The Oath

21

That anguished voice and the sight of the smashed hull of the Argo tormented me for days as we made our way up the eastern coast of Achaia towards Phthia of the Myrmidons. We rounded Cape Sounion and sailed down the channel that separated the mainland from the island of Euboea. Nestor had plenty of time to tell me what he knew about those lands and the people who reigned over them, although much of what he told me I’d already heard when I met the other princes vying for Helen’s hand in Sparta.

‘Peleus of Phthia is the older brother of Telamon, the king of Salamis, so that means that Achilles and Ajax are first cousins. Both are exceptional young men; there is absolutely no one else in all of Achaia that can measure up to them. The fact that they are so closely related has led to much conjecture about their ancestry. Achilles was born when his father was already very advanced in age, and no one has ever seen his mother. You can imagine how many stories about her have sprung from the lips of poets and singers!’

‘A goddess?’

‘A sea goddess. Thetis.’

Nestor continued: ‘Peleus’ city, Phthia, dominates the southern plains. And on the other side of that plain is Pherai, the city of Admetus and Alcestis. But we won’t be going that far. Their son Eumelus has already said that he will come to the port of Aulis in Boeotia, where all of our forces will gather to set off for Troy. .’

‘Eumelus,’ I thought to myself, ‘the brave young witness of Hercules’ innocence. . ready to take his place among us.’

Nestor heard me thinking, I suppose, because he said: ‘He swore the oath of the princes, but he also knows of the pact between his parents. He was there when Hercules dragged his mother back from the gates of Hades. Perhaps in his mind throwing himself into the burning jaws of the war is better than living alongside a father who trembled with fear in the face of death, a mother who can never be more than half alive and half dead. .’

I nodded. ‘You’re right, wanax, tremendous things have happened in our land. And I can only wonder what still awaits us.’

‘You will convince Achilles to join us. You’re the only one who can carry this off. If Achilles comes, his cousin Patroclus will come as well; the two of them are inseparable. Patroclus lives in Phthia, in exile. He was forced to flee his city after he killed a man during a quarrel over a game of dice; the man’s relatives are still seeking revenge. His fate would be sealed if they had their way, but they won’t dare come forward as long as Patroclus is with Achilles.

‘But what I don’t understand,’ Nestor continued, ‘is why Achilles wasn’t the first to take up the challenge. War is his element. Like water for a fish, the air for a bird. He was born to slaughter.’

‘Have you ever seen him in combat, wanax?’

‘I have. Just watching him is enough to strike fear into a man. The armour he wears is blinding, his shield reflects the light of the sun like a mirror, and all you can see behind his helmet are those ice-coloured eyes. He is as swift as lightning, and no one can guess his next move. He usually gets his kill on the first try; if he doesn’t, it’s only because he wants to prolong the fight, and the agony of his adversary.’

‘Then how do you explain his reluctance?’ I asked.

‘That’s what you’ll have to discover,’ he replied.

We sailed by the bay of Iolcus on our left and the port from which the Argo had once set off to go to the ends of the earth. We berthed in a small protected cove beneath the striking bulk of Mount Othrys, disembarked and began to climb up the mountain path that led to Phthia. They were certainly expecting us; it was clear that no one could hope to get close without being seen by the invincible Myrmidon warriors. When we got to the pass, they fell into step alongside us, silently escorting us to the city. I was impressed: these could be the automatons built by the god Hephaestus! They marched with precisely the same step, their armour was burnished to the same sheen, their crests fluttered as one in the light breeze. They looked like giant ants, as their name suggested. Perhaps they had been ants once, long ago, who could say? Finally, Phthia appeared, towering above us on the peak of the mountain. It nearly took my breath away.

Peleus welcomed Nestor like a brother, but it didn’t take long to realize that no preparations had been made for a great banquet or feast. The shadow of the war made any revelling impossible.

‘May I introduce the king of Ithaca?’ said Nestor, motioning for me to come forward.

‘You are the son of Laertes. . Achilles has told me about you,’ said Peleus thoughtfully. ‘How is your father?’

‘He sends his best wishes and he hopes that you will one day accept an invitation to Ithaca when. .’ I hesitated, ‘when the war is over.’

Peleus sighed. ‘From the moment you all leave Achaia, your father and I, and all the fathers like us, will think of nothing but the day of your return. And even if you weren’t to leave, where could you hide?’

