Heroes

13

When night had fallen, a chariot with the insignia of the Mycenaean Atreides stopped in front of the atrium of the king’s house and the grooms came forward at once to take the reins of the two Argive stallions. The horses pawed the ground, still excited over their long race through the dark, and the charioteer, noble Pylades, calmed them by stroking their muzzles. In the meantime, Orestes got out of the chariot and entered the vast dark courtyard surrounded by a great colonnade dimly illuminated by lamplight. His slight figure seemed swallowed up by the big empty space that echoed with his rapid steps.

At the entrance to the palace, Hippasus, the master of the house, awaited him, accompanied by one of his sons. The old man had been the lawagetas when Atreus reigned over Mycenae, and Menelaus had restored him to a place of dignity in his palace. Next to him was the king’s nurse, Marpessa. She was a woman of great age, but she had always run the household. She still had authority over the handmaids and the servants and she managed them with a steady hand.

‘Your uncle the king and the queen await you for dinner,’ said Hippasus and ordered that the youth’s spear and sword be put in the armoury. ‘They are impatient to see you and embrace you. But please follow the nurse first; she will take you to the bath chamber and give you fresh clothing.’

Marpessa kissed his forehead and eyes: ‘You are as beautiful as the sun, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you stink of sweat and you’re covered with dust. The water is perfectly hot; the maids have kept the fire going under the cauldron all day since we did not know when you would arrive. Come, the princess herself will help you wash and prepare for dinner.’ She was already striding down the dark corridor with a quicker step than one would expect for a woman her age, and the young prince followed her. ‘How long has it been since you saw your cousin?’ she asked. ‘Oh, I imagine she was still wetting her bed the last time you saw her. Much time has passed. You’ll see, she’s as lovely as the morning star, with skin as white as the moon, her mother’s deep black eyes and the flaming hair of her father the king.’

The youth entered the bath chamber and the handmaids approached immediately to undress him. As soon as he was immersed in the tub, Princess Hermione appeared. She was so beautiful she took his breath away and left him without words.

‘Welcome to our home,’ said the girl. ‘We have been waiting anxiously for you. I hope you are well and that your journey was a good one.’

‘I am well, Hermione,’ he said, ‘and happy to see you. I had been told that you were as beautiful as your mother, but now that I’ve seen you, I’d say you were beyond compare.’

The girl lowered her head with a little smile, then approached him; taking a sponge, she dipped it in the hot water and squeezed it over his head, his back and his shoulders, as he closed his eyes and stretched out his legs in the stone tub, savouring the pleasure of the water’s warm caress.

Hermione passed the sponge to one of the handmaids, who continued to wash the prince, and she sat down to supervise the guest’s bath, as befitted her rank.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘just a short time ago Telemachus, the son of Ulysses, bathed in that tub. It was a day of celebration; I was about to depart with my dowry, to become Pyrrhus’s bride at Phthia in Thessaly. Telemachus had arrived from Pylus together with Pisistratus and we offered him hospitality here at the palace; he was seeking news of Ulysses. But my father did not have much to tell him. He did offer to help throw out the suitors who invade his father’s house, but Telemachus refused. He said that he was sure that his father would return and annihilate them all. He is a nice boy, Telemachus, gentle and good. Pisistratus has become his good friend, and I hope that one day he will find a bride worthy of him.’

‘If you were about to go to Phthia that day, how is it that you are still here?’ asked Orestes with a certain anxiety.

‘Because Pyrrhus is no longer there. His grandfather Peleus refused to keep him in his house, and he left for Buthrotum in Epirus. It would have been too long and dangerous a journey for me. I will go later, if we win the war; he will come here to fetch me.’

Orestes couldn’t take his eyes off her as she was speaking. When he had finished, he stood up, and the handmaids covered him with a big linen cloth that Marpessa had taken from a chest. They dried him and dressed him with a fresh tunic, handsomely embroidered in bright colours at the hem. Helen’s brother Castor had worn it one day, before the gods had called him to their abode. Orestes turned towards the nurse and said: ‘Grandmother, prince Pylades will have unharnessed the horses by now and he will be entering the palace. Go receive him as well, please, and have a bath prepared for him.’

