by Peter Tonkin
iii
Diomedes had a reputation for kindness, and he was clearly happy to take some of the pressure off me for I still had no idea how Achilles had managed to ensure his victory. But, thanks to the Prince of Argos, I was about to find out.
I had seen Odysseus at work before and I knew that when he gave his explanation it would be based on observations that would seem childishly simple and I would almost certainly be kicking myself that I had missed so much that even someone blinder than I was could see with the merest glance. I looked up at Diomedes and saw that the Argive prince was frowning with concentration. Perhaps he too had been guided through the maze of one of Odysseus’ explanations before – a maze that turned out to be a straight and simple path when you looked back at it.
‘Let’s start with Achilles’ chosen course,’ said my captain cheerfully. ‘What can we observe from that?’
‘It’s the crest of a low ridge,’ I observed.
‘Good,’ said Odysseus. ‘And?’
‘And yet it is flat and wide enough to allow ease of running…’ said my companion. ‘Though only just. There’s room for a runner here but not for a chariot pulled by horses running four-abreast.’
‘Well observed Diomedes. But that is just the beginning, surely?’
‘The sand this close to the water is wet and solid,’ I noted. ‘Especially as there’s spray blowing in from the surf.’
‘It’s full of stones too,’ added the prince. ‘Surely that must make it firm underfoot.’
‘Yes! I said. ‘We can see that because Achilles has left such shallow footprints,’
‘Almost as though he was walking on tip-toe,’ concluded Diomedes.
‘Good! Well done both,’ said Odysseus. ‘So, even weighted with full armour, the runner had a track that was smooth and steady underfoot. One that actually aided his efforts to run fast and true. But what about his overconfident opponent?’
The three of us crossed towards the dunes. It was so obvious that the sand became dryer and softer with each step we took away from the tideline that it hardly seemed worth mentioning.
‘Bearing in mind the tip-toe tracks Achilles left behind,’ said Odysseus as he crouched beside Eumelus’ starting point, ‘the difference is clear. The wheels have not left tracks so much as trenches. The horses’ hooves have left pits. Look at the way the sand has been scattered as the chariot slewed. It almost faltered here before Eumelus could get it back under control. That alone would have cost him the contest, but the situation does not improve. The chariot was by no means heavy, despite its trappings of gold and jewels, and yet it sinks into the soft sand.’ Odysseus stepped into one of the wheel-marks. The sand on either side was level with his ankle. ‘And for all their strength and power,’ he continued, ‘the horses found themselves fighting to move their hooves through the sand, let alone to pull the chariot behind them!’ The captain glanced at me then turned to Diomedes. ‘Not long ago,’ he said, ‘the lad here and I were bound for Skyros aboard my ship Thalassa. We were under oars and powering forward as swiftly as the ship would move. But we were sailing straight into a counter current so that every five stadions we moved forward, the current carried us back for four. Something similar has happened to Eumelus and his horses here. The damp stone-filled solid sand helped Achilles. But this…’ he kicked the fine golden grains beside the wheel-marks, ‘this fought Eumelus every stride of the way. He never really stood a chance.’
As if to emphasise Odysseus’ words and prove the strength of his observations, the crowd parted and the chariot came thundering back. It approached much more slowly than it had departed, the horses cantering along the soft-sanded centre of the beach. It was being driven by its new owner, Achilles.
He reined to a stop and Patroclus took the lead horse by its head. The two young men said nothing but they exchanged enormous grins as Achilles pulled off his helmet.
***
The air of mute celebration was disturbed by Prince Palamides of Euboea who strode past Odysseus as if the captain was invisible. ‘A neat trick, Prince Achilles,’ he sneered. ‘So neat as to stink of double-dealing!’
He raised his right hand to point at the winner and I noticed that the golden arm-guards he had been wearing earlier were missing now.
‘Did you make some secret arrangement with that grasping commoner with his tricky wagers? I have half a mind to…’ His naked arm swung down as he reached towards his hip. But the sword he had been carrying there earlier was also missing now.
