“How are the clansmen to show their disapproval?”
“Eurymachus and Antinous suggest that it will be a great joke if the whole company assemble at the Palace and announce themselves as your suitors. They intend to make free with the palace flocks, herds and wine, camping in the two courts and forcing Lord Mentor to offer them such hospitality as befits their rank.”
“And then?”
“Then, I gather, they hope that your brother Clytoneus will be provoked to violence, because he is a touchy and headstrong young fellow, and be killed as soon as he reaches for his sword. Little Telegonus will die accidentally—a boat will overturn and spill him out into rough water. Then Antinous will marry you and demand a splendid dowry; and Eurymachus will get Ctimene, with Laodamas’s inheritance added; and your father will be ambushed on his return from Sandy Pylus by a vessel lurking in the Straits of Motya. His rich lands, for want of an heir, will be divided and sold to the highest bidder. They have everything planned to their own advantage.”
“I see. And who will be the next King of the Elymans?”
“They have promised Agelaus the sceptre, on condition that he does not oppose their wicked plot.”
“Procne, you are a true friend! You have told nobody but me, have you?”
“Not even my mother.”
“Oh, if only I could decide what to do! If only I had some reliable friend of fighting age! My uncle Mentor is a man of peace; my grandfather Phytalus is too old; Clytoneus is too young… And your father sails for Elba in about five days’ time, you say?”
“Though he is loyal to your house, what could he do if he stayed?”
“And you, Procne?”
“Need that be asked, Nausicaa? I love you as I love no one else in the world! Trust me to the last drop of blood.”
“That is what I wanted to hear, although I have heard it before. Perhaps now, if Athene will inspire me with some extraordinarily cunning plan…”
“My father is waving. I must go at once. Good-bye, my best friend.”
I watched her running across the clover, and then walked slowly back to the washing women. It was midday, but by making an effort we should finish the linen within the hour. My father has always maintained that the only known way to make servants work well, short of threatening them with torture, is to work by their side and set them an example. So I was soon jumping on the sheets in the trough, or banging at them with a cudgel; yet let the domestic chatter flow past my ears, as the water flowed past my feet, while I silently prayed to Athene for a sure sign of her favour.
The sign came. A covey of small birds had gathered to quarrel over the breadcrumbs which we had turned out of the basket after breakfast. And suddenly a hawk pounced, scattered the uninvited guests, and carried off one of them in his talons to eat at leisure. My heart leapt, and I began to sing a hymn of praise to the Goddess, which the women took up; and a beautiful sound our voices made!
I inspected the sheets and tunics already washed, set a few aside for further scrubbing, and helped the women to spread the rest on the beach; the sun would dry them by evening. Then I clapped my hands. “Girls,” I cried, “since we seem to be alone, we can bathe naked in Rheithrum, and then run around to get the stiffness out of our backs and raise an appetite for dinner. You have all worked pretty well and we need not go home until just before sunset.”
This put everyone in a happy humour. We climbed down the bank on which the washing had been and, after a long careful look in all directions, unclasped our girdles, shed our clothes, and went splashing about in the cool water.
“Oh, how fat you have grown, Glauce,” shouted one of my maids, pointing at the plump stomach of a weaving-woman. “For shame, and your wedding not for another month! Did this happen at the Ascent of Aphrodite?”
“I’ll drown you for that!” answered Glauce. “Don’t you know honest fat from dishonest? I keep only beans and good bread and figs inside.”
“Here, let me feel! No, child, you can’t deceive me! There’s more here than ever went in at your mouth. Who is the fortunate father?”
They tussled, screamed, pulled each other’s hair, and laughed wildly. Glauce soon forced her opponent under the water, holding her down by the shoulders. “So you think I behave like your friend Melantho!” she yelled. “Is that it?”
“Let her go, Glauce,” I ordered. “The joke has gone far enough.”
Up came the maid, choking and spluttering, and pretended to be thoroughly subdued; but soon she caught Glauce off her guard, and pushed her backwards into a pool. It was only high spirits, and neither bore the other any ill will. However, I took Glauce aside to ask her: “What did you say just now?”
