The Oath

11

The mountains. They certainly weren’t any higher than those I’d seen in the kingdom of grandfather Autolykos, but they were rockier, steeper, more inaccessible. Many of the peaks were whitened by snow.

‘Will I be able to see it up close, father?’ I asked. ‘The snow?’

‘No, we won’t have time to go that high, nor can we leave the chariot and horses unguarded. You’ll see snow when you go back to Acarnania to visit your grandfather. Ask him to take you up to Mount Parnassus; you’ll be able to touch it there. It’s like sea foam, but it’s very, very cold: if you sink your hands into it they become red and then purple and after a while you can’t feel them any more. Your grandfather doesn’t fear the gods. He’ll be delighted to take you up to the peak and he’ll say to you: “See? There’s no Apollo, no Muses, none of those other false creatures.”’

The snow. . so much of it. . infinite, cruel. Even then it was in my dreams, nightmares.

They were wondrous, actually, those glittering silver spires that rose to the left and right of the deep gorges. Beneath us the river gurgled and sparkled over multicoloured gravel, boulders, stones, pebbles, sand which was red or grey or as green as a meadow. We travelled on the banks, sometimes fording a passage from one side to the other. For a long time, we saw no men. But we did see eagles. A group of deer. A wolf. I would use a sharpened stick to capture crayfish, or impale fish on my arrows. We were accustomed to eating fish on the island and my father knew which of the aromatic herbs growing alongside the river were best for roasting with them.

‘Was it like this, the world after the great flood?’

‘I think so. When the mud had been washed away by the rains, the rocks shone, the rivers ran clean and clear, the trees were radiant with green and silver. The bodies remained where they had found rest, on the bottom of the sea.’

Long silences between us. I would remember them one day in the heat of battle, my mind fogged with the terror of lying unburied. Golden silences, translucent, sparkling, scented with mint and rosemary. Words came too, when the mysteries of those rocks and woods touched me with fear.

‘Father, you were serious, then, when you said we’d be going to the Sanctuary of the Wolf King in Arcadia.’

‘We are going to Arcadia, my boy. You have nothing to fear. We will perform the rituals as tradition wants and nothing terrible will happen.’

‘But why must we carry out any rituals at all? I’m absolutely certain that grandfather doesn’t believe in such things. So why should they be true?’

‘No one can say with certainty what is true and what isn’t true. That which really exists and that which doesn’t. And so we shall go.’

‘Just because grandfather has that name?’

‘Yes, because he has that name. And because your mother believes, even if your grandfather doesn’t.’

Arcadia was even more beautiful. Hills and mountains, ravines and forests, wild flowers and sunsets, the disc of the moon streaked with thin clouds. The sanctuary, my father said, wasn’t too far off, but it was best to rest in a peaceful place before approaching it. We prepared to spend the night at the mouth of a big cave where a spring delivered up its waters into a mountain torrent.

‘What do you think? Will Mentor and the boy have arrived at their destination, with our men?’ I wondered.

‘Mentor is sensible and cautious. He’ll find the right roads and he’ll manage to return the boy to his parents. I would have liked you to meet them, Admetus and his wife Alcestis. She is the daughter of Pelias, king of Iolcus. She was very beautiful and very proud as a girl; everyone desired her but only Admetus, another glorious Argonaut, was able to win her as his bride.’

‘How did he manage it?’ I asked. I couldn’t help but think of Helen, of the words she’d said to me in Sparta.

‘By proving he was the best, I believe, although I’ve heard singers tell extraordinary and incredible tales of what happened, as is their custom. Perhaps only the king of Pherai himself could tell you the truth. If he wanted to. But there is one story I’ve heard told time and time again; there was awe in the voices of my comrades when they would whisper it, as we were stretched out on the benches of the ship on the nights we were awake at anchor, along the route for Colchis.’

‘What was it?’

‘One day, a handsome young man, a stranger whom no one had ever seen around before, showed up at Admetus’ palace asking for work. The king hired him as a herdsman for three years. He grew quite fond of the youth; he treated him with generosity and esteem because the boy did his work conscientiously, and since he had begun taking care of the herd, it had grown greatly, had almost doubled in size.

‘The youth had also become quite fond of his master and did everything he could to please him. Until one fine day, before the contracted time was over, in the same sudden way as he had originally appeared, the boy decided to go. .’

My father interrupted his tale, straining to hear something.

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t you hear it?’ he replied. ‘Can’t you hear that long call? It’s a wolf.’

I could hear it. A baying, getting louder and closer. The horses were frantically trying to free themselves from their hobbles. ‘Atta, do you suppose he’ll try to attack? That howling is enough to chill a man to the bone.’

The voice of the wolf still wounds my heart.. in another place covered with snow. . in another time I cannot measure. .

