by Peter Tonkin
VENGEANCE AT AULIS
A Trojan Murders Mystery
Peter Tonkin
© Peter Tonkin 2020.
Peter Tonkin has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2020 by Sharpe Books.
For:
Cham, Guy, Mark and Lana as always.
Table of Contents
1 - The Contest on the Beach
2 - The Grove of Artemis
3 - The Hand of the Goddess
4 - The Second Corpse
5 - The Rat and the Rhapsode
6 - The Return of the King
7 - The Princess and the Priestess
SOURCES
1 - The Contest on the Beach
i
‘So,’ said my father, ‘tell me about your captain’s women.’
‘For Odysseus there is only one woman,’ I answered. ‘His wife Penelope is the woman as far as he’s concerned. Why do you ask?’
‘Apparently there is one looking for him. A mysterious woman of great beauty, though how she hopes to find him as things stand at the moment only the gods know.’ He lifted his arm in a sweeping gesture that covered the entire fifty-thousand-man army gathered here in one massive camp and the thousand ships in the bay beside them. ‘Or why she wants to find him, come to that.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be trying to find him so that he can help her with some problem. He’s adept at solving riddles,’ I explained. Then I added, for emphasis, ‘and he’s faithful to his wife.’
‘As his rhapsode you’d know, of course.’ Father nodded. ‘However, some of his friends seem to be less single-minded,’ he continued. ‘Take young Prince Achilles for instance. I hear he’s left Princess Deidamia of Skyros behind in Phthia, pregnant with his baby and with Queen Thetis his mother keeping a close eye on her.’
‘Where did you hear that?’ I wondered, labouring to keep up with his purposeful stride as well as with this flow of information.
We were walking along a pathway that followed the shore, between the tidemark and the lines of the army’s huge encampment. It had been beaten hard by countless feet. On our left stood low dunes held together by coarse sea-grass; both the grass and the sand blown towards us by the easterly wind gusting in off the bay. The dunes slowly yielded to a stony beach that sloped down to the water’s edge where the white surf tumbled out of a grey sea. A seemingly endless line of ships had been driven ashore here, starting with those commanded by Prince Ajax of Salamis and ending in the far distance with the black ships of the Myrmidons led by Achilles, Prince of Phthia. Each vessel was further anchored by hawsers reaching from their foredecks to stakes hammered into the ground, just on the sea-side of the ridge of solid sand that ran the length or the beach.
On our right was a temporary tent-city of linen and leather that stretched as far inland as the hillslopes with their tall pine forests filled with groves that were sacred to various gods and goddesses, most especially to Artemis upon whose protection the continued safety and prosperity of the local area relied. Behind us stood the southern walls of the port city of Aulis that we called home. Ahead of us was a huge crowd of soldiers so bored with enforced inactivity that almost any diversion called forth wild enthusiasm. Above it all a low grey sky heavy with rainclouds being pushed westward by a relentless and unseasonable north-easterly gale.
‘Where did I hear it? The same place as I heard about the woman looking for Odysseus: around.’ Father flung the last word over his shoulder, glancing back as he did so. Then, seeing how hard it was for me to keep up with him even on the firm, flat pathway, he moderated his pace and continued his explanation more slowly too. ‘It’s gossip on the docks. I keep my ear to the ground and employ others to do so on my behalf – good business practise. The rumour about Prince Achilles and the child he’s already fathered suggests that the princess wasn’t really what you’d call willing but he was hiding in disguise among her women and she found that she just couldn’t say no.’ He shrugged, then continued, ‘some of the others leave even less room for doubt and debate. Take Prince Aias of Locris, for instance. He might be a brave soldier but when it comes to women, he’s almost insatiable and likes things rough; he’d rather rape them than romance them. And as for Prince Palamedes…’
My father’s voice drifted away as he became lost in thought. I would have found it difficult to hear much more in any case because we were nearing our destination. The crowd of excited soldiers we were approaching were shouting at one-another; making wagers for the most part. Which was why we were here. To wager. I might be the closest of my father’s sons behind him as we walked and talked, but behind me were several of my brothers, all laden with ornaments, trinkets, weapons and armour suitable to be wagered when the competition began.
