The Oath

20

My ship seemed to fly over the waves, pushed by the east wind and even more so by my desire to get home. I had expected Menelaus to refuse to release the princes from their oath, and yet there was still something in his stubbornness that eluded me. Granted, I had never lain in Helen’s arms, never taken pleasure in the golden flower between her thighs. How could I understand what it meant to be crazed with desire and rage, out of my mind with jealousy? Oh, Menelaus of the mighty voice and coppery hair, what a privilege and what a curse!

I was reminded of my own words to the Trojans: ‘All of this. . for a woman?’ Yes, exactly. In the end, didn’t all of our longings lead us to that dark, torrid, blissful place? Wasn’t Helen all the women of the world? All their beauty, all their grace, all their fragrance in a single body? All of their looks in a single look, certain to drive any mortal or any god mad?

Anyone except me.

I could think, reflect, ponder all I liked, but even I had to admit that a war for the most beautiful woman in the world was the only war that could ever make sense.

My mind drifted back to the last night spent on our ship in the port of Troy, on the eve of our return. A sad return, robbed of hope. I had been very agitated all night, and I got up again and again to go to the prow and watch the enormous red moon slowly sinking towards the sea. It was very late when I left the ship to walk through the port, breathe in the salty air, take in the silence.

‘You can’t sleep, wanax?’ sounded a voice from a dark corner. The street poet, the singer of tales that no one wanted to hear.

‘What a foolish question, old man. If I could sleep I wouldn’t be walking along the wharf at this time of night.’

‘Won’t you listen to my song, then? It will calm the anguish that burdens your heart. I’ll sing it just for you. I don’t want anything.’

‘No, leave me alone. This isn’t a good time.’

‘You’ll be at peace afterwards. I can’t make you happy but I can give you visions that will fill your spirit with a soft, gentle light, like a sunset on the sea.’

I walked on, but I could hear his song, his solitary voice, accompanying me in the dark.

There were no words: a single unending melody, aching and infinite. He was crying, that’s what it was, the poet was singing and crying, tears and drops of light in the darkness. I understood that what I had in my heart, what oppressed me so — boulder, millstone, unendurable anguish — was melting away into that invisible, immaterial song of the night.

When I turned back he was no longer there, but his song was alive with its own life. Would it echo forever? I wondered. .

I lifted my eyes to where the song seemed to be drifting now, carried by the wind along the dusty roads of sacred Troy, over the walls built by the gods. . and I saw her again, a figure hovering between being and nothing among clouds transparent and thin as blades. . ‘It’s you, Helen, isn’t it? Sublime creature, shall I curse or implore you? It’s you who summon armies of bronze to crash into the Skaian bastions. It is you, isn’t it? Helen, divine and despicable? For you thousands of young men will give their lives, driving their spears into each other’s chests, descending too soon into lightless Hades.’

King Laertes my father had trained his gaze on the sea every day, from the top of a cliff, scanning the horizon to catch a glimpse of the sail of my ship, like Aegeus, king of Athens, had done before him, waiting for Theseus, who had gone to kill the man-bull in his labyrinth.

He embraced me tightly now and whispered in my ear: ‘Bad news. Am I right, my son?’

‘Bad news, atta. Menelaus wants war. And so does Priam, and his people both.’

‘Well then, if that’s the way it has to be, so be it. You will fight, king of Ithaca, you will clad yourself in bronze, gird your sword and raise your shield. Your weapons adorn the walls of our palace; flawless arms which belonged to the ancestors who came before you and before me. In the days that remain before your departure, stay close to your mother and to your bride and give them all the love they won’t have for years to come.’

We made our way up to the palace at the top of the mountain where the queen mother was waiting for me.

She wept when I told her the outcome of my mission. ‘I did all I could, mother,’ I told her. ‘I tried to convince them, and one of their own, noble Antenor, also tried to persuade the Trojans to return Helen and avoid the infinite grief of war. In vain.’

My mother cursed Helen and her beauty and cursed the folly that seizes men and pushes them into war. She cursed the lure of weapons, the craving for power that carried men far away, forgetting their children and abandoning their wives, who wasted away with longing for them. Penelope was nowhere to be seen. I knew where she was: waiting for me among the olive branches, waiting for when the lights went out in the tall house on the mountain and it was swallowed up by silence and darkness.

She knew, she had heard. She wept.

‘Don’t go, my love, don’t make me curse the day that I met you, your eyes that change colour when you smile; don’t leave us alone, me and Telemachus, on this dark island; suddenly it’s so very dark here.’

I came close and she curled up on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re the daughter of a warrior, and you know the rules. I made an oath on the gods of the Underworld, the most powerful oath there is. The reason I did it was to stop war from being unleashed, to end discord, to prevent blood from being shed. And now that has all turned against me. Do you think, perhaps, that any of this has happened by chance?’