“Nothing, mistress.”
“Glauce, that is untrue. You were angry for a moment, and said more than you intended. I know, because you looked guiltily around to see whether I had overheard.”
“I bear Melantho no grudge.”
Then the Goddess Athene put these words into my mouth: “Yet it was about Melantho that you weavers were gossiping when I visited the factory yesterday morning.”
“I did not gossip, mistress.”
“Glauce: tell me the truth, or I shall take one of those cudgels and bang you across the face until your own mother will ask ‘Who can this be?’”
“I swear by all the Gods that I did not gossip! I only listened.”
“Very well, then, what did you hear?”
“Lies, I daresay. It must have been a lie. You know how much scandal is talked in the market place.”
“Indeed, I do; but I insist on hearing what this particular scandal was! Melantho is the daughter of our cattlemaster Melantheus and also the Lady Ctimene’s maid; I am bound to protect her good name.”
I frightened the truth out of Glauce. One hot day, it seems, at siesta time, Melantho had been seen stealthily leaving a boathouse on the far side of the southern harbour, and though nobody knew whether she had enjoyed anyone’s company there, three days later she was wearing a valuable gold bracelet. She claimed to have found this in the vegetable patch behind her cottage when she went to pull a lettuce, and to have got Melantheus’s permission to keep it.
I asked Glauce: “To whom does the boathouse belong?”
“I am not sure.”
“Well, to whom do they say that it belongs? All marketplace stories are circumstantial.”
“Please, mistress…”
“The cudgel is handy; what do you say?”
“That your suitor, my lord Eurymachus, owns it.”
“Very good, Glauce. Like you, I refuse to believe this story, but it is always best to know what people are saying.” I forced a gay laugh, and shouted: “Now, girls, out you come! Wash off the brine in the spring water and then anoint yourselves. I have the oil, and scallop shells make useful scrapers.”
So we trooped back to the Springs, where we washed, anointed and scraped ourselves, dressed our hair, and set the cloth for dinner. The wine was strong, and though I had tempered it well, the girls grew excited and wanted to dance, even after eating like mares in a clover field.
“Not now,” I said. “This is when you rest. But if you will promise to keep quiet until the shadow from this stick touches the edge of that stone, I will join you in the ball dance afterwards.”
They all lay down obediently and dozed. I stayed awake, watching the shadow creep slowly towards the stone, and marshalling my thoughts. So Melantho was having a secret affair with Eurymachus, was she? It must have been going on for some months, if Eurymachus had bribed her to tell that story of the Sidonian ship, as obviously he had. But why? What would he gain by the lie? And why should his mother have supported him? I already guessed the answer. The immediate problem was how to face a dangerous and intolerable situation. Once more I prayed silently to the Goddess, rose encouraged, and roused the women.
We ran to the beach again, scratched a labyrinth pattern on the smooth white sand, and began our famous Trojan ball dance, in which we perform complic
ated movements, singing as we wind in and out of a maze, and throwing the ball from one girl to the other, at each change of the tune. All was going perfectly, when I tossed the ball to awkward Glauce, who jumped too high, knocked it with her thumb, and sent it flying into the water.
Rheithrum has a current caused partly by the stream which feeds it, and partly by the lunar tide; the difference between ebb and flow may be as much as a yard in depth. We watched the ball drifting into deep water, and the girls shouted for dismay, because none of them could swim.
I swim pretty well and was on the point of stripping off my tunic to retrieve the ball (made of white leather stitched over cork and painted with red rings) when the shouts suddenly rose to a general scream and the women stampeded. Only Glauce remained, clinging to me in terror. I turned, and saw to my amazement a naked young man staggering towards me down the bank; one hand modestly concealing his private parts with a branch of oleaster; the other spread out, palm upward, in a suppliant gesture. He must have been lurking in the thicket close to where we had dined.
A momentary silence followed, broken by Glauce’s giggle and her quavering cry: “Oh, mistress, here comes your baby! The boy that Eurycleia foretold you would bring back from the thicket by the seashore.”
