The Gates Of Troy Part 21

'Here,' said Eperitus, handing her his own food bag.

Talthybius and Antiphus followed with handfuls of bread and dried meat, which spilled from the girl's hands, forcing her to kneel and pick them up. Arceisius also gave what little he had, and finally even Eurylochus parted with a half-eaten leg of mutton; Eperitus, who had always known Eurylochus to be closely attached to his food, was surprised, but nonetheless gave him a look that forced him to part with some cakes of bread, too, before withdrawing from sight behind his pony.

'We must go,' Odysseus announced, checking the position of the sun then turning to his pony and taking the reins.

Galatea placed her hand on his shoulder. 'But how can I thank you?'

Odysseus smiled at her. 'Just return to your mother and bring some joy back to her heart.'

The men returned to their ponies. Eperitus was last, taking his cloak from the rock and throwing it over his shoulders before mounting. Galatea started to unfasten Polites's cloak, but he told her to keep it as he had a spare. Then he turned his pony and spurred it forward with a jab of his heel to its ribs.

'Wait!' Galatea suddenly cried. 'There is something I can do for you. I can place your weapons on Artemis's altar and ask her to bless them. I know I can't serve her in the role of priestess any more, but she'll remember the years I dedicated to her and answer my prayers, I'm certain of it. And maybe she will return your kindness to me by giving special qualities to your weapons. All I need is one item from each of you, just to show my grat.i.tude. I remember a hunter who asked for his bow to be dedicated at the altar, and he later claimed he never missed a shot.'

The men halted and looked at her in silence as they pondered her words. It was difficult for any warrior to part with his arms, but somehow the prospect of having them blessed seemed appealing. Then Antiphus lifted his treasured bow from his back and handed it to her.

'You'll be quick?' he asked.

'Of course,' she replied with a smile, kissing his maimed hand where the fore and middle fingers had been docked.

Talthybius and Eurylochus were next, handing her their swords in their scabbards, which she threw over her shoulder with the bow. Polites placed his oversized helmet on her head and was followed by Arceisius, who handed her his spear.

'You're overloaded as it is,' said Odysseus, pa.s.sing her his dagger.

'But I'm tall and strong,' Galatea replied.

Finally, she turned to Eperitus.

'And you, sir? What about that dagger in your belt I can ask Artemis to make the blade sharp enough to cut through bronze.'

Eperitus laid a protective hand on the hilt of his cherished dagger. It had been given to him by Odysseus when they had first met, and he treasured it above all else, with the exception of his grandfather's shield. But Galatea came close to him and placed a long-fingered hand on his arm.

'Please, sir, let me repay your kindness.'

'Give her the dagger, Eperitus,' Talthybius urged him.

Eperitus reluctantly removed the prized gift from his belt and handed it to her. She tucked it into the sash about her waist, alongside Odysseus's blade.

'I'll have to ask you to wait here for me, as men aren't permitted in the temple,' she said, bowing to them as she backed away. 'It's just on the other side of the wood, so I'll be back soon. I'll bring my mother, too, if she has regained her strength yet. She'll want to thank you herself.'

The warriors dismounted again and watched the priestess disappear into the wood, Polites's dark green cloak blending easily with the undergrowth and quickly disguising her even from Eperitus's sharp eyes. He sat on the rock from which Galatea had told her story and took a swallow from his water skin. Already he could feel the absence of the dagger, the handle of which normally pressed against the hard muscles of his stomach. He watched Odysseus haul a sack of grain down from the back of the baggage pony and order Arceisius to feed the animals, before walking over and sitting on the rock beside him.

'Unless Troy falls quickly,' the king said, 'I'm beginning to worry that we won't have any homes to come back to. The rule of law is already crumbling and we haven't even set sail yet.'

'Ithaca's safe,' Eperitus replied, taking a mouthful of water and handing the skin to his friend. 'Mentor and Halitherses will take good care of the place, and they've enough good soldiers under their charge to fight off any raiders.'

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted up at the sun. 'It may be safe for now, whilst Mentor is seen to be acting under my authority. But the longer I'm away, the weaker my authority will become and the less people will listen to Mentor's commands. Penelope is a good queen and the people love her, but she can't impose her will at the point of a spear. And Telemachus is only a baby.'

