“What?” I shouted in disbelief.
Bris pointed to the patch of ground she had smelt. “That is the remains of nepeta cataria. It smells of mint and lemon. Cats love it, which is why it’s sometimes called catmint - oh and it induces sleep.”
“Sleep!” I repeated in relief and surprise. “Isn’t that what tanacetum parthenium does?”
“Yes … well, tanacetum parthenium is a sort of sedative; it brings down a bigger sort of animal.” Bris said this with a wry smile, emphasizing the word ‘animal’ as if I had no idea to which ‘animal’ she was referring.
Bris helped me take the cats back to her cottage where we waited all afternoon for them to wake up. Then I herded them back to the palace and to my delighted mother, who insisted on an explanation. When I told her about the catmint she asked me to get her some. It became a nightly ritual. She would ask for a pot of hot water to be sent to her rooms and I showed her how to crush the leaves and make an infusion. She started making excuses to go to bed earlier and earlier. As she excused herself, she would glance in my direction. I would wait an appropriate length of time before following her. The snatches of moments while I mixed her infusion were the closest to mother-daughter bonding we had during my teenage years. One evening, as I crept out of her room, Phaedra cornered me on the landing and demanded to know what I had been doing in our mother’s chamber.
“Nothing.” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen the look that passes between you before she goes to bed. There’s something going on between you two and I want to know what it is.”
“It’s nothing, Phaedra,” I sighed. “Mother just had a headache and needed a glass of water.”
“Then why didn’t she send her maid?” She demanded, adding resentfully, “Why send you?” I just shrugged. Phaedra tried the door handle, it was locked.
“Like I told you, Mother has a headache, she needs rest,” I said. Phaedra shot me a withering look as she retreated, but a nagging feeling told me she wouldn’t let it drop.
A couple of weeks later, I found her waiting for me in the hall.
“Father wants you.” She told me, eagerly, before eyeing my basket. I had the sense to know not to keep him waiting, so, after dumping the herbs in my room, I made my way to my father’s office. When I entered he was standing by one of the great bay windows looking out over his beloved island.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He didn’t turn round to look at me.
“Yes,” I said slowly. He still didn’t turn round.
“Well you should know. You must know this island better than I do; you’ve scrambled about most of it.” He turned round then and I knew something was really wrong. “Because that’s what you do every day, isn’t it? Scramble about the island making new friends.” He spat the last few words out. “And which particular friend do you spend your time with?”
“I don’t, I…”
He steamed on; “On Monday, I needed to speak to your mother after breakfast, but she had gone back to sleep and couldn’t be woken. Then her maid, after some persuading, admitted that her mistress always slept soundly after the young mistress gave her a special drink made from crushed up leaves.” He paused then, for dramatic effect. “There is only one person on this island who knows about plants.” He spat the word out as if it was venomous. “So yesterday, when you sneaked off, I made sure I knew where you were going and lo and behold, you went straight to that, that witch in the woods.”
“She’s not a witch, she’s brilliant.” I blurted out. He wasn’t listening. He had turned back to the window again.
“A little ugly witch who mixes potions to have power over people.” I sensed the danger in his voice. His pride had been greatly dented by Bris; his unfulfilled lust had turned into hardened cruelty. Finding out about my mother’s sleep-inducing herbs must have brought it all flooding back to him. Just as I was trying to think what to say, there was a knock on the great wooden door and Actius entered.
“Well?” asked my father, still not looking from the window.
“It’s done,” Actius dutifully replied.
“Tidily?”
“There was nothing to clean up.”
“Good work, as always. You may go.”
Actius bowed towards me and then left. Then my father moved from the window again putting one hand on my shoulder. Feigning gentleness, he said:
“Darling daughter, I hate to be the one to be the bearer of sad news but your friend, Bris, has met with a tragic accident and is dead.”
“Tragic accident? Dead?” I repeated stupidly.
With one hand on the wooden door my father spoke again: “It seems she was an expert on land, but didn’t know how to swim. Close the door on your way out.” He left the room and me to my grief.
You would have thought that with a family like ours, Phaedra and I would have clung together, united. You would have thought my sorrow would have enticed some sympathy. But the expression on her face when I left my father’s office, that morning, signified there was no sisterly solidarity. I summoned all the strength I could to compose myself until I had walked past her and returned to my room. It was there I finally realised, that it was every woman for herself and I needed to find a way to get off that island.
There were rumours of a chase; my father’s men hunting down an unusual quarry to the edge of the cliff, and of a scream and a splash that shattered the silence. Bris’s body was never found and her cottage was burnt to the ground. I still went out every day - my need to escape the palace was even greater. Whenever I found catmint I collected it, not just for my mother but also to ease my own guilt-filled nights.
Chapter Two Body of a man, head of a bull, heart of gold
My elder brother, Andro, was every father’s dream: good-looking, intelligent and athletic. Outwardly, he was my father’s child, ‘a chip off the old block’, as my father loved to say. However, inwardly the apple was of a completely different variety from the tree. If it hadn’t been for his looks, I would have believed the rumours of my mother’s affairs and wouldn’t have blamed her either. Andro, in short and putting all sisterly bias aside, was lovely. Our love for him was one of the few things which united my sister and me. Phaedra idolized him and was disdainful of all of Andro’s girlfriends. She had a point. None of them were good enough for him, but who would have been?
