by Hilary Green
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow we set off for Mycenae. My brother Penthilos will bring the army of Tisamenos to our aid.’
It was a tattered and dispirited caravan that set out from Leuktron: those of us who were left of the Royal Kin – myself and Alectryon, Peisistratos, Melanthos and the sons of Paion; our women-folk; my few remaining Companions and my faithful Neritos; and a motley band of survivors from the army and others who preferred to leave their lands and follow me rather than take their chances under the Dorians. Thaleus begged to continue as Alectryon’s charioteer, finding in that role, I suppose, some sense of purpose otherwise lacking in his life.
We followed the steep and difficult road across the inhospitable Taygetos mountains to Sparta, and from there we travelled on towards Mycenae and came one evening to the mouth of the valley commanded by the great citadel. Behind us lay the flat, fertile plain of Argos and beyond it the sea. Ahead the road ran between bare, dun-coloured hills and as we followed it we saw on the ridges the first houses of the town, poor at first but then large and imposing, obviously the homes of men of wealth and importance. As the chariot rumbled up the paved road I began to understand for the first time how much larger and more populous Mycenae was than Pylos. We passed a walled precinct where I could see the headstones raised above many graves and then the huge mound that covers the dome of the tomb of Atreus, the founder of the reigning dynasty, cut deep into the hillside. Then I lifted my eyes and had my first proper view of the citadel.
Now I understood why Penthilos had been amazed at the defencelessness of Pylos. Here was a city built to withstand a hundred attacks. Crowning the hill at the end of the valley, its rear protected by two great mountain peaks separated from it by steep ravines, the palace of the Atreidae stood within mighty walls rising sheer from the sharp flanks of the hill and constructed of huge blocks of stone, each one of which must have taken the strength of many men to lift. Within them, besides the palace itself, crowded many great houses, temples and storerooms, while at their feet huddled the buildings of the lower city.
We swung round a bend and found ourselves facing the great main gate. To our left the wall rose sheer against the side of the hill. To our right a great bastion of stone gave shelter from which those within could threaten the unshielded side of an attacker. Before us was the gate, topped by a mighty lintel, above which stood a triangular block of stone carved with the likenesses of two lions, rearing up to place their forefeet on a column, their heads turned to warn off invaders.
Neritos drew rein and we gazed in silence. How small and puny Pylos seemed now! The captain of the guard came forward and asked our names. His tone was courteous but he frowned as he looked beyond us at the long trail of men and vehicles. Suddenly I did not know how to announce myself.
From his chariot behind me Alectryon shouted, ‘You are speaking to the King of Pylos, fellow! Have you no idea how to behave to royalty?’
The captain began to stammer apologies. I cut him short with, ‘Send word to King Tisamenos that I have arrived with my family and followers and say that I beg him to receive me.’
There was a stir in the crowd that had begun to gather about the gateway and Penthilos strode through it. He stared at me and then past me to my ragtag following.
'Alkmaion! What has happened? What brings you here like this?'
'The Dorians,' I answered, my voice rasping with exhaustion. 'They attacked in huge numbers. Pylos has fallen.'
'And your father?'
'Killed in the battle.'
I saw him master the shock and take control of the situation. He turned to one of his attendants. 'Run ahead and inform my brother the king of what has happened. Tell him that Alkmaion, son of Sillos and King of Pylos, is here.' Then, to me, 'Come. You can tell us the full story later. My brother will be eager to hear it.'
We passed under the Lion Gate and entered the city. At the top of the slope we got down from our chariots and slaves led the horses away. From here the palace seemed a vast complex of roofs and terraces. Penthilos led us through a long corridor, down some steps and into an open courtyard whose floor was patterned in coloured squares. On two sides the walls rose to the height of two storeys and were decorated with painted plaster. On the third side there was only a low balustrade and from here one could look out down the valley and far beyond to the bay of Argos. Opposite, on the fourth side of the court, was the columned porch of the megaron. We crossed the court and passed under the porch and through the anteroom, into the throne room itself. To my right stood the throne of the descendants of Agamemnon and as I entered Tisamenos rose from it to greet me. I went to him and knelt at his feet, laying my hand upon his knee in the gesture of a suppliant.
