Beware of Greeks

by Peter Tonkin

  His announcement was met with cheering so loud that Agamemnon himself might have heard it in his palace in distant Mycenae and, as the Myrmidons beat their spear shafts against their shields, mistaken it for thunder. The soldiers were dismissed and retired to their camps. The grandstand emptied slowly, the audience in pairs and groups discussing what they had seen, commenting on elements that had particularly impressed them. King Peleus led the way back into the palace. Hypatios announced that there would be time for everyone to cleanse themselves, then dinner would be served. But, again, I had already realised that. The whole place was aromatic with the scents of roasting ox and boar.

  The huge animals had been turning on the spits for much of the day and yet there was still time for a lengthy wash and change of clothing—for those who had more than one outfit. As I followed Odysseus into the great hall having completed our ablutions, he said, ‘Ah. That explains it. Of course.’ Two more places had been laid at the great table and I was not surprised to see that they had been prepared for the two generals whose troops had put on today’s breath-taking display. The lengthy hiatus between the end of the mock-battle and the start of the feast had been a simple courtesy—to allow the generals to wash off the sweat of combat and to change out of their armour. They came is shoulder to shoulder, but Argeiphontes sat at Peleus’ right hand between Peleus and Nestor and was very much the king’s favourite. This did not appear to upset Eudorus particularly, who seemed perfectly content to be seated on Peleus’ left beside Odysseus. The captain also made room for me on his left, though my elevation to the royal group was even more daunting than my place lower down the table last night. But I soon forgot all about my nervousness as I eavesdropped on the conversation between my captain and the Myrmidon general who talked as though they were old friends.

  As soon as Odysseus was certain that Peleus was concentrating on his general and his old shipmate from the Argo, he leaned across to Eudorus. ‘That was a truly inspiring display,’ he said. ‘Was Prince Ajax equally impressed?’

  ***

  ‘Ah,’ said Eudorus, glancing across as his preoccupied monarch. ‘You worked that out, did you? I think His Majesty’s been trying to keep Ajax’ visit a secret. He still is as far as I can see so you’d better not make too much of a fuss about it.’

  ‘I’m not sure how serious he is about keeping it secret, though. Not when he leaves that massive seat on the grandstand,’ said Odysseus. ‘Still, I’ll take your word for it: my lips are sealed—with Peleus and his court at least, if not with the occasional Myrmidon. But you must admit, Ajax was a far more logical choice of emissary than Nestor and me. He’s the son of Peleus’ older brother King Telemon of Salamis and Peleus’ nephew therefore. And, of course, Prince Achilles’ cousin. Cousin and close friend I believe. He should have had no trouble in getting both the king and the prince to fall in with Agamemnon’s plans. And yet the fact the High King has sent us as well means Ajax’ mission failed. What went wrong?’

  ‘Prince Achilles wasn’t here,’ said Eudorus. ‘It was as simple as that. He hasn’t been here for a couple of months. Nobody knew where he’d gone to, except, perhaps, Queen Thetis and she wasn’t about to tell. Things got quite heated in the end, the queen on one hand, the king on the other, Prince Ajax on the middle and Prince Achilles nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘Heated? Why?’ wondered Odysseus.

  ‘As you say, Prince Ajax had come on the same mission as you and King Nestor. To ask Prince Achilles to put the Myrmidons at King Agamemnon’s disposal when he sails against Troy.’

  ‘Yes. So?’

  ‘Queen Thetis said that even though she had no idea where Achilles is, she nevertheless knows his mind in the matter. According to her, Prince Achilles does not want to join Agamemnon’s army. He wants to stay in Phthia, get married, raise children, succeed his father in due course and rule his kingdom until his own son succeeds him.’

  ‘She said that, did she? What did Ajax say?’ I couldn’t tell from Odysseus’ tone whether he was surprised at Eudorus’ words or not.

  ‘He said she was wrong; that he knew his cousin better. That Achilles would do almost anything to bring the Myrmidons into battle. That he would rather die a hero and live in legend like Hercules than waste away and die an old man no-one would ever remember. Then he put the king on the spot and demanded to know his opinion. Peleus agreed with him that Achilles would join Agamemnon in the blink of an eye given the chance.’