I could have strangled the fool.
The young man seemed exhausted and, in any case, we had little to fear; ten sturdy women armed with cudgels are not to be underrated as a fighting force. So I stood still and let him approach, wriggling prostrate across the sand to clasp my knees in the well-known style of suppliants. But he halted a decent distance away and, propping his head on both elbows, gazed steadfastly at me.
“Now, whom in the world has Athene sent me?” I wondered.
CHAPTER
SIX
THE NAKED
CRETAN
Nothing could have been more correct than the naked young man’s approach.
“Madam,” he said, in an unfamiliar but musical Greek accent, “forgive me! My eyes being dimmed alike with exhaustion and salt water, I cannot trust them to inform me whether you are a goddess or a mortal. If a goddess, you can only be Artemis the Huntress: your body is so slim, so strong, so regal. But if a mortal, how I envy the parents of such a paragon! From my thicket I watched you dancing, and each movement, each gesture, was perfection—you outshone your companions as the moon outshines the stars. Yet infinitely more enviable than your parents will be the man who succeeds in persuading them, with lavish gifts, to accept him as a son-in-law! The mere thought of such good fortune deepens the misery of my present plight. Look: I am poorer than an infant of one day old; he, at least, has a cradle of his own and a warm swaddling band upon which loving kinswomen have embroidered his clan mark. I have not even a loincloth to hide my nakedness; the greedy sea has stripped me of everything but courage and these two strong hands.”
He paused to observe the effect that these words had on me; I granted him a half-smile, since both his language and manners showed that he came of distinguished family. Besides, though his body was bruised, swollen, cut and salt-encrusted, he had an athlete’s shoulders and thighs, and curly yellow hair, tinged with red, which recalled Apollo’s in the temple frescoes.
“The sea has also left you an eloquent tongue,” I remarked, “which I do not altogether despise.”
Lowering his eyes, he continued: “Then let me confess, without fear of causing displeasure, that a sort of religious awe creeps over me as I grovel before you. Never have I seen anything so wildly beautiful as your slender figure and upright carriage. Artemis must look just like that when she dances with her maidens on Mount Erymanthus; though it were death to watch her. In this dizzy and famished state, I find it hard to convey my feelings; yet let me compare you to the young palm tree at Delos, which rises tall and straight beside the altar of Apollo—the altar built entirely of wild goats’ horns by the God himself—for there the sea breeze plays with the palm’s delicate fronds, as here it stirs your long fine hair.”
“You have visited Delos then?” I asked, much amused. “Or is this a secondhand compliment borrowed from one of the Sons of Homer, who make Apollo’s holy island their headquarters?” No one had ever compared me to a young palm tree; probably because I am neither tall nor slim, and my hair, though long, is by no means my best feature. This stranger was far from being a fool. My suitors had always kept on what they considered safe ground by admiring my teeth, nose, brow, ankles and fingers; all of which, I flatter myself, pass muster.
“Certainly I have visited Delos, in more prosperous days, dedicating spoils of battle to Leto’s divine twins. When first I set eyes on that sacred palm sapling, I let the gold and silver drop to the ground and stood rapt in silent wonder at its beauty. It seemed a thing so far removed from mortal life and charged with such limitless virtue that I dared not touch its bark lest I might tumble senseless for very ecstasy. The same feeling overcomes me now; which is why I venture to clasp your knees, though offering myself as your suppliant and slave.”
“What has brought you to Sicily?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The Blessed Gods alone know why they have saved only one man from the wreck of a gallant ship and cast him ashore at your feet, more dead then alive. Could they have had some heroic task in mind that I must perform on your behalf?”
My heart leapt again, but I replied as casually and distantly as I could: “Who knows? I am not even sure yet whether to offer you my protection. How long have you been hiding in that thicket?”
“Since dawn. The ship was struck by lightning two nights ago, about a mile from the coast.”
“You owned her?”
