by Hilary Green
He averted his gaze from me and said nothing.
After a moment I went on, ‘You are fortunate that Tisamenos is afraid to open a breach between our houses. Therefore he will not insist upon your death. But as a result of your blind folly we shall get no more help against the Dorians. So you have lost not only the crown of Mycenae but your ancestral lands as well – and the position that might have been yours as Lawagetas, had I regained the throne.’
He gave me a bitter look and said slowly, ‘What is going to happen now?’
‘We are all banished from Mycenae. I do not know yet where we shall go. You will accompany us, of course. But I warn you, Antilochos. From now on my eyes will be on you constantly. If I have reason to believe that you are engaging in anything that might bring the House of Neleus into disrepute, I shall have no mercy. If Tisamenos had wanted to take your life I should have fought it. You are my liegeman and your life is in my hands. But if you betray me again I shall order your death myself.’
For a moment he glowered into my eyes, but he knew there could be no argument. At length he dropped his gaze. Neritos looked in at the door.
‘The Counts Aikotas and Hoplomenos are attending you outside, my lord.’
‘Send them in.’
The two men came in and made an obeisance.
I said, ‘Gentlemen, I entrust my cousin Antilochos to your keeping. He is to lodge with you and be under your surveillance at all times. You understand me?’ I knew that they were fully aware of the situation and would give Antilochos no opportunity for further mischief making. I turned to him. ‘You may go now. I shall expect you to wait upon me every day from now on – and remember, every step you take will be reported to me.’
I extended my hand and he was forced to kneel and kiss it.
After he had left I sent for Perimedes, who had held aloof since the conspiracy was discovered. I assured him that I had no doubts about his loyalty and reminded him that we had once promised each other than Antilochos’s misdeeds should never come between us. He greeted my assurances with relief and reaffirmed his unswerving devotion.
Later that day Penthilos came to visit me. I was surprised to see that he looked remarkably cheerful.
‘I have heard what Tisamenos has decreed,’ he said, ‘and we will speak more of it in a moment, but first I have some news to cheer you. Karpathia was delivered of a son this morning.’
I gasped. I had been so absorbed with my own troubles that I had forgotten that my sister was near her time.
‘A son! That’s wonderful! My congratulations, Penthilos. Are they both well?’
‘Very well, my lord. Karpathia sends her love and begs you to visit her as soon as your wound is sufficiently healed.’
‘It is healed enough for that now,’ I exclaimed. ‘May I come tomorrow?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, smiling. ‘And I think you will approve of the name we have chosen. He is to be called Sillos.'
‘After my father. He would be delighted – and so am I.’ I drew a breath and felt the momentary surge of optimism die. ‘But what is his future, Penthilos? How do you stand with Tisamenos now?’
‘That is my second object in coming to speak to you,’ Penthilos said. ‘I told you some while ago that the king will not feel safe until he is rid of us all. Do you remember that I once spoke to you of founding a colony somewhere away from all the unrest that surrounds us here?’
‘I remember,’ I agreed.
He went on, ‘I would never have left Mycenae while I had the king’s trust but now things are different. Today I asked his permission to lead a colony to Lesbos. Reports from our merchant captains say that it is a fair island with good land and very few inhabitants. Tisamenos will give us ships and seed corn and everything else that is necessary and there are enough men who will follow me to provide a good beginning for a new city.’
‘It’s a brave venture,’ I said doubtfully, ‘but will you not miss all this? To have been Lawagetas to the High King of Mycenae – the greatest city in the world …’
‘I would rather be master of my own fate and live at peace,’ he said quietly, ‘even in a place no one has ever heard of. And that brings me to my next point. Come with us, Alkmaion, and bring the men of Pylos with you. Forget your old home and find a new one with us.’
I hesitated. I was weary of the struggle to keep up the spirits of my followers, of the constant raising and then dashing of my hopes, and the idea of settling in a tranquil place far from the depredations of my enemies was appealing. Yet I could not bring myself to abandon all hope of going back to Pylos.
