The Oath

14

I took leave of the palace wondering in my heart how the princes would take such a solution. When had it ever happened that the woman chose and not the man? How could they give up the idea of winning the most beautiful woman in the world by dint of their swordplay? I needed to convince them with my words alone, by offering friendship. There was no other way. I would have to prepare my words with great care and, above all, avoid meeting Helen. I couldn’t be certain that I would not succumb.

And so, weighing words and ideas, I left the palace and was walking towards the valley which opened, golden with grain blowing in the wind, along the banks of the Eurotas.

A song stopped me:

Fly, fly away,

Eye the river from above

Eye the sea from on high

As the sun sets

and the air tastes of salt

End the sting of nostalgia,

Bring him home to me!

A girl’s voice carried on the air, clear as water, soft as a caress. Where was she? I looked around but saw no one. I spotted walls covered with flowering jasmine which surrounded a garden of apple and olive trees; I could see their foliage. That’s where the voice was coming from. I approached and walked along the walls to find a point from which I could peek in. I stopped where several well-squared stones had been removed; perhaps someone had taken them for the foundations of his house. There I saw a girl dressed in a light, short-sleeved gown, cinched at the waist with a wide band. The neckline bared her perfect shoulders and the checked pattern of the dress was embroidered with a brightly coloured duck in every square.

She was picking field flowers, but she sensed my presence, straightened up and approached me without fear.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Your robe looks like a prince’s. Have you come to claim Helen? Others have already arrived and are camped along the river; they’re there practising for the bloody duels.’

‘And I say you’re a princess. Your gown looks fashioned by expert weavers and embroiderers, and your song touched my heart. Were you thinking of someone as you sang those words? My name is Odysseus.’

‘The prince of Ithaca. What a strange name you have.’

‘So they say. Perhaps I wouldn’t have chosen it, but now I wouldn’t exchange it with anyone.’ With no one?

‘Will you battle for her, Odysseus? How will that happen? Will the adversaries be drawn by lots? I hope you get one who’s not too terrible.’

‘Were you singing those words for someone?’

‘For no one,’ she replied.

For No One. ‘Why are you worried about my adversary? Are you afraid I won’t be able to handle him?’

‘Because you have beautiful eyes. They change colour when you smile.’

‘You have beautiful eyes, too. Luminous. A man could get lost in them. Who are you?’

‘The daughter of Icarius, King Tyndareus’ brother. So I’m Helen’s cousin.’ She gave a naughty smile. ‘I’ve seen her naked, many times. Do you want to know what she’s like?’

‘I want to know your name. Why won’t you tell me?’

‘Penelope.’

‘Now that’s a strange name! Is that why you have those little ducks embroidered on your gown?’

‘Don’t you like them?’

‘I do, very much. They look like a rainbow. Will I see you again?’

‘If you don’t get killed. Do you know how big Ajax, the son of Telamon, is? Gigantic. A walking mountain. And his cousin Achilles? A thunderbolt. He’ll cut you in half before you even lay a hand on your sword.’

‘I’m faster than they are,’ I replied. ‘I’ve already beaten them all.’

She stood looking at me without saying a word. The flowers fell out of her hand. I resumed my walk.

‘Odysseus!’ her voice rang out behind me. I turned.

She smiled. Dusky and luminous.

I arrived at the camp of the suitors as the sun was just beginning its decline, after having stopped several times along the tree-shaded bank of the river. I needed to think, to repeat the words out loud, again and again. Only the cicadas answered me, and the voice of the river. I finally decided to enter the camp. The first tents I saw were those of Achilles, prince of Phthia of the Myrmidons, then those of Ajax, son of Telamon, prince of Salamis. The tents of Diomedes, prince of Argus, came next, and then those of Ajax Oileus, prince of Locris, Idomeneus of Crete and Menelaus, prince of Mycenae. He was accompanied by his older brother, Agamemnon, who was not a contender. He had already asked for and obtained the hand of Helen’s twin sister, Clytaemnestra. This would certainly have its importance, but for the moment I couldn’t predict how. I instantly felt sick. I knew that my mission would be much more difficult than I had thought: all I heard was the clash of weapons. All I saw was young men facing off, in training for much harsher duels. Lethal ones.

I reached a point where a space opened up between the two lines of tents, coinciding with several rocky outcroppings on the riverbank. I thought that would be the best place to make my speech. Tyndareus’ warriors were there as well, patrolling the entire extension of the camps, perhaps to guarantee that the noble guests would not attack each other in brawls or skirmishes. I wasn’t ready to talk yet, so I walked through the camp to see who these youths who wanted to win Helen were; did they truly only want to possess the most beautiful of women or something more instead? I studied their attitudes, their posturing. If I could understand, perhaps I’d be ready to speak.