‘Great King, renowned Tisamenos, son of the valiant Orestes, receive me as a suppliant. I come to beg your aid in revenging the death of my kingly father.’
He bent and raised me, saying, ‘Noble Alkmaion, you must not kneel. We are brother monarchs. As your duty is to me as your overlord in time of war, so it is mine to protect the descendants of the might Nestor. Be assured, you shall have my support in driving out your enemies.’
I thanked him and presented my cousins and my Companions. I had just finished doing so when we heard hasty steps at the door and Karpathia’s voice cried out ‘Father!’ She came running in and stopped abruptly, looking round her. Then her eyes rested on me. ‘They told me the King was here. I thought perhaps the messenger had been mistaken ….’
I held out my hands to her. ‘Our father is dead. I am the King now.’
We embraced, weeping, and then she turned to embrace Amphidora and Thalamista. Penthilos laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘Your promised visit to Mycenae is made under sorrowful circumstances, my brother. But be assured, we shall not rest until we have replaced you on the throne of your father.’
Tisamenos raised his voice. ‘My friends, you have travelled far. You are weary in body and sick at heart and have many terrible stories to tell us. Let my attendants take you now to where you can bathe and change your clothes. Then we will meet again here and listen to your tale.’
We were led away. I and the members of my family were accommodated within the palace, while the Companions were quartered with the Mycenean nobles who lived close by. When I was bathed and dressed Penthilos came to conduct me back to the megaron, where Tisamenos’s people and my own were assembling for the evening meal. Tisamenos presented me to his three eldest sons, Cometes, Daimenes and Sparton and seated me at his side in the place of honour. While we ate he talked of neutral subjects, trying to keep my mind away from my misfortunes, and I found myself warming to him. At that time he was in middle age, lean featured like Penthilos – a characteristic gained from their father Orestes, I presumed - but blue eyed and with hair that must in his youth have been golden, though it had faded somewhat now. I remembered that his mother was Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen. His colouring, I thought, must be the same as his famous grandmother’s.
After the meal the ladies of the court joined us and I saw Hermione for myself. She was still woman of striking beauty and I found myself wondering how much she reflected the looks that had so bewitched the Trojan, Paris. With her came Antigenia, Tisamenos’s wife, and Karpathia, of course, with my cousins, and two other women whom I did not recognise. They were obviously mother and daughter and in contrast to Hermione, both were very dark. The older woman had a handsome, imperious face with strong features and commanding eyes under arching brows. The younger was softer looking with delicate skin and a cloud of soft, dark hair. I wondered who they were, but we were not introduced.
When the ladies were seated Tisamenos sent away the servants and asked me to relate the full story of what had happened. The Myceneans listened sympathetically but I could tell that nothing I said made them understand the terrible reality. It was as remote to them as those old battles in the tales of the bards. I was glad when Tisamenos brought the evening to an early end.
As the g
uests began to leave I was suddenly possessed with a deep desire to be alone with Alectryon, but as I looked across the hall I saw that he was already being conducted out of the door by his host. It occurred to me to send after him but we were too new here for people to understand our relationship and I did not wish to cause any embarrassment, so I went to my room alone and spent a restless night, plagued by recurring nightmares of the battle.
The following morning I was summoned to a meeting with Tisamenos and Penthilos and we talked at great length about plans to defeat the Dorians. They questioned me closely about the strength of the Dorian forces and frowned as I attempted to describe their weapons. I began to wonder if they suspected that Pylian warriors were no longer what they had been in my grandfather’s day. Eventually it was agreed that Penthilos would begin to assemble the army and meanwhile he would send out spies to find out how strong the Dorians had made themselves in Pylos. I was impatient for action but I knew from my own experience that it takes time to collect an army together and prepare it for battle, and I was heartened by the firm resolve and the confidence of the King and his Lawagetas.