‘I don’t want to hide,’ I said. ‘I did everything possible to prevent a war being fought, but now that it is inevitable, it must be won.’

‘So you’ve come to get Achilles?’

‘We cannot win without him.’

‘This is his curse.’

‘Where is he now?’

Peleus pointed at a spot on the slope of the mountain looming before us. A cloud of dust was moving swiftly across the hillside. A war chariot. A figure clad in dazzling metal, a red crest, two horses, long fringed manes, bronze frontlets spiked like the horns of unicorns.

‘There,’ he said.

From the way he looked at me he’d already understood that it wouldn’t be Nestor doing the talking.

I was fascinated by what I was seeing: Achilles’ chariot plunged downward at a frightening speed and then burst onto the plain, slicing through the fields full of crops, scattering the herds of cows and flocks of sheep.

The roar of wheels and the roll of hooves got louder and closer, until the chariot entered the courtyard and Achilles jumped to the ground. He took off his helmet and his armour and went to wash at the fountain. He wet the muzzles of his magnificent chargers.

‘Balius and Xanthus,’ he said, pointing at them as he came towards me.

‘They’re amazing, Achilles,’ I replied as the servants loosened them from the yoke and dried them off.

I walked towards him and soon we were face to face.

‘Welcome, king of Ithaca.’

‘Achilles! It is a joy for my heart to see you again.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Nestor is with me. He’s talking to your father.’

‘And you?’

‘I’ve come to talk to you.’

Achilles dropped his head for a moment in silence, then said: ‘Follow me.’

We left the palace and walked down a path that led towards an oak forest. The horses followed us, step after step, alongside each other. We stopped near a spring that gushed from an enormous moss-covered boulder. Achilles sat on a toppled tree trunk. He touched its gnarly bark. ‘Hit by lightning,’ he mused. ‘This used to be a beautiful, vigorous tree.’ I knew what he was getting at.

‘I’ve come to ask if you’ll fulfil the promise you made at Sparta.’

His long silence unsettled me.

‘What are you thinking?’ I asked him.

‘A pact can be interpreted in many ways.’

‘I’m here because I think the oath we made was clear. The Trojan has carried off Menelaus’ wife. He and I went to Troy together, to ask that Helen be returned. We were met with a refusal. The townspeople mocked and insulted Menelaus.’

‘Helen left freely. Our oath would be binding if she had been abducted.’

‘She was abducted. Helen belongs to Menelaus and she was taken from him. I would have expected different words from you.’

‘So why do you want to go?’

‘Because the oath was my idea. I can’t back out now. I tried to prevent this war, but that’s no longer possible, and all I’m thinking now is that we have to win. But without you that’s simply not possible. Tell me why you’re hesitating, Achilles!’

The horses came close and nuzzled Achilles with their noses. They seemed to hear the voice of his heart.

Achilles stroked them. ‘For me, they’re like people. They talk to me, you know? In their own way, they talk to me.’

‘I can see that. . Answer me, Achilles: why are you hesitating? You are like the god of war. There’s no one who can stand up to you. Why weren’t you the first to step forward?’

Sad smile.

‘You know, each one of us, when war is in the offing, can choose to go down one of two roads: you either go to war, die young in combat and are remembered forever by those who hear of your exploits, or you don’t go, and you choose obscurity: a tranquil, meaningless, never-changing life.’

‘There’s a third possibility, Achilles: you can win glory and come back alive to your home and family. That’s what we’ll do.’

‘That may be so for you, Odysseus, ingenious and astute as you are, but not for me. It’s either one or the other for me.’

I couldn’t understand. ‘What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Who told you such a thing? An oracle? A soothsayer? Was it your own mother, perhaps, the mysterious being that no one has ever seen? I have to know, Achilles, because what you decide is key to the life or death of thousands of young combatants, and to the future of our world.’

‘What difference does it make? These are my possible destinies and I’ve already made my choice. When we die all that remains of us is our name. The rest is consumed by fire. I want my name to be remembered forever. Glory is the only light of the dead, Odysseus. Farewell. We’ll see each other at Aulis, in the spring.’