‘Your grandfather,’ she went on, ‘has always broken any oath he made; he’s never taken part in any exploit.’

‘And he lives alone, like a dog, hated by everyone. I couldn’t do that.’

‘When it comes time to decide, a man has to choose what is important and what isn’t important, or what is less important. What could be more important than your home, your wife, your son and your parents? A war over a woman who betrayed the husband she herself chose?’

‘Listen to me. A king lives in a palace, he receives hospitality from other kings and he exchanges that hospitality, he enjoys many privileges. But he has to demonstrate that he is the best and the bravest, willing to give his own life if necessary. How could I bear the scorn of my comrades, my friends, my people and the other kings? My father himself told me clearly what he expects of me. It isn’t so simple.’

‘It is simple. As simple as water, as day and night, as love and hate. Simple, Odysseus, my lord, my king, my only love. .’

She hid her face in the folds of the bedclothes. I tried to hold her in my arms and pass my heat and my passion on to her. Sometimes I thought I could hear the strains of that melancholy and heart-breaking melody sung by the poet who had followed me through the night in Troy. As solitary as the song of the nightingale in the dark.

Neither of us slept. We wept in each other’s arms, in silence, in our bed nestled in the branches of an olive tree, because there was no way out. Any expedient would lead only to misery and shame.

The first pale light of dawn found us tangled, naked, in the embrace of love, so intense and deep that it hurt. When I loosened myself from her arms so white, from her eyes so black, black, black, when I had pulled out of her fiery womb, so hot that my fear and anguish melted away like a furnace melts bronze, we collapsed next to each other and Athena, I think, filled with pity, poured sleep onto our eyelids. And I thought I heard, through my light, thin sleep, that Penelope was singing, whispering, her song.

How often would she sing that song in the times to come? How long would I be away from her? When would I come back to her? I thought of how I felt as a little boy, waiting for my father to come home, I thought of the time his warriors had to carry him off the ship, his chest wrapped with bloodied bandages, his face pale as death, the wailing and weeping that met his return. My body jerked on the bed as if I’d been pierced by an arrow, and then I sank back into a sleep that felt like death.

My mother was inconsolable. Why? She’d been through this before: watching and waiting, alone, for someone she felt might never return. .

‘I’ll be back, mama, and I’ll bring you precious gifts, jewels and coins crafted by great artists,’ I promised.

She wept, her chin drawn close to her breast, she didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to talk. But now and then, for a brief instant, she’d lift her eyes full of tears and gaze at me with an expression of despair that broke my heart.

‘It’s only a war, just like so many others. Some will die, but others will come back. I’ll be one of those, you can be sure of it. I promise you. Wait for me, help Penelope, stay close to my son, he’ll need you, you and atta. Please, mother, don’t cry. Don’t cry as if I were already dead!’

She stopped crying then and stiffened. Like a statue.

Where was Mentor? Why can’t I remember where he was? Far away on one of his journeys? Wandering, perhaps, through wild and desolate lands? Was he searching for traces of lost, forgotten heroes? I tried to imagine Hercules: had he started greying at the temples? What about Admetus, lord of Pherai, how was he living his second life after having once escaped death? And his wife, Alcestis: what part of her heart had been frozen by the breath of Hades when she had leaned into the abyss? Where were Castor and Pollux, invincible wrestlers? And Jason, the hero of the Argo? Did he still bask in the love of his wild princess?

It felt as though those stories were as far away as the light of the stars. I spent entire days walking, meditating, through the forests that covered my island. Argus followed me. He would listen to me and look at me with moist eyes. . as if he understood. Sometimes we’d sit, as it was getting dark, on a rocky outcrop to watch the sun set the sea on fire. I talked to him and he answered me in soft growls.

I thought of taking him with me. No! I had to leave him with Telemachus, so he could protect him and follow him, step after step. It wouldn’t take long, after all: we would win the war in no time. Weren’t we the strongest and the bravest? And then we’d be back.

One day a light, speedy ship showed up in the small port, announcing a visit from a person of great prestige: king of Messenia, lord of Pylos, knight of Gerene. Nestor!

The king arrived the next day at sunset and found waiting for him a cart pulled by a pair of pure-white big-horned oxen that young Philoeteus, the son of our cowherd, held by the halter. Ready to escort him were twenty warriors in shining bronze armour and, representing me, my father, wanax Laertes, wearing his best robes, his sword girded at his side and his spear in hand.