***
My father’s business took in any element from which he could make a profit and, indeed, it was among the most profitable in the port city of Aulis. Together with his partners in the nearby harbour of Chalcis, he ran a vast trading empire centred on the two ports but stretching from Phonecian Tyre in the east to the Gates of Gades in the west – which people were beginning to call the Pillars of Hercules these days. From the fabled port of Colchis in the north, past Troy at the narrows where the Sea of Marmara flowed into the Aegean, to Crete and Egypt in the south. It was Troy which I knew best, every alleyway, hostel, temple and agora marketplace from the docks to King Priam’s citadel. Well-founded, high-walled Troy, where I had been robbed and beaten almost to death, leaving me crippled, half blind and lucky to be able to scrape a living as a rhapsode, singing pastorals and epics accompanied by my lyre. Blessed by the gods in that I was rhapsode to Odysseus, King of Ithaca.
So it transpired that the least and most damaged of my father’s family was the one he paid most attention to when I was visiting my home. For in my travels with Captain Odysseus, I met kings and princes, captains and generals: the men with whom Father wished to trade, especially as all the richest and most powerful were assembled here, in and around Aulis, waiting to set sail for Troy as soon as the weather changed. But the unseasonable easterly gales had settled in a few days ago and showed no sign of moderating any time soon. None of the local oracles seemed able or willing to explain why the weather had turned bad or when it was likely to improve. Even the army’s chief seer the soothsayer Kalkhas could offer nothing much in the way of guidance.
The presence of High King Agamemnon, ruler of Mycenae, and his vast army trapped on the plains outside the city presented my father with a huge source of further profit; one that should have sufficed. But no: he was apparently considering whether he should supply women to the troops as well as food and drink. And he was planning to do that as soon as he could send his ships to the slave market in Ephesus. In the mean-time, he was adding to his revenue by making and accepting wagers when there were contests worthy of his notice. And that was the case now, for Prince Achilles was proposing to race on foot against a chariot pulled by four fast horses driven by Eumelos, one of the greatest charioteers in the whole of Achaea. Moreover, was planning to run the course in full armour; the golden armour that clothed him from head to foot when he went into battle. If the prince lost, the armour was Eumelos’; if the charioteer lost, his chariot and horses belonged to the prince. That was the way we made our simple wagers in those days.
‘And you think Achilles will win?’ Father called back suddenly. ‘It doesn’t seem likely, no matter how fast he is. Not in heavy golden armour against a chariot pulled by four horses. You’re certain, boy? There could be a lot riding on it.’
‘I�
�m certain of nothing,’ I answered. ‘Except I know that Captain Odysseus is sure he will win.’
The conversation was enough to take us to the starting line. The crowd here was thickest, but Father had no trouble in pushing through to the front. I and my brothers followed him. ‘Who wishes to wager?’ Father shouted, his voice surprisingly piercing in the blustery storm wind. A group of men standing a little apart from the soldiers and sailors swung round. I recognised the solid, square figure of my captain King Odysseus with the sprightly if elderly King Nestor of Pylos standing beside him, and beyond Nestor, Odysseus’ closest friend and greatest enemy side by side – Diomedes, his companion from youth and Palamedes who had seen through his attempt to avoid joining he Trojan campaign and told Agamemnon of his trick. The trick had been to pretend madness and it had worked perfectly until the officious Palamedes had put Odysseus’ baby son Telemachus in danger so the king was forced to admit the truth or to kill his own child; an act that was, of course, utterly unthinkable to any sane man.
‘I wager that Prince Achilles will win!’ called my father. ‘Who will bet against me, like for like?’
My brothers spread cloths on the ground and displayed what we had brought; almost all of it designed to catch the eye and tempt the hearts of the soldiers.
‘Welcome, lad,’ said Odysseus as he crossed towards us, leading the others of his little group.
