The Oath

8

We left two days later bearing many precious gifts on our chariots. Thoughts of Helen came back to confuse me now and then but I’d look over at my father and think of how happy I was to be on this journey with him; to be learning so many things, hosted by powerful kings and splendid queens. Seeing places that I had never seen: rugged mountains and plains, rivers and forests, flocks at pasture, herds of horses at a gallop, flaming sunsets and silent dawns.

We crossed another mountain chain.

‘Where are we going, atta?’ I asked him. ‘Are we beginning our return?’

‘You’re already eager to get home? Our journey has just begun! No, we’re going to Mycenae.’

I couldn’t help but shudder when I heard that name: ‘That’s a cursed place, atta. Why there?’

My father continued to look straight ahead as we proceeded along the dusty white path that led to the mountain pass from which we would descend towards the plain of Argus. He replied some time later: ‘Because I have heard from both Nestor of Pylos and Tyndareus of Sparta that the king of Mycenae, the biggest and most powerful city of Achaia, is a despicable man, a monster. And so I’ve asked him to receive me.’

‘Why, atta?’

‘Do you remember that night the messenger came to the palace with that terrible news?’

‘I remember it well. I didn’t sleep all night.’

‘It happened at Mycenae. I’m thinking that only by entering the palace where the massacre took place can we understand what went on that night.’

‘You don’t think he did it, do you?’

‘Hercules? No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.’

‘Would it change something if you discovered the truth?’

‘Greatly, even if the dead cannot be brought back to life.’

I asked no more questions and for many hours we made our way down the road, crossing an immense plain where herds of horses were grazing. At times we came so close I could almost touch them. When we stopped in the evenings I was the one who took care of our steeds. I would free them from their yokes, give them the hay I gathered in the fields and cover them with woollen blankets to protect them from the damp night air.

When we reached Mycenae night was falling. The city was not visible from the road we were travelling on, which led to the port instead. Mycenae was hidden at the end of a narrow valley that had to be crossed, heading north, until we came within sight of two hills: the first one was tall and quite massive, while the second was lower but much rockier; it was on this second hill that the city stood. The palace itself was built on a sheer cliff wall, overhanging a chasm. It towered above all the other buildings, the valley and the distant plain.

We made our way uphill along a road flanked by majestic stone tombs until we reached the gate, a lofty construction made of two jambs topped by a gigantic lintel that not even one hundred men could have moved. Only a god, had he so wished. On the architrave were carved the figures of two lions rearing up to face each other; their bodies were painted a tawny colour and their heads were glittery gold.

‘This is Mycenae,’ said my father. ‘Do you agree that no man should die without having seen it at least once?’

He knocked three times at the gate with the shaft of his spear. It opened for us.

Twenty warriors, ten on the right and ten on the left, saluted us and escorted us to the palace. My father pointed out, to our right, the funerary enclosure that held the tombs of the Perseids, the first sovereigns of the city, and then the palace, up on high, illuminated by torches. Every step that took us closer to the grand royal dwelling made me feel more anxious and uneasy. I walked close alongside my father but I dared not say a word, so as not to be heard by the men escorting us. I also didn’t want him to think I was afraid. No one crossed our path save a few rare passers-by; all we could hear, now and then, were doors opening and closing on creaky hinges, and I asked myself why the inhabitants of such a dismal place didn’t just leave. Who wouldn’t rather live on a hillside planted with olive trees or a meadow crossed by flocks and herds? Or was it just the gloom of the night that made me feel that way?

I was sure that any small village of farmers or shepherds would have seemed more inviting, but perhaps my father had brought me here so I could understand something that words could not explain. At the heart of the most powerful kingdom of Achaia everything was inverted: evil standing for good, defiance and insult taking the place of justice, perhaps even darkness replacing the light. I started thinking that while night descended on the walls of Mycenae, the sun was still shining on Ithaca and sandy Pylos, and I feared that day would never break over the mute roads of this city.

I would have done anything to avoid meeting Eurystheus because I knew deep down that he was evil and sensed we would also be in danger if we ate his bread and spent the night under his roof. But we’d already reached the entrance to the palace.

He received us, alone, in the armoury. I had never seen so many spears and swords, so many shields, so many helmets with their crests. They completely covered the walls. Scores of full suits of armour, lit up by oil lamps, seemed the ghosts of fallen warriors. He sat down with a sigh on a bench and gestured for us to take seats as well. He offered us no wine, no bread, no salt.

‘What brings you here, king of Ithaca?’ he asked my father.

‘My son and I are directed to Argus and, if time permits, to Salamis, to meet with the kings of those cities and to exchange tokens of friendship with them. To pass by your splendid citadel without stopping to pay our respects would have been a failing that, were you to hear about it, you might very well have held against us.’

My father was lying, concealing his true motives. At the same time, I was learning how to feign telling the truth and how to deceive those more powerful than me while avoiding damage and offence.

‘I’m grateful to you,’ replied Eurystheus without looking at me. It was as if I didn’t exist.

There was not a sound to be heard in any of the surrounding rooms or those above us; and yet it was dinner time, the hour of the day at the palace in Ithaca when the lamps were lit, the women set the tables, the servants set the spits into the fire so the meats could be roasted and the handmaids took golden loaves of bread from the ovens. Was this power? Standing watch alone over deserted rooms? That’s the way it seemed. I was certain that Eurystheus would be wakeful and alone until dawn, too wary to fall asleep, afraid of being killed or of being visited by nightmares or by the divinities of the Night and the Underworld. He would not close his eyes until first light, but even then he would not sleep, nor carry out the tasks that daylight imposed.

