Trying War

by S. D. Gentill

  “The wound will open as he walks.” Alcippe’s voice was sympathetic but her words were definite. “He won’t be able to move till we close it somehow.”

  “Ly…” Cadmus began. He could not blame Lycon for thinking the remedy extreme, but who knew how long it would be before they found Oenone and Machaon.

  “You can’t,” Hero said, grabbing Lycon’s hand. “It’s barbaric… even if it works.”

  “It’d only take a few moments to seal, Ly,” Cadmus offered, hoping that he was speaking the truth.

  “It’ll hurt!” Hero shouted at Cadmus as if he had missed the fact.

  Lycon struggled to prop himself up on his elbows and looked down at the oozing wound just above his hip. The blood had not yet slowed and he saw that Alcippe was right—any movement parted the flesh and disturbed it anew. He groaned and fell back. “All right… do it.”

  “Really?” Cadmus asked weakly, not really sure that he could.

  “Yes… just don’t let Hero do it… she’ll miss.”

  Cadmus gathered himself for the task, placing the blade of his dagger in the flames, allowing the metal to heat till it glowed red. Hero used the water that they had gathered to drink, to wash the wound and allow Cadmus to see where the gash ran. It was no longer than the knife. It would take only one application of the blade, if he placed it correctly. Cadmus set his jaw. This would not be pleasant.

  “I might have to do it,” Alcippe said, looking carefully at him.

  “Why?” Cadmus asked, wondering if it was obvious that the thought was making him feel a little unwell.

  “You should probably hold him down,” she replied, wrapping her hands in her cloak so that she could grip the dagger’s hilt without burning them. “If he struggles, it’ll be messy.”

  Cadmus nodded, relieved. He placed his weight against his brother’s chest. “Ready, Ly?”

  Lycon said nothing. Hero’s hand shook slightly in his as she called on Apollo, the god of healing, to guide Alcippe.

  Whether or not Apollo had anything to do with it, Alcippe was quick and calm. She did not blanch or hesitate, but neither was she as ruthlessly indifferent as Oenone always seemed to be. Lycon twisted as the glowing metal seared his flesh, sizzling, burning, but Cadmus held him still. Alcippe kept the blade in place for long enough, but no longer. Lycon gasped and choked and cursed through gritted teeth.

  “It’s done,” Cadmus murmured when Alcippe eventually pulled the knife away.

  Lycon was unable to speak for a moment. “Get off me then,” he said finally.

  Cadmus did so as Hero tried to soothe the tortured flesh with a soaked cloak.

  Alcippe bent over Lycon, brushing the damp hair from his face. “It stopped the bleeding,” she said gently. “You’ll be able to walk. My father is not a healing god, but perhaps he could ask Zeus or Apollo…”

  Lycon closed his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “We have more important favours to ask of the gods.”

  “It is fortunate that it wasn’t worse.” Alcippe frowned. She looked over her shoulder into the unlit gloom of the trees. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “Orestes won’t leave his sister…” Cadmus’ voice trailed off as he looked for Electra, vaguely aware that she had stopped shrieking. He had bound but not gagged her and, distracted, he had admittedly forgotten about the devoted daughter of Agamemnon.

  “Where in Hades…?” She was gone.

  Not women, but Gorgons; and yet not Gorgons either. Wingless and dark, altogether disgusting; they snore with repulsive breath, their eyes weep hateful blood.

  Aeschylus, Eumenides

  BOOK XXVIII

  CADMUS CURSED. THE BONDS WHICH had held Electra had been cut and cast aside.

  “How did she get away?” Hero asked.

  “Orestes,” Cadmus replied. “Or perhaps there are other murderers with them, who knows?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alcippe said earnestly. “This man, Orestes, is gone and the woman did not raise a hand against us.”

  Cadmus said nothing as he stared in vain into the forest. He thought of Marcos of Corinth who took pleasure in butchering women. He was only one of the more disturbing men who took refuge in the temple. What if they had escaped with Orestes? He glanced at Alcippe and Hero. And now Lycon was injured.