  ‘Queen Thetis won’t have liked that!’ Odysseus sounded surprised—at the old king’s fortitude in the face of his wife inevitable outrage, perhaps.

  ‘She banished Ajax there and then,’ Eudorus explained. ‘She swore everyone to secrecy from what I hear—a command that is beginning to fall apart in her absence. I have no idea what she said to the king later and I’m quite relieved about that, I must say. Anyway, what, three days ago, maybe four, she went off as well—no-one knows where. And no sooner had she gone than the king sent a fast ship to Skyros with Dion the rhapsode aboard. I’d guess he and she have been trying to hide the whole sorry business from you in a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.’

  ‘I can see that. And I suppose the point of today’s exhibition was to establish to us—as much as to Ajax when you first put it on—that the Phthian army which Peleus can control is every bit as good as the Myrmidons which only the missing Achilles can control. If we or Ajax can convince Agamemnon of that, then there’s a chance he’ll settle for general Argeiphontes and forget about Achilles altogether.’

  ‘Yes; that’s it exactly. We had to hold back and take it really easy on them, though. For the gods’ sake don’t tell General Argeiphontes or the king!’

  ***

  I had become so engrossed in this conversation that, without thinking, I joined it. ‘So many secrets!’ I said. ‘Surely it would be better to tell the truth about everything! Tell the king you know he’s lying about Dion, that you think Ajax was right and Prince Achilles would rather die young and famous than live to old age in obscurity…’

  I stopped, because Odysseus was chuckling indulgently—something my father used to do before saying something like, ‘But you’re too young to understand these things, lad. Maybe when you’re older…’

  ‘Think,’ said Odysseus. ‘What is the likely outcome of telling a king to his face that you know he’s been lying?’

  ‘It would mean war,’ said Eudorus.

  ‘Right! War. Peleus against Agamemnon because we are his ambassadors. And Agamemnon wants war with Troy, not with Phthia. He’d find himself fighting Skyros too, as likely as not, with Peleus and Lycomedes being such good friends. And the Phthian army is pretty strong, as this afternoon proved, even if the Myrmidons were giving them an easy ride.’

  ‘Moreover,’ added Eudorus, ‘If Peleus goes to war with Agamemnon, then Achilles is honour-bound to join him. As Peleus’ son he’d have no choice. And that means the Myrmidons too!’

  ‘The exact opposite of what the High King wants, what we were sent here to arrange,’ said Odysseus. ‘We’d be far better to say nothing, go our way and let old King Peleus save face. That way Agamemnon gets the Phthian forces while we try to find Achilles and arrange for the Myrmidons to join the High King too. We’ll give poor old Dion a proper funeral in the morning and then be on our way.’

  The conversation was interrupted by King Peleus. ‘Rhapsode!’ he shouted. ‘Time to earn your supper!’

  I limped over to the fire, sat on the stool there, and sang. ‘Sing Goddess of the wedding of Ceryx and the heroic guests that attended there. Sing of the heart of the festival where the grandmother roasted so the people might feed. She laid down her strong brown daughters and let their tall golden children dance until all were consumed, going down to the grey…’

  ‘That was another very apt song you chose to sing last night,’ said Odysseus next morning as we lingered on the beach while Nestor and his men got the ship ready to depart. ‘Though you were lucky Nestor was too deep in conversati
on to notice the bit where Hercules came into it.’ He was silent for a moment, looking pensively into the heart of Dion’s funeral pyre. The morning wind blew cold across the bay, making the flames dance like naiads seducing Hylas to his watery death and roar like Nemean lions attacking Hercules. It was something he had arranged himself just as he had promised, out of respect for the dead rhapsode and in the hope it would comfort the grieving widow. Evadne, with some of her closest friends, was standing there beside us, tears running down her cheeks like molten gold in the pallid firelight. He had erected the pyre on the beach well within the view of the palace in case the king who said he didn’t recognise the corpse might want to watch over the departing spirit of his murdered messenger. It was the closest he could come to calling Peleus a liar without starting a war.

