Agamemnon allowed them to remove his armour, to undress him and bathe him. The girls’ hands lingered on his hard body, furrowed with scars, they squeezed hot water on his shoulders from big sea sponges, they poured scented oil on his head.
He died that night.
They say that the queen’s lover, Aegisthus, smote him down during the banquet, as he ate. He lowered the axe on his neck and Agamemnon fell to the ground like a bull slaughtered at the manger. But he did not die then. He dragged himself across the floor, bellowing and spurting blood from the wound. He tried to defend Cassandra as the queen murdered her with a dagger. He died at her feet as the palace rang with the cries of his comrades who were falling one after another under the blows of their assailants. They fought to the very end, bare-handed, even with arms maimed and legs crippled, because they were the best of the Achaeans, chosen by Agamemnon to depart with him for Troy.
The floor was slick with their blood and the commander of the guards could barely stand upright as he passed from one to the other to cut the throats of those who were still alive. Their bodies were all buried together in a large empty cistern, before the sun rose and the people of the city could discover what had happened. Then the maidservants washed the throne room floor and purified it with fire and sulphur.
On that same night, other armed men left on war chariots, directed towards Nauplia, where the fleet was anchored. Queen Clytemnestra had ordered them to seize the king’s ship but her designs were not to be fulfilled. Before entering the city, Agamemnon had ordered his shield-bearer Antimachus to climb up on to the hill that overlooked the city. He had told him: ‘I fear that some sort of misfortune may befall me. I do not know if the queen’s heart is still true to me. Go all the way up to the top of the hill; you’ll be able to see the palace perfectly. When the banquet is finished and the lights are extinguished in the rooms, I shall go up to the tower that stands over the chasm with a lit torch in hand. When you see me, you may enter the palace yourself, you may eat and drink and take your rest. But if you do not see me, this will mean I have been betrayed. Light a fire on the top of the hill. The wind will lick up the flames and make them visible from the sea. The men will know what to do.’
Thus had said the king, and Antimachus had obeyed him. When he heard the cries of the wounded, when he saw his comrades’ corpses being carried out of the palace, he understood what had happened. He lit a fire and the flames rose high, driven by the wind that blows all night on the hilltop, and his signal was seen from afar by the sentries standing watch on the deck of the king’s ship. They knew what Agamemnon wanted and they set fire to the ship, burning it with all its treasures. The other ships weighed anchor and sailed off into the night.
No one was ever to know what became of his men. Perhaps some of them sought a new land to settle, perhaps others became pirates and brought ruin to the coast dwellers. Perhaps others still found a hidden landing place and secretly reached their homes and re-embraced their wives and children.
One day later, a messenger from Queen Aigialeia arrived at Mycenae bearing news of what had happened at Argos.
Clytemnestra received him alone, towards evening, in a throne room dimmed to hide the signs of her sleepless night, the circles under her eyes and her ashen cheeks. She learned that Diomedes had barely managed to escape death but that his fate would certainly catch up with him on the sea where he had sought refuge; the hostile wind and waves would take care of him. Clytemnestra had the messenger report back to Aigialeia that Agamemnon had died in expiation for his crimes and that Menelaus had not yet made return. And in Crete they had had no further news of Idomeneus. She had even sent a ship to Ithaca, to her cousin Penelope, and was awaiting her answer. As soon as Helen returned, the queens would once again reign over the Achaeans.
The messenger departed as dusk fell and Clytemnestra remained alone next to Agamemnon’s throne. The silent, empty room still echoed with cries and curses, as though the slaughter would never end.
In the meanwhile, Diomedes’s ships were far off at sea and had rounded Cape Taenarum, passing within sight of Abia, the city that Agamemnon had promised to Achilles had he agreed to set aside his ill will and return to combat. A pale sun lit the houses facing the sea, the fishing boats and the ships pulled aground on the beach. The season for navigation was over.