'And perhaps all the oracles and prophecies are wrong and we'll be back on Ithaca within a year, glorious conquerors of Troy, our names to be sung forever in the tales of the bards.'

'That would make me happy,' Odysseus nodded, looking at the others sitting under the shade of their ponies with the warm blue of the Saronic Sea behind them. 'And perhaps it would slake your thirst for adventure and renown, at least for a few more years.'

Perhaps, Eperitus thought, and with an unexpected pang of homesickness he found himself thinking of how nice it would be to be back on Ithaca with Odysseus and Penelope, safe from the threat of war and busy playing his own role in the upbringing of Telemachus. It occurred to him then that he was more like Odysseus than he had ever thought, or at least that his friend's love of home had rubbed off on him over their years together. But as pleasing as these thoughts might be, he also realized that happiness of that kind could not be attained until he had first answered his own questions about himself. He had always thought of it as a personal quest for glory, a name that would endure beyond his own death, but in truth it was simply a desire to find out who he really was. Odysseus, he felt sure, had no such need though Troy might yet reveal parts of his character that he did not know about and Eperitus envied him his contentment.

He glanced over his shoulder at the woods where Galatea had taken their weapons, but there was no sign yet of her returning through the trees. When he looked back it was to find Eurylochus's small eyes boring into him. He was quick to turn his head away, but the look served to remind him that Eurylochus's animosity had not gone away, and he had not forgotten their argument on Samos.

'Shouldn't she be back by now?' asked Talthybius after a while, craning his neck towards the wood. 'I know prayers can be a complicated business, but all the same . . .'

He trailed off as if reluctant to follow his question to its natural conclusion. Odysseus, however, sucked on his teeth for a moment then rose to his feet.

'I'm starting to believe that a mere girl may have tricked us out of our goods and weapons,' he began. There was a chorus of protest, which he stilled with raised palms. 'It's true: where a band of armed brigands would have failed, it seems a pair of plump white t.i.ts with some audacity behind them have succeeded.'

The looks on the faces of the others revealed their growing anxiety about the whereabouts of the priestess, but they were unwilling or too embarra.s.sed to accept Odysseus's deduction. Polites, in particular, was adamant that Galatea had been telling the truth, and in the end it was agreed that Antiphus and Eurylochus should be sent to the temple to find her.

They returned quicker than expected, the hooves of their ponies kicking up a cloud of dust as they sped back across the fields from the wood.

'There isn't even a wooden hut, let alone a temple!' Antiphus cried.

'Odysseus is right, she's fooled us all,' Eurylochus added, panting as he pulled his pony to a halt.

'And I've lost the bow I had since I was a boy. If I ever see that girl, I'll . . .'

'Silence, Antiphus,' Odysseus commanded. 'We have a mission to fulfil, so we might as well forget our losses and move on. Mount up, all of you.'

Eperitus pulled himself lightly onto Melite's back, and as he turned her about saw Polites standing by his pony, looking wistfully at the wood.

'That old helmet of yours is long gone by now, Polites,' he said.

'I don't mind,' he replied, his voice deep and slow. 'She can barter it for some food. At least she won't have to offer her body. I couldn't abide the thought of that.'

'But she was . . .' Eperitus began, then thought better of it and spurred Melite forward with a jab of his heel.

Chapter Twenty-one.

GOLDEN MYCENAE.

Eperitus had not seen Clytaemnestra for ten years, ever since they had made love in the hills overlooking Sparta. She had given herself to him out of her spite for Agamemnon, and though there had never been any love between the young warrior and the Mycenaean queen, Eperitus had always remembered their brief time together with affection. Yet, as they came ever nearer to Mycenae, he began to feel nervous at the thought of meeting her again. He was also concerned about what else he would find within the walls of golden Mycenae. At first he had been keen to find the person who Calchas had said knew the first of the compelling secrets that had the potential to change his life, but as they crept closer to Agamemnon's city a sense of caution grew in him perhaps inspired by the disquiet he felt concerning their mission and soured his enthusiasm.