I welcomed Nestor from my place on the throne with Penelope by my side. She was no longer just my wife; she had become a queen, and her expression bore the weight of responsibility and authority. Her eyes were rimmed with bistre, her forehead encircled by a jewelled diadem that my father had given her as a wedding present, and the ring on her finger was the one my mother had received from her own mother, a red cornelian set in gold. She wore a flame-red gown and a white belt interwoven with gold and purple threads. My robe was long and white, with two stripes of gold. I wore my father’s diadem and grasped the sceptre. I had arranged to have a finely crafted chair, as tall as my own, positioned opposite my throne for wanax Nestor, who had chosen to honour our kingdom by this visit. My father would sit alongside him, in a chair only slightly less impressive.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the great hall, while my warriors and his own were fanning into position, the king of Messenia strode up to me with arms wide open.

‘My boy! What a pleasure to see you. Let me take a look at you in all your majesty, in your royal finery! And you, you divine creature,’ he said then, turning to Penelope, ‘if your cousin had a mere crumb of your wisdom, I would be here to enjoy a banquet in your delightful company instead of acting as the harbinger of war, on a mission entrusted to me by the Atreidae.’

He clasped both of us to him in a strong embrace without considering protocol in the slightest, just like a father. Penelope was moved, and kissed him on the cheek, murmuring: ‘Wanax, kind father and friend. .’

‘My king,’ I said to him, ‘the joy that I feel in seeing you comes from my heart and my affection for you is no less than what I feel for my father, Laertes the hero.’

Having completed the ceremonial greeting and honours reserved for such a high-ranking guest, we retired to the Hall of the Argonauts — our guest, my father and I — to speak freely, without being seen or heard.

‘My reason for coming here,’ began Nestor, ‘is a mission of the utmost importance. I need your help.’

‘Of course. Whatever you need,’ I replied.

‘You must come with me to Thessaly, to Phthia, the kingdom of Peleus, a dear friend of mine and your father’s. He has a son, Achilles. .’

‘I know him well. He strikes like lightning, runs like the wind. No one can measure up to him. He swore the oath of the princes with me.’

‘Yes, but there’s someone who’s bent on doing everything possible to keep him from leaving for the war.’

‘Who?’

Nestor hesitated a moment. ‘I’m not sure. His mother, perhaps. Nothing is known of her. No one has ever seen her; anyone who says he has is lying. People attribute supernatural powers to her. The only thing that anyone knows is her name: Thetis. Only Peleus knows where to find her, for she bore him his only son. No one can fail to notice what an amazing creature Achilles is. And they say that she. .’ here he broke off. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘I will, wanax. I’ve done everything to prevent this war but now that it has been decided I will do everything to win it. Without Achilles we have no hope. I’ve seen Priam’s army.’

‘Will you come as well, Laertes?’ Nestor turned to my father. ‘Your presence would be precious. Your prestige is great and all the young men respect you.’

‘Ask him,’ he replied, pointing to me. ‘He’s the king of Ithaca.’

‘My father knows that he can decide anything for himself,’ I said, ‘but he also knows that in my absence, the fact that he is seated on the throne to administer justice, to lead the army if necessary and to protect my family is a great comfort to me.’

‘As you’ve heard for yourself, I’ve been ordered to take care of the kingdom in the king’s absence,’ said my father with an ironic smile. ‘Luckily I’m familiar with the job. You’ll have to make do with my son, but I’m sure that will be good enough.’

That’s what he said, but then he went on at length offering me advice of every kind. He ended up by reminding me to give his best to King Peleus, his friend and companion-in-arms, and to invite him, once the war was over, to come and hunt with us on the island of Same with his boy Achilles.

We left the next day. As I said goodbye to Penelope I thought that this temporary separation might help her to prepare for the much more difficult one that would soon follow. She kissed me on the mouth but shed no tears. ‘Come back as soon as you can,’ she said. ‘I want to take pleasure in every moment of every day and every night that we have together before your departure.’

‘I’ll be back, my queen and my love. I’ll come back this time and next time too, I swear to you.’

She smiled and her eyes sparkled like black pearls. ‘I’m beginning to think that you can tame fate and that your goddess must really love you. But not even she, who is immortal, can love you more than I do.’

She stood on the pier waving goodbye, her hand as slender and white as a silver leaf, and I didn’t take my eyes off her until she disappeared behind the crest of a wave.

‘I know what you’re feeling,’ sounded the voice of the wisest of kings behind me.

‘Do you think so, wanax?’

‘I know so. This is love, a terrible disease that you will never be free of. I’ve always gone from one woman to another: wives, concubines. . when one’s beauty faded, I simply found another, younger one. I’ve never known any other way. But I envy you, you know. I felt love once, a long, long time ago. A feeling that transforms a mortal woman into a goddess and makes her beauty and charm eternal. Unfortunately, the spell didn’t last long for me. I lived in the mountains then, I had been sent to garrison the passes that led to Arcadia. She didn’t survive the bitter winter there, accustomed as she was to the warm sun of Crete. Her skin was dark, shiny and smooth as bronze, and her smile was radiant. Sinuous, she was, like a panther. She painted her lips and the tips of her breasts red, like the ancient queens of her homeland.’