‘Good morning, Captain,’ I said. ‘My father tells me he has heard of a mysterious woman searching for you. He says she is very beautiful.’
‘Really?’ answered Odysseus. ‘That’s news to me. Perhaps I will start looking for her after our business here is concluded. I see you have convinced your father to bet on the underdog.’ He gestured and I looked up.
ii
Across the width of the beach the two contestants were going through their final preparations. Except that there were really six contestants, for Eumelos was quietening the four strong horses that would pull his chariot. The four steeds stood shoulder to shoulder, the central pair harnessed to the pole and the outer pair to a trace, all of their tack covered in jewels held fast in place by bands of gold. The chariot itself was a light carriage, made of wicker and woven leather edged and decorated in gold, the only weight or solidity lay in the planks of the base which sat above the axle joining wheels whose upper rims reached as high as the charioteer’s hip. On the far side of the beach-floored course, Patroclus, Achilles’ closest companion, was tightening the straps on the golden cuirass that bound his friend’s chest as Achilles himself put his helmet on. Achilles’ hair was a riot of golden strands that seemed to blaze even in the dull daylight. When he put on his golden helmet, it was as though he was snuffing out a candle flame. With his helm firmly in place, its scarlet plume blowing in the bluster, he reached for his shield. Patroclus pulled it out of his grasp, however. Achilles glanced across at Eumelos who met his gaze and simply shrugged. It seemed that he was not too worried whether Achilles took his shield or not. Achilles shrugged in turn and nodded. Patroclus put the shield away. Achilles swung round to face the track he was to follow along the beach. He was ready.
‘So,’ said Odysseus as he arrived at my side, ‘what convinced you I was right?’
‘The fact that you said it, Captain,’ I answered.
Diomedes, at Odysseus’ shoulder gave a bark of laughter. ‘Blind faith!’ he chuckled.
‘Faith indeed,’ nodded Odysseus. ‘But he’s neither as blind or as crippled as he looks. You should never underestimate my rhapsode, old friend. So, lad, have you worked out how he’s going to pull it off?’ He dropped his voice and glanced beyond me to where King Nestor and Prince Palamedes were heading a queue of men eager to wager some of their most precious possessions on the belief that Achilles was going to lose.
‘He’s the fastest man in the High King’s army,’ I said, my tone uncertain.
‘Don’t let him hear you say that,’ advised my captain. ‘He and the Myrmidons are fighting with the army, not as a part of the army. The High King may request that Achilles do something but he can never order him to do it. It’s a question of pride and honour – and Achilles is the personification of both. But the lad’s no fool, and unlike Eumelos, he’s not overconfident. He’s relying on more than fleetness of foot today. After we watch him win, I’ll tell you how he did it if you haven’t worked it out for yourself by that time. And, from the look of things I’ll have to lend you a couple of my crewmen to help your father carry his winnings home.’
We had to wait for longer than I expected but that was my father’s fault. There were even some Myrmidons keen to bet against their commander. But at last the final wager was agreed and Patroclus called on Nestor as the senior leader there to start the race. My interest further piqued by my captain’s implied challenge, I focussed on the proceedings with all my attention.
The course had been selected, measured and laid out by Achilles who, with Patroclus, had seemingly approached the matter as though they were preparing for a battle – much to Eumelos’ apparent amusement. The race was to be run over a course that was almost a dolichos in length; marked by ten posts, each at the end of a two-hundred pace stadion. The entire course, therefore was two thousand paces, four hundred paces short of a full dolichos. Each stadion was marked by a post beside which stood a Myrmidon ready to call out the name of whoever was in the lead as they came past. The path from the start to the finish lay clear and arrow-straight along the beach. The chariot needed more room to allow the horses free movement, so Eumelos had chosen the inshore track, with the dunes to his left. A single runner needs no such space, however, so Achilles’ path lay straight ahead of him along the crest of the beach, following the tideline just inland from the beached ships’ sharp prows and the hawsers holding them, where the sand was further dampened by the spray blowing in from the surf.
