I was the first to speak: ‘Where is Hercules? Did he learn how he had been tricked by Eurystheus? That he was innocent of killing his wife and children?’
‘Yes. I told him myself,’ said Mentor. ‘He left for Mycenae that very day, on the same chariot he’d used to bring Alcestis back. And I swear that the Furies, their heads wrapped in snakes, were running at his sides. The four black stallions seemed to breathe fire from their nostrils and sparks flashed under the rims of the wheels as the quadriga crossed the stone pavement on the square.
‘Admetus ordered his guards to follow him, thinking perhaps that the man could use help, and I took the opportunity to jump on one of the fifteen war chariots that, one after another, flew off in pursuit of Hercules. Everyone knew me, and I had been at the palace for such a long time this seemed natural to me. We raced on, practically without stopping. Some of the chariots were lost along the way because they broke down or because the horses couldn’t keep up. And yet none of us ever caught up with Hercules’ quadriga, which seemed to have taken flight. Perhaps those four black stallions truly came from the Underworld, sent by Persephone herself.
‘Only three of the fifteen chariots arrived at the destination, shortly after the invincible hero had halted his quadriga and freed the steeds of their harness. But it was soon evident that he would not need anyone’s help. He scaled the city walls easily and dived inside like a sparrowhawk. For a time that seemed endless to us we heard nothing. Then we were startled, all at once, by a loud creaking noise: the hinges of the great gate of the lions. The gigantic doors burst open and there was Hercules, dragging Eurystheus by one of his feet. The king of Mycenae was still alive, but barely recognizable; we knew it was him only because of his royal robes. His face was a shapeless mask of blood. Hercules smashed his body up against the city wall, holding him up by the neck with his left hand so he would not slip to the ground. With the fingers of his right hand he put out both of Eurystheus’ eyes, then squeezed the king’s neck harder and harder with his left until it snapped. Hercules summoned one of the men and handed over the eyes of his enemy, who had died without even having the strength to open his mouth. “Take these to Thebes, to my mother. Tell her who they belonged to, and that justice has been done.”
‘Eurystheus’ body lay disjointed on the ground like the carcass of a slaughtered animal, while Hercules jumped onto his chariot and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Heading north. He hasn’t been heard from since.’
‘Eurystheus got what he deserved,’ said my father after a long, heavy silence.
‘Where did Hercules go? What will he do now?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Mentor. ‘I’m afraid that the truth that I revealed to him about the death of his family did nothing to heal his wounds, but merely refuelled his wrath. His wife and children were murdered and no one can bring them back. Not even the gods. They would have already done so if they had wanted to or, better yet, they could have prevented it from happening in the first place.’
Another long silence followed. The sleeping household was so utterly quiet that we could hear the cries of a flock of wild ducks passing in the night.
‘What will become of Admetus and Alcestis?’ I asked. I was wondering how a man and a woman who had survived such events could recreate a serene life together.
‘No one will ever be able to answer such a question,’ replied Mentor. ‘Least of all them. Sunlight and night, joy and agony, shame and pride . . . and love exceeding every limit, beyond time and beyond life. These were the banks wherein flowed their lives. Sometimes we ordinary mortals are fated to experience passions that push the heart to its extreme limits, passions that not even the gods can experience . . . because the gods do not know what it means to love another to the point of distraction, to desire life so strongly it becomes your undoing. To tremble with fear in the dark, to suffer solitude and abandonment. Admetus and his wife lived through all of this. Perhaps they will find the strength to forget, to forgive each other, to walk together again towards a death that will not be an abyss of shadows but a quiet sunset.’
The night was already half gone when we finally surrendered to our weariness. Before I fell asleep, I thought that Mentor had spoken like a man laden with the wisdom of years, not like the youth he still was. I knew that, whatever befell me in the future, he would always be my support and my succour, whether he was near or far.
That night I believe my dreams revealed the true answer to my questions but when I awoke the next day I had neither the strength nor the will to remember.
I went hunting with my father.