‘This is a region of flocks and herds. Where there are sheep, there will be wolves. But you mustn’t fear. We are not sheep, we’re warriors and we have our weapons.’

The wolf fell silent, taking warning from the words of King Laertes.

‘You didn’t finish your story. .’

‘Well, before leaving, the youth wanted to say farewell to wanax Admetus. It is said that in order to repay the king for his affection, he left a gift, a great and terrible one. .’

‘What was the gift?’

‘What you’re about to hear is a tale that poets sing to instil men’s hearts with wonder, when they wander from palace to palace to entertain the kings and heroes at the banquet table. No one can say whether any of it is true. .’

‘What was the gift, father?’ I insisted.

‘A gift that only a god could give. Apollo, some say. His gift was this: he told the king that he had convinced the Moirai, the three Fates who spin the thread of life for every mortal man, to allow Admetus to escape death, but only once; and only if, when his time came, he found someone willing to die in his place: then he would be spared.’

‘And did this ever happen?’

‘Not yet, at least from what I know. One thing is certain: the gods are always putting us to the test and imparting lessons. We can rarely recognize them by the way they look, because they are always disguising their true appearances, but they leave signs. .’

He sighed and then began speaking again: ‘Who but a god could promise you the most precious gift that exists: life. . living for even a single instant more than the time you’ve been allotted. . but, at the same time, pretend that you pay with the life of another? And not just any other; that of a person who loves you so much he is willing to give up his own life in order to prolong yours.’

‘So what is the lesson?’

‘You’re asking me? The lesson is that even the briefest moment of happiness has its cost. If you’re given a gift, even if it comes from a god, one day other mysterious forces, or even that god himself, may demand that you pay a price that could make you sorely regret ever having accepted the gift. But you must sleep now, son. Tomorrow will be a day you’ll never forget.’

We fell asleep in the shadows of the cave, but not before making a votive offering to the nymphs who inhabited it. When we were awakened by the morning sun, I left the horses inside the cave so they couldn’t be seen, and my father and I set off, without having eaten, towards the sanctuary.

‘Can’t you tell me why, father?’ I asked. ‘I must know why we’re doing this. You’d already decided before we left Ithaca, hadn’t you?’

‘You’re right, I had. To satisfy your mother. She is. .’

‘Different from other women. I know. She’s her father’s daughter.’

‘Yes. She has premonitions. . visions, sometimes. She believes that your grandfather, as a young man, was initiated into the rite of the wolf. Do you know what that means?’

I did not know and at the moment I was not eager to find out.

‘Do you see that mountain?’ my father continued. ‘It is the tallest in all Arcadia. It was up there, a long time ago, that the wolf-king lived. The people called him that because he fed on human flesh. Everyone in the neighbouring lands lived in fear of his evil habits. When a man, or a maiden or a child disappeared without leaving a trace, every community, every village, every out-of-the-way house, was prey to absolute terror. Their eyes would rise to the mountaintop, their thoughts would fly to the bloodthirsty king who had made his home there. They couldn’t stop thinking of their loved ones becoming the victuals of his gruesome banquets.

‘Then one day, the wolf-king vanished. Perhaps he died, perhaps he was killed, but his memory did not disappear with him. People thought he must somehow be living on in some other form. The fact is that, to this day, in that sanctuary, a terrible rite is performed on certain men who are marked by a sign that only the priest can recognize. From that moment on, the man becomes a wolf one night every month, for seven years. When those seven years are up, he returns here to the sanctuary. He is offered different kinds of meat, including. . human flesh. If he refuses it, he is set free. If he devours it, he remains a wolf for seven more years.’

‘No, it’s not possible,’ I whispered, ‘I can’t believe that. . Are you saying that my mother’s father is, or has been, a wolf?’

As we drew closer, the sanctuary became visible: an enclosure made of tree trunks which surrounded an entrance that seemed to lead deep inside the mountain.

‘Not that way. But your mother has told me that on certain nights she saw him take on the appearance of a wolf. She said that once she saw him writhing on the floor, groaning, his mouth yawning open to show sharp fangs. .’

‘My mother sees ghosts! I admit that my grandfather is harsh, unbending, even ruthless, but he’s a man. I’m sure of it.’

‘Nonetheless, I made her a promise. And as your father and your king, I order you to submit to this test. You mustn’t worry; I will never leave your side.’

I had no choice. We entered and found ourselves in a vast cavern. At its centre, a large slab of polished stone was set on four squared-off boulders. It was dark but at the far end I could make out a flickering light. Was it a fire? Perhaps a torch or an oil lamp. The deep silence was abruptly broken by the howl of a wolf. I tried to tell myself that it was only a man imitating a wolf, but I couldn’t believe it: it was too loud, too intense and raucous. A figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the cavern: a man — the priest? — whose face was covered by a wolf mask. I shuddered as he walked towards me. He held a cup from which steam, and a sharp odour, were rising. He handed it to me and my father gestured for me to drink it.