***
As Nestor finally stood on the stony sand immediately between and in front of the combatants, a tense silence fell. The old king rode it for a moment, arms spread and level with his shoulders, heightening the tension as I sometimes did at dramatic points as I recited my epics. Then he dropped his hands to his sides and they were off.
Eumelos claimed my attention at once, leaning over the front of his chariot, shoulders hunched and arms spread, whipping the reins across his horses’ rumps as he called them into action, not that they needed much prompting. They leapt forward, kicking up great sprays of sand seeming to go from standstill to full gallop in a heartbeat. The chariot rocked as it was jerked into motion, slewing towards the dunes, causing some of the onlookers there to leap back. But Eumelos’ strength and expertise steadied things down at once and he was off, the wheels churning the sand into plumes behind him as he moved. All of this was so dramatic and arresting that I hardly paid any attention at all to Achilles who had leaped forward as swiftly as the horses and was pounding along the solid, stone-strengthened ridge of damp sand just inshore of the ships’ hawsers and the stakes holding them. Or I didn’t pay him any attention until the contestants reached the first stadion post and the observer there called, ‘Achilles!’
By this time, I had seen Achilles do many things but I had never seen him run. Even back as far as I was, with less than perfect eyesight, I could see him quite clearly as he raced through the second stadion. His back straightened and his helmeted head came up. His arms, bent at the elbows, moved back and forth as though he was grasping the stormy wind so that it could pull him along. His legs pumped apparently tirelessly, hurling him further along that ridge of sand with every step. And the steps were amazingly rapid. Kicking up little clods of stony earth – but nothing to compare with the clouds and sprays generated by the chariot’s horses and wheels.
The observer at the second stadion post called, ‘Achilles!’
Achilles’ head dipped, helmet plume flying, and for a moment I thought he had slipped. But no – he was simply, almost unbelievably, generating yet more speed.
The third observer bellowed,
‘Achilles!’
The crowd, which had been cheering Eumelos on, began to fall silent, as though there was something magical, almost supernatural, here. The chariot still thundered forward, horses’ hooves flashing, wheels spinning, carriage bouncing and leaping over ripples in the sand beside the dunes but still the fourth observer called, ‘Achilles!’ like all the rest so far.
The crowd, my family and my captain amongst them, flowed down onto the straight course as the contestants sped away. The further off they went, the more difficult it was to see which one held the lead, especially as the chariot seemed to appear and disappear behind the clouds of sand it was kicking up. The observers at every stadion post continued to bellow the name of their prince and general. Achilles sped relentlessly forward, all glittering gold.
Until, ‘Achilles!’ came the distant call from the observer at the finish line. The word was hard enough to hear at that distance, especially over the bluster of the gale and the rumble of the surf but it was drowned out by cheering in any case, as even those who had lost wagers applauded a seemingly impossible victory. My father and brothers vanished into a crowd of men come to settle up. Nestor and Palamedes were no longer quite so happy to be leading them. ‘You see how he did it?’ asked Odysseus. ‘How he strengthened his chances of winning while allowing Eumelos to do the exact opposite?’
‘Even if the lad does, I don’t,’ said Diomedes. ‘Why don’t you explain it to me?’
I looked up in surprise, just in time to see the ghost of a wink and a smile in the Argive prince’s expression. Diomedes’s face was rounder than Odysseus’ and clean shaven where the captain wore a full beard. The captain’s hair was dark and flowing but his companion’s was light and tightly curled. The eye that had winked at me was brown whereas Odysseus’ was a strange greenish blue – aptly enough, a sea-colour. But there the differences stopped. Both men were square, fit and strong with well-defined, athletic musculature. Both also carried an unanswerable air of command as easily as the cloaks that sat on their shoulders. Both were mighty warriors and able generals, Odysseus standing a little higher, perhaps, because he was a gifted captain and admiral. At least he would be an admiral as soon as he returned briefly to Ithaca and organised the fleet he was to lead across to Troy when the weather moderated and the wind changed.