve learnt a little from Odysseus.”

  Agamemnon was desperate for a victory to re-establish his authority, but through all the battles of the following summer, no side gained the advantage. Achilles grew increasingly impatient and renewed his call for a direct assault on the walls. Agamemnon responded by allowing him a bigger share of the war-prizes he plundered from the nearby towns. This didn’t satisfy Achilles. His eyes were set on Troy.

  There were already whispers of another winter imprisoned in the camp in the days before Achilles drove the Trojan army back to the city. He chased the Trojans through the streets until they fled behind the great walls. Exhilarated by the chase and sensing a chance of victory, Achilles ignored Agamemnon’s orders and called for a full assault on the walls.

  The Myrmidons took their scaling ladders and clambered up them, protected by large shields worn on their backs. But the ladders weren’t long enough to reach the ramparts and when the soldiers threw the grappling hooks, they were exposed to the Trojan archers. A few brave men scrambled from the ladders onto the ropes, but one by one they were shot down. Achilles called for a retreat and for the first time in the war, his army limped back to camp defeated.

  Achilles decided to attack again, this time concentrating on the thick oak gates. His men made a battering ram from the trunk of a large tree cut down from Mount Ida. They hammered bronze onto one end and hauled it across the plain and then up to the inner walls. The exhausted men spent the morning pounding the gates, the rhythmic thud felt in our camp.

  The Trojans were shielded by the wall and their archers in the high watch towers were out of range of the Myrmidon bowmen. Not only did they shoot arrows and slingshot at Achilles’ men, but they poured hot oil on those who charged the gates. As soldiers lay dying near the gate, more Myrmidons ran to take their place, until a pile of their bodies blocked the path.

  So with winter approaching, the elite troops had suffered large losses, yet Troy’s wall remained intact and the people behind them were unharmed.

  Achilles roamed around the camp for several days, not speaking to anyone and allowing only Patroclus to talk to him. Eventually he agreed to attend the war council again. I noticed the relief on Agamemnon’s face when he strode into our hut, eager for the meeting to begin. Io and I were serving wine and Menelaus was reporting on camp supplies, when Achilles astounded everyone by laying out his plans for a third attack on the walls.

  “We’ll take ropes and grappling hooks, but this time we’ll climb the walls on the north face,” he declared.

  No one spoke. Even my brother was speechless.

  “Well?” he said, glaring at the men around him. Then he settled on Agamemnon. “Well?”

  Agamemnon opened his mouth but was plainly too stunned to speak. The other leaders shifted uneasily in their seats. Io and I continued serving the wine, pretending we’d noticed nothing unusual.

  After a long silence, Nestor cleared his throat and managed a reply. “The north wall has the natural defence of a sheer cliff and it would be folly to try such climb with … ”

  Achilles balled his hands into fists. “I don’t want advice from you or Odysseus. This time Agamemnon must answer me.”

  “Achilles, whatever you think of my father’s ideas, give him the courtesy of allowing him to speak,” Antilochus said quietly, rising to his feet and staring at the furious man standing opposite.

  I held my breath. Ellissa and Io edged away from the table. The two men stood glaring at each other. Eventually Achilles relaxed his hands and bowed his head at Nestor.

  “Your son is right. I owe you the respect of listening to your advice, even if I decide not to heed it. I apologise for my eagerness, King Nestor. Please speak.”

  Nestor nodded to Achilles and then continued. “The sheer cliff at the base of the north face makes an organised assault impossible, especially when the troops would be exposed to Trojan archers. I’m sorry Achilles, your plan’s not feasible. The men would be slaughtered.”

  Achilles turned to Odysseus.”I suppose you agree with King Nestor?”

  “Yes, his assessment is so
und.”

  Achilles looked at the other leaders. “The Trojans do not expect an attack from the north, for the very reasons Nestor has described. The rest of you will attack from the south, and while the Trojans are distracted, I will climb the north face with my men. We will flood into the upper city before we are seen.” His dark eyes settled on Ajax. “Cousin, you always support me. What do you say?”

  Ajax shook his head slowly, as if it pained him to disagree.

