Trying War

by S. D. Gentill

  “Our god is war,” Derinoe shouted. “He does not speak of peace.”

  “Athens is not defended,” Cadmus replied. “This is not war, it is mindless slaughter. I did not father the world’s greatest warriors to kill potters and farmers. I did not create you for this.”

  There was uncertainty before him. “What would you have us do, Lord Ares?” Clyemne asked.

  “Go. Leave Bremusa to the Herdsmen.” Cadmus shifted. He was starting to feel warm… the salve was not a permanent protection.

  “And what of the Amazons? What of your daughters?” Derinoe challenged, though she now seemed to have accepted that he was Ares.

  “I’ve not yet decided,” Cadmus said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “But defy me and you shall know my wrath.”

  “He’s getting carried away,” Lycon muttered, glancing at Machaon.

  “He is supposed to be war,” Machaon replied in Cadmus’ defence. “He can’t be too friendly.” He and Lycon were now back near the pyre, hidden from view by the tall piles of branches collected to feed the flames.

  “Go at once or I will crush you!” Cadmus threatened. He was sweating now. He would feel the fire in earnest soon.

  The rumble was deep, as if the earth itself was trembling with fear, as if Hades was rising.

  “Great! The gods have heard,” Lycon said, looking back at the marble hill.

  “They don’t sound happy,” Machaon agreed.

  Cadmus struggled to keep his balance on the pyre, but he did not give up his deception. “Go before I destroy this place and you with it,” he cried.

  Perhaps it was the strange and colossal manner in which the earth shook, perhaps it was the fact that Cadmus stood unharmed in the flames, perhaps it was because Clyemne and Molpadia declared without doubt that this was Ares, but finally the Amazons were convinced. They rushed for the ships, leaving the four that had been set alight and taking all their warriors in the others.

  Lycon and Machaon watched, amazed by the success of Cadmus’ insane ploy. Fair-maned Molpadia stood just paces away from where they were concealed, urging her sisters back to the boats. When they had passed and she stood alone, she came behind the woodpile which was their screen. Startled, Machaon laid bare his sword… Lycon just stood.

  The Amazon stared at her son. She came closer, studying him as if she were trying to commit every part of him to memory. Fearsome Molpadia reached up and touched Lycon’s face and then, she dropped her hand and was gone. Machaon stayed with his brother, though he kept his face turned away, refusing to intrude on Lycon’s grief.

  Cadmus jumped down from atop the pyre, beating out the flames that had caught the edge of his tunic. He looked at Lycon and then questioningly at Machaon.

  “What happened?”

  “We’d better get out of here,” Machaon replied.

  Lycon nodded, straightening. The tremors were becoming more violent. “Do you think this is Ares?” he asked hoarsely.

  Machaon shrugged. “I think this time we may have offended a few of them…” His voice trailed off as he turned his eyes from the sea.

  Cadmus cursed. “What in Hades…”

  While the earth did shake where they stood, the real disturbance was elsewhere. The tremors at the port were a faint and weak ripple. The heart of the shaking was behind them. The sons of Agelaus looked on in horror as the earth opened beside the Cercropia to swallow the marble mountain on which they had left their sister.

  Of Pallas Athene, guardian of the city, I begin to sing. Dread is she, and like murdering Ares she loves deeds of war, the sack of cities and the roar of battle. But it is she who saves the men who go out to war and return. Hail, goddess, and give us good fortune!

  Homeric Hymn to Athene

  BOOK XXXII

  HERO TURNED HER FACE TO the heavy sky. She wondered if there was anything to see in the clouds. If her eyes were not so weak, would she be able to see the gods?

  Ares stood at the highest point of the hill. His eyes were closed and his arms raised.

  Alcippe took Hero’s hand and whispered, “They are all here now. It begins.”

  Cold drafts whipped the barren hilltop, streaming the smoke from Hero’s offering. “The winds have come to observe the trial of my father,” Alcippe said. Her eyes flashed with anger and fear. “They will condemn him… Poseidon will have his vengeance.”

  “Can you see them Alcippe? Can you see the gods?”