  ‘It’s an allegory, that song,’ he continued. ‘The roasting grandmother is an acorn. Her daughters are branches from the tree she becomes and their tall bright children are the flames. And they all go down to the grey like the rest of us.’ He lingered a few moments longer looking at the fire which was already ringed with grey ash then he turned to me and said, ‘Skyros,’ as though I hadn’t already worked our destination out. ‘We’re off to Skyros now; I’m keeping Peleus’ signet ring for the time-being but we have to check out Lycomedes.’

  He turned right round to the jetty and as he did so, someone else came hurrying across the beach. I was dazzled by the brightness both outside my eyes and inside, so it took me a few moments to recognise the stranger. It was Lord Hypatios with a couple of personal servants laden with his gear. ‘King Peleus wishes you to give me safe passage as far as Skyros,’ he said.

  I thought at once of what my captain had said about King Peleus sending someone aboard to stab our backs and cut our throats. But it seemed I was the only one harbouring such dark suspicions.

  ‘Of course he does,’ said Captain Odysseus cheerfully. ‘Welcome aboard, my lord.’

  3 – Skopelos

  i

  The presence of Lord Hypatios and his two servants made a marked difference to the atmosphere aboard Captain Odysseus’ ship Thalassa. As well as those two grim-faced, sinister retainers, the tall aristocrat seemed to bring with him that air of equivocation, mystery and danger which haunted Peleus’ court. It was clear enough that Hypatios was performing two functions—at least two, suggested Odysseus darkly, and maybe more. To begin with he must be carrying a simplified version of the secret message that Dion had committed to memory with such fatal consequences. Next, he was also almost certainly spying on us, and through us on Agamemnon and his preparations for war. Peleus and Lycomedes both almost certainly wanted more details of the High King’s schemes, as well as lists of those lesser kings planning to bring their armies under his aegis or—perhaps more importantly still—those who might refuse to do so. But on the other hand, Odysseus was more than a little interested in the message Hypatios was carrying, and how that might affect his own recruitment drive, particularly in the absence of Achilles. It became a grim sort of game. Even the most casual remark which passed between the two kings and the Phthian lord became freighted with innuendo. The most innocent observation likely to be gutted in the search for double meanings.

  Every now and then I seemed to see through the captain’s eyes and understood that nothing in these conversations was as it appeared to be. Hypatios remarked upon the efficiency of Thalassa’s oarsmen—but was he really trying to discuss how Agamemnon was beginning to pull the Achaean kings together? He observed the strength of the current we were fighting—but did that mean he knew that the High King’s plans were not proceeding as smoothly as he would like and was there a gathering movement pushing back against them? He praised the north wind blowing against our left shoulders and noted that it would help us when we finally began to run south—but did that mean he was thinking of the ease with which the northern islands might combine with the southern—Andros, Tinos, Syros, Paros and maybe even Naxos—if Skyros and Phthia led the way against the High King’s peremptory demands? All this before we even began to approach the extra elements, beginning with my captain’s off-hand remark of yesterday: perhaps Hypatios and his men were in truth seeking any opportunity to literally, actually stab us in the back or slit our throats as we slept.

  The Aegean Sea did not help. Although the weather remained calm and clement with that promising northerly breeze kissing our left cheeks as we headed east between the southern coast of Thrace and the northern coast of Euboea Island, nevertheless we found ourselves fighting that surprisingly powerful current. On the one hand this was hardly unexpected—it was the current that had swept Dion’s corpse on its makeshift raft down into the gulf and under our bows. But on the other hand, the tides in the Aegean do not rise or fall by much, so currents as fierce as this one were rare. Captain Odysseus shrugged fatalistically. We might be proceeding at our usual healthy pace under oar-power, he observed, but we were doing so over water that was sweeping us backwards almost as fast as we were being rowed forward. Even had this not been the case, Skyros was more than one day’s sailing distant, so we would have to anchor somewhere convenient overnight before our final run south-east, hopefully with that steady northerly swinging westwards behind us.

