by Hilary Green
I looked from face to face, each one bringing back memories of my boyhood, and saw the honest affection in their eyes. Through a throat constricted with emotion I answered, ‘You have your wish. I am to blame for neglecting you all. I thank you for your loyalty and for my own part I promise that whatever I can do for any of you I will do. But there is one thing I ask in return. Let me be a man among men, a friend among friends. I have known too much of the isolation of kingship and I do not wish to be alone again.’
They crowded round me and I embraced each one in turn. When I came to Alectryon I saw his eyes were wet. I said, ‘And you, too, have been too sad for too long. We must find ways of being happy again.’
Later that day I had Neritos harness the chestnuts and drove out to Philaos’s estate.
I was betrothed to Philona a few days later and the promise the High Priestess had made me was abundantly fulfilled. Like a seed that has lain silent and apparently dead all winter, my heart awoke to new life. My friends rejoiced to see me take to all my old pursuits. I became again an athlete and a daring charioteer and was always at the forefront of the hunt, but I no longer sought to use my prowess as a means to command the loyalties of men. I had my friends and needed no other adherents. Freed from the burdensome ceremonial of kingship I recaptured the carefree joy of my years as Prince of Pylos. I married Philona at mid-summer and no bridegroom ever went more eagerly to his wedding, or found for his bride a creature so lovely, so happy and so serene.
Philaos was glad to have a younger man to help in the running of his estate and I soon found an unexpected delight in ordering its affairs. When I was not so occupied I would drive into the city to discuss affairs of state with Melanthos or to see friends, and never a day passed without a visit from one or more of my Companions. In the evening we would sit around the hearth and pass the lyre from hand to hand and keep alive the old tales of the heroic past.
We were not allowed, however, to pass the summer in uninterrupted peace. Several times the Dorians raided us, the last in such force that we had to fight a pitched battle before driving them back to their ships. At such times I resumed my position as commander of the Pylian force and we soon became known in Athens as the best troops in the army. Other states, we heard, were faring worse than ourselves and new areas were coming under Dorian control. Only the walled cities could withstand them.
Alectryon was still my closest friend and he had recovered both physically and to a large extent spiritually from his wound and the death of Myrtilis. At the same time, I knew he had not found anything in Athens to truly occupy his mind. He had not, like so many of us, found a wife and had refused the offer of an estate from Melanthos. He was restless and moody.
One evening in autumn he came to visit me and we dined together quietly as we had done so many times before. He seemed more than usually preoccupied and at length, before Philona joined us, he said, ‘My prince,’ (I had never persuaded him to abandon the title and in truth it seemed to me now more like an endearment) ‘I wish to ask your leave for an enterprise which has been in my mind for some time.’
‘What enterprise?’ I asked.
He hesitated a moment, then went on, ‘You know that there is little to keep me in Athens except yourself. Now that you have married and reconciled yourself so happily to your new life you have little need of me. Therefore I wish to attempt to find a new life for myself also.’
‘Where?’ I asked, although I had a foreboding that I already knew his intention.
‘We have had many reports from merchants and other travellers of the fertile land on the coasts of Asia. There is one place I have heard praised particularly, a little settlement of our people at a place called Colophon. Recently I spoke to a man who had not long returned from there and he told me that very few Achaeans remain and they are in danger of being driven out by the native Lydians. It occurred to me that there are many in Athens, Messenians and others, who would gladly undertake an expedition to found a new colony there. I should like to lead such a colony.’
I was silent for a moment. The thought of losing him was like a blow at the heart, but I recognised that his need outweighed mine.
He said quietly, ‘You are thinking that I put little value on our friendship since I wish to leave you.’
I sighed and shook my head. ‘No, my dear, I am thinking that I should be a poor friend if I tried to keep you idle in Athens. It is not true that I have little need of you. No one else can ever replace what we have had together and I shall miss you sorely. But I could not bear to watch you eating your heart out for want of occupation.’
So the decision was taken and he began to make preparations to sail the following spring. Melanthos provided ships and seed corn and everything else that was necessary and there was no shortage of volunteers. All through the summer refuges had poured into Athens from areas overrun by the Dorians and the city was crowded. By the coming of Plowistos a very well equipped expedition was ready to set out.
On the night before he left Alectryon dined with me again. We were both heavy hearted and could find little to say but at the same time I felt closer to him than I had for a long time. To cheer him I said, ‘You remember how we spoke once of finding a bride each on our travels? Well, I have found an Athenian lady. Perhaps for you there is a foreign princess.’
He smiled briefly. ‘Perhaps. A new colony must be peopled, certainly.’
As we parted on the shore the following morning the last threads of my life as Prince of Pylos seemed to be torn away from me. I turned back to my new home, and the new life within it, for Philona had just informed me that she was with child.
We learned in due course that the expedition had reached its destination and, after overcoming some initial opposition from the native inhabitants, had settled at Colophon.
One further story must be told of those early years in Athens, although it pains me to recall it. Not very long after my marriage Antilochos found himself a bride also, the heiress to a large estate. She was a plain girl and he never made much pretence of caring for her but I hoped that now he had land of his own he would settle down.