“It would be easy to pretend that I did, but ill fortune is hardly an excuse for boastful lying. No, she was a large, well-found Corinthian, homeward bound from Libya; and how I came to be aboard her is a painful story. Let it suffice to tell your ladyship that the storm, a brief though violent one, broke suddenly, soon after dusk. You must have seen it yourself. Asleep in the waist at the time, the first thing I knew was that my ears were ringing with the crash of thunder, a strong smell of sulphur assailed my nostrils, and cold sea water had drenched my naked body. I dived overboard, and swam off as fast as I could to avoid being sucked down by the wreck, which sank almost at once. The water was alive with bobbing heads, like ducks on a pond, which the continuous lightning flashes revealed. Then rain fell hissing, and for a while I paddled about wildly, appalled by the choked cries of my drowning shipmates. I remember shouting to the God Poseidon: ‘Save me, Earthshaker, and you shall have sacrifice upon sacrifice, the costliest obtainable, even if I must do violence to placate you!’ These words were cut short by a jolt in the ribs which knocked all the breath out of my body, and I thought that the end had come: the crabs would have my flesh and the depth of the sea my bones. But I clutched desperately above me as I sank, and caught hold of something round and solid: the ship’s mast, or four fathoms of it, with a couple of stays attached, blackened by the lightning stroke. How I contrived to get astride this divinely sent timber, Heaven alone knows; but it kept me afloat until dawn, when I saw an empty barrel drifting not far off, and the ship’s companion ladder close beside it. The stays enabled me to lash the barrel to the mast and make a deck of the ladder, on which I could lie half in the water and half out. Having nothing to use as a sail, I tried to paddle towards the distant coast with my feet and hands. Dolphins sported around, a cormorant skimmed by, drenching its plumage as it dived for fish; but no ship came close enough to be hailed, and I drifted miserably from dawn to sunset.”
I nodded. “And last night,” I suggested, “the southern gale caught you?”
“It did indeed. I heard huge seas pounding against the ironbound coast, and each time my mast rose on the crest of a wave, the line of surf, deadly white under the moon, seemed to creep nearer and nearer. I renewed my plea to Poseidon. But an enormous breaker, the mother and grandmother of all breakers, came rushing down, unshipped barrel and ladder and whirled them from
me. Swept onwards into the surf, I abandoned my mast to grasp a protruding jag of rock and scramble ashore; however, the backwash dragged me away when I had already secured a handhold. I felt like a cuttlefish in the month of March, which the fisherman takes pitilessly by the neck and wrenches from its breeding hole in the cliff, with pebbles still clinging to its suckers. A great strip of skin was torn from my right palm—look!—but despite the smart I managed to battle my way out to sea once more, clear of the toothed rocks; searching, as I mounted each wave’s crest, for a gap in the long deadly battle front of surf. At last I saw the very thing and swam towards it. The water seemed colder, as if this were the debouchment of a brook. With desperate strokes I reached the gap, and found myself in a calm, landlocked harbour. Not another yard could I have swum, though dear life depended on it; but, sinking, I felt sand beneath my feet and stumbled forward in a daze, coughing and vomiting sea water. I reached that bank and crawled up it, inch by inch, until I came upon the thicket and there was a sheltered nook between an olive and an oleaster growing from the same stock. I scraped away the fallen leaves, lay down and heaped them over me again. Almost at once I slept, and have only just awakened.”
It is impolite to ask a suppliant for his name, clan or country until he has received the entertainment that the laws of hospitality require. “You are safe among us,” I assured him, “and shall be given food and drink without delay.”
He clutched my knees ecstatically, pouring out incoherent words of gratitude, and at last pleaded: “If I have said anything amiss, Goddess, may the north-easter whirl the offending words to perdition.”
The women gathered closer, and now that I had decided to take mercy on this stranger, ventured to utter cries of pity and encouragement.
He released my knees and, turning his head, said with a gallant attempt at a laugh: “Ladies, though valuing your kindness, and though tormented by hunger and thirst, I dare not offend your modesty. I feel sufficiently ashamed to expose my bare buttocks in so public a manner; to rise were worse. Perhaps that old sack yonder, which seems to have contained your laundry, would serve to cover my nakedness.”
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