When I saw that the sun was drawing close to the horizon, I called over one of the heralds, standing under a banner with the king’s colours in a clearing that was free of tents. I told him that I was Odysseus of Ithaca and that King Tyndareus had sent me. I ordered him, on behalf of the king, to call the princes to assembly. He looked into my eyes and recognized me; perhaps he had seen me at the palace. He nodded and climbed onto one of the rocks, the highest one. His thundering voice rang out from the tents of Achilles all the way to the distant tents of Protesilaus. Then a bugle call sounded where his voice alone would not carry.

One by one, the contenders arrived at the clearing by the river and I climbed up on the rock to address them.

‘Princes of Achaia!’

Their voices quietened to a buzz.

‘Noble princes, heed my words! I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca. I know why you are all here: to vie for Helen, the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. There are many of you. Only one of her!’

‘We had already worked that out!’ shouted one of them. ‘No need to muster us here to tell us that.’ The others laughed.

‘Good, I’m happy to hear that. Then you’ll also have worked out what happens afterwards, right?’

‘Why are you talking about us, prince of Ithaca? Don’t you share the same intention? Aren’t you interested in Helen?’

I recognized the youth who had spoken: it was Diomedes of Argus. And he recognized me: ‘I’ve seen you before!’

‘You have,’ I replied, ‘in Argus, on the day your father was set on the pyre! Are you ready to die now as well?’

Diomedes dropped his head and then looked up, staring straight at me with a defiant expression: ‘And who says I have to die?’

‘Right, who says that?’ I said, looking out among them. ‘Achilles of Phthia? Ajax of Salamis, perhaps? Or you, Philoctetes. .’

‘Or me!’ said a voice I thought I recognized.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Diomedes.

‘Eumelus of Pherai, son of Admetus,’ said the same voice.

It hit me who was speaking and I stopped short for a moment, my heart pounding: ‘Eumelus? What are you doing here?’

‘The same thing as the others,’ he replied curtly.

‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t last. Diomedes has done nothing for years but train for combat.’ I didn’t allow him to answer, or let anyone else speak, for the moment. ‘The challenge of this young man whose beard has just sprouted shows you how far this has gone. Now, listen to me, all of you, and then you’ll decide what you want to do. I’m not here of my own initiative; I’ve been sent by the king in person, wanax Tyndareus, lord of Sparta, Helen’s father.’

The clamour of voices that had begun to rise died down at once, giving me the chance to take a good look at the men I found standing before me. Achilles looked more like a god than a man; completely clad in bronze as if he were about to stride onto the battlefield, his bare arms shone as if they themselves were made of metal. His muscles contracted spasmodically as though animated by uncontrollable energy and his hair rippled like a lion’s mane at every passing puff of wind. Ajax of Salamis was simply huge. Only Hercules, perhaps, could match him in size, although I’d never seen Hercules. Menelaus had red hair but his skin was dark and his eyes amber: he was the second of his dynasty, after Agamemnon, and would never become king. There was Philoctetes, infallible archer: everyone said that he had inherited Hercules’ bow. Antilochus, my friend, Nestor’s son: he had no hope against these giants, but how to convince him to return to his Pylos, mirrored in the sea? Ajax Oileus, bold and arrogant, agile and lightning swift. Idomeneus, lord of Crete, heir of Minos, as mighty as Zeus himself. And there was Eumelus, Alcestis’ son more than Admetus’, little more than a boy: did he perhaps imagine he could make up for his father’s lack of spine by facing off against one of these colossuses in an impossible duel?

I had to force them to reason.

‘It won’t be a bloody duel that decides this contest. Each and every one of you who falls, or remains disfigured or wounded, will bring nothing but disgrace and grief upon the land of the Achaians and all its people. It will be Helen who decides!’

The princes looked at each other incredulously. That was the last thing they’d expected to hear, and the worst.

‘Fine, there is no need to shed blood!’ shouted Diomedes. ‘Why don’t we wrestle instead, or race chariots or compete by seeing who can hurl his spear the furthest? Anything is better than letting a woman choose!’