The old woman nodded and walked away down the corridor. Orestes drew close to Hermione as the handmaids were dressing him and pouring perfume on his hair. He touched her cheek with a light caress. ‘If you were not already promised,’ he said, ‘I’d ask for you myself.’

The girl started slightly. ‘Do you mean that?’ she asked.

The prince answered with a look worth more than many words. He remained silent, contemplating her, and then said: ‘Have you ever seen him?’

‘No,’ said the girl. ‘But if we want to win this war, his strength is indispensable. That’s what my father the king says.’

‘We’ll win in any case,’ said Orestes. ‘We have justice on our side.’

‘If Pyrrhus fights with us, the conflict will be shorter. The king believes that we can also thus prevent others from convincing him to join them against us. The scale will be tipped in favour of whoever he takes sides with. Those who have seen him fight say he is an invincible fury. Like his father,’ she said, her voice growing softer, ‘but. . fiercer, more cruel.’

Orestes took her hand and clasped it between his own. ‘I would treasure you like a precious gem,’ he said, ‘like ripe grapes in the vineyard. .’

Hermione’s gaze trembled, her dark, shiny eyes became moist. ‘If the war is shorter, there will be fewer losses, less blood spilt, understand? Too much has already been shed.’

Orestes tried to say something else, but his voice died in his throat. Hermione pulled back her hand, gently, and went towards the door that led to her apartments. Before disappearing, she turned back towards him and bade him farewell with a look. In the uncertain light of the lamps, the prince thought he saw a tear glittering on her ivory cheek.

‘He won’t have you,’ he said.

The king himself, Menelaus the Atreid, came to receive him at the door of the great hall. He was flanked by two warriors from the army of Ilium, for they were the only ones he trusted.

The king strode towards him and greeted him with a warm embrace, then preceded him into the banquet room. Marpessa reappeared and gave orders to bring tables and food, and the prince began to eat eagerly, because he hadn’t stopped during the day and the bath had made him hungry.

‘Prince Pylades is with me,’ he said. ‘He will lead the Phocian army at our side.’

‘Excellent,’ said the king. ‘He will be a welcome guest in Hippasus’s house tonight; they will see to the plan of battle. King Nestor of Pylus will be sending the warriors who fought at Ilium under the command of Pisistratus, the strongest of his sons. Another allied army is descending from Epirus; it is led by the son of Achilles, Pyrrhus, who has sworn to help us. You will lead the chariot charge with me, if they dare to challenge us on an open field.’ Orestes listened, but his eyes seemed to drift away at times. When they had finished dinner, the king had the tables cleared but had them leave the wine.

‘Your aunt, the queen,’ said Menelaus, ‘regrets that she was not with me to receive you at the door, but she will be joining us soon.’

Orestes seemed disconcerted; a troubled look crossed his eyes, an ill-concealed embarrassment.

‘I understand,’ said the king, ‘I know what you are thinking. .’

‘My sister Iphigeneia. . and my father died because of her,’ said the prince, a sudden chill in his voice.

‘It’s not the way you think,’ said the king. ‘And it is time that you know the truth. That’s why I had you come.’

The queen entered at that moment and greeted him: ‘Welcome to this house, son.’ But Orestes barely managed to bow his head. Her presence obviously created deep discomfort in the boy.

‘The tunic of my beloved brother fits you well,’ observed the queen. Her gaze was veiled with sadness and regret.

‘Helen was not the cause,’ said Menelaus. ‘She was, instead, one of the combatants. Perhaps the most formidable of us all.’

The youth gave the queen an astonished look. She seemed not to notice, lowered herself into a chair and put her feet up on an elegant ivory-adorned stool.

The prince shook his head, bewildered. The king rose, poured wine into the young man’s cup and waited until he had drunk it, then said: ‘Get up and come with me.’

Orestes followed him without understanding what was happening. Before starting down the corridor, he turned back a moment to see the queen sitting there, as lovely as a goddess; she smiled at him. They soon reached a sort of gallery, closed off by screened shutters.