They were entering the kingdom of Nestor and Diomedes pondered whether to stop and ask for hospitality or to continue north, where it was said that the passage to the Land of Evening could be found. Those who had been there spoke of vast plains on which thousands of horses grazed and of tall mountains always covered with snow that only Hercules had ever crossed, when he had set off to reach the Garden of the Hesperides and the house of Atlas, who bears the sky upon his shoulders. It was an incredibly rich land, crossed by the Eridanus river, which was said to be so wide that the sea itself changed colour for a huge expanse at the river’s mouth and became fresh-watered. There lay the Electrides islands, where drops of pure amber fell from the sky at night and were harvested by their inhabitants, who sold them to the merchants that ventured so far.
Diomedes knew that Nestor would ask him the reason for this voyage; why he had abandoned his homeland after years of yearning and endless war. Nestor would offer him his fleet and his army to help him win back his city and his kingdom. But Diomedes would have to refuse, and explain that there was no life left for him in Argos or in his palace.
And so Diomedes preferred to continue on. From the railing of his ship he saw Nestor’s palace brushed by the last glow of the sunset as it stood against the sky already dark. The lamps and torches were just being lit in the palace halls, fires were being kindled in the hearths, maids were taking out the cauldrons and putting meat in them to boil. The king was just coming down from his rooms to share a banquet with his strong sons and their blooming wives. Diomedes thought of how good it would have been to sit down together and hark back to all the misadventures of the war, to drink wine and take pleasure in the songs of the poets until late at night. Lamps were being lit in the houses of the fishermen and craftsmen and he envied them as well; he would have much preferred to be a poor man, a man of no means, but to have a house and a table to sit around with his children and wife, to talk about the changing weather and the labours of the day. Instead he travelled towards an unknown destination on the back of the cold, sterile sea.
The lights of Pylus reflected in the water and accompanied him for a while before they were extinguished by the night which swallowed sky and sea. Not a sound was left in the air, only the swash of water against the ship and the whisper of wind in the sail.
The pilot governed the helm, keeping his eye trained on the star of the Little Bear. The king had ordered him to follow it until he told them to stop. For days and days they would ride the waves towards night and darkness, leaving behind daylight and sun until the water of the sea changed colour and its taste became sweet to the palate. The mouth of the Eridanus.
Exhausted by fatigue and by the emotions that racked his soul, Diomedes finally fell asleep on a bed of pelts, laying his head on a coil of rope, and he dreamed he was in his palace, lying next to Aigialeia, nude and white-skinned. Her hair gave off an intense scent, her lips were half open, her skin made golden by the reflection of the lamp. He drew closer to caress her but his fingers touched cold, slimy scales, as if a serpent or a dragon had slithered into his bed. He suddenly felt its fangs sink into his hand, and his flesh became livid and swollen with poison.
He slept fitfully as his comrades took their turns at the helm and stirred up the flames in the braziers so the ships would not lose sight of one another.
At dawn they sighted the islands of Ulysses: Zacynthus first, then Dulichium and Same, and then Ithaca itself. The first were illuminated by the sun, but the last was still shrouded by the night, cloaked by the shadow of the Thesprotian mountains.
Diomedes planned to berth at Ithaca after hiding the other ships behind the little isle of Asteris. He wanted to
know what had become of Ulysses, whether he had reached his homeland or was still afar, but he dared not reveal himself to queen Penelope without knowing what she had in her mind. If he found Ulysses, he would ask his advice for the journey he was embarking upon, because no one knew the perils of the sea as he did, no one could counsel him as Ulysses could.
He went ashore without weapons, dressed as a simple merchant, and he walked to the palace.
There was a boy of about ten playing in the courtyard with a dog. The boy asked him: ‘Who are you, foreign guest? From where do you come?’
‘I am a sailor,’ he answered. ‘I left Pylus last night and I wish to see the king. Take me to him, if you can.’
The boy lowered his head. ‘The king’s not here,’ he said. ‘They told me that he was coming back, that he would be here any day. But the days go by and he has not returned.’