I turned and saw that the lord of Pylos’ eyes were shiny with tears.

‘You are a fortunate man,’ he said again. ‘Your Penelope is gentle, wise, very beautiful and as sweet as honey.’

We were sailing along the coast of Locris, ruled by Oileus, who had a son named Ajax, the same name given by Telamon of Salamis to his gigantic son. We continued to Corinth, which I thus saw for the second time. Here we learned that Jason, the hero of the Argo, was in the city!

‘I want to see him, wanax,’ I said to Nestor. ‘I’ll never have another chance to meet the hero who stole the golden fleece from Colchis and who sailed on the biggest ship in the world with a crew of fifty kings and heroes.’

The old king’s brow wrinkled. ‘Do you really want to see him?’ he asked. ‘Do you not know what has happened?’ He had his men drop anchor and we descended onto the wharf. ‘We’re now going to cross the isthmus at its lowest point. On foot. On the other side another ship will be waiting to take us to our destination. This will save us a long trip sailing around the southern peninsula of Achaia with its promontories and cliffs.’

‘This is why,’ I thought, ‘King Nestor is so highly considered by all the Achaians. He knows so much, has so much experience, and is so wise.’ The fact that he wanted me by his side for the most important mission of that moment, to convince Achilles to participate in the war, filled me with pride. We marched for hours across the isthmus, taking with us mules laden with our supplies and everything else we needed for the journey. We went on until we reached a place from which we could see the eastern sea, the gulf and the second port.

We stood there for a few moments, at the point separating the two slopes. The view that opened up before me was astonishing. Nestor pointed to the cliffs on the northern shore of the gulf.

‘Look down there,’ he said. ‘See that enormous wreck run aground on the rocks?’ Cold terror nipped at my heart. I didn’t have the strength to let a single word come out from between my teeth.

‘That is the Argo!’

We started treading down the hill with heavy hearts, continuing until we reached the shore of the eastern sea and the pier where the ship that would take us to Phthia was waiting for us.

‘We can go aboard now,’ he said. ‘We’ll sail past the Argo, but remember what I’m telling you: you won’t like what you see. And you’ll like even less what you hear.’

‘I can’t believe that, wanax. What are you saying?’

Nestor ordered the helmsman to direct our ship towards the huge beached hull.

‘Have you ever seen a ship of this size in your whole life? Listen. After Jason had returned to Iolcus, he soon realized that his savage princess, Medea, could not live a life like any other woman’s. In fact, his people feared and detested her; they whispered that she could work dark magic. She was hated by all but still madly in love with Jason. He was the only person she would obey and she bore him two children. But then one day, she spotted old King Pelias, who she knew had seized the throne during Jason’s absence. Using trickery, she lured him to a secret place, where she murdered him and cut him into pieces. They found her cooking up his sorry remains so she could devour them.

‘Jason fled from the city in horror. He set sail with his wife and children and a crew of mercenaries and escaped here, to Corinth, whose king was his friend. He fell in love with the king’s daughter, a beautiful young woman named Glauke, and she with him. Medea went crazy with jealousy and transformed herself into a tiger, like the ones who roamed her homeland. She pretended to accept Jason’s new bride and even gave her a gown as a wedding present. The day of the wedding, Medea dressed her children as pages, crowned their heads with flowers and had them accompany her. Holding a sacred torch, she approached Glauke and touched it to her gown. Imbued with some kind of noxious substance, the gown burst into flames, turning beautiful Glauke into a human torch. Her screams of agony echoed through the whole city. She melted into a shapeless mass, a charred black firebrand. Not content, the savage princess murdered the two children she’d had with Jason under their father’s eyes. She cut their throats. Then she jumped on a chariot, whipped the horses into a run and vanished. His men gave chase, searched everywhere for her, but she was never found. Jason went mad. He boarded his ship, all alone, waited until the west wind started to blow and then heaved out the sail. He took the helm and crashed the ship onto the rocks.’

He hadn’t finished speaking when, from the gloomy, rotted wreck of the Argo, all covered with algae, an inhuman scream was heard, a cry of anguish and folly that froze my blood. For a moment I thought I could see in the false light of dusk a spectral figure lurching behind the shredded sail, among the mouldy shrouds.

‘There,’ said Nestor, ‘that is the voice of Jason, the hero of the golden fleece. And this is his last landing place.’

I wept.