Odysseus: The Oath

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘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 Ac
haia, 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.

  12

  THE WIND WAS IN OUR FAVOUR: we sailed all day and all night and we reached our destination the evening of the following day, passing between the mainland and the island. Our Ithaca welcomed us at the port closest to the palace. My trainer Damastes was unfailingly waiting at the port with a four-wheeled cart drawn by a pair of oxen that would take us to the palace. My nurse Euriclea embraced me, weeping for joy. She kissed me on the head and on my eyes, but not before she had kissed my father’s hand. Damastes and the palace dignitaries rendered homage to the king and paid their respects to me as well, realizing that I was no longer the boy I had been before we departed. I was a man now, like they were, capable of reigning over the kingdom if it became necessary.

  The warriors escorting us loaded the gifts we had received onto the cart. Damastes sat in front and drove the oxen. Two huge white oxen with big horns. At first I felt like I was crossing a new, unfamiliar land, and it wasn’t until I had become accustomed to the landscape that I truly felt I had returned. I couldn’t understand why it all seemed so alien to me, until I realized that I had seen so many extraordinary things, lived through so many wondrous experiences, that I was somehow rejecting the small, restrictive island where nothing ever happened. Although I’d delighted in seeing my mother, my nurse, my home, my closest friends again, now I could find nothing interesting in what I had returned to.

  It got worse. For days on end I nursed a feeling of true repulsion for my land, along with no small measure of discomfort, because I realized it wasn’t fair and because I couldn’t even justify feeling this way. I forced myself to comprehend what was happening. For nearly two months (how the time had flown!) I had journeyed through a large part of Achaia at my father’s side. I had met three sovereigns, two queens, any number of princes and two royal princesses, one of whom was extraordinarily beautiful. I had seen fascinating landscapes, mountains and rivers, snowy peaks, impenetrable forests and vast, fertile plains. I had received gifts of unimaginable cost and craftsmanship; single objects that were worth as much as an entire flock of our sheep or herd of our pigs.

  I had been pursued, I’d had dreams and visions, I’d had to face real fear, horror, admiration, tenderness, doubt and, finally, mystery. I had explored the world in all its variety, and also the diverse and often disquieting aspects of the human soul. I knew now that even the most violent emotions, the most terrible and frightening, were preferable to the rigidity, the inertia, the tedium of a life that was always the same. Even though I was still very young, my father had spared me nothing, just like my grandfather before him.

  My father must have noticed that I was often restless and distracted, and sensing my malady he spoke to me: ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re feeling, son. It’s a kind of sickness that gnaws at you, that won’t leave you alone, but there’s a deep contradiction in it; when I was off on the Argo in faraway Colchis, all I could think of was my island and its scents, of my wife, of my house and of you, my only son. I missed all of that terribly, I felt a really acute yearning to be back. Stretched out on my rowing bench, I would look at the distant stars and I could not fall asleep. I’d wait, aching, for the dawn. But when in the middle of the night the alarm trumpet sounded and my comrades put on their armour, I did the same. I clad myself in bronze, threw the sword belt over my shoulder, unsheathed my sword and steadied my heart, impatient for the battle. In the fury of combat I forgot all else, my mind was drunk on the frenzy and the delirium of the fray and I could think of nothing but the fierce, bloody fight, the victory, the spoils. That’s how it is, son: our hearts long for our loved ones, reach out for memories, envisage the family and the hospitable, lovingly built house we left, but what lies at the bottom of a man’s heart is an abyss of darkness populated by monsters that not even Hercules himself could defeat. Your heart has only just grazed the darkness. You saw the madness in Eurystheus’ eyes and the terror behind the gaze of little Eumelus. You’ve had nightmares, but you have never had the experience of combat, of a situation where each man seeks to inflict the most damage and the most suffering possible on another man he has square in front of him. You haven’t faced the unknown, son, and that’s the one thing that strikes more fear into a man than anything else.

