Beware of Greeks

by Peter Tonkin

  ‘And in the unlikely event that Penelope needs any help or advice in my absence,’ said Odysseus, ‘her father Icarius and her mother Periboea both still live quite nearby in Sparta and would be happy to oblige.’

  Odysseus fell into a brown study. His silence lasted until he turned off the roadway and led us into the stables where we returned the horse, mules and donkey. Before we left, Odysseus crossed to the outside shelter where he examined the cart and the chariot more closely. ‘Captain Adonis,’ he said to himself. ‘I can see how he could fill this cart with carcases to feed the sailors as soon as notification of the ships’ arrival at the far side of the island came through, and just about imagine how he might find room for five or so women seated in here for the return journey. But he took the chariot as well, and I can only see one reason for that. Queen Thetis would no more ride in a cart than allow herself to be spitted and roasted like its previous occupants. And Hypatios and his men visited the sailors from Thetis’ ships last night. I’m beginning to wonder whether our Phthian lord is actually in league with his queen rather than with his king.’

  ‘Is that important?’ I wondered.

  ‘Possibly. But let’s stick to the matter in hand for the moment.’ He turned to the stable owner. ‘On the occasion that Captain Adonis took these, did you see any women riding in them?’

  ‘No. He and his men took them empty and returned them empty.’

  Odysseus straightened and looked up the hill towards Lycomedes’ citadel. ‘Took them up to the palace for loading and, in due course, for unloading.’

  ‘Does that prove anything?’ I asked.

  ‘Only the depth of Lycomedes’ involvement,’ he said. ‘Captain Adonis had to be acting under his king’s orders. There’s something about that which doesn’t sit right. Something we’re still overlooking.’ He shook his head and strode out of the stable, with we four following hard on his heels.

  ***

  As we passed the harbour, which was quiet now as most of the fishermen were out at work, a sailor from Ajax’s ship Nerites approached us down the jetty. ‘Majesty,’ he called to Odysseus. ‘What news of the prince? We heard he was taken unwell.’

  Odysseus stopped. ‘He was extremely unwell, but to the best of my knowledge he is much better now and likely to be improving rapidly.’

  ‘And all is well in the palace? We have witnessed some strange comings and goings. One of our watch-keepers is even certain that there are men from the ships anchored on the far side of the island hiding somewhere in the town. But we haven’t seen them and he might have been drunk when he thought he saw them creeping through the dark. Your harbour watch on Thalassa saw nothing. It’s as though some sort of spell has been put upon the place.’

  ‘A spell? Who would put a spell on anyone here?’

  ‘The dark queen. Thetis. We spied her three nights ago, all in black, riding up to the palace in her chariot. Too much like Medea for my taste.’

  ‘And was this chariot pulled by dragons like Medea’s?’

  ‘No, Majesty. It was pulled by horses and driven by the captain of the palace guard. But even so…’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve not been surprised to hear of strange things going on up there ever since!’

  Odysseus turned to me as the sailor hurried back towards his ship. ‘And there, my boy, you see how legends start. Then they end up in your heroic songs, complete with magic spells, fabulous beasts and Olympian gods. Queen Thetis’ chariot will be pulled by dragons in stories soon enough, I’ll wager. Just like Medea’s. The pair of them seem to be getting too much alike for my peace of mind.’

  ‘You mean you think that Queen Thetis personally cut the boy’s throat, stabbed Dion, poisoned Ajax then murdered Hesira?’

  ‘It’s beginning to look like it, isn’t it? Who else could get two women to carry a body up off a beach and bury it beneath a bush in the dunes?’ said Odysseus grimly. ‘She sounds like someone who will stop at nothing and who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.’

  We climbed the hill slowly after that. The captain said it gave him time to think but I knew he was making sure I didn’t get left behind, especially as my limp had been compounded by stiff hips and a sore backside courtesy of my donkey-ride. It also gave him the opportunity to look around in the daytime go-to-market bustle to see if he could spy anything unusual or amiss. But, like the harbour watch on his ship, we saw nothing. It seemed that the drunk sailor from Nerites had been imagining things. Meanwhile, Elpenor carried the bags with the lyres; Perimedes and Eurylocus split the tunics, sandals and himation between them. The clothes were clean and neatly folded. I was planning on wearing the himation for my performance tonight. I didn’t think Dion would mind.