Everything froze for a moment. ‘That’s probably all that’s keeping him alive,’ said Odysseus quietly.
‘What?’ asked Diomedes.
‘The fact that he wagered his sword and lost,’ said Odysseus. ‘If he’d actually drawn it, he’d have had to face Achilles blade to blade. No one’s done that and survived so far.’
‘I’ve got a good idea,’ I said. ‘I can go and ask my father to return it to him. Just until he and Achilles have completed their discussion.’
‘An amusing notion,’ said Odysseus. ‘But let’s allow the blowhard to live a little longer, shall we? Besides, I have a prior claim on him – he threatened the life of my son before he insulted your father and called Achilles’ honour into question. I’m not sure which of those errors was the most dangerous, but mine certainly came first…’
But our whispered conversation was interrupted. ‘Eumelus had every chance to choose his course and that was the one he chose,’ said Achilles icily. ‘If he hadn’t been so overconfident he might well have won. It was a matter of tactics, not of boasting. Or of honour, as you call mine into question. If you want to discuss the situation further, I suggest you talk to him. If you wish to revisit the matter at any time within my hearing you had better bring a sword. And reserve your place with Hades in Tartarus first.’
Achilles stepped down out of his new chariot and turned his back on his accuser. Palamedes swung away in turn and strode off down the beach.
He was replaced by Nestor and the atmosphere lightened at once. ‘You cunning young devil,’ chucked the old king. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen such barefaced trickery since Jason fooled King Aeetes on his way into the store room where he kept his gold in Colchis. Swept princess Medea off her feet at the same time! Pretty little thing, but what a harridan she turned out to be…’
‘Did you lose much, Majesty?’ asked Achilles respectfully, clearly embarrassed at having caused the old man to have lost anything at all.
‘Nothing I couldn’t afford to lose. That’s the secret of laying a good wager! Besides,’ he turned to me and grinned. ‘Your father will just take all the armour, weapons and so-forth he’s won and swap them for some of Agamemnon’s gold. Then when Agamemnon puts them on display, I’ll find a way to get it all back again! Probably polished and sharpened into the bargain. By the way, Prince Achilles, I detailed a couple of your Myrmidons to help our rhapsode’s family carry all their winnings back to Aulis. I hope that’s all right – they were pretty well laden I can tell you.’
‘So,’ said Achilles, and the full weight of his dazzling gaze fell on me, ‘You were so confident that I would win that you told your father to wager on it?’
‘Yes, Majesty. But only because…’
‘It was a remarkable show of faith in you, Achilles,’ Odysseus interrupted me. ‘I was most impressed by it. Perhaps we can persuade him to write a song about it and immortalise us all.’
Achilles’ gaze narrowed, still resting on me like the weight of the midsummer sun. Then he grinned and became more dazzling still. ‘We must discuss that, young rhapsode. Immortality, eh? And so easily won!’ Then he turned away and it was as though the clouds overhead had grown a little thicker.
King Nestor’s gaze moved onto Odysseus. ‘Did Palamedes give you the message, Odysseus?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the captain. ‘Palamedes was too busy talking with Prince Achilles to notice we were even here.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Nestor. ‘Well, the messenger foun
d us when we were with the lad’s father and we promised to pass it on. There’s a woman trying to find you and she managed to get to Agamemnon. He had no idea where you were so he’s apparently sent her to your tent. She’s probably there now, waiting to talk to you.’
iv
‘You seem to have made a friend there,’ said Odysseus as we walked back towards his tent. ‘Achilles’ favour is a precious thing. Not many men have won it. Patroclus has it, of course, though hardly any others do. I sit pretty high on the list at the moment, but only because I made it possible for him to do what he wanted and bring his Myrmidons to Aulis – on the way to Troy and immortality, if he can snatch it from the gods.’
‘You won his friendship for me, though, Captain,’ I said.