‘Come,’ said the king. ‘Look.’

Orestes neared the screen from which a reddish glow filtered. The room he saw was illuminated; there was a girl there, playing a lyre and singing, while others around her spun wool of beautiful colours. At the centre, sitting at a large loom, was a woman whose head was covered with a light blue veil. He could only see her hands, her long, delicate fingers flying swiftly over the weft, passing the reel back and forth. Woven into the top part of the cloth was a peaceful scene, a shepherd guiding his sheep to a blue-watered spring. Green meadows surrounded them. The lower part showed a scene of war: a ship leaving port with warriors seated at the thwarts, manning the oars; they were departing to wreak destruction across the sea. Weeping women waved at them from the beach, their heads covered by black veils as if they were following a funeral litter.

The lyre suddenly stopped, the woman’s sweet voice fell still and the lights dimmed. The woman sitting at the loom rose to her feet and turned around: it was Helen of Sparta, the bride of Menelaus the Atreid.

‘Helen never went to Ilium,’ said the king behind him. ‘She never left the land of the Achaeans. The whole time we were at war she was hidden away at Delos, protected by an impenetrable secret.’

‘I. . I cannot believe what I see,’ said the prince, and his eyes were full of stupor. ‘How can this be? Is it a prodigy of the gods? A trick. . an illusion for the eyes?’

‘She is as you see her,’ said the king. And he returned on his steps. Orestes, still as stone, couldn’t take his eyes off the queen, her soft, proud step as she crossed the shadowy room, as the oil that the handmaids had poured into the lamps was consumed. A moment later, the divine Helen disappeared into a dark corridor. Her maidservants followed her as the lamps went out, one by one. The last one remained lit for a while, illuminating the marvellous weaving. The quivering light licked at the lamenting women and in the silence that enveloped the great house, the young prince thought he heard weeping.

They returned to the banquet hall and the prince approached the woman who was still sitting there. She held a golden cup that the handmaids had brought her in her hands; it was full of wine.

‘This is the woman who followed Paris to Ilium,’ said Menelaus behind him. Orestes drew nearer until he was very close. Her gaze was unperturbed, her lips curling in a slight smile, her forehead very smooth and perfectly white. She touched his face with a caress and said: ‘Welcome to our home, son.’

‘But. . but this is the same person,’ stammered the prince.

‘No,’ said the king. ‘Look, the mole she has on her right shoulder has been tattooed. A priest from Asia came all this way to do it. No one here in the land of the Achaeans knows this art.’ He brushed it with his fingers. ‘See? It is not a mole, it is perfectly flat. Otherwise she is the very portrait of your aunt.’

‘But that can’t be. . the gods cannot have created the most beautiful woman in the world twice.’

‘I saw her by chance among a group of slaves that a Ponikjo ship had unloaded at the market on the seashore. She was dirty and ragged, her hands were black and her nails broken. She was full of bruises and wounds and yet I was awed by her beauty and, above all, by how much she resembled the queen. I couldn’t understand why she was in such a sorry state. Even the stupidest of merchants realizes that a slave in those conditions isn’t worth half her real price.

‘I thought that if I cured her, washed her and fed her, the resemblance would be perfect. I bought her without haggling over the price those greedy pirates wanted. I thought that somehow this marvellous resemblance could prove useful to me. . and I knew that. .’

Orestes listened as if he were beside himself, still not able to accept what his eyes were telling him. He turned again and again towards the woman seated so close to him; she had caressed him, she had called Castor her ‘beloved brother’, she had said ‘our home’ as only a queen can say, she sat and spoke like only a queen can sit and speak. And then he turned towards the king who was continuing his story, but in his eyes a light of ire and suspicion was growing.

‘I knew that. . in any case, she had to belong to me. I could not bear the thought that another man might, sooner or later, discover her beauty and take his pleasure with her as I take my pleasure with my legitimate bride.’

The woman got up just then, took a pitcher from the table and poured wine into two golden cups, which she handed to the prince and King Menelaus. She then said to Orestes: ‘It is time for me to retire to my rooms and leave you alone, but first I will have your bed made up myself. May the gods grant you a good night.’