Diomedes looked at the boy and he recognized him. He clearly saw Ulysses’s features: his dark eyes which flashed with ever-changing light, his wide cheekbones, his thin lips. He felt moved; he remembered when he was a little boy himself, sitting on the palace steps waiting for his father who was fighting far away. And he remembered when glorious Tydeus finally returned. He was stretched out on a ox-drawn cart, suited in his armour, covered by a blood-red cloak. His ashen face was wrapped in a bandage that held his jaw shut. His body jolted whenever the wheels hit a hole or a stone, and his head banged against the wooden cart. Women dressed in black raised piercing screams. .
He laid a hand on the boy’s head. ‘Telemachus,’ he said. ‘You are Telemachus.’
The boy looked up in surprise: ‘How do you know my name? I’ve never seen you.’
Diomedes answered: ‘I knew your father, king Ulysses. I was a friend of his. I recognized you because anyone could see that you are his son.’
‘Do you think my father will come back?’ asked the boy again.
‘I do,’ replied Diomedes. ‘He will return with the swallows and bring you beautiful gifts.’
‘Do you want to see my mother?’
‘No, my son, I do not want to disturb the queen and distract her from her pursuits. She must have much to do in the palace.’
The young prince insisted: ‘Please come, it will make my mother happy to speak with a friend of my father’s.’ He took him by the hand and led him into the house.
Diomedes followed. Penelope had never seen him, after all, and he thought he could keep his identity a secret.
The queen received him in the grand hall. Her nurse set out a stool for him and put bread and wine before him. Penelope was small, but very beautiful. Her hair was dark and her eyes light, her hands were tiny but strong, her hips were round and her breasts were high and firm like all the women of Sparta.
‘Did you fight the war?’ she asked him.
‘Yes. I was with Diomedes.’
‘Why did you abandon your king? Is he dead?’
‘It is as if he were. But why, queen, do you ask me of Diomedes? Why don’t you ask about Ulysses, your husband?’
‘Ulysses. .’ The queen dropped her head and the two curls adorning her temples shadowed her cheeks. ‘We’re waiting for him. He should be back soon. . don’t you think?’
‘Ulysses did not come with us. He returned to Troy, where Agamemnon had lingered to sacrifice one hundred oxen to the gods in expiation for the war. We knew nothing more of him. . but I am sure that you will see him again. Perhaps he tarries in order to plunder the coasts and augment his spoils. Or perhaps the bad weather has delayed him, and he waits in a sheltered place for better conditions. Ulysses is prudent; he always calculates the risks he must face.’
‘He didn’t want this war. He did not want to leave, to leave me, our son. .’
‘But he is the one who won the war. The city fell thanks to his stratagem.’
‘My cousin, Queen Helen. . has she returned?’
‘No. She was with Menelaus but they disappeared one night before we rounded Cape Sunion. Perhaps the wind carried them astray, to Cyprus or to Egypt. Who knows?’
‘Why, when I asked you about Diomedes, did you say to me: ‘It’s as if he were dead?’ Tell me the truth. Has he been killed? Imprisoned upon his return?’
Her voice betrayed a touch of trepidation, as if she feared the worst. It seemed that somehow, she knew something.
‘Queen Aigialeia laid a trap for us. I barely managed to save myself, with some of my comrades. We know nothing of our king. That is why I said: ‘It’s as if he were dead.’ He loved his wife. It was easy to take him by surprise. The bitch betrayed him after he had escaped so many perils on the fields of Ilium.’
Penelope shivered. ‘Do not say that. War is much harder on women than on men. What do you men know of what passes through the mind of a woman living alone for years, for thousands of days and nights, in expectation? In continuous illusion and continuous delusion? Love can be transformed into hate. . or into madness. And madness can strike indiscriminately, like an illness. Queen Clytemnestra. . she too. .’
‘Has betrayed her husband?’ asked Diomedes.
‘No. She too. . pursues an ancient destiny. Long ago the queens reigned over this land, and a great goddess, the mother of all living things, reigned in the heavens. The race of the queens lives on. While men destroy themselves through war, the queens are preparing for a return to the time when the ancient order had not been disrupted, when the wolf grazed alongside the lamb, when Persephone had not yet been carried off into Hades, when eternal spring reigned always.’
