by Hilary Green
I looked at the bull. He was bigger and more powerful than any in my father’s herd. Beneath the sleek hide I could see the huge muscles moving and above the lowered head the great horns spread upwards in a deadly curve.
Perimedes said nervously, ‘Anyway, it’s impossible. He’s tethered.’
Antilochos turned on his younger brother. ‘You said yourself the rope was long enough to let him charge.’ And then, looking at me, ‘One would have to go near enough, that’s all.’
In the silence that followed we heard the rumble of chariot wheels and the beat of hooves. The road ran behind us along the top of the slope and then curved down to circle the edge of the pasture before climbing the opposite hill towards the city. As soon as the chariot came in sight I recognised the occupant. It was one of my father’s Companions, the Count Alectryon, son of Eteocles. He was at that time about twenty-two years old, in the prime of his strength and beauty, and one of the most admired and envied men at my father’s court.
When he saw us he signalled his charioteer to stop and saluted us courteously. It was for me, as became my rank, to be the first to respond but somehow with Alectryon I always found it hard to strike the right note. In his presence I felt tongue-tied and awkward.
I answered, ‘Good day to you, Count,’ and knew at once, from some subtle change in his expression, that there had been a little too much of the prince in my tone. However, when the others had greeted him, he said smiling, ‘I see you are inspecting the latest addition to the King’s herds. You are wise to keep at a safe distance.’
Antilochos said, ‘As a matter of fact we were just suggesting to Alkmaion that he might try the so-called ‘jump of death’.’
Alectryon looked at me and laughed, shaking back the long ringlets of fire-coloured hair from the golden skin of his shoulders.
‘I don’t think the Prince is fool enough for that!’
He saluted us again and ordered his charioteer to drive on. Before the chariot had turned the corner to begin the descent I was scrambling down the slope towards the bull.
Behind me Perimedes cried, ‘Alkmaion, you’re mad! Come back!’ and Melanthos invoked Poseidon, master of bulls. I reached the flat pasture and began to walk towards the bull. The ground between the blades of grass was already drying out, beginning to parch and crumble under the fierce sun. I could feel the hard earth under my sandals and the sun beating down on my bare shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alectryon’s chariot come out of the bend onto the level road beyond the pasture, but I could not take my attention from the bull long enough to look at him.
The bull had seen me now. He lifted his head and stared towards me, motionless. I calculated the distances with my eye. He was about half the length of his rope from the tree; I must be more than that distance from him. If he charged now the rope would pull him up short before he reached me. He stirred, shifting his feet and swaying his great head from side to side. My body felt heavy and limp, shaken by the pounding of my heart. My hard-trained muscles seemed to have no more strength in them than those of a child. I could see the bull’s body beginning to bunch, contracting itself into a single hard mass of energy. In a minute he would charge. I realised that I was still beyond the stretch of his rope and heard in my head Antilochos’s mocking laughter – ‘Of course, he was careful not to go near enough for the bull to reach him!’
I forced myself into a run and felt that I moved like an exhausted man at the end of a long race. A sudden wave of despair swept over me. What was the use of a body trained and practised to be the ready instrument of my will, when the touch of fear could turn it into this useless, shambling thing?
As I began to run I was aware, dimly, of a rumbling that quivered through the ground beneath my feet. I thought the bull had begun his charge, but my eyes told me it was not so. I ran on, straight towards him. He snorted, pawed the ground, and then began to come forward. I could see the whole great weight of him gathering speed towards me and suddenly I felt my body lighten and my muscles regain their strength. At that instant Alectryon’s chariot swept between me and the bull, the horses legs bunching under them as they were hauled to a momentary halt right before me. An iron hand grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the chariot and we surged forward as the bull, fighting now to check his speed, thundered past behind us.
I had been flung into the chariot with such violence that we had covered almost half the distance back to the road before I recovered my balance and turned on Alectryon. He had left his charioteer behind and taken the reins himself and now his face was set as he guided the racing pair over the uneven ground; but as I looked at him he glanced over his shoulder, saw that the bull was still tethered and eased back his panting horses. Then he turned to look at me and suddenly burst into laughter. I stared at him, speechless with fury.
After a moment he controlled himself and said, ‘Forgive me, Prince, but I really could not stand by and watch the King’s son make an entirely unnecessary sacrifice of himself.’
‘There was no question of sacrifice,’ I snapped, ‘ and anyway it was none of your business!’
He gave me a quiet, inscrutable look and said in a different tone, ‘Perhaps. However, I fear you will have to explain your actions to someone who can call them his business. It was unfortunate that your uncle happened to be passing.’
He pointed with his whip and I saw that there was now a second chariot on the road, followed by a small retinue of slaves. It was my uncle Paion. I raged dumbly at fate for adding this to crown my humiliation.
Alectryon drove the chariot back onto the road a few yards from my uncle’s. I dismounted and walked over to him, trying to look unconcerned and conscious of the indifferent stares of the slaves. Alectryon, instead of remaining as tact might have suggested out of earshot in his chariot, followed me, in spite of the burning look I intended as a dismissal.