  Nestor cleared his throat again. “We know the Trojans have lookouts around the whole perimeter of the wall. They would see your men, despite the distraction. ”

  “Then we attack at night,” Achilles cried. He turned to Diomedes. “You excel at night missions and carry them out when lesser men say they are too dangerous. You must see this is worth a try.”

  “I admire your courage, but it is not …”

  Achilles laughed bitterly. “Call yourself men! The princesses on the island of Scyros fight better than you. All of you, pathetic, paltry creatures who do not deserve to be called warriors. ”

  Agamemnon’s face reddened. Everyone waited for his outburst, but in a rare moment of control, Agamemnon took a long drink of wine and placed his cup very deliberately on the table. “I forbid you to try another assault of the walls, Prince Achilles. We cannot afford to lose any more of your troops. You must return to raiding the coastal towns. But have patience,” he said, forcing a grimace-like smile, “when Troy is weakened and starving, traitors will open the gates to us and then you will be first to enter the citadel and sack Priam’s golden palace.”

  With winter approaching, Achilles’ failure to storm the walls sent waves of despondency through the whole camp. More and more fights broke out amongst the men and murmurings that we should leave Helen to the Trojans grew more persistent. At council, the leaders talked of one thing only: the increasing likelihood of a rebellion.

  “Each one of you is to come down hard on subversive acts, however slight,” Agamemnon growled. “Stealing food, reluctance to obey an order, a defiant look, all will be punished by death. We must stop this cancer by cutting it out.”

  Chapter TWENTY-NINE

  The Entertainers

  Only a few days after Nestor averted a near mutiny by promising the men a greater share in war bounty, Odysseus sat back in his chair and smiled that particularly smug smile he wore whenever he knew something that I didn’t.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Odysseus taunted me with another smile but said nothing.

  “Come on, stop being so annoying! Does it involve us?”

  “Not really. But it concerns a friend of yours.”

  “Io?”

  “And her blacksmith,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “He’s letting them get married?”

  Odysseus nodded. “Agamemnon says it’s because Nicodamus has made him a sword that’s stronger than all others. Perhaps he has, but Agamemnon’s going to use the wedding as a glorious distraction and a display of his generosity. I don’t suppose most of the men will be interested in the wedding, but they’ll enjoy the celebration afterwards.”

  “You’re sure it isn’t … it isn’t going to be like last time,” I stuttered, remembering again the wedding Agamemnon had planned in Aulis.

  “I don’t wish to insult your friend, but Io isn’t worth much as a sacrifice. I think we can be sure that this time Agamemnon wants the marriage to take place.”

  “Then I’ll go and find her,” I said, dashing to the door, “this is far better than she dared hope for.”

  But I didn’t need to look far; Io was already running towards our hut.

  “Have you heard? It’s to be in ten days. With a wedding feast and entertainers and lots of Agamemnon’s wine!” she cried.

  We held hands and danced around in a circle, laughing like mad women.

  “I don’t care what his motives are,” Io gasped. “I’m just going to enjoy it.”

  “But the entertainers? Where are they coming from?”

  Io was still laughing. “For once Agamemnon has had an excellent idea. We’re to use what talents we’ve got here in our camp. He’s put Phoebus in charge of arranging it and I thought you could help him. You will do that, won’t you? “

  “I’m not sure I’m … ”

  “I knew you would. Now, I must see Ellissa and ask her to make my robe.”

  I watched her run to our hut and sighed. I’d heard men play the lyre and the flute and I’d heard a few tell a good tale, but what might raise the spirits of a small group round a fire was not going to impress a large audience expecting a well organised and exhilarating celebration.

  Phoebus found me in the evening, feeding bread to Jewel.

  “Hope you’ve some better ideas for entertainments than I have,” I said, Jewel’s breath warming my hand as she pushed at me with her nose, encouraging me to feed her more.

  Phoebus leant against the wooden posts of the horse pen. “There are a couple of fine singers and a competent lyre player in the Spartan camp. And a number of flute players too. They’ll be suitable for the wedding song, but we need exciting performances later, when the food and drink are served. Agamemnon will take it as a personal slight if the performances are poor and not well received.”

  “And we’ll get the blame?”

  “More than likely,” he said quietly, rubbing his neck.