‘The conspiracy of the queens. .’ whispered Diomedes. ‘They say it has gone on for centuries. Medea against Jason, Deianeira against Hercules, Phaedra against Theseus, the fifty daughters of Danaus who slaughtered their husbands. Are you among them? Are you preparing to murder Ulysses? You will never succeed. No one can surprise him through deceit. I know him.’
A ray of light lit Penelope’s forehead: ‘You know him? Give me proof, if you want me to believe you.’
‘He has a scar on his left leg and a birthmark over his knee. He has a wide face and thin lips. Broad shoulders and chest, long legs for his stature. And a strange smile. . he always smiles as he is about to deal the death blow. . Why do you want to kill him, wanaxa? Why?’
‘No,’ said Penelope. ‘I will not kill him, though I have been asked to do so. And do you know why? Because it is not he who chose me, but I who chose him. My father Icarius was against it, but I covered my face as soon as I saw him because I knew he would be the only man of my life. I covered my face with a veil so he would understand I wanted to be his bride. He or no other. I chose him: he was the poorest of the kings, sovereign of dry, rocky islands, but his voice was resonant and persuasive. When he spoke everyone listened, enchanted.
‘He did not want this war. The blood of the ancient race lives in him as well. He opposed force with astuteness. . in vain. When Agamemnon’s messenger came to ask him to depart for the war, he found Ulysses ploughing the beach with an ass and a bull at the yoke. They took Telemachus from his cradle and laid him down before the beasts. Ulysses rushed to gather the little one to his chest, proving that he could not be mad. They gave him no choice but to leave. . He made a wedding bed for me amidst the boughs of a tree, the arms of an olive tree, like a bird’s nest. What other man would have done the same? The kings of the Achaeans built nests of stone for their brides, gelid walls that ooze blood.’
‘How do you know about Clytemnestra? And about. . Aigialeia. . you knew about her too, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. All of the kings will be driven away: Idomeneus from Crete, Diomedes from Argos, Menelaus from Sparta. . or killed. Clytemnestra will kill. If she hasn’t already.’
Diomedes hid his face in his cloak. ‘Oh great Atreid!’ he murmured to himself. ‘Watch your back! We are no longer beside you, we are no longer. . we are no longer.’ He wept. The tears fell copiously from his eyes, they dripped from the golden curls of his beard.
‘Who are you?’ asked Penelope.<
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‘My name is Leodes.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded Penelope again.
‘A man on the run. . I would have liked to ask counsel from your husband, wise Ulysses, before facing the unknown but the gods have denied me even this.’ He rose to leave but Penelope stopped him. She had a sly look in her eyes, as if seeking his complicity.
‘Tell me: he sent you, didn’t he? He is hiding nearby and he sent you to discover the truth and report it all back to him. I know, that’s the way he is, and I’m not offended. I understand him. Tell him that I understand but that he must return immediately, I beg of you. I’m sure that I’m right, aren’t I? Am I not right?’
Diomedes turned away: ‘No, wanaxa. I’m sorry but you are not right. I’ve told you the truth. Ulysses left us at Tenedos and he turned back towards Ilium.’
Penelope began to tremble. Her lips trembled and her hands trembled and tears trembled under her black lashes. ‘I beg of you, do not torment me,’ she said. ‘Do not continue lying to me. You have put me to the test. If it is he who sends you, run to tell him that our bridal chamber is intact, I have conserved it like a sacred enclosure. Tell him to come back. I beg of you.’
Diomedes rose to take his leave. In his heart of hearts he envied the son of Laertes, for his bride loved him still.
‘I’m sorry, wanaxa. I’m not who you think I am. I seek Ulysses as well and I do not know where he may be. But if one day he does return, tell him that a friend came looking for him, a friend who was at his side on the fields of Ilium the night he donned the helmet of Merion. He’ll understand. He will tell you all about me. Now please allow me to go, to straighten my bow towards the northern sea. Farewell.’
He walked away, and Telemachus scampered after him. ‘Tell me,’ the boy said, ‘have you seen him of late? What does he look like? What does my father look like?’
Diomedes stopped for a moment. ‘He looks like you imagine him. When you see him, you’ll recognize him.’
Heroes Page 3