‘It’s a generous offer, Penthilos,’ I said, ‘and very tempting in many ways. Certainly I have to find somewhere to take my people. May I take some time to think about it?’
He agreed readily and we spoke of the preparations he was making and of his vision of how the new colony would develop. They planned to leave as soon as Karpathia was strong enough.
The time of the Spring Festival came round and it was celebrated in Mycenae exactly as it had been in Pylos. I felt my anomalous position more acutely than ever at this time. At home I should have assumed my father’s role, which would have seemed strange enough, but here Tisamenos was King and I was reduced to the role of an ordinary participant. Yet I could not shake off the feeling that I was failing once again to pay the Goddess my proper dues. As soon as the main rites were over I went alone to the sanctuary of the lady of Pylos and made sacrifice to her of all those things that please her best, but I could not tell from the omens whether or not She received them. Then I went to the spring that marked the sanctuary of Poseidon, God of underground waters, and made sacrifice and supplication to him also.
‘Great Lord of earth and water,’ I prayed, ‘divine ancestor of my house, Father Poseidon, hear my prayer. I have ever honoured you and never failed to pay you due sacrifice. Even my colt Pedasos, the fairest animal that any man ever owned in Pylos, I gave you when you demanded it. Hear me now, and turn away the anger of the Goddess from me. I go once again to strangers. Let me bring no curse upon them. Grant me refuge from my enemies, and if I may not drive them from the land where you were once worshipped by my ancestors, bring me to some other place where I may honour you and the Great Queen herself in peace.’
Here the omens gave fair answer and I returned with a quieter mind to the city. As I reached the palace a servant met me with the words, ‘My lord, there is a messenger from Athens waiting for you in your apartments.’
I hurried to my rooms, my mind tortured with contrary hopes and fears. The messenger was none other than Melanthos’s own charioteer, Eumedes. At first sight of him I feared the news must be bad, for I knew he never left Melanthos’s side. But his face belied my fears.
‘Eumedes, what news?’ I demanded as he knelt to kiss my hand. ‘How is my lord Melanthos?’
He rose with an air of barely restrained delight. ‘King Melanthos, ruler of Athens, greets you, my lord.’
I gasped and sat down hastily. My leg was still weak and the effect of his news was almost over-powering.
‘King! Praise be to the Gods! Tell me all of it, Eumedes.’
It was a long tale. All through the winter the conspirators had manoeuvred to win support among the leaders of the Athenians. Melanthos’s prudence and tact had done him good service here and many men had come to recognise in him one far more suited to rule than Thymoetes’s dissolute sons. Nevertheless, the princes were powerful and it was impossible to raise a force large enough to be certain of defeating them.
As soon as the winter was past the Boetians had put an army into the field. The result had been near panic in Athens and for some days confusion had reigned as the rival princes struggled for the right to lead the army. Melanthos’s supporters had seized their opportunity. They had proposed a coalition under Melanthos and many who had previously been hesitating gave their support. Melanthos had proved a brilliant commander, and had met and killed in single combat the Boetian champion Xanthos, at whic
h defeat the Boetians broke and fled from Attica.
After this Melanthos had all Athens on his side. There had been a short but bloody battle with the personal supporters of the Theseids, after which Thymoetes agreed to hand over the throne. Melanthos was married at once to the King’s daughter, Idomeneia, and the rest of the Theseids with their supporters had gone into exile.
All this was scarcely over before Melanthos had despatched his squire to bring me the news.
The question of where we were to go now presented no problem. I knew that Melanthos would receive us gladly. I determined to send Eumedes back as soon as he was rested with an account of events in Mycenae and a request for his hospitality. Then I called all my Pylians together and broke the news to them that there would be no great army of the Achaean federation to sweep us back to victory in Pylos. They were not surprised, for rumour had been rife since Antilochos’s rebellion was discovered. Nor were they unduly sorry to leave Mycenae, for they were well aware that our welcome there was wearing thin. I cheered them with the thought that Melanthos was one of us and had promised me an Athenian army. It might not happen this summer, I warned them, but by next year everything could be different.