  By noon we were off the broad passage that led northward between two headlands into the great gulf named for Pagase, its main port. As Nestor was kind enough to point out at some length, it was at the shipyards of Pagase that Jason had Argo built, and from where he and his heroic crew set out on their voyage to Colchis. The tide turned as we passed the entrance to the gulf and began to push us eastwards so that by evening the grey and purple hump of Skiathos Island lay low on the northern horizon to our left as Captain Odysseus guided us into a welcoming bay on the south west corner of Skopelos Island with the sunset seeming to set the sea on fire behind us and turning the coastal hillside forest ahead of us to green-tinted copper and gold. I knew the place well, as did many mariners working up and down the islands along this stretch of the Aegean. It was a double bay separated by a low headland. The outer bay was a safe haven if the wind and weather turned foul, particularly as its beach sloped gently into the water so that it was possible to run your vessel right up onto the sand. However, the inner bay was safer still, surrounded by hills that stood against everything except a full-on westerly gale. Both bays provided popular places to overnight and to meet. They had a colourful history of secret assignations, smuggling and outright piracy. But that evening both bays seemed safe and innocent enough.

  ***

  At first glance, the inner anchorage appeared quite similar to the port at Phthia but it had several major differences. The seabed here sloped steeply upward and if you looked over the bows it was possible to see a jumble of dangerous-looking rocks lying perilously close beneath the hull. The rising sea-bed paused for a moment at the tide-line to present a curve of golden sand—but only for a moment. Immediately behind the fingernail of beach, hillslopes climbed skywards on all sides, forested thickly enough to conceal an army of enemies and a menagerie of wild animals; forested far too densely to tempt anyone to clear space for a house, let alone a farm, village or town. I was among those who looked over the bows as we entered the bay because, like our team of sail-handlers, I was fishing for our supper. Between us we had a flapping and wriggling pile of red and grey mullet, bream and wrasse. I’d lost count of the fish we pulled up, but the pile reached higher than my knees. Even so, we would need more than that to feed fifty oarsmen, a dozen sailhandlers, the steersman and his two helpers, the two kings, Lord Hypatios, their attendants and myself.

  As soon as Captain Odysseus eased us as close to the shore as was safe and dropped the great stone anchor, therefore, two teams of crewmen jumped down into the shallows and waded ashore. One team set about creating firepits and placing good-sized flat rocks convenient to them to serve as blocks for any butchery that needed to be done. Then they set up the spits with their supports ready for the cooking to begin. These tasks completed,
half went off in search of fire wood while the rest turned to setting up a rudimentary camp ready for the tents to arrive and be pitched in place. Latrines were dug next, a good way down the beach; designed to drain into the sea and be washed out at high tide. Our crew would have left it at that as they usually did, but Hypatios’ men added a screen of bushes so that their lord could relieve himself in private. The other team vanished into the forest immediately, armed with slings, spears and bows, hunting for something more substantial than fish for supper. Even though we appeared to be alone here, the captain left a harbour watch aboard as the rest of us jumped down and waded ashore. By the time we had set up our camp and the fire-pits were ablaze, the hunters were back. ‘We could have brought deer or goats,’ said the leader, a massive oarsman called Elpenor. ‘There were plenty enough. But they’d take far too long to roast.’ The hunters instead unloaded a half-grown fawn, a couple of tender-looking kids and a selection of hares and rabbits, all of which could be butchered, prepared and cooked almost as quickly as the fish. There would be plenty for all, especially as several loaves of bread almost the size of chariot-wheels had been brought ashore with the amphorae of wine.

  With the work done, the men began to take their ease, as did the kings and their unexpected guest, however—as though to match the harbour watch aboard his ship—Odysseus detailed a team led by Elpenor to explore the forest as soon as they had eaten. They were to go further afield than the hunters had done, checking for anyone likely to creep up on us. A gesture from Hypatios assigned his men to join Odysseus’ team. ‘Though I have to say,’ the captain assured Nestor and Hypatios apparently missing the Phthian lord’s signal, ‘I’m probably being over-cautious.’