‘What you’re proposing wouldn’t change much. None of you would accept defeat; vengeance and war would be the next step. We’re not talking simply about any woman, but about Helen of Sparta. It will be she who decides which of you she will follow as her husband. All the rest of you will swear to respect this marriage as if Helen had married you Talone. You will make your oaths one after another, as you are called by the herald, standing barefooted on the freshly skinned hide of a gigantic bull, sacrificed to the gods of the Underworld. And be glad of it: from this moment, until Helen pronounces one of your names, each of you can dream of being the chosen one.’

‘Will you be with us, prince of Ithaca?’ asked Ajax of Salamis.

‘I cannot ignore the privilege offered to me by the king and queen of Sparta, and so I will also lay wedding gifts at Helen’s feet and swear with the rest of you but I am certain that I will not be chosen; the islands of my Ithaca are poor and rocky, and I lack your prowess. The king and the queen, with their resplendent daughter, will await you all tomorrow in the palace courtyard, after the sun has set.’

For an instant I saw, standing between Antilochus and Achilles, my counsellor Mentor, who stared at me with an enigmatic smile on his lips. I was about to call out to him, but he vanished, like the mist.

Athena!

I trembled at that vision but my heart was joyous. I was sure I had won; I had averted the disaster.

I returned to the palace, thinking of Penelope. I walked through the halls and corridors hoping to catch a glimpse of her but I knew that was impossible. Surely such a flower would be under watch in the women’s quarters, now that the sun had already sunk behind the ridges of Mount Taygetus. I went back on my steps and out into the great courtyard where the servants were preparing food for dinner. I felt something tumble around my feet and bent to pick it up: a little pebble of red sandstone. I looked up and saw her leaning on a windowsill. Her smile looked sad, or was I imagining that? I motioned for her to come down. She pointed to the southern wall of the palace and disappeared.

I looked around to make sure no one had noticed anything, then turned the corner and tried to find the place she was suggesting for such a unexpected, secret meeting. A group of holm oaks and box trees created a small, secluded space: it must be there she had been thinking of.

I stepped in and soon saw her furtively exiting a little door and calling my name softly. She reached me in three agile steps and there she was in front of me.

‘What a funny gift you’ve given me!’ I greeted her. ‘I wouldn’t think of repaying you in the same way. But if I’d had a flower I certainly would have brought you that.’

‘Why are you saying that? You’re famous for having a way with words and making people believe what’s not true.’ Her eyes were glittering, in the shadows.

‘I don’t know what you mean. My words are sincere, they come from my heart.’

‘Oh really? Well, then listen to this: just a little while ago I heard Helen speaking with her nurse. She was saying: “Mai, I had a dream last night, a dream I think might come true.”

‘“What did you dream, my child?” asked her nurse.

‘“I dreamed that I was with the prince of Ithaca, Odysseus, in a bath chamber whose walls were all covered with a rare stone, glowing with a green reflection; there were alabaster vases filled with oriental perfumes in the room. We were acting like. . husband and wife.”

‘“What do you mean?” asked her nurse but then Helen whispered something into her ear that I couldn’t hear. And then Helen added: “Do you think it’s a dream that will come true?”

‘“That depends on you, my child,” replied the nurse. “Only you can make it come true.”

‘“But don’t you think that the gods have sent me a sign to help me make my choice?”

‘“No one can say, but if it is this that you desire, then it is your heart sending you these dreams.”’

Here Penelope broke off and burst into tears. I tried to pull her close but she pushed me away as if I had betrayed her.

‘If Helen said that, it’s because she has already made her choice and you’ve consented. I know her too well. She always takes what she wants.’

She didn’t give me a chance to say a word before she ran off, crying.

The next evening, after sunset, everything was ready in the palace. The priests dragged the big bull to the middle of the courtyard, while the young heroes entered one after another garbed in their most stunning attire, with their armour shining brightly. I joined them, wearing my finest as well and carrying the weapons my father had given me for the day of the contest. We all held our helmets under our arms so our faces would be recognizable.

The king and the queen came through the main gate, followed by dignitaries and warriors. They accompanied their daughter, who wore a veil that descended all the way to her feet. The king’s brother Icarius followed with his wife. Last came Princess Clytaemnestra with her husband Agamemnon, the elder son of Atreus, king of Mycenae.

Struck by the axe, the bull collapsed all at once, flooding the pavement with its blood. It was flayed immediately and its hooves, innards and head were set upon the altar and burned in sacrifice to the gods. The flesh was cut into pieces and carried away for the great banquet that would follow. The hide was stretched out on the ground, with the flayed, bleeding side upward. Then the nurse unveiled Helen. The light blue drape that had covered her fell to the ground and all of those present gasped. She was more a goddess than a mortal woman, a beauty pure and perfect as a golden rose, fiery as a lightning bolt, diaphanous as the moon.