She took her leave of the king with a slight nod of her head and a smile, and went off.

The house was enveloped in night and silence. The only sounds to be heard were the steps of the warriors on sentry duty in the great outer portico, their voices as they exchanged orders and the barking of the guard dogs. The king’s gaze was far away, his brow clouded over. Perhaps in that moment it was the call of the sentinels on the ramparts built to defend the ships from the fury of Hector and Aeneas that rang in his ears; perhaps he heard the groans of the wounded and the shrieks of the dying.

The prince stared into his absent eyes: ‘You set off the war to recapture a slave. . the kings of the Achaeans suffered injury, pain and death over a slave. . kingdoms overturned, thrones bloodied. . all of this. . for nothing more than a slave!’ He pounded his fist on the table, jolting the cups. ‘I want nothing from you. I do not want your help and I will not remain in this house another instant.’ He sprang to his feet but the king barred his way, towering over him, and the sudden movement of his head stirred up his long red hair like a vortex of flames.

‘That was not the reason, I told you!’ Menelaus’s voice blared out suddenly in the silence like a war horn. ‘She was not the reason the war was fought,’ he said again, his voice lower after the prince had blanched and dropped his head. ‘She was a combatant. . more fearsome than the cunning of Ulysses, than the ire of Achilles, than the might of Great Ajax!’

‘But you told me. .’ began Orestes.

‘Yes, I told you that I could not bear the thought that another man might take his pleasure with the living image of my bride. And that’s all. That’s all I was thinking of when I had her brought to a secret place where she was washed, nursed to health and cared for. Every day I had her served the same food and the same drink as the queen. In the same identical quantities, at the same times. When I saw her again, months later, I was dazzled: she was the perfect image of my bride. I even thought. .’

‘That she was her twin sister?’ asked the prince.

‘Yes, I thought so. Castor and Pollux, Helen’s brothers, were twins. If the gods had created a prodigy once, could they not do it again?’

‘Yes,’ said Orestes. ‘Why not twice?’

Menelaus approached him, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly: ‘You are tired, son. .’ he said, ‘and you are so young. . perhaps you would like to sleep. I sleep little and poorly, prey to nightmares.’

‘I do not wish to sleep,’ said the prince and he placed his hand over the king’s. ‘I have come to learn everything, before doing what must be done. You must not hide anything from me, if I am to be the one who leads the charge of the chariots over the plains of Mycenae, if I must raise my sword over the body. .’ He did not have the strength to say another word.

Menelaus poured more wine into the cups then, and continued. ‘The queen’s nurse was still alive then and I met with her one winter’s night in the little house near the river where she lived alone and unwell, cared for by a handmaid whom Helen had ordered to stay with her as long as she lived and never leave her wanting for anything. The queen loved her nurse dearly, and often went to visit her, bringing her the sweets and fruits that she was so fond of. No one could have noticed me, for I was dressed as a farmer, and rode a mule loaded with bundles of sticks.

‘When I entered, the servant recognized me as soon as I bared my head; she kissed my hand, and Helen’s nurse recognized me then as well. She was ailing, and breathing with difficulty, but her eyes lit up when she saw me. I sat beside her bed and said: “Mother, I have bought a slave from some Ponikjo merchants. She was dirty and ragged, and her body was full of bruises, as happens with those slaves who won’t accept their condition and rebel against their masters or try to escape. I handed her over to people I trust, so she would be treated well and cared for. Now, mother, that slave is the perfect image of Helen. So perfect she looks like the same person.”

‘The old woman’s expression changed suddenly; her lips trembled and her hand gripped mine, squeezing it with surprising strength. She said: “Where was the Ponikjo ship coming from, son? Where had it been?” Her breath came in short gasps, whistling as it left her bosom.

‘I answered, “I do not know, mother. The Ponikjo journey among all peoples, and cross the sea wherever they please.”