'See those watchtowers?' Talthybius called back over his shoulder, pointing up at the high peaks on either side of the road where two wooden structures kept a silent vigil. 'They mark the northern border of Mycenae. A richer and happier land you'll never see, even if you live to be as old as King Nestor.'

Talthybius's pride seemed justified. It was late afternoon as they crossed the border, but while the sun remained in the sky their eyes were able to feast on a fat and bountiful country. Their tired ponies trudged through valleys covered with crops of wheat, rye and barley, in the midst of which lay numerous stone farm-steads, their white walls gleaming in the sunshine. Children chased each other through the fields, enjoying the relative freedom of life before the coming harvest, when they would be busy gleaning the fields in the wake of the reapers and sheaf-binders. At one point they pa.s.sed a herd of straight-horned cattle, standing up to their hocks in a gabbling stream and feeding among the rushes that nodded and swayed on either bank. Each fertile valley they pa.s.sed through was flanked with hillsides where great numbers of sheep and goats seemed to cascade down the scree-covered slopes, searching for patches of vegetation whilst their shepherds looked on, talking peacefully between themselves as they leaned on staffs or spears.

The broad, winding road also took them through numerous villages, where grubby children and their mothers would gather in packs to wave or stare at the party of warriors as they pa.s.sed. Many offered food or drink at inflated prices, which Odysseus occasionally felt obliged to purchase for his men with the last of his trinkets. He explained to Eperitus that he felt guilty for letting them give the last of their own food to Galatea, when he should have realized they were being tricked.

Soon the road took them closer to the low mountains. A fiery sunset left a brief legacy of purple skies, promising another warm day to follow, but as Talthybius a.s.sured them his home city was close they gave no thought to stopping for the night. For some time now the road had been paved another sign of the wealth of Mycenae and the hooves of their ponies sounded sharp and hollow in the evening air as the stars opened out above them. Occasionally they crossed bridges over deep ravines, where far below, lost in the twilight, they could hear mountain streams that had been dried to a trickle by the summer sun. Eventually they saw the lights of a city emerge from the darkness to the southeast. They had reached Mycenae.

The road angled down a little towards the plain, where it intersected another that ran from east to west. At the crossroads, they turned left and headed eastward up the slope towards the city. As the moon sailed out above the black hills, its light painted the wide circuit of the walls and the high-sided buildings beyond them a ghostly white. Nestled on the rocky hill at the centre of the city was the royal palace, where dozens of lights gleamed from its many windows and lines of blue-grey smoke trailed up from vents in its rooftops. Behind the city were two cone-shaped peaks, one to the north-west and another to the southeast. The northernmost peak supported another watchtower, the top of which was framed by the underbelly of the moon. The armour of its occupants glinted in the silvery light as they stared out over the plain. Beside the watchtower was a mound of stacked wood, ready to act as a beacon in times of need.

Not that Agamemnon's city would ever find itself in desperate need of help. As their ponies approached the citadel, plodding slowly between the spread of shanties that surrounded it, Eperitus looked up in awe at the colossal walls ahead of them. Even though Troy's imposing defences were built by Poseidon and Apollo, with well-fitted stone and a much wider circuit than Mycenae's, the walls here surpa.s.sed them for brute strength and invulnerability. The blocks were crude but ma.s.sive surely beyond the capacity of men alone to lift and fit into place and in places they were easily as tall as three or four men. Even the handful of bronze-clad troops that peered down at them from the ramparts would be able to hold the city against a besieging army for a very long time; Heracles and Achilles together could not have sacked such a place.

Soon they were under the shadow of the city wall, where the high battlements eclipsed the moon and left them in darkness. Despite this, Eperitus's sharp eyes noted a gateway up ahead, lost in the deeper gloom between the city wall on the left and another, shorter rampart to the right. The overlapping wall at first seemed pointless to Eperitus. Then, as it loomed up beside him and he instinctively imagined what it would be like to be in a press of attackers storming the gate, he realized that defenders on the shorter wall would be able to fire or throw missiles at him from his unshielded right side. Clever, he thought, and deadly.