We were both too choked to continue, or perhaps there was simply nothing left to say. Nestor and I were leaving the next day and so I didn’t have the chance to talk to Patroclus, although I did see him in passing. He looked much older than Achilles, and I realized that he had been among Helen’s suitors in Sparta.

When the time came, Nestor and Peleus embraced; when they separated both had tears in their eyes. I overheard Nestor whispering: ‘I just can’t watch this happen from behind the bastions of my palace, waiting for my boy to return, torturing myself in the meantime. I’m going with them. Maybe they’ll be able to use some wise advice from an old man.’ He and I walked off in silence, flanked as we had been at our arrival by a host of Myrmidon warriors.

It wasn’t until we were back on the ship that Nestor spoke to me: ‘Will he come?’

‘Yes. He’ll be at Aulis, in Boeotia, in the spring.’

Nestor nodded without saying another word. He accompanied me all the way back to Ithaca.

Time passed, much too quickly, and the day arrived. Agamemnon and Menelaus’ heralds landed at the main port and I summoned all of the best youth of my island, the sons of the most important families. My friends. They came from the nearby islands as well, all young men in their prime, shining in their armour, ready to answer my call to arms. They seemed not to realize that in that distant land, on those fields of battle, death would be lying in wait. They were anticipating, instead, a great adventure of which poets would sing, and minstrels would tell fantastic tales. They were sure they would come back laden with booty and fame. Joking among themselves, they bragged and talked about treasures waiting to be plundered, and beautiful Asian women to be brought back as slaves and concubines.

We armed twelve ships. We filled them with food, weapons, tents and clothing, and everything that would be necessary for a long war.

Since my return from Phthia, my heart had been preparing to say farewell to Penelope. Telemachus was too little to understand; too young to remember me. Or perhaps he would recognize me one day, the way I recognized Laertes my father when he returned from Colchis.

But Penelope. . how could I say goodbye to her? I would have preferred to fight a dragon than face the anguish in her gaze, that expression of a wounded deer in her eyes. Because I was the one who had shot the arrow. And yet, incredibly, she helped me. She came down to the port, just like any other woman on the island, with the same acute pain in her heart. She waited until my parents had embraced me, until my mother had cried all her tears, her face buried in my neck, until my father had said: ‘You will win this war, king of Ithaca. Make us proud of you and. . come back, pai, come back to us. We’ll be waiting for you.’

Euriclea, my nurse, overcame the impulse to embrace me like a mother. She lowered her head in front of Penelope, her mistress, and accepted the baby from her arms. My queen threw her arms, so white and perfect, around my neck, and she gave me a long, intense kiss, shamelessly, like a lover, and then she put her mouth to my ear and said: ‘Remember these lips, my king, remember how I took you into my arms last night, remember with what passion I gave you my body. No woman in the world can love you as I do.’

She stepped back and, aquiver with tears, looked at me and then said: ‘Now smile, so I can see your eyes change colour one last time.’

I forced myself to smile. She took out her final gift to me, a magnificent red cloak, threw it over my shoulders and then fastened it using a golden pin shaped like a deer in the clutches of a hound. I whispered into her ear: ‘I will think of you every moment. Remember me every night when the moon rises from the sea. Take care of our son, our bed, my dog and my bow.’

Euriclea knelt at my feet and kissed my hand. ‘My child, my child,’ I could hear her say through her weeping.

I gave Telemachus a kiss and began walking down the pier until I reached the steps to the royal ship, but as I put my foot on the first one, I heard barking and I turned: Argus!

‘I can’t take you with me,’ I said. ‘You have to stay here with Telemachus. You have to protect him while I’m away. When I come back we’ll go hunting together.’

He seemed to understand my words. He licked my hand and whined as I got on board. A sailor cast off the moorings and my ship pulled away from the shore, pulled away from Ithaca and everything in the world that was dear to me. I felt my heart splitting in my chest, but I remembered that my men at the oars and at the helm were waiting for the triple shout from the king of Ithaca that announces the start of a war, and I walked up to the prow. The other ships were fanning out so that each one of them was equally distant from my own. The sailors pulled in the oars and raised them up as if they were warriors’ spears. I donned my bright armour then, and shouted at the top of my lungs:

‘He — ha — heee!

‘He — ha — heee!

‘He — ha — heee!’

And they replied to my cry with a roar, beating time with the oar handles against the wooden benches.

We departed.