‘The nurse fell back upon the bed but her breathing was becoming more strained, and came in painful gasps. Her eyes were lost in time, as if searching for long-buried images. She made an effort and clasped my arm again: “Where did the Ponikjo ship go then? Has it ever returned to our port?”

‘ “I don’t know where it went and we’ve never seen those merchants since. Tell me, I beg of you, what are you thinking? Why is your breath so short? What causes you such distress?”

‘She did not answer. She would not answer, no matter how much I implored her. Perhaps she thought an uncertain truth would do me more harm than not knowing. She closed her eyes and seemed to be sleeping, and I did not want to tire her further with my insistent questions. She never awoke again, and several days later, we placed her on a litter and buried her with rites worthy of a family member.’

‘So you still don’t know who that woman is,’ said the prince. There was an ambiguous expression in his eyes, as though he understood what had passed through King Menelaus’s mind as he buried the queen’s nurse with honours that long ago winter’s day.

‘Who was truly responsible for the war?’ he asked then.

‘We were,’ said the king with a firm voice. He sat opposite his nephew and held his head in his hands. ‘The Atreides were the repositories of a terrible secret that dated back to the time when Euristheus reigned in Mycenae. We knew that the day would come when we would be invaded by the descendants of Hercules who had been driven away many years before by King Euristheus, and we knew that these invaders would destroy the land of the Achaeans. We were responsible for averting this impending threat, for preventing the destruction of our cities, the devastation of our fields, the massacre and enslavement of children and women.’

The prince shook his head: ‘And to ensure that this would not happen, you unleashed a war that lasted years, instead of saving your strength, instead of readying the armies and the fleets? I don’t understand. . I just can’t understand.’

The king drew a long breath, as the outer courtyard rang with the footsteps of the guards who had arrived to relieve their comrades on the first shift. Then he said: ‘What we needed, to ensure that this would not happen, was the talisman of the Trojans. The talisman would make us invincible; only with the talisman in our possession would we be able to gather the strength necessary to withstand the onslaught, but we needed to have it before our time was up. No army can challenge fate. The question was, how to win it from the hands of the Trojans? Well, one day your father told me that he was planning to go to Ithaca to consult Ulysses. The little king of the western islands was already famous then for his cunning, and both Agamemnon and I had good relations with him. His wife Penelope, as you know, is the cousin of your mother and your aunt Helen.

‘Ulysses was against the war, and he opposed our plan for a great expedition against Troy. He did not believe in the honesty of our intentions; he imagined it was a desire for power and conquest that animated us. That was the only way we could explain the answer he gave us. “If it is only that statue of stone that you want,” he said, “much less than a war is needed.” Nothing is more powerful in this world than a woman’s appeal over a man, he claimed. His plan was simple: invite one of the Trojan princes to Sparta and then convince Helen to seduce him and flee with him. Once inside the city she would be able to give us all the information we needed.’

‘I would have killed anyone else who had even hinted at such a proposal, on the spot, like a dog, but I realized the true significance of his words. He meant to say: “If you Atreides want to drag the entire Achaean people into total war, if you want to ask thousands of warriors to suffer and die, thousands of wives and mothers to wail over their fallen husbands and sons for the rest of their days, then you have to prove that you are ready for anything, ready to be the first to sacrifice what you hold dearest.”

‘Now this would have been right, if it were true, as he thought, that the real reason for our seeking war was our desire for power. Ulysses lived alone, you see, and hardly ever participated in the large assemblies of the continental kings. His little island was enough for him, he oversaw the work in his fields like a farmer, he sheared his own sheep and butchered his own swine. He was happy with what little he had.

‘And yet I hated him for what he had said, and I swore that I would kill him as soon as I had the opportunity.’

‘I can’t believe that my father would have dared to repeat such a request, even if Ulysses had suggested it to him,’ said Orestes, shaking his head. ‘My father was a man of honour.’

‘He was. In fact, when he returned he was gloomy and taciturn; he would not speak with me. He simply would not be persuaded to relate Ulysses’s proposal. And when he had finally told me, after my long insisting, he added immediately: “It’s a provocation. He merely wants to say that we can’t count on him, that it’s not his war. We’ll do without his help.”