My early childhood is an array of snapshots detailing piggy back rides, frisbee, dunking in the sea, the usual sibling bonding rituals. However, after it became apparent that he had no spare son to speak of, our father turned his attention back to Andro who, not only had the normal weight of the heir-apparent to bear, but also the knowledge that the buck well and truly stopped with him. For the little use Phaedra and I were to our father, Andro might as well have been an only child.
Father took a great interest in Andro’s sporting achievements, shouting advice from the sidelines: “Keep your breathing going”, “pace yourself”, which Andro neither needed nor heeded. By the time he was thirteen, Andro was the best discus thrower on Crete and could outrun any man on the northern islands. Andro was fourteen when our little brother’s condition developed and our father’s interest in Andro, or rather his athletics, became an obsession. It was as if the dignity of Crete could be measured by how far Andro threw a javelin and my father could earn respect, by Andro winning the laurel leaves. Whenever Andro did, my father made sure his success received press attention.
For Andro, it was a relief. When he ran he didn’t have to think about anything, just focus on winning. Plus, it had the added bonus of giving him an excuse to stay away from home, which was the only thing I envied him. I was relieved I didn’t have a talent, or rather one that was useful to father, as I would have been forced to work at it night and day for parental pride.
Andro was seventeen when our father entered him in The Games at Athens. The King of Athens was holding them to honour the arrival of his newly-found heir and there were some events that
only under-eighteens could enter, probably to give the new prince a chance to win. Unlike the Great Games at Olympia, prize money was going to be awarded. My father wanted Andro to use any money he won to go towards getting Andro to Olympia, when the next games came round in two years’ time.
About a week before Andro was due to leave for Athens, my father rushed out of his study with a concerned expression on his face.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Which one?”
“Andro!” He replied as if I was stupid to ask. I suppose I was; as far as he was concerned I only had the one.
“I sent Actius out to look for him on the track, but he wasn’t there. I don’t know what else he could think is more important than training, at a time like this.”
I did, but I wasn’t about to tell father, so I mumbled something about seeing if I could find him.
When it came to showing off his wealth and power my father never did anything by half. The palace we lived in was a good example of this. Before Aster was born, father employed a craftsman from Athens, who was adept at architecture, to undertake some refurbishment. The biggest and main improvement was the cellar. Instead of one big room, underneath the palace were intricate passageways, connecting a multitude of rooms. Some held the under-servants’ quarters, some stored food, but many were left unused. When we were children, the cellar had been our biggest playground. The four of us played hide-and-seek down there. We blindfolded each other and directed each other around, until we knew the cellar as well as the rest of the palace. We made dens out of some of the unused rooms. It was our secret and when servants ventured into what we deemed to be ‘our’ part of the palace, Andro would make loud animal noises and encouraged Aster to do the same. A rumour spread amongst the servants that a terrifying monster had taken up residence and no one would go near our part of the cellar. New servants, who were told of the rumour, were afraid to go down into the cellar in case they lost their way. It became a sort of initiation. They eventually named it ‘The Labyrinth’.
When it was finally concluded that nothing could be done with Aster, father insisted his youngest child should be kept out of sight. He even thought about sending Aster away from us, to an institution where no one would know who he was or his connection to us. It was Andro who intervened and made our childhood den hospitable for his little brother. If anyone else had made the suggestion it would have fallen on deaf ears, but being the golden boy had its uses. Andro was allowed to keep his pet, as our father put it. Andro made sure that the servants kept believing in the monster rumour so that no one disturbed Aster. He even told the servants that they could pacify the monster by leaving food for ‘it’; in particular, honey cake and stuffed vine leaves – coincidentally Aster’s favourites.
So the Labyrinth became Aster’s home, but it was still Andro’s den. Whilst father ranted and raved overhead, Andro ruled peacefully over his underground province and it was here that I found him playing with his little brother, like he did every day, after he’d run the track.
“You’re wanted upstairs,” I told him.
“By whom?” He asked, throwing a set of dice and frowning at the result.
“Father.”
“He can wait,” he said, as he watched Aster take his throw.
“It’s to do with the games in Athens.”
“They can wait,” he said, passing me the dice. “Look what Aster made! I swear that’s why he always wins. See if you can beat him, because I can’t! If there were games for Knuckle Bones then Aster would win hands down!” he said, as he ruffled Aster’s hair affectionately. Aster beamed; Andro more than made up for what he had lost in our father, and in fact, it was our father who ended up losing the most. At least I have memories like these to console me in my old age. What would my father have had if he had reached his dotage? Lost possibilities and a crumbling palace.
In the weeks leading up to the games, there was great excitement. Throughout Crete, mugs and garments sporting images of Andro were made and sold. Songs were written in Andro’s honour, before he had even left for Athens. Andro didn’t let himself get swept up in the hysteria - after all, it wasn’t The Great Games at Olympia - and spent more and more time in the cellar with Aster and me. One day he surprised our father by asking for one of the t-shirts.
