by Hilary Green
THE LAST HERO
by HILARY GREEN
Smashwords edition.
Copyright 2013 Hilary Green
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Many of the characters in this book actually existed, though little is known about their lives. They were not myths but human beings of flesh and blood, with human desires and fears. I have taken the liberty of trying to imagine what they were like and how they felt at the time of the events described in this story.
Cover design: Samantha Groom
This book is dedicated to my husband David, in gratitude for his unfailing help and patience.
Chapter 1.
My name is Alkmaion. My father was Sillos, King of Pylos, but it is my great-grandfather whose name will be known to you, if any fame can reach across the years. He was Nestor, the great charioteer, Nestor the wise, son of Neleus, who fought beside Agamemnon and Achilles before the walls of Troy and returned victorious to claim his throne – the throne which once, in the fullness of time, I expected to be inherit. That was until that fire-riven day when I saw the black ships of the Dorians run ashore on the sandy beaches below the city. Hear me, great Lady of the Mysteries, whose shrine I have established here on these strange shores! Inspire my memory and give me strength to tell my tale, before the black flood of the sons of Heracles extinguishes all those who delight in tales of great deeds long gone by. For now I prophesy that the soaring walls and frescoed terraces even of Mycenae, the golden city, will one day fall; and the spirit of dead Priam, lord of lofty Troy, will rejoice to see the broad streets of Agamemnon’s city flooded with the wild-eyed wielders of iron swords; as the long haired Achaeans with their bronze once flooded the streets of Troy.
But now my mind goes back to a day in my fifteenth year, at the beginning of the month which is called Plowistos, ‘the time for sailing again’. I remember this day because it seems to me now that it was then that I began to shed my sunlit boyhood and move towards the shadows ahead, although it seemed at the time that I moved only towards a more brilliant noon.
The sacred snake slithered from its hole beneath the altar and coiled itself around my sister's naked arm, winding upwards until it lay around her neck with its head against her bare breast. I shivered in spite of the warmth of the early rays of sun, which struck down to illuminate the altar in the centre of the palace courtyard. It was foolish, I knew. I should have had more reason to shiver if the snake had failed to appear, for that would portend the destruction of the House of Neleus and the throne to which I was heir. I drew myself up and squared my shoulders. It would not do to let my cousins see any sign of weakness. My father, Sillos, the King, offered wine and barley and the snake's tongue flickered as it sipped. I knew that the creature embodied the presence of the Great Goddess herself and watching him perform the ritual I was struck, not for the first time, by a sense of his apartness and the recollection that the King is the earthly consort of the Goddess.
The courtyard was crowded with the men of the royal family. The Neleids had bred prolifically, as became, I suppose, the descendants of the God Poseidon. Standing next to my father was my uncle Paion who bore the title of Lawagetas, commander of the army. Ranged behind him were more uncles and great-uncles, cousins and second cousins; all drawing their heritage from King Nestor and the heroes who had fought at Troy. It was a formidable inheritance to live up to and I was painfully aware that some of them thought themselves more suited to carrying it forward than I was.
Karpathia, my sister, gently detached the snake from round her neck and held it aloft for a moment so all could see it; then laid it down and watched as it slid back into its hole. It was the fifth time I had seen her perform the rite, and I still found it hard to believe that she was now High Priestess in the service of the Great Goddess. She was less than two years older than I and our childhood had been spent constantly in each other’s company. Never having known a mother, it was to her that I turned when in need of comfort or reassurance. It was she who cleaned my grazes when I fell, wiped away my tears and defended me against the bullying of older boys. Then, just over a year ago, she had reached her eighteenth birthday and the time had come for her to take up the office, which was hers by right of birth. Two priestesses had taken her away to the sanctuary among the groves on the Holy Mountain, which it is death for any man to penetrate except during the great Festivals. There she had remained for a whole year and was now but newly returned to us. And returned how changed! So quiet, withdrawn into herself as into a citadel. Her eyes, which had once sparkled with mischief, now gazed through me with a power that chilled the blood. When I went gladly to embrace her on her return she checked me with such a look and gave me a cold cheek to kiss, and I noticed for the first time how full her breasts were above the tight laced bodice of her ceremonial gown.
The ceremony completed, the men began to disperse. My father turned towards the porch in front of the Megaron, great hall of the palace; Uncle Paion and the others who made up the Royal Council went to join him. It was their custom to sit in judgement or discuss affairs of state there every morning. I turned towards the gateway that led out of the palace, intending to join the other young men in our daily routine of exercise, but at that moment my father called my name.
'Alkmaion! Come here.'
I went to him with a quiver of anxiety at the pit of my stomach. Where had I fallen short this time? What duty had I scanted or neglected? I could think of none but I had good reason to know that my uncle would be delighted to find something. But my father smiled as I approached and put his hand on my shoulder.
'Come with us. It is time you began to learn something of matters of state.'
My heart leaped and I smiled back at him. 'Thank you, sir. I shall be glad to learn whatever you can teach me.'