When the meeting was over I summoned my family and the Companions and told them what had been decided. I concluded, ‘We are all that is left of the Royal House of Neleus and the nobility of Messenia. Let us now solemnly bind ourselves to work together and support each other until we can win back our land. Many of you I know as my friends and the others were loyal Companions to my father and I know will now be equally loyal to me.’ I turned to Antilochos, who ever since our defeat had been silent and withdrawn. ‘Antilochos, there has been some bitterness between us. Let there be an end to it now. We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves.’
He raised his eyes to my face and then got up and came to me. ‘If my lord has felt I have any hostility to him in my heart I beg him to put such thoughts from his mind. I am his loyal servant.’
I embraced him, but it was a formal gesture. I could not like him, nor he me, but I hoped that this reconciliation might serve, at least, to prevent an open breach between us.
As I turned to leave I caught Alectryon’s eye and he gave me a grin of approval and opened his mouth to speak. Then I saw him think better of it. It was not his place to judge his King.
From the day we arrived I had few chances to be alone with him. Tisamenos was determined to entertain me in keeping with my position, in spite of the circumstances of my arrival, and kept me occupied from morning until bedtime. I longed for a little peace and quiet, but to say so would have been churlish. Alectryon made no attempt to claim any closer intimacy than the rest of my Companions and when evening came his host whisked him away as soon as dinner was over. On the third evening, unable to bear my loneliness any longer, I sent Neritos to him with a formal message. ‘The King requires the attendance of the Count Alectryon.’
He came and greeted me with the same mask of formal courtesy that he always assumed in company. ‘You sent for me, my lord?’
I dismissed Neritos with a gesture and replied in the same formal tone, ‘I did, Count. There are affairs of state which I wish to discuss with you.’
He looked at me doubtfully under his brows. ‘Such as, my lord?’
‘Such as, why you and I have not been to bed together for so long,’ I replied and met his eyes. Once he would have laughed but now, although a smile hovered on his lips, his eyes were still uncertain..
I went to him and put my hands on his shoulders. ‘Alectryon, nothing has changed. I am the same person I was before … before the Dorians came.’
He looked at me and said gravely, ‘None of us will ever be quite the same again.’ But his hand moved up in the old, familiar gesture to push the hair back from my face and his kiss banished for a moment all recollection of the terrible times we had been through. I held him tightly and whispered, ‘We mustn’t let this come between us. I can’t lose you, as well as everything else!’
‘You won’t,’ he whispered back. ‘I have sworn that, for as long as we both live. Remember?’
I drew back. ‘Then come to bed – and stop behaving like a stranger.’
The next day I found time at last to talk privately with Karpathia. We sat under the colonnade surrounding the courtyard of Penthilos’s apartments and she questioned me at length about the fate of all our friends. It was a sorrowful business as I recited the list of those who had perished and by the end we were both in tears, but eventually I persuaded her to talk of her own life in Mycenae. I noticed that in spite of her grief she looked remarkably well. Her face had filled out and there was colour in her cheeks and when I pressed her she confessed that until I arrived from Pylos she had been entirely happy. Her love for Penthilos had grown with familiarity and now she was expecting his child. I kissed her tenderly and found some comfort in the thought that the blood of Neleus would find its continuation here, if nowhere else.
As we spoke the two ladies whom I had seen in the megaron on the night of our arrival came out of the house and crossed the courtyard to the gate.
‘Who are those ladies?’ I asked.
Karpathia blushed a little. ‘The elder lady is Erigone, my husband’s mother. The younger is her daughter, Myrtilis.’
‘Penthilos’s sister, then?’
‘His half sister. Remember, Penthilos is the son of Orestes. Myrtilis is Erigone’s child by her lawful husband.’
‘Ah!’ I began to understand Karpathia’s embarrassment. ‘But who is Erigone? What is her parentage?’
Karpathia ducked her head. ‘She is the daughter of Aegisthos.’
‘Aegisthos!’ I was stunned. This was a scandal I had heard whispered since my childhood. ‘Clytemnestra’s lover? The murderer of Agamemnon?’