  Cadmus returned to his brother. “Ly, I think we’re going to have to start moving,” he said. “We are used to the darkness, we’ll have the advantage at night. We’ll take Alcippe back as we promised and then I’ll look for Mac and Oenone.”

  “You…?” Lycon sat up slowly, biting his lip as he did so.

  “I’ll find them faster alone,” Cadmus replied. “But first we have to get to the summit alive.” He grabbed the spear which had embedded in a nearby tree and reefed it out. Its bronze tip was still red with Lycon’s blood. He handed it to his brother. “Use this to help you walk… hopefully they had only one.”

  Cadmus put his arm around Lycon’s shoulders and helped him to his feet.

  “All right?”

  Lycon nodded, leaning heavily on the spear as he tested movement.

  Cadmus pulled Lycon’s sword from its scabbard. “You’re not going to be able to use this for a while at least.” He slid it into his own scabbard and looked to Alcippe. “Will you continue to wield my blade, daughter of war? I’d give it to Hero but she’s just as likely to kill me by accident.”

  “Not necessarily by accident,” Hero snapped, offended, though there was no denying that in her hands a weapon was dangerous to friend and foe alike. Alcippe gripped the sword Cadmus had given her earlier and nodded.

  And so they began their slow ascent, wary of every sound and movement in the forest. They lit no torches, inviting darkness to befriend them, to secrete their passing in a cloak of black. Cadmus led the way, picking a path that was so dense with trees that it gave clear passage for neither arrow nor spear.

  Hero stayed close to Lycon. Her shoulder was slight and thin but she lent it willingly to steady her brother from time to time. Even as he struggled with pain, Lycon’s eyes searched the way ahead for signs of movement.

  Alcippe’s brutal remedy seemed to be working. Lycon’s wound remained closed and the blood did not flow again despite the arduous climb.

  Eos was stirring once again from the soft down of her nightly bed, when Cadmus motioned them to stop. They had nearly reached the barren peak. Cadmus listened and then suddenly he pulled them all into the undergrowth. Lycon gasped as his wound grazed the ground but he made no other sound. He had heard it too. Dogs.

  “Probably just hunters,” Cadmus whispered into Alcippe’s ear.

  She nodded, her breath rapid.

  Hero’s lips moved as she lay facedown between her brothers. She called silently to grey-eyed Athene to hide them till this danger passed. Alcippe watched her curiously. Her brothers ignored her in their fashion.

  The barking grew louder, accompanied by the squeals of hounds on a trail. Cadmus readied himself, confident that even alone he could deter a band of hunters on the scent of a hind.

  And then they heard the whips. Vicious cracks and screeching, and they knew that this was not some band of huntsmen.

  “Cad…” Lycon started.

  “I know,” Cadmus murmured. “The Erinyes.” He raised his head slightly, intrigued to see the goddesses whose visions had so unnerved Machaon. They had seen many monsters since Troy had fallen, but none before had stricken his brother in such a way.

  “Why can we hear them now?” Lycon whispered. “Why are they suddenly walking the earth?”

  Cadmus pushed his brother down a little lest he make himself visible. “Perhaps it is because Orestes and his fellow murderers are on this mountain, or perhaps it’s because the gods are here too…” His voice faded into silence as he watched.

  The sisters emerged together from the trees carrying torches that burned blue and cold. Taller and larger than most men they stood naked to the waist. Withered breasts hung low and pendu
lous over folds of flaking skin. Serpents sprang from their scalps like hair, and fought, devoured and regurgitated one another without pause or concern for their hosts. The Erinyes’ crude features were stained with the blood and gore of losing vipers. Their jaws were fanged and hung slackly open as they barked like fighting dogs.

  “Hades…” Lycon breathed.

  Cadmus stared silently, but his brother’s curse was apt. These creatures could only have come from the darkest depths of Hades’ realm. The first of the sisters stopped and sniffed the air.

  “He was here,” she snarled, licking her lips with a forked tongue. “Come my love,” she called. “Come to Alecto. I have missed you, my love… where have you been hiding, lovely boy? Come to Alecto…”

  Cadmus swallowed.

  “Gods, poor Mac,” Lycon said, transfixed.