‘Perhaps I helped a little,’ Odysseus admitted. ‘But you aren’t likely to thank me for that help unless the muses are co-operative in your poetic immortalisation of that epic contest.’ He chuckled, then fell silent. I could see that he was preoccupied – and needed no great insight to realise that his thoughts had turned to the mysterious guest who was waiting in his tent.
The huge camp looked formless and haphazard, but there was in fact some order to it. The city of Aulis stood at its northern extreme, filling a valley that led down to the docks of our busy port, its main road running back up the valley and over the watershed to Thebes one complete stage or 160 stadia away. Aulis had served as Thebes’ port in the days of Theban greatness. The days before the tragic reign of King Oedipus and his wife/mother Queen Jocasta, his fractious children and the catastrophic wars of ‘Seven against Thebes’. The place was a ghost of its former glory now, but Aulis continued to flourish. The land running south from our city walls seemed simply to slope seawards, with the forested hills inland appearing to give way to a tilted plain sloping down to the shore. But that plain was not as flat as it looked. There was a hill at its centre rising a good deal higher than its surroundings. Unsurprisingly, Agamemnon, as High King, had pitched his sizeable accommodation here and, almost inevitably, the lesser kings had erected their quarters around it. Their various armies then spread out across the fields, in huge units centred round the command tents of their generals rather than those of their kings. And, where the king was also their general, then his most trusted lieutenant filled his place amongst his troops. Thus Achilles’ tent was high on Agamemnon’s hill and, as Achilles shared it with Patroclus, it was General Menesthios who camped with the Myrmidons.
The entrance to Odysseus’ accommodation was guarded by two of his massive oarsmen who tended to swap their role for that of soldier when Thalassa was at anchor or – as now – beached. Their names were Eurylocus and Elpenor and I knew them well. I was struck, therefore, by their strangely formal stance. They knew they were usually there for show – Odysseus was neither rich enough nor unpopular enough to fear having his quarters rifled and the guards usually stood at their ease. Not now, however: they were at attention and as alert as if they guarded a fortune in golden armour.
‘She’s arrived, whoever she is,’ said Odysseus quietly. He nodded to his crewmen, stooped and entered, pulling the heavy leather curtain of the doorway aside as he did so. Fascinated by the events at whose heart I suddenly found myself, I followed him without a second thought.
Odysseus’ accommodation was practical but unpretentious – as befitted the man himself. An outer chamber, large enough for meetings and briefings, was lit by a couple of panels high on the leather walls which stood open now but which could be closed when the rain started. An archway covered by another curtain led into the captain’s private quarters. A tall figure wearing a hooded cloak stood framed against this inner curtain, a shaft of dull grey daylight making her a thing compounded mostly of shadows, oddly colourless. I only knew her gender because King Nestor and my father had told me of it. The hood hid our visitor’s face and the cloak concealed everything else.
‘What does Karpathia, High Priestess of Artemis want with me?’ asked Odysseus courteously.
***
The cloak parted. Two pale hands rose to push the hood back and I saw that whoever had described this woman to my father had not lied: she was indeed beautiful. Her face was long and pale, her nose perfectly straight, her eyes moss-green and shining with intelligence. Her hair was black and piled beneath the distinctive headdress of a High Priestess. But it was not her beauty that struck me, it was her aura of power and authority. My first impression was that here stood someone as commanding as Penthesilea, the warrior queen of the Amazons, whose reputation nowadays was the equal of Hippolyta’s, the Amazon queen who had captured even Theseus and made him her lover more than a generation earlier. But this was no warrior; her power was spiritual rather than physical. There was about her an air of unruffled calm which was only deepened when she spoke. ‘How did you know me?’ she asked.
‘To begin with,’ said Odysseus, ‘there was your beauty.’