  The next few days were lost in a flurry of listening to good and bad lyre players and hiding my smiles as the boisterous Ithacan volunteers improved on their shepherd’s dance. But my tasks also included the incessant holding up of material while Ellissa and Io worked on the wedding robe.

  “Can I let go?” I asked. I’d been holding the linen fabric on Io’s shoulder for most of the afternoon and my fingers were turning blue.

  “Not yet,” Ellissa and Io shouted, in unison.

  I sighed. I was happy for Io, but Phoebus and I were struggling to find the exceptional performances to please Agamemnon. I wanted to convince the Cretans to try their bull leaping dance and this was just wasting time. Odysseus’ return for his meal seemed the only way to escape from my rather limited role of standing still, with arms aching and stiff, while Io posed and Ellissa sewed.

  Eventually Odysseus arrived, his eyes opening wide in surprise when he saw fabrics strewn over the table instead of the meal he’d expected.

  “I’m sorry, the wedding robe…” Ellissa explained.

  Odysseus glanced at the half completed dress Io was modelling.

  “Do you like it?” Io asked.

  Odysseus hesitated. Then he looked at me and I nodded. For the sake of the gods, I thought, tell her it’s beautiful!

  “Io, you look wonderful!” he said, with apparent conviction. He poured water into the wash bowl and washed very deliberately and slowly, but when he rubbed his face dry and Ellissa still hadn’t stopped sewing, we both realised his meal wasn’t the priority. I could tell he was working out how to deal with this unusual situation. “I see you’re busy and I’ll get in the way, so I’ll go to eat with Nestor. Don’t worry about me, Ellissa.”

  I glared at him. He was abandoning me. I’d have to continue like this for the rest of the evening. Then as Odysseus reached the door, he turned and said, “I forgot to tell you, Neomene. Phoebus wants you to listen to one of the Pylos flute players. Come with me now and you can see if he’s good enough for the wedding procession.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered once we were outside.

  It was warm in Nestor’s hut and it smelt of cooked food and wine. They made room for us at their table, Nestor remaining at the head, while I sat next to Antilochus and Odysseus sat next to Thrasymedes. We talked about everything from Achilles’ latest raid and the new slave-girl he was supposed to be in love in, to Nestor’s plans to protect his ships from storm damage and the superb quality of the Macedonian wine. Everything except Io’s wedding robe.

  The talk and the laughter grew louder as the evening wore on. Antiloc
hus took my hand and I held onto him, enjoying his warmth and his smiling brown eyes. Gala and the other servants cleared away our plates and Nestor yawned.

  “You continue with your evening, but an old man needs his sleep. I bid you all a very good night,” he smiled, disappearing into a partitioned section of the hut.

  Odysseus stood but Thrasymedes waved him down again. “Father means it. Have some more wine and play dice, we’ll not prevent him from sleeping.”

  Antilochus and I edged closer to each other, so my left leg leaned against his right knee and four times he’d touched my back very lightly as he reached over to pour the wine. When Thrasymedes and Odysseus rounded off the evening with a game of dice, Antilochus ran his hand up and down the top of my leg. I pushed his hand away and he slid it back again. I shot him a look and moved my leg, pretending to concentrate on the dice game. From the corner of my eye, I saw Antilochus smile and take another drink.

  The chill from the night air made us gasp and Odysseus and I ran as quickly as we could to the Ithacan camp. Io had left for Agamemnon’s hut and much as I loved my friend, I was relieved to find her gone.

  “Had a good evening with Antilochus?” Ellissa asked, stirring from her doze by the fire.

  “Yes,” I replied, before remembering I was meant to be listening to a flute player. “Oh, and the flutes … ”

  Ellissa chuckled. “Don’t worry, Io is so excited about the wedding, she didn’t notice you weren’t quite so keen to work on the robe as she was.” Then she added, “And now we’ve almost finished hers, Io insists I need to work on one for you.”

  Chapter THIRTY

  A Winter’s Song

  The fragrance of oils carried me back to my early girlhood and the days spent in my mother’s chamber, watching the servants massage her with olive oil and braid her coiled hair. Now we were bathing Io, preparing her for the wedding later in the day. Agamemnon had given us a large jar of olive oil and smaller pots of perfumes, just for the occasion.