To my surprise, he led me, with the rest of the council following, into the megaron itself. It was always his custom to hold council in the open air, under the porch, where all could see, rather than in the lofty but dim confines of the hall. I saw the older men look at each other as I followed my father into the Hall but no one dared challenge my presence.
As we walked my father said, 'I had word today that Kerkios has returned from his first voyage of the season.’
‘So soon?’ I queried.
My father nodded. ‘It is typical of him to be at sea before the rest have finished caulking their vessels for the season, but he has returned sooner than he planned. He sent me a message that he has information that the Council should hear urgently. I think you should hear it too.'
When we were all seated Kerkios was summoned. He was a small, dark man, swift and neat in his movements. I knew that of all his sea-captains there was no one my father trusted more, whether for a raid on an alien town or for a trading voyage.
My father spoke. ‘Now Kerkios, you have news for us?’
Kerkios glanced around the assembled company and began his tale.
‘My voyage, sirs, as you must know, took me northwards to those mountainous and thickly forested shores where the tribe of the Dorians lives. They are a rough and uncultivated people, living in crude huts without any of the refinements of civilised life, although they speak our language – or a version of it. They have few craftsmen and therefore make an excellent market for our goods. In exchange we bring back amber and tin, which they in turn obtain fro
m tribes further north. I have been there many times and, in spite of their rough ways, I have always found them friendly enough but this time … this time there seemed to be a different spirit abroad amongst them.’
The captain hesitated and my uncle Paion growled, ‘How d’you mean, different spirit?’ He was not a subtle man and had no liking for abstractions.
Kerkios said, ‘It is hard to explain, my lord, but for a start I was received with much less friendliness than hitherto. There was no trouble, but I had the impression I was being watched – as a man sizes up a possible enemy. And also, they showed much greater curiosity about our country. I was questioned closely about the wealth of our cities and the power of the King.’
‘Surely it is natural for a backward people to be curious about such things,’ my father commented.
Kerkios bowed his head in assent. ‘True, my lord, but why have they never shown such interest before? And to add to this, for the first time in my experience, the Dorians are showing an interest in sea-faring. They are building ships – clumsy ones, I admit – and wanted my advice on many matters connected with their fitting out. And then …’ He paused again.
‘Well?’ The Lawagetas fidgeted in his chair.
Kerkios fixed his eyes on my father. ‘This is the strangest part, and the hardest to describe. I felt all the time that there was some secret that was being kept from me. I sensed an excitement, a kind of triumph, in the leaders of the tribe, but when I tried to discover its cause they grew silent and hostile. I noticed that there was a great deal of coming and going along a path that lead into the forest. One evening I decided to see where it went, but I had hardly set foot upon it when three or four warriors burst from the undergrowth and ordered me back in a way that brooked no argument.’
‘Perhaps you were about to intrude on some religious mystery,’ suggested my father. ‘We also have our Festivals at which we would not care for foreigners to be present.’
‘True again, sir,’ Kerkios conceded. ‘But why this year? It has never happened before.’
My uncle snorted. ‘Is this all your information amounts to? Dreams and imaginings! Take a little more water with your wine, Kerkios, and don’t disturb us again with your wanderings. What is all this supposed to lead to anyway? You don’t imagine these barbarians are proposing to attack us, do you?’
My father smiled and said soothingly, ‘I hardly think Kerkios was suggesting that.’
‘I should think not!’ Reasonable words were not going to improve my uncle’s temper that morning. ‘Let one Dorian ship show itself on the horizon and we could be on them with a dozen war galleys before they got to land. And if they did get ashore, d’you imagine that barbarian rabble would stand up to a single chariot charge? The whole thing’s nonsense!’
‘I do not doubt our army’s superiority, cousin,’ my father said quietly. ‘And I agree with you that we need not worry ourselves about an invasion. Nevertheless, we trade a good deal in that region so it behoves us to know what is going on. So I am grateful to Kerkios for what he has told us. Is that all, Kerkios?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Kerkios hesitated and then added, ‘Except for something which was said to me – a curious remark. It may mean nothing.’
‘Let us hear it.’
‘It was spoken by the brother of their King, one Cresphontes. He sent for me and questioned me closely about our country and how to reach it, saying he would greatly like to see such a fine, rich city. Then, when I rose to leave, he said, “Bear my greetings to your King – and tell him that the third seed has grown”.’
‘The third seed?’ my father queried.
‘Those were his words. I have no idea what he meant by them.’
‘Nor I neither!’ My uncle got to his feet. ‘I told you, Kerkios, you’ve been drinking too much.’
‘I think not,’ my father said sharply. ‘I know him better than that. But I am at a loss to interpret Cresphontes’s words. Perhaps they will be clearer in time – or perhaps they mean nothing. Have you anything further to report?’
‘Nothing unusual.’ Kerkios offered my father a rolled skin, tied and sealed. ‘Here is the record of goods traded and the materials purchased in return.’
