Beware of Greeks

by Peter Tonkin

  Odysseus went straight to Rhea’s head and gently lifted it. The queen herself stepped into her daughter’s room, caught up a sizeable bowl which she found there, returned and held it ready. Odysseus pulled the drooling mouth open and poured the contents of Ajax’s vial into it. Rhea choked a little. Her eyes flickered. She swallowed. As with Ajax, the result was immediate but fortunately the nurse had eaten and drunk little. What she puked up was easily contained within the bowl, which seemed particularly well-suited to the task. Within the inevitable stench of vomit there were strange odours of mice and honey. The mouse-smell I remembered from Ajax’s poisoning and was obviously associated with hemlock poisoning, but I could not understand the honey to begin with.

  Odysseus straightened. ‘If Ajax is anything to go by, she will have a moment or two of lucidity no doubt brought on by the effort of vomiting. Then she will sleep; and wake in a few hours’ time. If she is hungry when she does wake, perhaps she might have a little kykeon barley gruel without the goat’s cheese.’ He looked at the king, the queen and the serving women as Nestor nodded his agreement. ‘It will be necessary to split the handmaidens’ attention between Rhea and the Princess if you wish the nurse to recover.’

  ‘Leave me, all of you,’ came a quiet voice from Deidamia’s chamber. ‘I will do well enough on my own. Look after my poor Rhea.’

  iii

  Deidamia had no sooner spoken that Rhea’s eyelids fluttered. Queen Larisa bent over her, face to face, regal eyes blazing into the elderly, faded, flickering ones. ‘Who did this?’ she demanded.

  ‘The queen,’ came the faintest whisper. ‘The queen sent honey cakes to Princess Deidamia but her stomach was too delicate… She gave them to me for she knows I love…’

  There was no doubt in Lycomedes’ mind which queen the whispering nurse was referring to. Rhea said more, but her words were lost beneath the orders the king was barking at the princess’s handmaidens. By the time the poisoned nurse fallen back, fainting, Captain Adonis had been alerted to search out Queen Thetis and her women. Lycomedes and Larisa went to help the captain by insisting that veils be lifted on his command. Odysseus, Nestor and I were guided back to the megaron where we waited, like the crowd of Lycomedes’ courtiers, listless in spite of the shock that these violent events had given us. But in fact the shocks were by no means over.

  We had no sooner settled down than one of the guards I recognised from the first time I had entered the citadel’s main gate came rushing in. ‘Captain Adonis!’ he gasped. ‘Has anyone seen the captain? It’s urgent!’

  ‘He’s in the women’s quarters searching for Queen Thetis,’ answered Odysseus. ‘Is there anything we…’

  ‘Queen Thetis!’ interrupted the guard. ‘But Queen Thetis is at the gate!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ snapped Nestor. ‘What is she doing at the gate?’

  ‘Lord Hypatios,’ gabbled the guard. ‘Lord Hypatios has summoned some men he had hidden in the city. They are holding the gate for the queen while she waits for her chariot!’

  ‘Nestor!’ snapped Odysseus. ‘Take this man to King Lycomedes and Captain Adonis so he can report.’ The old king’s mouth opened but Odysseus continued relentlessly. ‘It has to be you, old friend. No-one else would dare enter the women’s quarters uninvited!’

  Nestor saw the wisdom of Odysseus’ words and obeyed at once. Odysseus swung round and ran out of the megaron with me as close behind him as I could manage. We were in the citadel’s courtyard in moments, just in time to see Hypatios usher his black-robed, still-veiled queen up into the chariot. Her women were scrambling into the cart beside it. Odysseus and I pounded across the courtyard. ‘Guards!’ bellowed the captain. ‘Guards close the gates!’ But it was a forlorn hope. Not only did the order come far too late, the guards themselves were being held at sword-point by the men the drunken watch-keeper from Nerites had seen being hidden in the upper town in preparation for this very moment. Hypatios cracked his whip. The chariot rolled through the gates, gathering pace as it came onto the down-slope of the hill, then, in a cloud of dust, it was gone. The cart thundered out and down in its wake. The outsiders who had held the gate simply melted away so that by the time Odysseus and I reached it, there was nothing and no-one to be seen except the sheepish guards.