  Odysseus’ brief conversation with the sailor from Ajax’s ship put the sickly prince in the forefront of his mind. This was obvious because as soon as we arrived in the citadel, he walked determinedly towards Ajax’s room. Elpenor and the others went to put Dion’s lyre and clothing in our room and waited there for further orders but I followed the captain, fascinated to see what he would discover or deduce next. Ajax was up, if not yet fully recovered, and pacing his room, much to the disquiet of his guards who had been ordered by Adonis to keep him safe and who obviously interpreted that as meaning they should keep him imprisoned there for his own good. They recognised Odysseus, however, and were happy to let him overrule their captain. Having been dismissed, they went off in search of Adonis while Odysseus and the milk-pale Ajax walked slowly out onto the big marble-flagged ledge behind the palace. They paced up and down there, deep in conversation, apparently paying no attention to the seemingly limitless vista encompassing them or the vertiginous drops that surrounded them on three sides. They were far too interested in what they were saying to each other to note the wind which tugged them relentlessly toward the abyss. I limped a little way behind them, concentrating on their conversation too, rather than on the dizzying cliffs that so strangely tempted me towards the edge. And forcing to the back of my mind any thoughts of the blind rhapsode Actaeon’s final vision of his lover hurtling down towards the distant rocks below.

  ‘Peleus gave me no particular message for Lycomedes,’ rumbled Ajax. ‘He knows my memory for such things is not very reliable.’

  ‘I would half expect him to risk something simple, though,’ countered Odysseus. ‘Then send the more complex afterthoughts with Dion hard on your heels. After all, you are one of his strongest supporters, just by your very existence. You’re really keen to go to Troy and if you can find your cousin Achilles and persuade him to go with you that’s all to the good as far as Peleus is concerned.’

  ‘It puts me in the opposite camp to Queen Thetis, though, and that’s obviously a dangerous place to be,’ said the massive prince, though he did not sound particularly fearful to have found himself in that position, even though it nearly cost him his life. ‘When I am over the effects of whatever was in that wine, I might have a bone to pick with her. I know she was less than happy that I saw through that charade she made Peleus stage for my benefit where the Phthian army took on the Myrmidons and apparently fought them to a standstill.’

  ‘Yes. Peleus showed us the same thing, even though she was gone by that time.’ Odysseus nodded.

  ‘The idea of the entire set of manoeuvres is that we’ll take the message back to Agamemnon that a Phthian army could perfectly well replace the Myrmidons so he doesn’t need to keep looking for Achilles after all. But she can be pretty certain I’ll do no such thing. Though I must admit I wasn’t expecting to get poisoned wine as my reward.’

  ‘But perhaps that’s what gave her a motive to kill you, lad: for seeing through the military charade rather than suspecting you of carrying secret messages.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Ajax shrugged philosophically. ‘Unless, as a third option, she thinks I know where Achilles actually is and stand a chance of recruiting him after all. I suppose I can understand how she’d kill to stop that, as we seem to be coming round to increasing certainty of her
guilt in the matter.’

  I must admit I shook my head in silent wonder that Ajax should view such a murderous attempt on his own life so calmly and reasonably. It was something to do with the soldier’s lot, I supposed. Thanatos and Ajax were old friends and he planned to become even better acquainted with the fearsome god of death under the walls of Troy. In the mean time he could shrug such near misses off. Even so, I would not have liked to be in Queen Thetis’ sandals if these two could ever prove conclusively that her hands had poured the poison, wielded the knives and slit the throat.

  ‘But everyone knows where Achilles is,’ said Odysseus, in that strange, testing tone that made what seemed like a statement into a question. ‘He’s where his mother originally went to seek him. He’s on Mount Pelion.’

  ‘No. I don’t think he is. I took the opportunity to go up to see Chiron before I arrived at Phthia. The old man was chary and tight-lipped but I didn’t get the impression that Achilles was on Mount Pelion at all.’