  “I can sense them,” replied the war-god’s daughter. “Listen, can you hear the thunder? That is my grandfather, the cloud gatherer, the king of gods… and when the thunder quietens the faint notes of a lyre—that is swift Hermes. And the woods are loud with beast and bird, because they know Artemis, mistress of the wild things, is here; and from the highest branches my grandmother, Hera, watches through the eyes of Argus that she placed in the tail of the peacock.” Alcippe looked back to her father, who was again talking to the sky. “My father’s face is soft now,” she said. “And his voice is tender… he speaks with Aphrodite who he loves though she is his brother’s wife. The sea on the horizon swells and vaults, and when the Earthshaker Poseidon speaks we will feel the ground tremble.”

  Hero nodded. Alcippe spoke truly. The gods were all here. The knowledge filled her with dread.

  “Can they see us?” Hero asked, feeling small and insignificant.

  “They have rarely seen the Herdsmen,” Oenone said as she, too, gazed at the sky. She took Hero’s hand firmly. “But the Pantheon has always favoured princes. You are an Amazonian queen, sister of my Paris. They may hear you.”

  Hero straightened her slim shoulders and breathed deeply. “Then I must speak,” she said.

  “You will make an enemy of Poseidon if you speak for my father,” Alcippe warned.

  Hero did not reply. It genuinely terrified her to think that she would anger the gods she had so long revered, but Ares was, as far as she could hear, doing a miserable job of defending himself. He simply declared his deed and his lack of remorse for it, saying nothing of Alcippe as he decried his victim. Hero turned to the war-god’s daughter. “Alcippe, the gods must know what happened to you—your father cannot be called a murderer for protecting you.”

  Alcippe stared into the distance for a time. Slowly, she nodded.

  The first movement of the earth was almost gentle, like a quiet metered word. Ares fell silent listening.

  “The Earthshaker speaks in prosecution,” Alcippe whispered. “He has accused my father of the murder of his son, Halirrhothios.” Alcippe spoke the name of her attacker with venom. “Poseidon asks for justice.”

  The tremors continued, so mild and constant that they were almost reassuring.

  Lupa growled suddenly. Oenone stiffened. “The sisters of vengeance have returned.”

  The Erinyes slipped out into the clearing, their bleeding eyes gleefully upon the clouds.

  “They are not alone.” Alcippe pointed. Orestes and Electra were skulking in the trees. Hero squinted, forcing her eyes to make them out. Electra comforted her brother in poor hiding. The Erinyes’ attentions were skyward and not upon the mad Prince of Mycenae.

  “They greet Hades who is their master, and the gorgon Medusa, whose head adorns the aegis of wise Athene,” Alcippe explained. She tensed suddenly. “Who in Hades are they?” she said, startled, looking around to the edges of the clearing.

  Oeone put her arms protectively around Hero. “It is the men of the temple, they have all come.”

  “There are hundreds.” Alcippe gasped.

  “Perhaps Electra has told them that we know a way to escape the loathsome sisters,” Hero said, thinking sadly of youthful Nikias. “Of course they would come.”

  The murmurs in the earth stopped now, but the clouds marshalled and jagged lightning caught the sky like golden nets cast from the heavens. Thunder rolled and exploded.

  “That is Zeus, the king of gods,” Alcippe whispered. “He is angry. He blames my father and his unrelenting bloodlust for the deat
h of Halirrhothios.”

  Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, intense and warm. For a moment Hero thought that the brightness heralded hope, but Alcippe spoke resentfully. “Helios, who sees everything as he travels across the sky, bears witness to my father’s act.” The war-god’s daughter tossed her head in disgust. “He has always carried tales like a child!”

  “He sees everything…” Hero repeated quietly. She was resolved. Breaking away from Alcippe and Oenone, she ran to the very peak of the hill where Ares stood to be judged. Beside the god of war, she raised her arms to the sky and she called to the immortals she had worshipped all her life. At first, her voice was frightened and thin, but she forced strength into it as she praised the gods of the Pantheon. Although it was to Helios that she eventually addressed her question.

  “Great Helios, who sweeps the sky in his chariot of gold, whose radiant face sees all… speak now to the lords of the sea and sky, to the mothers of earth and beast. What did you see the son of Poseidon do before the war-god slew him? What did you witness, here on this hill, between the son of Poseidon and the daughter of war?”