Uncle Paion leaned his heavy body on the rail of his chariot and greeted me with the voice of ironic respect that he reserved for those moments when he felt he had me at a disadvantage.
‘Good day, Prince.’
I returned the greeting and stood silent.
‘May I ask whether you were intending to perform some act of sacrifice – a blood offering for the good of the people, perhaps? If so, would it not have been more appropriate to do it at some sanctuary – or at least in the presence of a priest?’
I replied, ‘If such a sacrifice was required of me, Uncle, I hope I would not hesitate to perform it, but I am unaware of any such need at the moment.’
‘Then may I ask what you were intending?’
‘A feat not scorned by the princes of Crete, nor even by the great Theseus. That which men call “the jump of death”.’
‘Jump of death indeed it would have been! May I remind you that you are not the great Theseus, Prince? ’
I bit my lips in silent fury and stared at the heavy gold necklace swinging from my uncle’s neck.
‘May I also remind you that you are the only son of the King, and as such you have a duty to your father, and to the rest of us, to stay alive?’
Alectryon said, ‘Under your pardon, Prince Paion, I believe it was your son Antilochos who challenged the Prince to make the leap.’
I gave him a furious look. Now Antilochos could claim that I had betrayed him to save myself. However, I did have the passing comfort of seeing my uncle look momentarily disconcerted. He straightened up in the chariot and said, ‘You will understand, of course, that your father must know of this. Meanwhile you obviously owe a great debt to Count Alectryon. I trust you will express your gratitude suitably.’
He gave the order to drive on and the chariot rattled away down the road, the slaves trotting stolidly in the dust raised by its wheels. I turned to Alectryon. He was looking at me and I read sympathy in his face. I drew myself up and said, with totally intentional haughtiness,‘Although I was not in need of your help, Count, it is true of course that I owe you a debt. If you will take the trouble to spe
ak to my father’s Chief Steward I will see to it that he has orders to reward you suitably.’
I saw from his face that the insult had struck home but instead of replying he gave me another long, quiet look. I would dearly have loved to end the interview by a suitably dignified departure, but since we had come on foot to see the bull the only way to do so would be to turn and begin the long, dusty walk back to the palace. So I stood my ground and returned his gaze unflinchingly.
After the space of a heartbeat or two he bowed his head and said, ‘Very well, Prince. I will claim my reward as you suggest – though perhaps not from your father’s steward. And now, if you will permit me …’
‘You are excused, Count.’
He mounted his chariot and drove off. I watched the bright gleam of his hair until it was blotted out by the dust and then turned to see my cousins panting up to the roadway, having made a wide circuit from their position on the slope in order to avoid the bull. I turned my shoulder on them, and set off towards the town.
It was shortly before supper time that I received the summons to my father’s presence. I had spent what remained of the day kicking my heels around the palace and exercising my ill-temper on the slaves. Then I had bathed and dressed with more than usual care, but there had been very little comfort in the hands of my old nurse, Mukala, as she massaged the perfumed oil into my body.
He was in his private apartments near the Great Hall - pleasant rooms opening off a porch that led to a small courtyard with a little stream of running water and green things growing. He sat in a tall-backed chair of ebony inlaid with plaques of carved ivory, his feet on a matching footstool and a small circular table bearing a golden goblet and wine jug at his elbow. I greeted him and stood waiting.
He said, ‘I have been speaking to your uncle, Alkmaion.’
‘Yes?’ I answered.
His eyes brooded on me thoughtfully. He did not seem very angry, I thought.
‘Will you tell me what, exactly, you were intending to do, before the Count Alectryon snatched you up in his chariot?’
‘I was going to try the ‘jump of death’, sir.’
‘You know why it is called ‘the jump of death’?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have you some wish to die?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then why perform so hazardous a feat?’
I gazed at the painted octopus on the plaster floor between us.
‘Because it seemed to me that the son of Sillos, with the blood of Nestor in his veins, should give some proof that the courage of his ancestors still lives in him.’
‘I see.’ I stole a glance at my father. It seemed to me that there was a hint of a smile above the mingled black and silver of his beard. ‘Do you feel some reason to doubt that?’
‘No man can be sure of himself, I think, until he has proved his courage.’
‘To himself – or to others?’ I looked at him. How much had my uncle told him? I said slowly, ‘A man should not need the opinion of others in order to know himself.’
‘Exactly,’ said my father. He allowed that to sink in for a moment and then continued,‘You are aware, as you should be, that the blood of Nestor runs in your veins. Tell me, when your great-grandfather fought at Troy, was it for deeds of rash daring that he earned his fame?’
‘No, sir.’
‘For what then?’
I consulted the octopus on the floor again.
‘For his wisdom in council.’
‘Precisely. Nevertheless, his courage was never doubted.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Tell me, Alkmaion, if a man was faced with an attack by several opponents, and if there was nothing to be gained by standing his ground, except perhaps a reputation for unprofitable courage: and if, on the other hand, he could quite easily retreat and later meet his opponents one by one on more favourable terms, what would you advise him to do?