She laid her hand on mine. ‘Hush! I beg you, Alkmaion, think no worse of Penthilos because that blood runs in his veins. No king ever had a more loyal subject than the grandson of Agamemnon has in the grandson of Aegisthos. Were it not so …’ She broke off.
‘Were it not so …?’ I queried.
She flashed me a look. ‘There are those who would make use of Penthilos’s descent to oust Tisamenos. All is not as smooth and honest in Mycenae as it seems. There are still those who wish to see the true line of Atreus deposed. But Penthilos is so loyal that no one can drive a wedge between him and Tisamenos.’
I frowned. ‘I don’t understand, Karpathia. Who would wish to depose the King?’
She sighed. ‘It is an old story, and you have heard much of it before. The feud goes back for generations. Atreus and Thyestes, the sons of Pelops, were at war. Atreus slew all his brother’s children, except Aegisthos. Atreus had two sons, Agamemnon and Menelaus and they married the daughters of the King of Sparta. Agamemnon married Clytemnestra and Menelaus, as you know, married Helen. While Agamemnon was away fighting at Troy Aegisthos saw his chance for revenge. He made love to Clytemnestra and won her heart and when Agamemnon returned, as you said just now, they murdered him. Aegisthos would have slain his little son, Orestes, too but the boy’s sister, Electra, smuggled him across the frontier to safety. When Orestes grew up he returned to Mycenae and avenged his father’s death by killing both Aegisthos and Clytemnestra.’
‘His own mother!’ I exclaimed.
Karpathia nodded sombrely. ‘It was a terrible deed and for some time afterwards Orestes was so tormented with guilt that he could not take the throne. He wandered the world until the Goddess relented and his sin was forgiven. Then he returned and married Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen and so united Mycenae and Sparta in one kingdom. Tisamenos is their son.’
‘But why …?’ I wrestled with the complications of the tale, ‘why would Orestes take Erigone to his bed – the daughter of his father’s murderer?’
‘Who can say?’ she asked. ‘She is not Clytemnestra’s child, of course, but another woman’s. And as you have seen she must once have been very beautiful. Also, there is something about her …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I c
an’t say. There are rumours – rumours that she has powers that are more than human. Her mother was one of the Old People and they claim to have special gifts from the Mistress, which are denied to others … I don’t know. But Orestes could not resist her and Penthilos is the result. Orestes took him into the palace and brought him up as his own son, and Erigone was married off to another man.’
‘Myrtilis’s father.’ I felt a sudden chill. The mention of the Old People had reminded me of Eritha and my initiation. I had no wish to encounter those dark powers again. I turned my mind to a more practical consideration. ‘You said there are still those who would like to depose Tisamenos. Is he aware of this?’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes, well aware. Thyestes and his descendants have always had their supporters. But I suppose Tisamenos feels secure enough to ignore them.’ She turned to me. ‘Alkmaion, promise me you will say nothing of this to him – or anyone else. It would only stir up trouble.’
I promised, but found I could not put the two women out of my mind. ‘What’s the girl like – Myrtilis?’
Karpathia sighed. ‘She’s a sweet girl. I can’t pretend I like Erigone, but Myrtilis and I could be good friends, if only she wasn’t so totally dominated by her mother. Erigone hardly ever lets her out of her sight, poor child.’
At that moment Alectryon arrived with two of the other Companions to escort me back to the palace. As we crossed the courtyard Erigone and Myrtilis came through the gate and Karpathia presented them to me. Close to, I found Erigone’s aquiline features and strong colouring too overpowering for beauty, but Myrtilis was different. In her all that was striking in her mother’s face was present but softer and more delicate and her huge, dark eyes had an innocent, almost childlike gaze.
We exchanged a few words and then, as I turned to leave, I saw with a jolt that Alectryon’s eyes were fixed on Myrtilis as if he was bewitched. Later, when we snatched a few moments private conversation, I teased him about it, hoping to discover if it was more than just a passing fascination. He replied with a terseness that bordered on discourtesy that he had other things on his mind than women and I found myself hoping that this was true. I knew from experience that he enjoyed the company of a pretty girl from time to time, but I had never seen him so affected before.