My father spoke again: ‘Perhaps we’ve come at an inopportune time, Eurystheus, a time when you would have preferred to be alone. No king can afford to shirk the duties of governing his kingdom to entertain visitors.’

‘Let it not be said,’ replied the king of Mycenae, ‘that such an illustrious guest did not receive a fitting welcome. I have not had a banquet laid for you and your son, but the reason is another. I am tormented by an affliction that gives me no respite: a shooting pain in my head, as if a fiery arrow were burning my temples. But I will have you served every sort of food and strong red wine, the kind that warms the heart, in a large, richly decorated room, and tomorrow you shall leave with the customary gifts.’

Two warriors escorted us to our quarters. We walked down a long corridor lined by bare walls made of big blocks of stone. Our footsteps rang out in the silence and the palace seemed deserted, and yet several times I had the feeling we were being followed. We were finally shown into a large hall adorned with paintings. Wooden chairs were placed against the walls. A window opened like a flaming red square in the middle of the grey surface of the longest wall, still reflecting the sun which had already set. In front of two of the chairs were tables with bread, roasted meats and pigeons’ eggs. On the side, grapes and figs.

‘Father,’ I said as soon as the steps of the two warriors had faded away down the long corridor, ‘didn’t you hear someone behind us? Following us, or maybe spying on us?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I had other things on my mind. Why did Eurystheus have us taken to this room? Why is there no member of the royal family here to keep us company?’

‘Perhaps he trusts no one. If he can’t — or doesn’t want to be — present, he won’t let anyone else be with us either. Perhaps he senses that we’ve come here looking for something.’

A servant entered with a jug of wine and he poured some into our cups. Both were finely crafted in gold embossed with images of birds in flight. My father put the cup to his lips.

‘It’s strong and undiluted,’ he said. ‘Don’t drink more than a cup.’ As the servant turned his back to him in order to fill my cup, father let his bronze ring fall to the ground.

The servant did not turn.

‘Mistrust abounds in this house,’ observed my father. ‘He’s deaf, and probably dumb.’

I nodded.

The servant lit an oil lamp that he was carrying. Along with the others hanging from the walls, it cast a warm light, making the place less gloomy. But dining alone with my father in the house, perhaps in the very room, where Hercules had slaughtered his family made me feel terribly uneasy and even made my flesh creep. I had felt a thousand times more comfortable in my grandfather’s house in Acarnania, despite his dreadful reputation. Even after he had loosed a boar against me.

‘The walls can speak, though,’ said my father in a low voice. ‘And hear, as well.’

I understood what he meant: I wasn’t to say another word about the reason behind our visit. There was no need. We spoke of other things: about Argus, where I had never been, and about Salamis, the island kingdom of Telamon, another Argonaut and a friend and comrade of my father.

‘He has a son who is just a little older than you: he’s gigantic, as strong as a bull. His name is Ajax. And another younger boy called Teucer, who is good with a bow and arrow, like you are,’ he told me. ‘I’m sure you’ll be friends. You know, one day it will be you lot ruling over our kingdoms, when we’ve died or become too old. That’s why we are making this journey: so you can meet and perhaps even befriend the other princes. This will prevent wars.’

Even as we spoke, I could feel that his mind was on other things. He stood abruptly, walked towards the door and opened it briefly, then continued: ‘I don’t like this place. I don’t like the welcome we got from Eurystheus and I don’t like this isolation. At the end of the corridor one of his warriors is standing guard. And there are two at the other end. We won’t be allowed to speak with anyone, nor will anyone be able to speak with us under these circumstances. Staying here makes no sense. Tomorrow we’ll leave, at dawn.’

‘Father, how did Eurystheus come to rule over this city?’

My father was silent at first, then walked over to the window and looked out at the dark night. I could almost read his thoughts: he had come certain to find some sign, some clue that would allow him to absolve Hercules of such a monstrous crime, at least in his own heart. Leaving without achieving this would mean defeat. A mute city, a sullen king, a segregated room, a still, stifled atmosphere, were all that we had seen and heard.

‘Eurystheus and Hercules are cousins. . Many, many years ago, an oracle had decreed that the last descendant of the Perseids would reign over Mycenae and Tiryns. Now, that should have been Hercules, but a priestess of Hera stepped up and swore that Eurystheus had been born first. She claimed that the goddess Hera herself, who is present at all births, had revealed this fact to her. Eurystheus became the lord of the two cities; Hercules was forced to leave and to begin a life of wandering.’

‘Then why should this terrible crime have happened at all? What possessed him to return here?’

‘That’s what I’d like to find out, but Eurystheus has done his best to make that impossible. We’re not free to go anywhere or speak with anyone. But you are certainly right, my son: that is the heart of the matter. Why did the massacre happen here? Perhaps in Argus we’ll learn something more. There are some things that can only be whispered by one king into the ear of another. Not here.’

We finished eating and I didn’t see the bottom of my cup. We retired into the adjacent room where two beds had been prepared with linen sheets woven through with purple threads. My father laid his sword and sheath on the floor next to him and I kept my dagger under my pillow. I fell asleep, although scenes of the bloodbath kept throbbing under my eyelids.

Then in the middle of the night I heard a noise in the next room. It was coming from the foot of the door, and it sounded like a dog trying to scratch his way in. I put my ear to the floor and listened. Someone was scraping something hard and rough over the stone, to make a noise that could only be heard at a short distance. Someone who wanted us to hear, but no one else?

I got up and made my way to the other room, following the dying light of the last oil lamp left burning. I lifted the bolt very slowly, without making the slightest noise, and then swiftly pulled open the door. What I found outside was a boy, his eyes flashing with fear.