‘It was then that I conceived of the idea of how I could trick the master of deception, the most astute of men. And so I said: “We won’t need to. I will do as he says.” As your father looked at me, stunned, as if I had gone raving mad, I continued: “Ulysses is right. We are asking the Achaeans to leave their wives and children, to face danger, to suffer wounds, to risk death. We must be the first to show that we are willing to pay the highest price. Tell him I will do as he suggests, on one condition: if war should break out, despite his plan, he must take part in it with his ships and his warriors and he must help us to win it.”

‘Your father looked at me as if he couldn’t believe his ears, but he could not oppose my words. He had no reason to doubt my good faith.

‘That same evening, I went to the secret chamber and met with the woman who drank with us tonight in this room. She was completely devoted to me; she obeyed me blindly, no matter what I asked her. She must have suffered enormously before I found her, so great was her gratitude. When I had explained to her what she must do, she said that it would be a great joy for her to satisfy my request. There was just one thing she was sorry about, she said, that she would not see me again for a long time, or perhaps ever again.’

Orestes listened, rapt. His long blond hair lay as still as stalks of wheat before a storm. He was hearing things he never could have imagined, was forced to confront ideas that revolted him. King Menelaus let out a deep sigh, rose to his feet and went to the window. The city slept before his eyes, and the earth slept.

‘When Paris fled back to Troy, taking her with him, we sent messengers throughout the land of the Achaeans, summoning all the kings to a war council. The abduction of a queen has always been an act of war, implicating the coalition of all our forces to avenge the offence.’

‘And Ulysses did not know this?!’ asked Orestes.

‘Certainly, but he was convinced that it would be resolved through negotiation. After all, our relations with the Trojans had always been rather good. War assemblies have often been held with the sole aim of inducing the adversary to negotiate. But Ulysses realized that he had been tricked, and then I feared that all was lost. He had come to Sparta secretly to instruct Helen about her mission to Troy. I had arranged everything to ensure that he wouldn’t notice a thing. They met in my presence, at night, by lamplight, in one of the rooms of this palace. Yet, all at once he turned to me and said: “Who is this woman?”’

‘That’s impossible!’ said Orestes. ‘He hadn’t seen Helen for years, the light was dim, the resemblance perfect. How could he have guessed?’

The king smiled. ‘Her scent,’ he said. ‘Ulysses is a sailor, and like all sailors his sense of smell is very keen. That’s how they know they are nearing land, by the smell. They know precisely what land lies before them by the odour that wafts over the waves. One day, long before then, he had kissed Helen’s hand and he had breathed in her fragrance. The woman he had before him was different. ‘I must know everything,’ he demanded. ‘Everything which regards this woman. And everything which regards Helen. You must hide nothing from me if you want our plan to succeed.’

‘I realized that he was not indignant over my deception; on the contrary, that amazing resemblance excited him. It was an irresistible challenge for his mind.’

‘I convinced the kings to entrust him with the task of going to Troy to ask for the return of Helen, and I went with him. He was very sure of himself. He said: “Paris has had what he wanted for many months. King Priam will not want to drag the city into war over the passing fancies of his son. He will oblige Paris to turn Helen over to us, and we will bring her home, along with the talisman of the Trojans.” ’

‘So why didn’t Priam return the woman?’ asked Orestes. ‘Anyone would have done so, anyone in their right mind. Priam was a wise man and a great king, esteemed by all.’

‘I don’t know. No one knows. Not even Ulysses expected a refusal. He grew visibly pale when they gave us their answer, and looked at me in dismay. I believe that Antenor was the cause. He rose up with such passion to demand that Helen be immediately returned, that Priam reacted badly. Antenor spoke in the name of the Dardans, obedient to Anchises and his son Aeneas. To the king’s ears, his demand had the ring of an imposition, coming from a minor branch of his dynasty, and he could not tolerate it in front of us and in front of the assembly of elders. If Antenor had held his tongue, Helen — or rather, the woman they thought was Helen — would have been returned to us. The war would have been avoided.’