  ‘So, if Achilles isn’t on Pelion, then where is he?’

  ii

  Dion’s himation robe was too large for me but I managed to carry it off pretty effectively, I thought. I arranged it carefully as I sat on the rhapsode’s stool, feeling the heat of the fire-pit warming my right shoulder, and looked around the megaron at King Lycomedes and his guests. All the chairs were full except Ajax’s who had sent his apologies; though he was up, and strong enough to walk and talk, his stomach was still too unsettled to face food or drink. He was, perhaps, the wisest of us all. The evening meal had been served early and underdone. Had my goat been any less cooked it would have run bleating for the door. There had been far fewer toasts and libations than yesterday even though there was much to celebrate, not least that the absent Ajax had returned almost magically from the bank of the River Styx. Furthermore, I had been informed that I was required to recite my shortest epic, for I was only a part of the evening’s entertainment and not a very important one at that.

  I finished arranging my new himation, therefore, closed my eyes, uttered a swift prayer, and struck the strings of my lyre. The only thing likely to lengthen my performance was one of King Nestor’s stories. And my finest poem, the one best suited to the setting and the occasion, was the one that tempted him most sorely to start telling them:

  ‘Sing, Muses, of the anger of Hercules, black and murderous, costing the Trojans terrible sorrow, casting King Laomedon into Hades’ dark realm leaving his royal corpse for the dogs and the ravens. Begin with the bargain between the old king and Godlike Hercules. Strong promises the old king broke calling forth the rage of the son of Zeus…’

  My recitation seemed to be well received but it was clearly of secondary importance. The main event was to be the famous dance performed by the young maidens of the royal harem. Not the wives or concubines, but the beautiful daughters; their loveliness wasted as far as I was concerned because they performed their renowned and intricate dances wearing the heavy veils they always wore when moving in masculine society.

  As the applause for my song died and I returned to the low seat in the draughty corner by the opening into the corridor, a group of royal musicians arrived. My rhapsode’s seat by the fire pit was usurped by a young man with a kithara which was far more complex than my own simple lyre and a lot more like the one Dion had played. It was clearly pre-tuned and he ran the fingers of each hand over the strings as the others clustered round him. There were two men each with the double-flute aulos which came together at the lips but spread apart so that each pipe could be individually played by each hand – two men effectively playing four instruments, therefore. The flute-plyers were joined by another pair, each with a tympanum on whose taut leather drum-head they could beat out a regular rhythm with a short drum stick. But most important, I calculated, were the four youths each holding a set of koudonia copper bells. These supported the drums keeping the flutes and harp in rhythm, but the tinkling sound they made was simply magical. As soon as the musicians were assembled the rhythm established and the kithara joining the aulos in producing a melody, the dancers snaked in—coming so close to me as they swept by that I felt the breeze of their passing on my face and my nostrils were filled with the scent of their perfume.

  Dazzled by the brightness of their amazingly colourful costumes, I watched their elegant movements as they formed two lines, still whirling, and began to pass between each-other as though each line were a serpent weaving in and out of its fellow. Hands clapped and feet stamped in rhythm with the drums and the bells, drawing my attention, to the fact that the only parts of the dancers clearly on view were the hands beyond the wrists and the feet below the ankles. Even when the hands were raised to clap above shoulder-level, their veils stayed down. No matter how swiftly they whirled, the layers of vivid cloth covering them from crown to ankle never rose by more than a hand’s breadth. Even when they gave elegant and dainty kicks, nothing above the ankle went on display. The effect was strangely enticing and I found it all too easy to see how this could be a dance dedicated to Eros, god of passion and procreation.

  I was trying with all my strength to penetrate the veils and see whether Princess Deidamia was as lovely as her reputation suggested, when a kind of ripple went through the whole room. The dancers’ steps faltered as the music died and the careful rhythm failed. I looked up and there was Queen Larisa, her face unveiled and anguished, standing at King Lycomedes’ shoulder.

  ‘My Lord,’ she said. ‘My Lord you must come. There is another… Another poisoning.’

  ***

  All thoughts of the dance, the veils and the beautiful princess were driven out of my mind. At first I thought the still sickly Prince Ajax had somehow been attacked again, such was the commotion that swept through the room. But it soon became obvious that this was something different. Whatever had occurred had happened in the women’s quarters. This time the attempt had been more successful. Rhea, Princess Deidamia’s nurse was all-but in the grip of Thanatos himself.