“Of course, as many as you like, give one to all your friends,” father said, happy that Andro was acknowledging what, as he saw it, was his people’s support.
“Thanks,” said Andro, “I only need one,” winking at me as he left the room.
On his last night, before leaving for Athens, Andro left the dining room early on the pretence of having an early night. He signalled to me to follow him and later I found him, saying goodbye to our little brother as he tucked him in. As we made our way through the winding corridors, Andro started walking slower and slower. Before we reached the door leading to the main palace, Andro grabbed me and hugged me.
“Promise me, promise you’ll look after him.”
I promised, unaware as he turned and rushed ahead of me, that it would be our last conversation and that I would be unable to fulfil his final request.
News came back that Andro had been victorious in every contest he had entered, including discus throwing which he had been particularly worried about, although none of us could fathom why. He sent secret letters to me, which I read out to Aster.
“Food‘s great, girls are gorgeous, Xander makes me train every day, but I still have time to practise Knuckle Bones and when I get back I’ll be ready to take you on, little brother!”
“He wishes!” Aster had been practising too. “Does he mention Milo?” Second only to Andro, Milo was Aster’s hero. He had won the wrestling competition at The Great Games at Olympia five times; his last opponent had been fifteen years his junior. He was at the games in Athens, as a guest, to present winners with their laurel wreaths at the victory ball, another incentive for Andro to win. He’d promised Aster that he would get Milo’s autograph for him.
“Not yet,” I said skimming ahead, “he says that Milo said he’d give him an autograph, if Andro took a pomegranate from him.”
Apparently, although he wasn’t competing, Milo still liked to pit his strength against the athletes. No one could overcome him.
“Andro says that even though Milo held it tightly, he didn’t damage it and gave it to Andro as a consolation prize.”
“It’s one of his tricks,” Aster informed me. “Another one of his favourites is to hold his arm out, with fingers outstretched, and challenge people to bend his little finger. Andro says he’s going to smuggle me into the next Great Games and pretend I’m his masseur so we can see Milo in action. Andro reckons it’ll be Milo’s last games, as he’s over forty, but I think he’ll just go on and on!”
“Andro says there’s a new competition, The Pankration.” I told Aster, reading on. “Apparently, this new son of King Aegeus has invented it. Andro says that they’ve all been warned not to win, although he says they needn’t bother as this Theseus is pretty good; he’s impressed Andro anyway.”
“What does it involve?” Aster wanted to know.
“It’s a mixture of boxing and wrestling. Here,” I said, handing the letter to Aster, “Andro says that he’ll show you when he gets back but he’s drawn some positions for you.”
The next time I visited Aster he showed me stances he’d practised from the letter.
“This is called The Fighting Stance,” Aster informed me. He was standing in a near
frontal position, but slightly turned to one side.
“Right” I said, trying to sound interested.
“Andro says the weight should be virtually all on the right foot at the back - see? You put your left foot at the front, touching the ground with the ball of the foot. Then, you’re ready to kick as well as defend against any low level kicks.” Aster demonstrated by lifting his front knee in a blocking motion. As I tried to look impressed, Aster looked frustrated. Clearly I was no substitut
e for our big brother. Aster wasn’t the only one caught up in The Games; father was the happiest he had been since Aster was a baby. He granted a public holiday in honour of Andro and held mock tournaments. He kept everyone busy, planning a big parade for Andro’s return.
Sadly, not all sportsmen are sporting. The only competitor who had the smallest chance of coming close to matching Andro’s skill was the darling of Athens, Tireas. Tireas had won nine awards, but his pride had been dented. He had lost all the events in which he’d been pitted against Andro, and on home turf too. Even as he accepted his prize as second-best athlete in the youth tournaments and watched my beautiful, talented brother take first place, he had revenge and murder in his soul. As the great Achilleus had his heel, Andro had Aster. During the end of the tournament feast Tireas, after making sure Andro was in earshot, insulted our mother and little brother to another competitor. Andro let rip, but Tireas was ready. Andro was a fantastic wrestler, but, up against Tireas’s glistening dagger, he had no chance. The news hit father hard. For three days he was inconsolable and could only mutter, “why him? Why couldn’t it have been…?”
Mother insisted on a larger dose of catmint. Phaedra took to her room and refused to eat. It was down to me to break the news to Aster and in doing so, break his heart.
He was wearing the t-shirt Andro had given him; four Andro’s, forming an athletic circle, taunting me with the former vitality of my, now, deceased brother. My living one beamed at me hopeful and excited, completely unaware of the devastating news I was bringing. Just how do you break the news of a loved one’s death? What’s the best way? Sit down I’ve got something to tell you. Here goes nothing…
All he said was “oh”, before curling up as best his body, which had cruelly betrayed him, would allow. By turning his face to the wall, he told me that my visit was over. Whilst the palace and the island adapted Andro’s victory parade to his funeral procession, below stairs one small, solitary, crumpled figure was left to celebrate his brother’s life and deal with his grief alone.
Dion: His Life and Mine Page 2