Orestes held his head in his hands and drew a long breath: ‘There’s another reason, is there not? A hidden reason, that torments you.’

The king did not answer. He was tense and weary, his eyes were as red as one who had not slept the entire night. His gaze was absent again, his mind distracted. Tumultuous images passed behind his brow, like storm clouds dragged by the wind.

‘You feel, within yourself, that you did not really pay the true price, the highest and most precious tribute, the only one that would have allowed you to ask an entire nation to combat and die. You feel that your trickery turned the benevolence of the gods against you. Everything went badly from that moment on. Everything went out of control. From the hands of man to the hands of fate. Am I right?’

The king’s forehead creased deeply, but not a word came from his mouth. The crackling of flames could be heard from the courtyard, and the soft murmuring of men sitting around the fire.

‘The responsibility was ours,’ he said then, ‘and we acted as we had to act. No one had foreseen the war. Not even the Trojans.’

‘But if Priam had returned the woman, would you have obtained what you wanted? Had she succeeded in learning the secret of the talisman of Troy?’

‘No. Not until many years later, after Paris had been killed, after she had become the legitimate wife of Deiphobus his brother and was thus recognized as part of the royal family. In the end, we did succeed in winning the talisman of the Trojans, but at what a price! The laments of my fallen comrades do not let me sleep at night. Their cries rising from Hades lick at the feet of my bed: Achilles, slain by Paris before the Scaean Gates, Patroclus, murdered by Hector. . Antilochus, son of Nestor; today he would reign over sandy Pylus. Ajax the Locrian crushed between the rocks. . my brother, butchered like a bull in the manger. Ajax Telamon, who threw himself on his own sword; it pierced through his back, running red with his blood. Diomedes and Idomeneus forced to flee, perhaps already dead in some far off, unknown land. And Ulysses. . Ulysses has not come back.

‘We had time to become friends under the walls of Troy but now, now that I need his counsel and his help so badly, he is not here. Perhaps he wanders still over the boundless seas.

‘The other night I had a dream. I was on the seashore, and I could hear the voices of my comrades calling to me from the depths of the nether world. They called me by name; they asked for my help, tormented as they were by cold and by solitude. I tried to answer, tried to speak with them, but my voice did not leave my throat. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Then I suddenly saw the ship of Ulysses emerging from the mist covering the expanse of the waves. I saw him land, and sacrifice a black victim to the infernal gods. And the souls of the dead rose up to him from the depths of the abyss. One of them, a venerable old man with a long beard, spoke to him but I could not hear him, I could not perceive the sound of his words. I could only see Ulysses’s face turn white in dismay.

‘When the old man finished speaking I heard the voices of my comrades again. I saw them all, one by one, passing before the son of Laertes: Achilles, Ajax, Agamemnon, Eurilocus. . but their voices no longer had the same deep, forceful timbre as when they sent the ranks to battle on the fields of Ilium. Shrill sounds came from their mouths, like the screeching of bats in a cave; piercing cries that contrasted with their weak aspect, with the pale shining of their armour. Oh gods, I saw them all, I saw my companions and my brother in the cold squalor of Hades. .’

Orestes watched him intently and saw terror, panic, emptiness, solitude painted on his pale, sweaty face. ‘It was only a bad dream, uncle. You did as you thought best, and now justice is on our side again. We will win, and restore order to the land of the Achaeans. Do not despair: you have many years of serene life to look forward to, here with your people, alongside your bride and your daughter.’

‘My daughter,’ said the king, lowering his head with a sigh. ‘I have promised her to Pyrrhus, in order to bind him to us and obtain his alliance.’

Orestes suddenly started, but immediately regained his composure. The wind was picking up, whistling softly through the courtyard and the portico, stirring the flames of the torches and lamps. The prince strained his ears as if the wind carried distant whispers. He said: ‘Were you aware of the plotting of the queens?’

‘I was.’

‘What did you know?’

‘Everything. I can tell you everything, if you are not tired, my son.’

‘I am not tired.’