  The poor woman’s poisoning changed everything: it was far too near to King Lycomedes’ beloved daughter for comfort. Within very few moments, therefore, the dancers had vanished and the women’s quarters were declared open by the horrified king. Captain Adonis and his men were permitted to begin an immediate search. Which they started to do at once but with little immediate result, as it appeared they had no idea what they were actually looking for. Or who. Moreover, Adonis soon reported that identifying anyone except slaves, servants and the dying woman was well-nigh impossible. Although the rooms might be open, the veils stayed in place. It became clear that if Lycomedes wanted the investigation completed face to face, he would have to accompany the soldiers himself and order each veiled woman to expose her features for formal identification.

  I was not surprised to find that the confused and frustrated Lycomedes turned to Odysseus in the end, begging him to take charge. It was Odysseus, after all, who had all-but saved Ajax. Perhaps he could perform the same magic on Rhea now that Hesira was among the dead. The queen intensified the urgency of the action needed when she emphasised how ill Rhea was: drooling, convulsing and unable to speak.

  Odysseus could hardly refuse the anguished parents’ request. Queen Larisa herself stood ready to guide him, veil still folded back and face set in grim determination. It seemed that Deidamia’s father was not the only one worried about the sickly princess, who, much to my disappointment had not been well enough to lead the dance after all. Especially now that the one person she was happy to have tend her needed tending herself. Tending, and, if we weren’t quick enough after all the fuss and hesitation, burying. Queen Larisa and her husband agreed with Odysseus’ suggestion that Nestor should accompany him—for Nestor had known Medea and was assumed to have some expertise in the art of poisoning, therefore; especially as he boasted about it. And amid all the urgent bustle and confusion, no-one seemed to notice me when I followed the queen and the three kings into the forbidden corridors of Lycomedes’ harem.

>   We did not go in through Lycomedes’ secret entrance from which the queen had appeared to stop the dance with her terrible news, or along the passage I had already explored immediately behind it. Instead Queen Larisa led us through the palace and out onto the marble-flagged ledge where we had lost sight of the two veiled figures the night before. As we passed Ajax’s chamber, Odysseus stepped into it. We waited outside while he spoke to the prince. When he emerged, he was holding a phial. ‘This is what Hesira gave Ajax,’ he said, showing it to the royal couple. ‘He only swallowed half of it so there’s plenty left. It was effective in his case. It might be effective in Rhea’s.’

  Queen Larisa nodded her agreement and then turned impatiently. As she strode on, I glanced back to see Ajax standing pensively watching us. His colour was partially restored and it looked as though his vigour was returning. Then I dismissed him from my mind as I turned to follow the queen. She led us out of the rear of the palace then across the ledge to a larger, more welcoming entrance. It seemed that the women’s quarters were every bit as extensive and complicated as the general areas. They proved to be a maze of small rooms built along corridors that wove in and out of each other like the princesses in their serpentine dance. However, they all eventually led to a series of more substantial rooms then finally to a larger central area like Lycomedes’ megaron. I was surprised at this complexity until I realised that the hierarchy of women in the harem might well demand it. Would the royal wives be happy to share accommodation with each-other? Possibly. With the lower concubines? Possibly not. With the princesses their daughters as they grew towards maturity? Conceivably—if the daughters were willing to share with their mothers, which the wilful Deidamia obviously was not. And none of them would be willing to share with the servants or the slaves. A glance into the megaron as we hurried past showed that Captain Adonis and his men were assembling all the women there. It was the structure of Princess Deidamia’s quarters, however, that was most illuminating. Her personal chamber was approached along a short corridor. Immediately after the opening was a small room where her immediate handmaidens were housed. As we passed it, Queen Larisa gestured and the women in there followed us. After that came a slightly larger room where the unfortunate nurse lay gasping for breath, shuddering and drooling with a couple more women standing by her. They pulled down their veils as we entered. Further in again, glimpsed only as we went in to tend the poisoned nurse, was the princess’s bedchamber itself, well furnished, well lit, with a comfortable-looking bed on which the princess was seated, her veil held in place by a slim silver headpiece from which little silver chains hung down.