As soon as Eumedes had left for Athens we began to make preparations to follow him. Tisamenos was all too ready to help us in any way. In fact, I noticed a subtle change in his demeanour. He did not want us in Mycenae, but he did not want our enmity either, particularly now that the House of Neleus suddenly had unexpected influence again. Even Cometes became more friendly and I noticed him making overtures to Amphidora again. She, poor girl, torn between her hopes and her loyalty to her family, spurned him proudly, but she had lost her old vitality and coquettishness.
As the day approached I made the rounds of my friends, of whom there were still many in spite of the popular feeling against us, and said goodbye. On the last evening I went to see Karpathia. She had fully recovered from the birth of her child and the bloom of health was on her cheeks. I remembered the tense, stone-carved figure of the priestess and the shrunken wraith she had become after her rejection and rejoiced in the transformation.
We both wept as we said farewell, not knowing if we should ever meet again. She said, ‘I know we are doing the will of the Goddess in this. Do you remember? When we consulted the oracle about my marriage to Penthilos the answer was that I should marry him and carry the worship of the Mistress to my new home. It seemed a strange answer at the time, since She is already worshipped in Mycenae, but now I see her purpose. We are to establish Her worship in Lesbos. Now I know that you were right. She has not rejected me. In our new city, at the shrine that we shall establish, I shall be Her priestess again.’
I kissed her and wished her good fortune, begging her to sacrifice regularly to the Goddess for me, that I might regain Her favour.
That night Alectryon and I dined quietly in my rooms as usual. Below the terrace that gave on to my apartments was a small garden looking out over the valley. It was the first warm day of the year and when we had eaten we strolled down to it to enjoy the cool evening air. From somewhere beyond the walls the breeze brought the scent of pine trees and a faint hint of salt from the distant sea. It suddenly occurred to me that I could not remember the last time he and I had made love.
I felt his eyes upon me and turned to meet them. We looked at each other in silence for a long moment and then I said, ‘It’s finished, isn’t it? Between us?’
‘Not finished,’ he said softly. ‘Just changed. We always knew that had to happen one day.’
I drew a deep breath. ‘I wish I could remember the last time. I mean, I wish I had known it was the last, so that I could keep it in my memory.’
He shook his head. ‘No, that would have been too painful – for both of us.’ He put up his hand in the old, familiar gesture to push the hair back from my face and added, ‘You know my promise still stands, don’t you. We shall never be less than devoted friends.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I have never doubted that.’
He kissed me then, but it was a valediction and I did not attempt to prolong the embrace. Then he whispered ‘Goodnight’ and went back into the house. I stayed where I was, breathing in the scent of the pines and remembering a sandy knoll and moonlight through the branches of a pine tree, and the gentle susurration of summer waves. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned. Andria was standing by the foot of the steps, waiting for me. I went to her and took her in my arms.
For the last time my chariot rolled out under the mighty Lion Gate and down the long valley towards Argos, where the ships Tisamenos had lent us were waiting. He had insisted on accompanying me, keeping up to the last the semblance of friendship. When the ships had been loaded and we were ready to embark we assembled on the shore to made sacrifice to Poseidon. This done, and the omens proving favourable, I embraced Penthilos, took my leave of the King and gave the order for the sailors to cast off.
Chapter 16.
So we came to Athens, the city to which my mind returns now like a child to its mother, or perhaps I should say to a kindly foster-mother. As we sailed into the Bay of Phaleron I stood on the after deck and gazed at the view before me. I saw a wide plain, enclosed on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the sea. In the centre of the plain, indistinct in the summer haze, a great crag rose abruptly from the surrounding countryside, its sides sheer and rocky. This was the citadel of Athens, the place the bards sing of as ‘the strong house of Erectheus’.