I traced a tentacle of the octopus with my sandal.
‘To retreat, sir.’
‘Thereby setting wisdom above daring?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And again, suppose we were facing an attack by a vastly superior army – let us suppose for a moment’ - (I could see the smile quite distinctly for a second in his eyes) ‘that such a thing is possible. If I were to propose to lead the first chariot charge, do you imagine my advisers would allow it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because an army cannot risk losing its King in the first charge. The effect would be too demoralising.’
‘You would therefore advise me to put prudence before valour?’
I contemplated for an instant how neatly and unavoidably the snares were laid for me.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then perhaps I might suggest that the only son of a King must do the same.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In short, Alkmaion, a man may win renown by wisdom as well as courage, but either without the other may bring him into disgrace. And for the son of a king it is even more important that the two should go hand in hand. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
We looked at each other for a moment and I reflected, not for the first time, that I understood very little of what passed behind those deep-set eyes, like as they were to my own. Then my father said, ‘Your uncle Paion thinks I should have you whipped. Do you think that you would learn wisdom from that?’
From my childhood my uncle had undertaken to discipline me. I could see his face vividly in my mind as he drew the whip between his fingers. I had good cause to understand why he was known as having the strongest right arm in the whole army. But, to do him justice, I should add that he punished his own sons just as severely.
I answered, ‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I think I am too old to be whipped. Because …’ I floundered for words,
‘because I do not think it is possible to make someone learn by beating him … and because I think it is against your honour for the son of the King to be whipped.’
My father nodded. ‘It is well spoken. And because of this – and also because your actions, though they showed rashness and some lack of thought for me, showed also some courage – I have told him that I will not have it so. Nevertheless, it is necessary that you should receive some punishment, if only to fix the lesson in your mind – and to pacify your uncle.’ (Was there a faint hint of laughter in the dark eyes? If so, it was gone at once.) ‘Therefore I forbid you tomorrow’s hunting. You will remain behind in the palace.’
Chapter 2.
I stood on the gallery above the central courtyard, well back in the early morning shadows, and watched the bustle below me. The Royal Companions were assembling for the hunt. The sun flared back from the bronze points of long hunting spears and struck fire from the jewelled hilts of daggers. Bare arms and torsos gleamed bronze and gold, with the brighter flash of metal from bracelets and necklaces. The long hair of the young men and the beards of their elders shone silver or red or blue-black in the clear, bright air. There was talk and laughter and a sense of heady excitement. Beyond, through the open gateway, I could glimpse the painted chariots and the tossing manes of restless horses.
Alectryon had arrived and stood with a little group of friends at the far end of the courtyard. I could see him laughing but he seemed restless, like the horses. Antilochos and Perimedes came into the courtyard. Antilochos saw me and nudged his brother, laughing: but Perimedes shook his head and said something that made him shrug and turn away.
A stir below me told me that my father had come out into the porch. As he crossed the courtyard the crowd parted but as he neared the gateway I saw Alectryon step forward and drop to one knee before him. So this was what he had meant by claiming his reward, but not from the Chief Steward! I reflected bitterly that he could have chosen a less public moment.
I watched him looking up at my father, smiling, speaking persuasively. Then he ros
e, apparently satisfied, and with a gesture directed the King’s attention towards me. I found myself the object of the concentrated stares of the entire company and stepped back quickly towards the door leading to the stairs. As I did so my father’s voice rang across the courtyard.
‘Alkmaion!’ I turned back, unwillingly. ‘Come here!’
Heavy-footed, I descended the stairs and made my way through the crowd to stand before my father. He seemed, as far as I could tell, to be amused about something.
‘Alkmaion, it appears you have a good friend in Count Alectryon. Yesterday he risked his horses and chariot, and possibly himself, to snatch you from danger. Now he claims his reward – which is no less than my indulgence to you, to allow you to hunt with us today.’
My gaze shot past my father to Alectryon’s face. He lifted an eyebrow, quizzically.
My father went on, ‘I can hardly refuse him, in the circumstances, so I have agreed, on one condition - that he takes charge of you. He has therefore agreed to take you as his charioteer.’ He paused and I stood staring at the ground to hide the fury in my eyes. He added, ‘I hope you will know how to thank the Count for pleading on your behalf.’ Then, raising his voice, ‘Come, gentlemen, let us not waste any more of the morning.’
He moved away, the others closing in behind him. I followed Alectryon, wordlessly, biting on the bitter taste of my humiliation. His charioteer, a boy only a year or two older than myself, stood holding the fretting horses. Alectryon said briefly, ‘The prince does me the honour of becoming my charioteer for today, Dexeus. I shall not require you. Be here again at sunset for my return.’
I saw Dexeus’s face fall and realised that he, too, had been looking forward to the hunt, but he merely saluted me respectfully and stood aside. I mounted the chariot and took the reins and Alectryon got in beside me.
He said quietly, ‘I agreed to let you become my charioteer, Prince, to meet your father’s condition – and indeed I am well satisfied with the bargain. But if you prefer, I will take the reins and give you my spear.’