  The earth began to rumble again, and Hero knew that she had been heard for Poseidon was displeased. The winds rose and strained to hear Helios’ reply and Zeus thundered again. Wild swans flew exuberantly into the clouds as Aphrodite rejoiced.

  Alcippe stood, bathed in Helios’ warming gold, and she wept as she listened to the words of the sun. Ares turned his back on his judges and wrapped his daughter in the protection of his powerful embrace.

  The Erinyes screamed in protest as they spoke against Ares and for retribution.

  “Justice and vengeance are sisters,” Alecto shrieked. “As the war-god punished the errant son of Poseidon, so too must he be punished—as must all who offend the natural order. If you acquit blood-spilling Ares, you release those who have betrayed mother’s milk.” The vipers which wreathed the sisters of torment all hissed and rattled in shared fury.

  The sky quietened, as did the earth. Even the winds lay silent. And then the air whispered. The voice rose from the ground, wise, calm. The words were none that Hero knew, and yet she understood. Bright-eyed Athene spoke of a new law of judgment… of men by men. She soothed the vicious Erinyes, enticed them with promises of mortal reverence. And in the hazy edges of her vision, Hero saw the Erinyes change. The serpents which grew from their scalps and entwined their bodies, shrank back and disappeared. Their bloody eyes became clear and their faces round and serene. The voice of judicious Athene crooned, calling them Eumenides, the kindly ones, and appeased them with promises of the love of Athens.

  The murderers who watched murmured excitedly.

  And then the earth began to move again, but this time there was nothing rhythmic or predictable about the shaking. It was violent and anguished, the wrath of the Earthshaker Poseidon, denied vengeance. Hero fell as the ground shifted beneath her. Oenone reached for her and Alcippe tried to drag them both into her father’s protection. The murderers of the temple clung to tree trunks as the hill began to sink.

  Hero turned to pray as the world fell away. Zeus lit the sky with spears of gold and Athene sang of peace. Ares laughed and shouted, “You have lost, Poseidon, father of monsters. Accept the judgment of the gods, you sour old fool!”

  Alcippe sighed and Hero prayed more fervently for mercy.

  Then Earth was by Poseidon chasm-cleft: a deluge of water roared forth while the ground quaked with the mighty shock that shook the beach and the foundations of the land. So vanished from sight, that mighty rampart. The Earth opened, and all sank down, leaving only sand… All this was wrought by the anger of the immortal god.

  Quintus of Smyrna, Posthomerica, Book 14

  BOOK XXXIII

  IN A HURTLING, HEADLONG WAVE of terror the sons of Agelaus ran towards the sinking mountain. The ground beneath their feet became fluid as they neared the place where Ares was being judged. In their pounding hearts they feared that the gods had heard their blasphemy and would punish them now by destroying their sister. They paid no heed to the treachery of the moving earth, the rocks which plummeted down the slopes and the buildings which crumbled as their foundations were robbed of solid ground, so desperate were they to reach the barren peak before Hades swallowed the marble hill into its foreboding depths.

  The twice-terrorised people of Athens screamed, and wept and fled away from the mountain even as the Herdsmen ran towards it. By the time they reached its base, more than half of its height had slid into the fissure.

  They leapt over the cracks in the earth and began to climb the mountain as it slid down to meet them.

  Machaon reached to grab Lycon’s hand as the soil beneath the youngest Herdsman ran like water. He dragged his brother to more stable ground and pushed on, refusing to yield to Poseidon’s wrath. Above them the king of gods raged, summoning black clouds and heaving jagged lances of flashing gold across the sky.

  And so it was in this tempest, this immortal tirade, that the sons of Agelaus climbed the marble hill as it gradually fell into the earth. Finally they approached the barren clearing at the summit and saw the murderers of the temple gripping trees at its edge to withstand the brutal tremors. Orestes in his sister’s embrace, blind Oedipus, young Nikias and gentle Demus.

  They stumbled grimly into the desolate clearing where Oenone and Alcippe huddled in the strong arms of the god of war. Lupa seemed to leap out of the dust and debris to greet her returning brood amidst the terror and confusion. Hero stood at the highest point, clinging to the rock with a single arm. The other was raised to the sky.