Soon after Philona told me she was pregnant I heard that Antilochos’s wife was also with child. Now it happened that during her pregnancy my sweet natured Philona grew jealous of Andria, who still served as my handmaiden. I had not had the heart to send her away and if she resented the fact that I was in love with another woman she never showed it. I never gave my wife any reason to doubt my absolute fidelity and until her pregnancy was well advanced she accepted Andria with great kindness. But the time came when she could not bear to have her in the same house and begged me to get rid of her.
I spoke to Melanthos and he agreed to find her a place at the palace until such time as Philona was delivered and might be persuaded to have her back. The poor girl wept bitterly when I told her my decision but I comforted her with the thought that the arrangement was only temporary.
About a month later I received a message from Melanthos requesting my immediate attendance. I found him alone and grave faced.
‘I have serious news, Alkmaion,’ he said. ‘It concerns Antilochos – and Andria.’
‘Antilochos and Andria?’ I repeated, bewildered.
He nodded. ‘It is a terrible story and will be a great shock to you, so I will tell it as briefly as possible. You know that Antilochos’s wife is with child. The other day he came to me and told me that his wife had heard that Andria knew many spells from her own country which have power to ensure an easy birth, and that nothing would satisfy her now but to have Andria in the house to care for her.’ He paused and sighed. ‘I should have remembered what I know of him and realised that he does nothing without a double motive but at the time I could see none. I questioned Andria and she agreed that she did indeed know certain spells that might be helpful, so I sent her to him. It seems that once he had her under his roof he tried to force himself upon her …’
I got to my feet. ‘That is enough! I have lost my pat
ience with him. This time he shall be punished.’
He said quietly, ‘He is dead already.’
‘Dead?’
‘Apparently, rather than submit to him, Andria snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him. Then, seeing what she had done, she stabbed herself with the same weapon.’
I sank back into my chair. ‘So they are both dead.’
‘Both.’ He paused and then added, ‘I cannot understand Antilochos. Andria had been with you for years. Had he ever shown any interest in her before?’
I said heavily, ‘I understand it, only too well. When we were children if ever I was given something of beauty or value he would always try to take it from me. If he could not have it, or get something better for himself, he would do his best to spoil it. I remember once I had a young hunting dog, a lovely animal and only a puppy. I found it one day with its tail cut off. I could never prove it was Antilochos, but I knew it was. I suppose when I first brought Andria back he was more concerned with trying to take my kingdom from me. Then he hoped to rule in Mycenae. Since I foiled that plot he has been looking for some way of taking his revenge. He hoped for something on a grand scale, but between us we have thwarted him. Finally he saw Andria and his mind seized upon this petty cruelty. Poor girl! She deserved far better than to be the victim of our hatred. I wish we had never raided that village, Melanthos. She should have been left with her father.’
‘It was not you who kidnapped her, if I remember rightly,’ Melanthos said gently. ‘At least you saved her from life with Cresphontes – and she loved you. She was happy with you.’
‘I am still responsible for her death – even if indirectly.’
‘Not so. It is Antilochos who is to blame for that. Well, he has come to a fitting end, dying ignominiously at a woman’s hand.’
‘What will happen to his wife?’ I asked.
‘Perimedes will take her under his care – and the child, when it is born.’
Andria had performed her last service for me, and with Antilochos’s death I was at last relieved of an enmity that had dogged me all my life.
Chapter 17.
In the course of the next three years Philona bore me two children, a daughter Electra and a son, Philon. I was amazed to discover what intense delight I took in them. I had never had much to do with small children, but now I was fascinated by watching their first steps, or listening to their first babbled attempts at words. I had no memory of my mother and I could not recall my father ever coming to the nursery to lift me in his arms or play games with me. But then, he had been a king, with more important matters to attend to.
They were happy years. Philaos was beginning to feel some of the infirmities of age, so I took on more and more of the running of the estate. I bought a fine stallion, a little like Pedasos, and bred promising foals from mares Philaos had collected. My land prospered, as did the whole of Athens under Melanthos's rule. Even the Dorians left us in peace and we began to think that our troubles were over. Nonetheless, we did not let down our guard completely. Both Melanthos and I kept our troops in training, bringing along new young recruits and polishing the skills of the veterans; and we maintained watchers along the coast to give early warning of another attack.
It was in the spring of the year when Electra was approaching her fourth birthday when the guards on the city ramparts shouted that the warning beacons had been lighted at the harbour. By luck I was in the city and not out at the estate and within minutes I had summoned my Companions, the horses had been harnessed and the chariots rolled out through the city gate, following Melanthos and his men. We assumed that this would be like earlier attacks, a small force aiming to land, grab what they could and run back to their ships as soon as we appeared; but when we came within sight of the sea we saw that this was something very different. The ocean, from horizon to horizon, seemed to be covered in ships, like black beetles crawling on a field of dung.