  “What do you see?” Hero clutched her brother’s arm. She could hear Alecto’s lewd call but to Hero’s eyes the vengeful sisters were indistinct—a darker darkness beneath the flickering torchlight.

  “Mac said they were ugly, Hero,” Lycon replied. He would speak in no further detail. He knew that despite the frailty of her eyes, or perhaps because of it, Hero’s mind conjured vivid images, and so he decided that on this occasion she need not know what he saw.

  Alecto stooped and scraped the soil. Her sisters fell to their knees to smell and taste the earth. They screeched triumphantly, screaming endearments to their quarry. In time they moved again into the trees.

  “Right,” Cadmus said, standing and helping Lycon to his feet. “We’d better get moving. We’ll return Alcippe and find Mac.”

  “They’re following him, aren’t they?” Hero asked, her voice hoarse and choked.

  Cadmus put his arm around her and held her close. “They might be hunting Orestes, Hero… or any one of the murderers in the temple. Indeed, there’s probably no better place to hide from the Erinyes than among a hundred murderers.”

  He turned to Alcippe, noticing her silence. She still stared at the place where the Erinyes had stood.

  “Are you all right?”

  “My mother used to see monsters like that.”

  “Used to?”

  “She’s dead. She threw herself from the Cercropia.” Alcippe looked up at Cadmus. “I had always thought she was mad—that she imagined these things—but perhaps…”

  Cadmus was not sure how to respond. He offered Alcippe his hand. “Come, let us find your father.”

  THE EASTERN HORIZON BEGAN to purple. Eos was gathering her golden veils, preparing to dance once again. Machaon watched for his brothers and Hero, hoping they would return with Alcippe before the Pantheon sat in judgment of the god of war. Ares could clearly think of nothing but his daughter. The grieving war-god cursed Olympus for denying him the right to protect and comfort her, and showed no remorse for ripping Halirrhothios limb from limb. Indeed, he described the process with relish and taunted Poseidon with the details of his son’s murder.

  Machaon did not understand the traditions of the Greeks, let alone their gods, but he suspected that Ares was not endearing himself to those who would soon judge him.

  Oenone touched the Herdsman’s arm gently. “You have not slept, Machaon.”

  Machaon motioned towards the battered, uprooted trees around the edge of the clearing. Ares had vented his ire periodically throughout the night. “He’s a little demonstrative… you’d think Poseidon was the god of trees.”

  Oenone inhaled. She gripped his arm tightly. “Machaon, you must try not to show such disrespect to the gods. You are asking for their help.”

  Machaon sighed. “You sound like Hero.”

  “Hero is pious,” Oenone replied. “I am practical.”

  Machaon smiled.

  “Have you made a friend of the war-god?”

  “I don’t know that one ever befriends the Pantheon… they are not like Pan.”

  “The Amazons are Ares’ daughters. They will not relinquish Hero easily… but if Ares intervenes…”

  Machaon agreed. “If Hero and my brothers find Alcippe, the war-god may tell his other daughters to back off.”

  “And what of you, Machaon?”

  His eyes clouded just a little and he looked intently at the ground. “Ares said he would speak for me if he was acquitted. I can ask no more of a god to whom I have never paid homage.”

  Oenone studied him wordlessly for a time. “You are worried, Machaon, I can sense it.”

  He looked up at her and when he spoke his voice was not entirely steady. “I’m terrified, Oenone. If I thought I could flee from the Erinyes I would run to the ends of the earth. I have tried to…” He turned his gaze away again. “I am ashamed of my fear, but I feel it nonetheless.”

  The nymph’s face softened. “The Erinyes are agents of fear, brother of my Paris. Their talent is to chill the hearts of men.” She placed her hand beneath his chin and raised his face to look directly into his eyes as she spoke. “There is no shame in fearing them.”

  Machaon smiled nervously. “Still… don’t tell anyone.”

  Lupa rose from her rest by the fire and nudged him with her greying muzzle. She licked his ears and eventually settled beside him.

  “Your brothers do not expect you to be fearless, Machaon,” Oenone said gently.

  He smiled again. “Yes they do. They do not require it, but they expect it…” He stopped suddenly and turned.