  “What is she doing?” Lycon panted, holding his wounded side.

  “Guess,” Cadmus replied, shaking his head.

  “Ares must have been convicted,” Machaon said as they made their way towards her. “Hero is still trying to save us all.”

  As they came closer they could hear the words she shouted into the sky. Hero called on the king of gods to stop his brother, to prevent the wrath of Poseidon usurping the acquittal of the god of war.

  Ares too was shouting cloudward, accusing Poseidon of petulance and treachery, petty tricks and a lack of honour.

  “He is not the most clear-thinking god,” Lycon said as Ares continued to insult the Earthshaker.

  “Father of the Amazons,” Cadmus murmured in agreement.

  And then, a roar above the noise. The clouds took shape, as they bore down on Hero, of horses in flight, a whirlwind of steeds. The sons of Agelaus all scrambled for their sister, but it was Oenone who reached Hero in time, pushing her out of the path and falling herself beneath the impossible pounding hooves. Hero sprawled shaken on the rock, as Poseidon’s steeds thundered back into the storm.

  Machaon knelt first by the fallen nymph, cradling Oenone’s crumpled form in his arms. Her body was broken, her breathing laboured. Her robes were torn to reveal the scarred and seared flesh that declared her love for Paris.

  “Oenone,” he started gently, not knowing what to do.

  Blood bubbled pink at the edges of her mouth as she spoke. “I am dying, brother of my Paris,” she gasped.

  “No,” he said desperately.

  “Remember me,” she said, reaching for his face. “Remember that Paris loved me first.”

  Machaon choked. Even now the nymph’s thoughts were of the man who betrayed her. Silently, amidst the thunder and tremors, he wept for Oenone as she died in his arms. His brothers mourned with him, though there was no time for grief as the Earthshaker tried to destroy them all.

  Hero was hysterical. Poseidon had sent his deadly steeds against her, and Oenone had taken her place in Hades. She stood defiantly on the rock and called to her gods again, angrily, accusingly. When the ground plummeted sharply, she had not the breath to scream.

  Cadmus was close enough to reach out and grab her, pulling her into the protection of his own body as they were flung across the clearing. For a moment then, they thought it was over, for the world shook with such fury and the sk
y itself seemed to fall. Still Hero prayed, though her face was pressed against her brother’s chest as they tried to shield each other this final time.

  And then it stopped. The earth stilled and fell into silence. Slowly Cadmus sat up. “Hero,” he called fearfully, for she seemed limp in his arms. “Hero!”

  She opened her eyes. “Are we dead, Cad?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Other voices now, Machaon and Lycon. Cadmus stood gingerly, staring about them in amazement. The place where Ares had been tried was no longer a mountain or even a hill. All but the barren summit had been drawn into the earth. They were not so far above the sea now and well below the Cercropian plateau.

  Machaon and Lycon embraced Hero, and for a moment the children of Agelaus were lost in shared joy and grief.

  “What exactly happened?” Lycon asked, still a little stunned by the transformation of the mountain. The Herdsmen were the subjects of Pan… they were unaccustomed to powerful gods.

  Hero told them then that Ares had been acquitted, that the Erinyes had been changed and that Athene had created a new law in Athens where man would be judged by man.

  Cadmus shrugged. “Interesting idea,” he said, clearly sceptical.

  They searched for the god of war and Alcippe. The murderers of the temple who had survived the descent of the mountain began now to stir, to groan and call for help. Lupa found Alcippe first, unharmed. There was no sign of the soldier they had known as Ares.

  “Where is your father, Alcippe?” Cadmus asked.

  The war-god’s daughter smiled sadly. “He has gone.” She pulled a dagger from her belt and handed it to Hero. “My father sends his thanks… if he sees you again he will remember.”

  Machaon nodded. The gods rarely saw them, so with luck, the gratitude of the war-god would not be too great a burden. The Herdsmen were happiest outside the gaze of the immortals.

  Alcippe knelt then by Oenone’s body, and though she had barely known the nymph, she kissed her lifeless hands and promised her the protection of Ares in the Underworld.