Perimedes, as always, had taken station on my right hand. I looked across at him and he caught my eye with a grim nod. I knew what he was thinking. This reminded us both of the battle for Pylos. There was no chance of beating off an attack in such numbers, but we could not stand by and let the enemy land unimpeded. As the first craft beached I gave the order to charge and we made the early arrivals regret their impetuosity. But more and more came on behind them and men swarmed from them, splashing through the shallows to throw themselves into the battle. Little by little we were forced back by sheer weight of numbers. As so many times before I cut and thrust until my sword felt too heavy to lift and my shield arm ached and throbbed from parrying blows. In the brief breathing space between striking down one opponent and turning to face the next I looked around me and saw that on each side of us a column of Dorian troops was pressing inland. Very soon they would be able to circle round to our rear and cut off our retreat and if that happened there would be nothing left for us to do but sell our lives as dearly as possible.
I turned to look for my chariot and found Neritos close on my heels, as always. I leapt up and scanned the field. A short distance away Melanthos was hard pressed by five or six men.
'Over there, to Melanthos!' I shouted and Neritos lashed the horses into a gallop. Men jumped aside or fell beneath the hooves and I stabbed down at any that stood firm and as we reached Melanthos some of those attacking him turned to meet the new threat.
'Get back!' I screamed at him. 'We must retreat and close the city gates. Back to the city while we still can!'
He saw the danger and ran to regain his own chariot. I waved my sword to the rest of my Companions. 'Back! Back to the city!' Neritos wheeled the horses and for the first time in my life I fled the field of battle, with my Companions streaming behind me.
It was as well that we moved when we did. As it was we were hard pressed to escape the net that was closing around us, but once we were clear of the battlefield the Dorians did not attempt to pursue us. They had no horses and saw that they could prevent us from reaching the city. Besides, they had other plans.
From the ramparts we watched them as they spread out over the surrounding plain.
Perimedes said, 'Do you notice something? They are not destroying the crops or burning the houses.You know what that means.'
'They intend to stay,' Melanthos replied. 'They want the crops to sustain themselves. Praise be to the Goddess, the city granaries are full and we have plentiful water, thanks to your foresight, Alkmaion, in suggesting the creation of the reservoir. It will be a long summer, but we shall not starve. And come winter, they will be the ones who find themselves short of food.'
'They are not given to the arts of agriculture,' Perimedes said. 'I'm willing to wager that they will not replant what they harvest.'
'So,' Melanthos concluded, 'before winter makes sailing impossible, they will head for home.'
'Let us pray that you are right,' I murmured, but, looking at their faces I knew that we were all remembering that our ancestors had camped for ten years outside Troy.
Melanthos was right in one respect. We should not go short of food. In addition to the wheat in the granaries, at the first sign of attack local shepherds had driven their flocks of sheep and goats into the city. For the time being, at least, we should have meat and milk as well as bread. But this soon proved a curse as well as a blessing. With the shepherds had come their families and workers from surrounding farms with their families, so that the city was packed with people. As the long, hot days of summer progressed quarrels broke out among the tight pressed crowds and the stench of excrement, both animal and human, became almost overpowering.
The Dorians stole horses and chariots from the surrounding estates and every few days their warriors would drive round and round the crag on which the city was built and taunt us to come out and fight. As the days drew into months some of the fighting men in the city lost patience and began demanding the chance to 'teach the barbarians a lesson'. Melanthos and I had to exercise all our authority to prevent a mutiny. We knew that our
only chance was to sit it out and wait for Dorians to get bored and go home.
As autumn winds began to blow we watched in expectation that any day we should see our enemies packing up and heading for their ships. Instead, we saw that they were cutting wood and building themselves shelters. With drooping spirits, we realised that they had no intention of lifting the seige. A bitter winter followed. With no access to the surrounding forests we had little firewood and were reduced to chopping up our furniture to burn. Food supplies, which had seemed so plentiful for the duration of the summer, now had to be strictly rationed. Nights were filled with the sound of children crying with cold and hunger.
I passed my days going from house to house, trying to lift spirits and maintain order, and I suppose that distracted my attention from my own household until the woman we employed as nursemaid came up to me and spoke quietly.
'Lord, have you not noticed how pale and drawn your lady is? She gives her food to the children and denies herself. You must speak to her.'
For the first time I saw how thin Philona had grown and how dark the circles under her eyes were. I sat down beside her and took her hand.
'Nerissa tells me you have been giving your food to the children. Is it true?'
She looked up at me and the weariness in her eyes stabbed at my heart. 'I cannot let them go hungry. Their needs are greater than mine.'
'But what about my needs? I need you! I need you to be strong. What would the children and I do without you? Your duty to us is to take care of yourself. Now, promise me you will eat your own ration. I will see to it that the children do not suffer.'
From that day on I made sure that I was present for the evening meal and I watched Philona swallow every morsel of the food put before her. The extra for the children came out of my own ration and neither of them ever went to bed crying.
The Dorians, too, suffered from the cold, but not as much as we did. They had cut down and burnt most of the trees close to their camp. Now they destroyed the houses on the outlying estates and used the timber for their fires. From the ramparts I watched the house I had come to think of as home go up in flames.