I obeyed. My mind vanished.

I find myself in an infinite, white, freezing expanse and I move forward with great difficulty, the wind pushing me back and slashing my face. The horizon is deserted in every direction, the sky empty. The light is still. Perhaps it is morning, or daytime or perhaps evening, there’s no difference. Then, suddenly, a black dot far in the distance. It’s coming towards me fast; it’s getting bigger and bigger. I can’t make out who, what, it is. I have no idea how much time has passed when finally it is close to me. It is him, the wolf king himself on a chariot, pulled by wolves that seem to fly!

When I regained consciousness I was lying on the grass, in a meadow at the edge of the forest and I could see the hooves of our horses.

‘Now you can be sure,’ my father’s voice was saying, ‘that even if your grandfather was a wolf, nothing of his nature has remained in you. Your mother will be satisfied and she’ll sleep easier.’

He was in front of me, laughing.

‘Does that mean I didn’t eat human flesh?’

‘It means what you want it to mean. There was an exchange of messages between your mother and her father and you were the intermediary. A rite was performed in an ancient sanctuary and you took part in it; as did, perhaps, your grandfather before you. The man who gave you your name. You conserve all of this in your heart, my son. Today you feel that you can’t remember but the moment will come in which the memories will return to you and everything will have a meaning.’

‘Why can’t I remember it now?’

‘Because you were somewhere else and now you are back in your world. But the gateway to the other world will open again. When that will be, I can’t say. Our world is unstable, Odysseus. But eat now, and drink. We have a long journey ahead of us.’

The sun was high now and lit up the mountain peaks. The images of darkness were forgotten and our destination was sandy Pylos, the palace overlooking the wide bay, with silvery fish darting in that vast liquid mirror. Wise Nestor would set a rich banquet for us.

We crossed Arcadia and then Messenia. In five days we reached our destination. The king and his sons came to welcome us. Nestor embraced my father and Antilochus greeted me: ‘Odysseus, the colour of your gaze is strange: I’m certain you have many things to tell me.’

‘And much else to ask you,’ I replied.

‘Where is your escort?’ asked Nestor. ‘What happened to them?’

‘They took another route,’ replied my father, ‘but they’ll be here.’

And so we stopped for many a day and night, until one evening towards sunset we saw a cloud of dust rising on the hillside.

‘It’s them!’ I cried, and ran towards the three chariots that the horses were pulling at a gallop.

Mentor got out first and hugged me. I leapt onto one of the chariots, holding the rail fast, and we descended swiftly towards the bay. The two kings awaited us on the golden sand and their hearts were cheered to see that everyone had made a safe return.

‘We’ve returned Eumelus to his parents,’ said Mentor. ‘They now know the truth. Wanax Admetus and Queen Alcestis send this message: “There is no limit, King Laertes, to our gratitude. A god surely sent you to save our son. As long as we live, our house will be your house, our heart your heart. Let us make a vow to the gods so that the destiny of our children will be united in the future as ours is today.”’

He showed us the gifts the king and queen had sent, including an Egyptian cup for my father made of gold and quartz and exquisitely crafted. It had belonged to a king whose home was on the banks of the Nile and had been brought to the palace by Phoenician merchants. For me, a pin for my cloak, a thing of wonder, made of gold and amber.

Nestor welcomed the newcomers with great joy, already imagining how the tales of Mentor and the other guests would gladden the family and friends gathering at the banquet table in the palace. Indeed, we stayed awake until quite late, enjoying the wine and food that Nestor had served to us in great abundance. That evening, Mentor had the attention of two of the most famous kings of Achaia, like the greatest of poets.

When weariness had overcome us and we stood to go to bed, my father spoke to Mentor: ‘From your words I can tell that you’ve become very fond of Eumelus and think of him often.’

‘That’s true,’ he replied. ‘And I’m sure he misses me as well. Our journey after we left you in Corinth was a long one, and we were always together. He wept inconsolably when it was time for me to go!’

My father smiled. ‘Well, I think we can make do without you for some time in Ithaca, but not forever! You can return to Pherai, if you like, but don’t forget us. The day will come when Eumelus feels comfortable with his own family again; he won’t need you any more and you’ll feel nostalgia for Ithaca. Come back to us then, and take up your place at the palace again. You can keep two of my warriors as an escort and I will ask King Nestor to leave you the chariot for as long as you need it. He won’t refuse me, I’m sure of it.’

Parting from sandy Pylos was very sad, but leave we did, three days later. We left the chariots and returned to our ship, having loaded it with all the many gifts and mementoes of a journey that I would never forget. We set sail north.

Towards Ithaca.