Talthybius dismounted and signalled for the Ithacans to do the same. They led their ponies up to the tall oak doors of the gateway to the city and stopped. The gates were over twice the height of a man and flanked by two stone pillars of immense size, which had been built into the walls for added strength. Resting above them was a stone lintel, on top of which was the magnificent relief Eperitus had seen in his dream, depicting a pair of lions standing either side of a short column. Their forepaws were planted firmly on its low plinth and their snarling faces looked out over the approach to the gate, a fearsome and majestic reminder that Mycenae was the greatest city in Greece, and its ruler, Agamemnon, was the greatest king. Though the lions were only faintly visible in the darkness, Eperitus could see the dull gleam of gold in their eyes, a final reminder of the wealth of the city they protected.

Talthybius took his herald's staff and beat it three times against the doors. The wood was so thick, the sound of each knock boomed as if it came from the ground beneath their feet.

'Who's on the door tonight?' he called. 'Is it you, Ochesios? Open up quickly and let us in.'

A voice called down to them from the ramparts above. 'Talthybius? What are you doing back here? Is something wrong?'

'Open this d.a.m.ned door, Ochesios, will you? I'm tired, hungry and saddle sore from riding this beast for four days.'

There was a brief delay and then the doors swung slowly inwards, revealing the moonlit innards of the city beyond. They walked through quickly, the sounds of the ponies' hooves echoing beneath the solid walls, and soon stood on a raised roadway overlooking the lowest level of the city. A group of guards nodded to Talthybius, but eyed his companions with caution. To the left was another high wall, perhaps a form of inner defence, and ahead of them a ramp climbed up to the next level. Of more immediate interest to the Ithacans, though, was the large circular arena slightly to their right, where a collection of upright slabs cast long shadows across the floor. It was cordoned off by an outer circuit of slabs, each standing to the height of a man's chest, and was entered through a single gate. Talthybius smiled as he saw his companions' undisguised interest.

'The royal burial ground,' he explained. 'Atreus is entombed there with his queen, Aerope. And one day King Agamemnon will be interred there, too, alongside his forebears. If we had arrived before sunset it would've been proper to make a sacrifice here before going up to the palace, but perhaps we can show our respects tomorrow.'

Beyond the arena was a collection of well-built houses that filled the remainder of the lower level. They reminded Eperitus of the buildings that skirted the walls of Pergamos in Troy, which housed the numerous officials who served Priam's household. Their Mycenaean counterparts were less elaborate in their architecture, but that was not a reflection of Troy's superior wealth it merely highlighted the different mindsets of the two opposing cultures. Though he had been impressed by the grandeur of Troy, Eperitus felt much more at home with the functional, honest architecture of Mycenae.

After his rustic guests had spent long enough gazing down at the royal cemetery, Talthybius led them up the ramp to the next level of the city. Here they could see the palace buildings looming ahead of them, their layered walls faced with silver by the moonlight. These were built on the third and highest level of the city and before long Talthybius had led them around to the left and up some steps to a double portico. In the narrow courtyard beyond they found more guards, chatting quietly among themselves as they drank wine and played dice on the flagstones. They rose at the sound of the ponies' hooves and the clank of bronze armour, and immediately levelled their spear-points at the approach of the newcomers.

'Talthybius,' said one of the guards, the surprise evident in his voice. 'The watchtowers sent word we would have visitors before long, but we weren't expecting you. Shouldn't you be in Troy by now?'

'I wish we were, Perithous,' Talthybius replied. 'But we're storm-bound at Aulis.'

'In the height of summer?' Perithous exclaimed. 'It can only be the will of the G.o.ds. But if Helen truly is the daughter of Zeus, he won't allow the fleet to be held up for too long. The good news for you is that the queen made preparations for your arrival as soon as she heard a group of warriors were approaching a hot bath for every man, followed by a feast in the great hall. Who shall I tell her to expect?'

'King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes,' Odysseus answered, 'with five of his men.'

'Yes, my lord.'

Perithous, though he appeared unimpressed by the name or rank of the stocky warrior before him, gave a low bow before departing through a tall and richly decorated doorway. Shortly afterwards a dozen slaves appeared and took the ponies away to be fed and rested. As he stripped the last of his belongings from Melite's back, Eperitus looked out across the Argive plain stretching away towards the Gulf of Argos. The moonlight revealed a network of paved roads spreading out across the hilly plateau for as far as his sharp eyes could see. Farmsteads and villages were strung along the roads like beads on a webbed necklace; the hardworking populace would be up long before dawn, so not a single light could be seen burning anywhere on the landscape of silver and blue.