Alectryon was reclining nearby on a pile of fleeces. He was much stronger now but still not completely himself, and the journey had tired him. I turned to him.
‘Get up and look, Alectryon. Athens is all the bards say it is.’
He got to his feet obediently and gazed ahead. I could tell that the sight stirred him also. He nodded approvingly. ‘It will take a formidable enemy to capture that fortress.’
As we sailed closer I saw chariots on the road that led from the city and by the time the ships’ keels grated on the shore a crowd had assembled. As we prepared to disembark I realised suddenly that some of the faces were familiar. Not only Melanthos, whom I had identified early in the centre of the crowd surrounded by his attendants, but others whom I had long believed dead. As I reached the shore a cheer went up and voices greeted me as Royal Alkmaion, King of Pylos.
Melanthos came forward to welcome me. He embraced me warmly, managing to blend an easy equality with the formal respect he had once shown me as his king. When we had exchanged greetings others crowded round, kneeling to kiss my hand. There was Dikonaros, one of my father’s Companions; two or three of the important land-holders who had had estates around the city; and, incredibly, some of my own band of young warriors whom I had led in that first chariot charge, most of them sons of Companions who had now inherited their fathers’ titles. Behind them pressed others of lesser rank, all anxious to pay their respects. My own band of followers had disembarked behind me and there was a scene of mingled joy and tears as old friends embraced and memories of that terrible battle were relived. There was no time then to learn their individual stories but one theme was repeated again and again. They had all believed that I had perished with my father, until Melanthos’s arrival in Athens. Their ecstatic greetings reawakened in me a joy and hope I had not felt since we left Pylos, and the obvious respect and affection that Melanthos evoked from his new subjects cheered me further.
On closer inspection the fortress of Erectheus was even more impressive than I had guessed. The sheer sides of the crag on which it stood were topped by walls that rendered it almost impregnable. Within them lay the palace, while the houses of the nobility clustered around the foot of the cliff. I could not help being a little disappointed in the palace itself, however. Impressive though its setting was, the building and its fittings were poor compared with the wealth of Mycenae or the beauty and taste of my own home. This first impression was to be confirmed later. Though life in Athens had all the graces of civilisatio
n neither the king nor his nobles could boast such treasure as the great men of Pylos or Mycenae. I did not understand then how grateful we were to be for that fact.
Within the palace we were presented for the first time to Melanthos’s bride, Idomeneia. She was a slender, soft-spoken girl with light blue eyes, who did not strike me at first as a great beauty, but then she smiled and I understood what had won Melanthos’s heart. For the remarkable fact was that, in spite of the manner of their marriage, they seemed genuinely fond of each other.
Melanthos had arranged a great feast of welcome, to which all the Messenian exiles had been invited. Before we sat down to eat, each of the nobles knelt to take the oath of fealty to me and then, while the feast was in progress, I moved from place to place, hearing from each in turn the story of how he had survived and come to Athens. Some, I learned, had waited until night fell and then crept down to the shore where they discovered one of our ships, abandoned but still sea-worthy, and had slipped away under cover of darkness. Others had sheltered in caves in the hills or in remote shepherds’ huts until it became clear that all resistance was at an end. A few had managed to bring their families to safety with them, but most had no idea what had become of parents, wives and children. Some had already taken Athenian wives and begun to settle down.
I went to bed that night with a sense of well being that amounted almost to elation but I was to learn that such euphoria is always followed by disillusion. I woke early the following morning, before it was light, and lay thinking over my position. Slowly I became aware on what slight foundations I had been building my hopes. Melanthos was King of Athens and my ally. But Athens was inferior in wealth and power to Mycenae or even Pylos. What could they do against the Dorians, when the might of the High King’s army had not been able to defeat them? What, then, was I but still a king without a kingdom, a suppliant at the court of a fellow ruler?