HERCULES, as far as we were able to learn, had simply disappeared, much like he had appeared from out of nowhere that day at the court of Admetus in Pherai. All traces of him were lost. I imagined that he had decided, in any case, to complete the labours that Eurystheus had assigned to him, because in doing so he was liberating the world of ferocious, deadly creatures that threatened men and devastated the countryside. One day, when Mentor and I were alone on board a ship, I asked him one of those questions that demands that you either tell the truth or refuse to answer entirely.
‘Tell me, what do you think happened to Alcestis from the time she was taken away to the moment when she reappeared on Hercules’ chariot? You were there. You must have asked yourself what actually happened.’
‘It’s as I said the night of my return to Ithaca: there is no answer to this question. Only Hercules and Alcestis know the truth. But he has disappeared and she has never spoken of it. Where was she taken? The closest gateway to Hades is in Ephyra, which is not very far from here. That’s where the Stygian swamp is, and the Acheron river.’
I said nothing more but my question hung in the air between us; it had piqued Mentor’s interest. He spoke up again: ‘Have you ever seen someone lose his senses? Appear entirely dead to the world and then reopen his eyes? The border between life and death is very ill-defined. Dreaming, for instance, takes you to a territory that has no borders and is free of the limits that this world places upon us. In fact, dreams are inhabited by people living and dead. There’s one thing I’m sure of, however: Hercules knew full well where Alcestis was; he knew where to look for her and how to bring her back. When they returned on his chariot she was covered by a grey veil from her head to her feet. She looked like . . . a ghost.
‘And when Hercules removed the veil to show her to her husband, her skin was pale, her eye sockets dark, her face was expressionless. Death was still inside her; it hadn’t left her completely.’
Mentor managed now and then to send messages to the palace at Pherai to be recited by voice and he would sometimes receive replies. But these contacts became rarer and rarer until they stopped completely.
More than three years had passed since his return, when one evening Mentor told me that he had to talk to me about something my father the king had already been informed of.
‘MANY IMPORTANT events have been taking place on the mainland. In Mycenae, the throne left vacant after Eurystheus’ death was occupied by Atreus, son of Pelops, who had taken shelter at Eurystheus’ court along with his brother Thyestes. He is now the mightiest sovereign in all Achaia. He has two sons: Agamemnon and Menelaus. You may even have seen them while you were in Mycenae: Menelaus has tawny red hair and a powerful build. His skin is the colour of bronze. He wears his hair gathered at the nape of his neck with a leather tie. Agamemnon is his older brother, and is even more strongly built than Menelaus, but his eyes are black and sullen and he wears his long hair straight on his shoulders. He’s very good with the spear and trains every day in the palace courtyard. Atreus also has a daughter, Anaxibia, a proud, beautiful young woman. She has been promised to the king of Phocis.
‘In Argus, there is no heir apparent to the throne of King Adrastus; during your visit to the city you saw for yourself how his son-in-law Tydeus, who had fallen in battle in front of the walls of Thebes, was burned on the pyre. Tydeus’ son, Prince Diomedes, has become a formidable warrior.
Ever since his father’s death he has done nothing but train for combat, together with the sons of six other warriors who died in the siege of the city of the seven gates. It is said that they live only to avenge their fathers. Those who have seen them describe them as a pack of young lions thirsty for blood.
‘I know that you met Nestor’s sons when you visited Pylos, and the twin sons of Tyndareus and Leda, Castor and Pollux, as well, in Sparta. You may have seen Atreus’ sons in Mycenae without knowing who they were, and Tydeus’ son, Diomedes, at his father’s funeral. But even if you don’t remember them, it won’t be long before you see them again, because all the young princes of Achaia are setting off for Sparta, you included.’
‘Me? Why should I go to Sparta? I’ve already been.’
‘Because, as it turns out, many of the most valiant princes of Achaia have asked for the hand of Helen, Tyndareus and Leda’s daughter, in marriage. She has just turned seventeen, and her beauty is such that any of them would be willing to risk his life to be able to carry her in his arms to his wedding chamber.’