Menelaus began to speak again: ‘It was a night like this one, long and silent, the west wind was blowing. Paris, the Trojan prince, was our guest and he had already fallen into our trap. Ulysses sat on that stool you see over there and he seemed to be staring at the shadows cast by the wavering flames of the lamps. He suddenly said: “Tomorrow I want to see the queen again and speak to her before I go. Then I will return to my island and wait until it is time to go to Troy.”

‘I answered him: “Then you will have to rise at the first light of dawn; the queen will be leaving the palace to visit her sister Clytemnestra. She will stay away for several days.”

‘Ulysses seemed to take no note of my words. His eyes were half closed and his head was leaning against the wall. Then he said: “Did you know that Queen Aigialeia of Argos will be visiting Clytemnestra as well?”

‘ “No,” I answered. “I did not.”

‘Ulysses fell silent again and he seemed to be listening to the wind that whispered light through the courtyard.

‘ “Do you know that the queen of Crete has landed at Mases to attend a secret meeting? No, you don’t know. But I do. I also know that Queen Clytemnestra has sent a man she trusts to Ithaca, taking advantage of my absence. What do you make of all this?” said Ulysses.

‘I was astonished. “How do you know all this?” I asked him.

‘He did not answer. He said: “Send the other woman to the meeting, and have her make sure it takes place in the open, after sunset. We cannot run any risks.” I did as he had told me to do, and we came to learn of their pact. Ulysses and myself. No one else.’

The prince shook his head incredulously: ‘Not even my father? Why? It could have saved his life. .’ The boy’s gaze was murky, challenging again.

‘It wasn’t clear in the beginning. It seemed to be a pact of friendship among the queens, an agreement to meet every year to celebrate rites in honour of the Potinja. Only Ulysses continued to scent danger, and the day the fleet set sail from Aulis he was still tormented by suspicion.

‘Many years later, the night we stopped at Tenedos on our return voyage, he boarded my ship. I was awake, out on the deck, watching the bloody light illuminating the sky to the east: Troy was still burning. . He came close without making a sound and put his hands down on the ship’s railing, next to my own. He said to me: “Do not trust anyone, when you arrive home. Put ashore secretly, at night. Allow only the men who fought with you at Ilium to come close to you. I’ve warned Diomedes as well, but I fear he confides too much in his strength. He has not yet learned that deceit is infinitely more powerful.”

‘He turned towards the curved stern which my companion slept under, exhausted by the emotions and the hardships of those last days and nights. He said: “Send her to meet with the other queens, if they invite her.” ’

‘And why didn’t you return?’ insisted the prince. His eyes flashed with barely restrained ire.

The king lowered his head: ‘I sailed for Delos because I could no longer stay away from Helen. I had forced her into long, bitter solitude. I couldn’t wait any longer. I left the woman who was with me to the priestesses, so they could take her to a secret place in the Peloponnese. And I stayed with Helen.’

‘As you bedded Helen, my father was dying! Downed like an animal, along with all of his comrades!’

The king’s hands trembled, his eyes filled with tears. ‘It is as you say,’ he said. ‘I heard his last breath, distinctly, I felt the knife that cut his throat slash my own flesh, I saw his funeral mask rising like a bloody moon, hovering over the tower of the chasm! Son, my grief for his death bites into me every day and every night, like a ferocious dog. Do not condemn me, for you know not what paths your life may still take! You do not know if your courage will fail you one day, suddenly, if passion will cloud your mind and your good sense. Our destiny is not in our hands, and if the gods grant us a moment of happiness they make us pay for it bitterly, sooner or later. Do not judge me, do not condemn a man who suffers.’

He stood before the young man as if he was awaiting a verdict. Orestes looked up at him: his red eyes held an expression of dazed heartache, his face was deeply creased, his chin trembled imperceptibly and his mouth twisted in agony. Orestes got to his feet as well, and stared into his eyes for a moment, then burst into tears and clasped his uncle close.

They remained thus for some time, both wounded by the same pain, tormented by the same obscure fears. In the end, the youth pulled away and stepped back: ‘For that which they have done,’ he said, and his voice was cold and ruthless, ‘no mercy.’