  ‘Be calm and wait. Go fishing with your friends. You’ll soon become accustomed to Ithaca again. Remember: what you have here is good. When we come home, live in our houses, eat our food, sleep in our beds with our wives, hunt in our forests, the best part of us gains the upper hand. The monsters sink back down into the darkness and it’s as if they were dead. It’s good to sit at the table in the evening with friends drinking strong red wine and listening to stories, especially on those winter nights when sailing is impossible and the wind of Boreas blows cold and impetuous!’

  ‘Father,’ I asked him, ‘has the frenzy you speak of ever descended upon Ithaca? Have pirates ever tried to bring death, plunder and rape to the island? Has an ambitious pretender never tried to take your throne, or your father’s before you? Has Ithaca ever been stained with blood?’

  ‘No, my son, not within living memory. This, too, is good, a privilege afforded us by the gods. The sea protects us, perhaps because I never forget, on stormy days, to sacrifice to the blue god Poseidon. But also because the inhabitants of our island are valiant and fearsome warriors and because we live simply and do not flaunt what riches we have.’

  ‘It’s a great fortune,’ I replied, ‘to grow up next to a father like you, who has an answer for all questions. Even the ones that don’t get said.’

  ‘I’ve only showed you a part of what awaits you when the time comes, but I’ve done so loving you, as a father loves a son, and this will remain in your heart.’

  He looked into my eyes as he said these words, his gaze as deep as the sea.

  I still miss him now, I need his voice, his advice.

  Then he called Damastes to tell him to prepare the hounds for a boar hunt.

  MENTOR DIDN’T come home for two years. His return at the beginning of spring was a great event. King Nestor had given him a ship to cross the sea with. The sailors at port had recognized the ship by its standard, and they accompanied Mentor to the palace. It was dusk and the servants were preparing the tables for dinner. When my father learned that Mentor was arriving, he wanted to be the first to greet him at the gate. Mentor bowed to kiss his hand. Then I greeted him as well, embracing him like a friend I had greatly missed.

  ‘Don’t tell me anything yet,’ my father told him. ‘You’ll speak after we’ve eaten. Once the tables have been cleared, we will linger and bring out the best wine.’ He was certain that Mentor had long, jaw-dropping stories to tell. He couldn’t have remained at Admetus’ palace for two years unless important events had held him there.

  When we had finished eating Mentor waited unti
l the king had drunk of the best wine and ordered the servants to refill his cup before beginning to drink himself.

  And then he began:

  ‘When I returned to the palace in Pherai, the king and queen were very surprised to see me, but Eumelus ran towards me and hugged me tightly as if he were afraid I would want to leave again. His parents understood, and entrusted him to my care. I soon realized why he wanted so badly to be with me. I think he hadn’t been able to forgive his parents for sending him off to Eurystheus’ dark palace in Mycenae. I still don’t know why they did it, but I imagine that the king had invited him to come as a page, and his parents had no reason to refuse. What mother would ever want to separate from her son, what father?

  ‘I realized, in fact, that after my departure from Pherai, Eumelus hadn’t spoken any further with his mother and father about what he had seen and heard when he was in Mycenae. And even though they longed to unburden Hercules from his insufferable remorse, what could they do? Where to find Hercules, hero of boundless strength? How far had his heavy heart taken him? No one knew. The echoes of his exploits reached our ears, certainly distorted, in the songs of the poets. Was he in Thrace? Crete? In the Peloponnese or Boeotia or Iberia, or at the extreme edges of the world? Would he ever return? Could he survive so many superhuman labours?

  ‘And so we waited. I’m not sure for what. For Hercules to return, I suppose, and pay them a visit? Perhaps. It is said that the Argonauts meet up every now and then – but only you can confirm this, my king – all of them except, of course, for Jason of Iolcus, their leader. In the end he married his savage princess, Medea, the daughter of Aeetes, king of Colchis, and from what I hear it’s like living with a Caucasian tiger. He’d like to be rid of her but doesn’t know how he can do that because they have had two children together and blood is a strong bond. I’m afraid that sooner or later something terrible will happen.’