‘Not me, Mentor.’
‘Wait until you see her, prince of Ithaca. You may lose your wits as well.’
‘I doubt that, precious adviser. My wits are what I care about most; I wouldn’t want to lose them for any reason.’
‘I’m happy to hear you say that, because the other princes of Achaia seem ready to cut each other’s throats for that female. They have me quite worried, actually.’
I fell silent and pondered the situation. This could lead to war, and that had to be avoided at any cost. I had gone to the mainland with my father, Laertes, to consolidate an alliance based on friendship with the other kings and princes. If blood was shed now in any way, for any reason, people would certainly take sides, and I wouldn’t be able to stay out of it. I would have to join up with one group or another, even against my will.
As far as I saw it, the greatest result of the adventure of the Argonauts was not winning the treasure of Colchis, the golden fleece, as everyone had come to call it. It was uniting fifty kings and princes of Achaia in a single endeavour in which they fought side by side and had to defend each other’s lives. My father was everyone’s friend, everyone was my father’s friend, and that was the way it had to stay. He had taught me that war usually brings only grief and misfortune, but that there were conceivable justifications for a war, as long as it was fought outside Achaia. Never within. In that case it would be a calamity.
‘When are we to meet in Sparta?’ I asked.
‘On the day of next month’s new moon.’
‘Then I’ll leave now. Find me a ship and summon my friends: Eurylochus, Perimedes, Polites, Euribates and the others. You’ll come as well, you will be of great use to me.’
‘No, I can’t go with you. I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘I must remain at the king’s service. This is a matter you’ll have to resolve on your own.’
While Mentor made arrangements for the ship and crew, I went to look for my father, to tell him what I meant to do. The sons of the Argonauts were starting out badly. We needed the wisdom of our fathers. Each of us, including myself, would have to do whatever was necessary to prevent war from breaking out in Achaia and destroying everything that our fathers had built.
I told father what Mentor had told me and he didn’t seem surprised. ‘Have you ever seen rams in springtime butting each other until they’ve broken their skulls to win a female? And deer, and boars? Well, we’re not so different, not when we’re young, anyway. Find a solution, if you can: your mind can find its way down many roads, and I don’t think it will be difficult for you. Remember this: when you convince someone stronger than you to do something you feel is necessary, make him believe that he was the one who found the solution. Be sure to come and say goodbye before you leave, pai.’
‘I will.’
‘You’ll have to take gifts for Helen, even though I’m fairly sure she won’t become your wife. She is . . .’
‘Made of gold, atta. And I’m made of wood. Oak.’
The following days were spent at the port, readying the ship along with my friends. We even slept on board, all together, feeling like we had already begun our journey. The first one all on our own. I was the leader and the sovereign and everyone treated me as such. We would eat, swim, fish and even hunt together if there was time, but they showed me signs of respect, like saving the best parts of the prey we’d caught for me, or asking my opinion before taking the initiative, and this filled me with pride.
The first thing I did when we arrived at Pylos, our first stop, was to render homage to King Nestor, who welcomed me like a son. I set off again, leaving the ship to my friends and turning over the command to my cousin Eurylochus. The four-day voyage had passed quickly. I had enjoyed myself thoroughly and tried not to think of what was waiting for me in Sparta: it had felt like being with a group of friends out on a tuna-fishing expedition. But every now and then, the evening by the horse pen came to mind, that evening when Helen had surprised me and spoken to me.
King Nestor wanted me to accept an escort of bronze-clad warriors with crested helmets, more for the sake of prestige than necessity. Among them was his son Antilochus, whom I’d met years before. During the journey we became fast friends. The king also gave me a chariot and a big tent which would serve as my abode during my stay in Sparta, along with provisions and splendid robes that I would wear when I was invited to the palace. All things I was not accustomed to.
The long procession of men and chariots slowed our march considerably, but there was no hurry, for the moment. Once we reached Sparta, the commander of my guard went to the palace to announce my arrival and returned with an invitation to dinner the following night.