As soon as the tired travellers had gathered their effects, Talthybius led them into the palace. They entered a short, echoing corridor that opened onto a square courtyard, brightly lit by the moon now soaring in the sable skies above. Opposite was the pillared threshold of the great hall, overshadowed by the conical hump of one of the peaks flanking the city. In contrast to Priam's great home, the seat of Agamemnon's power appeared modest and almost homely to Eperitus. It had the disadvantage of being built on a steep hill and hence the architect had been forced to constrain his designs, but even the decorative reliefs on the walls of rosettes or spirals set between fanned palm leaves were simple and constrained in comparison with Troy. Four warriors in expensive armour stood guard at the entrance to the throne room, eyeing the newcomers with curiosity and suspicion.

An elderly slave emerged from a doorway to their right. He stretched out his arm, indicating that they should enter. From the open door a wisp of steam curled out and the smell of hot water and perfumed oil greeted their nostrils.

'After you,' said Talthybius, bowing to Odysseus.

'Mycenaean manners are justifiably famous,' the king replied with a smile, before leading the way to the waiting baths. He was already stripping the heavy armour from his shoulders as he disappeared through the door.

After being bathed and rubbed down with oil by slaves, the men put on the fresh clothes that had been laid out for them and stepped out into the courtyard. The four guards stood aside at Talthybius's command, allowing the warriors to pa.s.s between the twin pillars of the threshold and into the antechamber beyond. Here they found a single soldier, who took a torch from the wall behind him and after satisfying himself that they were unarmed opened the twin doors and allowed the men through.

They entered a square, dimly lit room with high ceilings and a wide, circular hearth at its centre. The air was stiflingly warm and tasted of roast meat, while the red light of the fire pulsated against the four wooden pillars and the heavily muralled walls. Eperitus looked about himself and felt disappointed. This room was the beating heart of the most powerful state in Greece, and yet it was a pale shadow of the great halls of Troy and Sparta, and lacked even the fresh vitality of Odysseus's throne room on Ithaca. The once-colourful murals on the walls of the modest chamber were fading, and in places had begun to peel away. A scene depicting Perseus lopping off the snake-covered head of Medusa was so faint and stained by smoke that it was difficult to see in the red light from the fire. Perhaps there was little the greatest king in Greece could do to increase the dimensions of the hall, but to restore the murals would have been an easy thing for a wealthy ruler.

Unless that ruler was waiting to replace the murals altogether, Eperitus thought maybe with depictions of his own glorious conquest of Troy? Eperitus smiled to himself and turned his eyes to the tables of food laid out around the hearth. The smell of the freshly roasted meat filled his nostrils, making his stomach rumble and his mouth salivate. To his left he could see a slave in the shadows, washing the blood of a recently sacrificed animal from a wooden altar. The altar stood before an alcove containing a glazed terracotta image of a G.o.ddess Hera, the wife of Zeus, judging by the pomegranate in the palm of her hand. But the pomegranate was also a.s.sociated with Persephone, the dark G.o.ddess of the underworld.

'Be seated, my lords,' said a voice.

The newcomers turned as one towards a large granite throne positioned against the right-hand wall of the great hall. A woman stood beside it, scrutinizing them carefully as she leaned with her elbow on the back of the chair. She had dark red hair that was tied back behind her neck, with a fringe of ringlets and a tumbling curl before each of her protruding ears. She had her fair share of the beauty that her sister, Helen, possessed in such abundance, but Helen's face was fair and pleasant, whereas hers was dark and hardened with bitter experience. As if to emphasize this, she wore a black chiton over her tall, bony figure, against which the pale skin of her face and arms stood out starkly.

'Please,' Clytaemnestra said, stepping into the glow of the fire and indicating the seven chairs that circled the hearth, 'sit and eat. I may only be ruling in my husband's stead, but I won't have it said that I don't treat my guests according to the customs of xenia.'

Odysseus and Talthybius sat, followed by the others. Eperitus was last, eyeing Clytaemnestra as he walked around the hearth to the only remaining chair. She did not return his gaze, but sat on a high-backed wooden chair opposite Odysseus.