High Priestess Karpathia turned away frowning. ‘Men have commented on that often enough. Usually with ulterior motives. I am not easily swayed by flattery.’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Odysseus gently. ‘Every report of your search for me has been accompanied by commentary about your beauty.’ Karpathia began to interrupt, but he held up his hand, forestalling her. ‘Reflect, High Priestess. Men could only comment upon your beauty if they had seen it. Which means that, despite the hood of your cloak, you have come amongst Agamemnon’s army not only alone but without a veil. Very few women would do this. Some of the women whom my rhapsode’s father is thinking of employing for the relief of the army, perhaps – but no such woman would be seeking me. A woman not only of beauty therefore, but a woman of power and sufficient standing to walk through an army unprotected, with her face bare. Other than those I have mentioned, such women are rare; unique, even.’
‘Even so…’
‘If I guess at a High Priestess, therefore, what shrine would she rule? Again, that is not too difficult a probability to winkle out. You presumably started your search for me in Aulis itself, for my rhapsode’s father was first to mention you, and he, in his own words, keeps his ear to the ground. Which High priestess would have the power or the confidence to walk through the city before coming out among the tents? Why the High Priestess of the deity whose beneficence guarantees the safety and prosperity of the city. The High Priestess of the Temple of Artemis, therefore. Guardian of the oracle to whom High King Agamemnon has already made his approaches in the matter of this most unfortunate weather. Although I was not with him at the time, those who were have given me a precise description of the High Priestess, including not only her appearance but her name. So, Karpathia, High Priestess of Artemis, what is it that I can do to help you?’
The High Priestess studied Odysseus coolly, apparently utterly unimpressed by his logic. Then, ‘They told me you were capable of unusual insights,’ she said. ‘And these relying on your own wits rather than on the help of the gods. I now see that the reports are true. Therefore I have a use for you and your logic, if you will exercise it on my behalf.’
‘You have only to ask,’ said Odysseus, but his tone reminded me of what he had said about Achilles and Agamemnon. He would work with the High Priestess – if they came to an agreement – but he would not work for her.
High Priestess Karpathia seemed to understand this as clearly as I did. ‘The Goddess will be grateful,’ she said. ‘The matter is this. Some days since, just when the weather turned foul, the youngest and most impulsive of my priestesses vanished, seemingly without trace. You were right to suggest that my mission to find you began in Aulis. It began at the dwelling of her family, in case she had returned home for some reason. That was a faint, last hope, because we have been scouring the sacred groves and the woods nearest to them in search of her.’
‘But she was not at home,’ prompted Odysseus. ‘And while you were seeking her there, some news reached you, making it more imperative that you find me.’
‘You are correct,’ said Ka
rpathia. ‘I had no sooner finished talking to her parents that word reached me. She has been found.’
‘Dead, I assume,’ said Odysseus.
‘Murdered,’ said the High Priestess.
2 - The Grove of Artemis
i
When I asked Odysseus later why he allowed me to accompany the High Priestess and himself, he said he wanted to make sure he would be immortalised alongside Achilles. But things had gone far beyond a joke by then. It was my belief that as well as his wife Queen Penelope he was missing his son Prince Telemachus and, although I had almost nothing in common with the infant prince of Ithaca, I somehow filled the gap left in Odysseus by his enforced separation from the boy. As I had observed to Father, I couldn’t imagine anyone filling the void left by his separation from Queen Penelope. The depth of this loss not only underpinned his kindness to me but also his hatred of Palamedes who he blamed for the separation and for putting the young prince’s life in danger in the cruel trick that unmasked his plan to avoid the war. But, whatever the reason, he did not stop me following him when he in turn followed the High Priestess of Artemis with Elpenor at his shoulder as she left Odysseus’ tent and led us down the hill towards Aulis. As she did so, the priestess described what she had done on hearing the news of the missing girl’s murder.
‘I was beginning to fear the worst in any case,’ she explained. ‘Nephele was young and impulsive as well as beautiful – and only a couple of stadia away from fifty thousand bored and restless soldiers.’