One by one, treading the bull’s hide barefooted, we swore the same oath. Achilles was first:

‘I, Achilles, son of Peleus, lord of Phthia of the Myrmidons

Have come bearing wedding gifts for Helen of Sparta

And I hereby swear that, even if she should choose another of the princes gathered here,

I will defend her honour and her person as if she were my own bride.’

Once each prince had vowed to defend Helen, he signalled for his shield-bearer to lay his wedding gifts at her feet, and then joined the others who had already made their oaths, lined up in the middle of the courtyard. To my right was Menelaus, to my left Diomedes. A heap of treasure had accumulated at Helen’s feet, but only the gifts of the man she married would be kept. The others would be returned. When each of us had finished making that solemn oath, Helen was called upon to make her choice and in the chest of every prince, including my own, hearts beat furiously, as if it were time to enter a terrible battle — that fierce fray that can give victory or death.

Helen moved and she seemed more fearsome than a panther as she descended the steps, one by one. She walked towards the first of the young heroes at the beginning of the line, Achilles, who blazed with his own light. There, everyone thought, she would stop, but she only paused for an instant with the merest hint of a smile. Achilles bit his lower lip. She passed by Philoctetes, the infallible archer, Eumelus, son of a mother who had returned alive from the threshold of Hades, Protesilaus, lord of the untameable Thracians, Antilochus, the most valiant of the sons of Nestor, Menestheus of Athens, Ajax Oileus with his impassable gaze, even Diomedes, the proudest and brightest after Achilles.

She had reached me, the prince of a small rocky island, pasture of goats; my gift had been modest compared to the other treasures. She would pass me by now as well. .

She stopped.

She drew closer, seeking out my gaze, looking for an answer. I saw her as a girl, talking to me in the pen of those spirited steeds. I knew. I looked straight at her and shook my head so slightly that only she could see me. Ardent tears sprang to her eyes as soon as she understood. She abruptly took an almost imperceptible step to her right and chose the first man she saw: Menelaus, skin of bronze, hair red as copper.

A shout arose from the crowd: of jubilation, of incredulity, of delirium. The tremendous contest had taken place and nothing terrible had come of it.

Helen had a husband, a prince without a kingdom.

In no time the palace was buzzing with preparations for the great wedding feast. That very night Menelaus Atreides would possess the most beautiful woman in the world in his bedchamber. No one was paying any attention to me and I darted off, skirting the courtyard and racing down the corridor to the little garden at the back. I didn’t have to wait long: Penelope ran towards me with her beautiful face full of joy and of tears. She embraced me tightly as if her white arms could never let go of me.

‘Take me away with you,’ she said, ‘now, Odysseus. You are the man I want and I will want for my whole life.’

‘Run,’ I shouted, ‘run as fast as you can, follow me!’ By the time we got to the stables we were panting. I yoked the horses to my chariot, helped her on, and whipped Nestor’s magnificent chargers with the reins. They flew off down the road.

But we instantly heard a shout louder than the sound of their galloping: ‘Stop! Stop, daughter!’ as Icarius, her father, threw himself into our path. Perhaps he’d understood, perhaps a god hostile to me had warned him. Now he barred my way. I had to pull on the reins and halt the chariot to stop from running over the king’s brother.

‘Get out,’ he said to Penelope. ‘This is not the husband your mother and I have chosen for you. We want a mighty king, lord of a vast and fertile land, with numerous ranks of warriors at his orders. The son of Laertes will only rule over small islands in the western sea, rocky and sterile, living off plunder, like his father and his father’s father before him. To survive he will have to give rise to much hatred, as his very name suggests. Come back with me, daughter of mine, while you are still in time. I beg of you!’

I was humiliated by his insults and I would have challenged him with my sword in hand but he was the father of the woman I loved and I repressed the ire in my heart. I also felt sorry for him. He was weeping because he was losing the daughter he adored. But Penelope was adamant. She pulled the veil she wore at her shoulders over her head and face, like a woman already betrothed through a solemn promise of marriage, whose wedding day was approaching. I took my whip to the horses, trying to drive them off the road and leave Icarius behind me, but with an unexpected burst of energy he grabbed a handle and tried to leap onto the chariot. He was dragged over the grassy field for a while but could not sustain his grip and soon had to let go. We heard his desperate cries continuing on and on, as he called and called for his daughter.