My father took the roll and dismissed him and Paion, who looked as if he was bursting to relieve himself, begged leave to retire as well. The rest of the council dispersed soon after but as I moved to follow them the King said, ‘Tell me, Alkmaion, what did you make of Kerkios’ report?’
I would have said I thought it valuable, merely for the pleasure of contradicting my uncle: but it had genuinely piqued my curiosity.
‘I found it very … interesting, sir.
He nodded slowly. ‘So did I. Kerkios is not a man to see imaginary dangers, whatever the Lawagetas may think.’ He caught my eye and a quick masking of his gaze warned me, a second too late, that this was not to be taken as an invitation to join him in a joke against my uncle. ‘We must give it some thought.’
He was silent for a moment. I waited. Presently he looked up and said absently, ‘Go along now.’
I went out into the porch. In the courtyard the sunlight was blinding after the dimness of the megaron. From the paved court in front of the palace I looked out over the rooftops of the city towards the sea, blue and purple under the brilliant sky. Before me the land sloped away in fertile ridges and deep, shady valleys to the narrow coastal plain. At this season of the year it was still green and patched with bright blossom and the grass was thick with wild flowers. Beyond I could see the bay, almost encircled by a long promontory which ended in a rocky crag - Pakijanes, the Holy Mountain. Here was the most sacred site of all, the cave where the secret mysteries of the Goddess were performed. I had never yet set foot there but I knew that the time was close when I should be initiated. The prospect sent a chill tremor of fear through my flesh.
A voice hailed me and I turned to see three of my cousins approaching; Melanthos, the eldest and enviably risen above the mists of boyhood, and Antilochos and Perimedes, Paion's sons.
'We are going to look at the bull your father's herdsmen brought in yesterday,' Melanthos said. 'Come with us?'
There was no love lost between Antilochos and myself, but I got on well enough with the other two and I was at a loose end, so I nodded. 'Yes, if you like.'
The bull stood with his great head lowered, grazing. He seemed to have forgotten the long rope knotted around one hind leg tethering him to the oak tree. It gave him liberty to graze the rich pasture and probably, after the previous day, he was tired.
‘The herdsman say he fought like one of the Titans,’ Melanthos said.
‘He gored one man,’ said Antilochos, with his typical sardonic grin. ‘The physicians say he will live – with luck.’
Perimedes said, ‘I feel sorrier for the bull than the man. The man lost only blood. The bull has lost his pride.’
Melanthos laughed. ‘If you were to go down there now you’d soon find out that he has plenty of spirit left.’
Perimedes shook his head. ‘No thanks! That rope is quite long enough to allow him to charge someone.’
‘You wouldn’t have fancied being a bull-leaper then,’ Melanthos said. ‘How would you like to try the ‘jump of death’, like the pictures in the frescoes – where the man turns a hand-spring over the bull’s horns?’
‘Not me,’ returned my youngest cousin. ‘That may be the Cretans’ idea of sport. I’ll stick to running and wrestling.’
Antilochos murmured, ‘It seems to me a truly princely sport.’
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I knew that tone of voice, that faint, sarcastic emphasis on the word ‘princely’. He had never been able to forgive me for the fact that it was my father, and not his, who reigned in Messenia.
‘Really?’ I said casually. ‘The princes of Crete soon tired of it – or found it too dangerous. After that they had slaves trained in the sport to do it for them, like Theseus in the stories.’
‘Ah,’ said A
ntilochos, ‘perhaps that is why the Cretans are no longer the power they once were and Achaeans rule now in Knossos. When princes lose their courage, no people can stand against attack.’
‘Meaning …?’ I could feel my temper rising and I knew that, in spite of myself, I was being lured into one of the traps that my cousin was so adept at setting for me.
‘Why not prove to us, Alkmaion, son of the King, that the princes of Pylos still preserve the courage of their ancestors?’
I felt my blood begin to quicken. ‘Do you doubt it? Remember that you, too, are a prince of the House of Neleus.’
‘Oh, I do not forget,’ he replied. ‘But not the son of the King. Though you might do well to remember that, had not my grandfather been killed at Troy, the throne would not have passed to your grandfather, Thrasymedes. We are the senior branch of the family.’
‘Nevertheless,’ I answered sharply, ‘my father is considered by all men to be rightfully king. And, remember, Thrasymedes also fought at Troy.’
‘Oh,’ Antilochos laughed negligently, ‘no-one doubts the courage of your ancestors, Alkmaion.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I demanded, my muscles tightening.
He looked across towards the bull. ‘Nothing a captive slave could not perform.’
Melanthos said quickly, ‘Don’t be a fool, Antilochos. A man has to be trained for months to perform that feat.’
Antilochos shrugged. ‘Alkmaion is renowned for his prowess as an athlete, isn’t he? I should have thought that, given a certain amount of courage ….’
‘Why don’t you try it yourself, then?’ retorted Melanthos.
Antilochos plucked a grass stem to put between his teeth and replied casually, ‘That would hardly prove anything for Alkmaion.’