'Xenia exists to protect travellers and allow alliances between men of power,' Odysseus said, taking a knife from the table beside him and carving a slice of mutton. He folded it into a piece of bread but did not eat. 'What use is it to a woman?'

'I'm not a woman, Odysseus. I am a queen. And while Agamemnon fights his wars abroad and his son Orestes is still only a boy, Mycenae is under my rule. Now, you and your comrades will have travelled far and must be hungry; I have provided food and wine; please, satisfy yourselves and then we can talk.'

She leaned across the arm of her chair and poured herself a cup of wine. The others, who were famished, immediately began to help themselves to the modest meal. Eperitus's appet.i.te, however, had diminished and he satisfied himself with a barley cake and a swallow of the cool wine. Had Clytaemnestra forgotten him, he wondered? They had been lovers, and though some treated physical intimacy lightly, he could not believe she had allowed the evening they had spent together to die in her mind. And yet she ate and drank and smiled at the other men as if he were not there.

'It's been a long time, Clytaemnestra,' Odysseus said, after washing down a mouthful of food.

'Ten years,' Clytaemnestra replied. 'In which time I hear you've become the king of Ithaca, and fathered a son.'

'Telemachus,' Odysseus nodded proudly. 'A fine lad, but born at the wrong time. I only hope the war will be short so I can go home and watch him grow up.'

'It's a cruel fate that separates a parent and a child. They uphold our memory and make sure we are not forgotten our only real hope of immortality.'

'A warrior's memory is upheld by his spear,' Eperitus contested, tired of being ignored. 'A child may pa.s.s his name on from generation to generation, until he becomes nothing more than another name in a list of names learned by rote. But if his achievements in battle are great enough, his name will be remembered forever, just like Heracles, or Perseus on that wall up there.'

Clytaemnestra looked into her krater of wine. 'Who am I to deny that a warrior can make his name on the battlefield or in the pile of bodies he leaves behind him? But corpses are cold and lifeless, and the stories they tell are full of blood and horror. A child, Eperitus, is warm and loving, and will carry on a man's legacy through the blood that is in their veins, not the blood that is spilled in the dirt of a distant country.'

Their eyes met at last, and instead of the confidence she had demonstrated before Odysseus, or the strength and power that befitted a queen of Mycenae, he saw only her weakness and longing. He was suddenly aware of her frail beauty and wanted to hold her slender body again, as he had done by the fire in the Taygetus Mountains so long ago. Then her staring eyes faltered and blinked, and she turned back to face Odysseus.

'I'm unfamiliar with practising the custom of xenia, King Odysseus, but once a guest's needs are met is it not time for the host to ask the purpose of his visit? I already know the fleet is wind-bound at Aulis, but perhaps you will tell me why you have left your duties to visit a lonely queen, four days' ride away by pony. Have you come all this way, only to feast your eyes on golden Mycenae?'

'No, though I'm glad to have seen this famous city,' the king responded. 'But I have not left my duties to come here, as you suggest; rather, I am carrying out the command your husband and his brother gave me, to come to speak with you in person about a matter of great importance and honour.'

Clytaemnestra shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

'And what does the great Agamemnon want you to say that he cannot say himself?'

'The king is busy marshalling the fleet and preparing for the attack.'

'Nonsense, Odysseus. The king knows the storm will not abate until the G.o.ds permit it. He could have come himself.'

'It isn't for me to know the mind of Agamemnon,' Odysseus countered, unfazed by the queen's shrewd questioning. 'But here I am, and the news I bring should warm a mother's heart. Especially one who talks with such pride of the immortality her children will bring her.'

'That all depends on what a warrior believes will warm a mother's heart, does it not? Perhaps my husband intends to give command of half the fleet to eight-year-old Orestes, and has asked you to take him back with you to Aulis?'

Odysseus smiled and shook his head.

'Shame,' Clytaemnestra sighed. 'The boy despises living among women, and me most especially. He needs a father's discipline. So what is it, Odysseus? I know Agamemnon has always valued your powers of persuasion and trickery, so whatever he's sent you for must be something I won't be willing to give easily.'