  “Machaon? What is it? ” Oenone asked as he stood, his eyes focussed on a place behind the trees that Ares had destroyed.

  “I saw something.” Machaon’s eyes remained fixed. He moved to the edge of the clearing, hopeful it was the others returned. But it was not.

  “Electra!”

  “Stand aside,” she spat. “I demand access to the almighty gods… pardon shall not be yours alone.”

  “Pardon?” Machaon looked at her, bewildered. Agamemnon’s daughter faced him with a sword at the ready, though it was too heavy for her and she could barely hold it straight. Her hair was wild, as were her eyes, and her robes torn and soiled. At that moment she looked as mad as her brother.

  Orestes tugged on his sister’s skirts like a small child, babbling incoherently and crying like a newborn.

  “Get out of my way!” Electra shouted, struggling to lift the sword to Machaon’s chest.

  Perhaps it was this that caught Ares’ attention, for he stopped ranting and came to stand by Machaon. He too looked quizzically at the pair.

  Electra seemed confused by his arrival. Machaon understood. She was probably expecting someone bigger.

  “This is Ares,” he said. “The god of war.”

  At first Electra hesitated, but then chose not to doubt his word. She and Orestes flung themselves prostrate on the rock.

  Ares glanced impatiently at the sky and then continued to regard them with surprise.

  “Hail Ares, mighty Ares, noble and unconquered, decider of life and glory…”

  Machaon stood back.

  Ares folded his arms. Electra rose to her knees as she beseeched the god.

  “O great Ares, son of Zeus…” she began, “hear my humble entreaty so that you may grant my worthy brother your protection.” Agamemnon’s daughter was clearly a practised orator, but she was not concise. Her plea was long and convoluted, woven with praise for Ares and for her brother, and a detailed list of her father’s achievements. Eventually she got round to asking the war-god’s aid in freeing Orestes from the torment of the Erinyes.

  “So,” Ares boomed, “another victim of the loathsome sisters.” He looked at Machaon. “Who has been spreading rumours that I am the god of clemency?” He waved Electra away. “Make your case to the Erinyes—the justifications of murderers are not my concern.”

  “But my Lord,” Electra protested, “you have hidden this man, who has neither noble blood nor reputation, from their eyes. He walks untormented though he is as cursed as my brother!”

  It was at that moment that the other children of Agelaus returned.
They did not wait on ceremony and simply allowed Alcippe to run to her father’s arms.

  The god of war wept without reserve and forgot all else as he enveloped her in his embrace. He turned his back on them then and took his child to the highest part of the summit, which was not so crowded with mortals.

  The reunited children of Agelaus and the she-wolf greeted one another with joy and relief, and questions. Oenone watched quietly, allowing them this moment of gladness. Machaon regarded Lycon, alarmed by the state of him. “What in Hades happened?”

  “Orestes,” Cadmus growled.

  The Prince of Mycenae started on hearing his name and Cadmus noticed him for the first time. He strode over to the still prostrate Orestes and furiously dragged him to his feet. The madman looked blankly at them all. His gaze lingered on Lycon and became suspicious, before he bleated, “Electra, he’s got my spear, Electra… Father gave me that spear…”

  Cadmus exploded, lifting Orestes off his feet by the scruff of his tunic and shaking him. Hero intervened. “Cad, his mind is not right. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Electra threw herself at Cadmus, beating him with her fists. “Unhand him you low-born savage. My brother is the greatest of men, as my father was.”

  Cadmus dropped Orestes, fending off Electra with one arm. Orestes sprang immediately to his sister’s aid, forcing Machaon to intervene to restrain the deranged Greek. He addressed Electra, in exasperation.

  “My Lady, can you not control your brother?”

  “My brother is the only son of conquering Agamemnon… why should I wish to control him?”

  “Because we may have to kill him otherwise,” Cadmus hissed.

  Machaon released Orestes. “We have no wish to stand between you and the gods… but we will defend ourselves.”

  Lupa sprang suddenly to place herself between Machaon and the trees. She lowered her head and growled.

  Lycon first saw what alerted the she-wolf. “Leave them,” he said to his brothers. “We have bigger problems.”

  So, after clearing the road, Theseus came to Athens.