That afternoon I bathed in the Eurotas and donned the robes that Nestor had given me but I felt embarrassed. I’d never worn such luxurious clothing and it didn’t feel right for me. In the end, I decided to wear the robe that Euriclea, my nurse, had put in my travelling chest. It seemed beautiful to me but it was very simple. Just two stripes of purple edged in gold, attesting to my dignity as the son of a king.
Antilochus wanted me to go to the palace escorted by two gigantic warriors from his father’s guard, but I convinced him that a couple of servants, bearing the gifts I’d brought for Helen, would suffice.
King Tyndareus and Queen Leda welcomed me with signs of great respect and esteem, as my servants opened an ivory box to show them the prince of Ithaca’s gift for Helen of Sparta. It was a diadem of gold with dozens of pendants mounted with magnificent stones: cornelian, jasper, lapis lazuli, red amber, light blue quartz and pearls.
‘Helen will be enchanted,’ said the queen. As she closed the box and handed it back to me, she warned the maidservants present not to ruin the surprise by telling the princess about it, should I be the one destined to offer her my wedding gift. Then the king took me into the armoury, where a table had been set with two golden cups full of red wine.
‘Your gift is truly splendid, Prince Odysseus,’ the king said.
‘It’s certainly not suitable homage to the beauty and grace of the most splendid maiden on earth. But it’s what I have to offer her,’ I said, ‘and it comes from my heart.’
Tyndareus’ mood changed as if an ominous thought had crossed his mind. He sighed and said: ‘Her beauty represents a danger.’
‘I know. But not for me. I do not intend to put my hand to the sword to conquer her, even though she is surely worthy of it.’
‘Why not?’ asked Tyndareus. ‘You are the son of a king, like her other suitors.’
‘Because a betrothal should be a celebration, not a bloodbath. As for me, I know well that I couldn’t even hope for the slightest glance from Helen. Ours is a kingdom of small rocky islands, wanax; we have no plains rich enough to nourish horses and grow luxuriant crops. We’re happy with very little and when our men leave port with plunder in mind they may be away for a very long time. Helen can have so much more: there are many princes
of the Achaian people who have mighty kingdoms, endless riches, grand palaces. But there is something that worries me, wanax.’
‘What might that be?’
‘I fear that the princes of Achaia who are vying for Helen’s hand will first lavish countless gifts upon her and then fight each other to the death, since only one can carry her off to his wedding chamber. Those who lose will be humiliated and end up hating the victor and strife will surely ensue. Bloody battles and endless grief.’
‘My same fear. But listening to your words and your reasoning, so complex despite your young age, gives me hope. In my heart, if I could choose as her father, I would want you to have my daughter, for your mind and your heart are worth far more than mere brawn and quick swordplay, pai.’
I was moved that wanax Tyndareus, the sovereign of mighty Sparta, had called me by the name that only my mother and father and my dear nurse used. Just then, a herald asked to be received and, once he had gained entrance, he announced: ‘Ajax Oileus has arrived, wanax, and raised his tents on the right bank of the Eurotas. The sentries have also sighted the banners of Prince Diomedes of Argus; they shine in the sun like ripe ears of wheat.’
‘Reserve a suitable place for him, with abundant water and a large space for his tents.’
‘Prince Diomedes?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Tyndareus as the herald left to carry out the orders he had been given. ‘Diomedes is second in the line of succession, because his mother is the king’s daughter and she is a widow. After Tydeus’ death, King Adrastus called young Diomedes to the palace, but the boy refused. He apparently prefers to live in an austere fortress at the edge of the forest together with six comrades who will one day fight at his side to avenge the deaths of their fathers at the siege of Thebes of the seven gates. They do naught else but train for combat, from dawn to dusk. He is certainly a force to be reckoned with. And he comes asking for my daughter’s hand.’
I had seen him in my dream: mighty Tydeus, as he devoured the brains of Melanippus like a starving lion at the seventh gate. The goddess fled, horrified, from the sight. . .
Odysseus: The Oath Page 12