  King Lycomedes appeared at the palace’s main entrance with Nestor at one shoulder and Adonis at the other, his courtiers crowding behind him. ‘What is it?’ he called. Odysseus did not seem to hear the question, because he was deep in thought again, so I answered on his behalf. ‘Queen Thetis and her women have gone, your majesty. Lord Hypatios has taken them all, no doubt to the ships waiting on the far side of the island.’

  The king stopped in his tracks, his face a picture of conflicting emotions; the most obvious one was relief. I could see why. His murderous guest was gone. His harem, daughters, court and other guests were no longer under threat. If Odysseus was correct about Thetis’ hold over him, then his secret was also safe. If his household was no longer at risk, then his life could return to its indulgent normality, with only Agamemnon’s warlike demands to deal with. And after the last few days, those no doubt seemed like a relatively simple matter. It was as though great storm clouds had been hanging low over the citadel on the mountain peak, then a bright ray of sunshine had suddenly broken through them. ‘A toast,’ he said, clapping his hands. ‘Come! Everybody back to the megaron! We must celebrate. There will be toasts.’

  ‘Shall we not pursue them, Majesty?’ asked Captain Adonis.

  ‘Pursue them? Certainly not! We are well rid of them and that is the first toast I shall drink! To the megaron, everybody.’

  ***

  ‘Perhaps,’ suggested Odysseus, ‘The young ladies could be persuaded to complete their dance. It is still early, there is much to celebrate as your majesty has observed, and in anticipation of the event that was so sadly interrupted I had ordered my men to visit my ship Thalassa and bring more gifts. These gifts are for the fair dancers themselves should you allow them to take them. We have all kinds of jewellery and adornments made of pearls and precious stones from beyond the empire of the Hittites and as far south as Egypt all set in silver and gold.’

  The captain’s voice rang all around the megaron, adding to the sense of festivity that had intensified with one toast after another until Lycomedes had called for his wives and daughters to join us. They all had, except for those tending Rhea, which included Princess Deidamia who was still consumed with guilt at the fact that honey-cakes meant for her had nearly killed the good old nurse instead. There was a rustle of excitement through the room at his suggestion. Lycomedes and Larisa exchanged glances, then capitulated in the face of their daughters’ clear desire to complete their dance and see the presents brought to reward them for doing so.

  The young women disappeared, no doubt to organise and prepare themselves. The atmosphere in the unusually crowded megaron was tense with expectation. Elpenor, Perimedes and Eurylocus appeared, all laden. As the musicians entered and settled themselves beside the fire pit, Odysseus helped his men arrange the gifts on the table in front of the king. They were precisely as he had described, together with polished silver mirrors. But then he turned on Elpenor with an uncharacteristic frown. ‘You fool! Why did you bring these?’ he demanded, lifting a pair of swords in jewel-encrusted scabbards with matching daggers. ‘They were to remain aboard! Well, never mind.’ He turned to the beaming king. ‘When the dance is over, your majesty, and your lovely daughters have made their selection, please honour me by adding these to the gifts I have already given you.’ He shook his head, glared at the unfortunate Elpenor and took his place once more.

  The music started again. The young women whirled into the megaron in those two interweaving snakes, clapping and stamping as they span and danced. Even though I knew the beautiful princess Deidamia was not amongst them, I was still entranced; still sought to see beneath or through those veils to make out the faces of the beautiful young dancers. Alas, I had no success
at all. They remained a dazzling whirl of colours. Red, yellow and blue in all shades, scarlet, crimson and indigo and even one costume in Tyrian purple, which I would have thought to have been Deidamia’s had I not known where she was. The dancing grew faster and faster, the stamping and clapping louder and louder, the whirling so rapid that I felt as though my head was spinning rather than the dancers’ lissom bodies. And then, just at the moment I believed the musicians could play no more quickly and the dancers could twirl no more wildly or interweave no more rapidly, it all stopped. Silence, so sudden and absolute that it seemed to echo. The dancers froze, then sank most gracefully into deep curtseys, their dresses and veils spreading in multicoloured pools upon the floor as though the lithe bodies were sinking like naiads beneath the surfaces of their gaudy little lakes.

  There was a moment more of stillness. Lycomedes rose to lead the applause. As the megaron echoed to the storm of appreciation, the young women slowly straightened, seeming to rise out of their varicoloured pools. Even before the applause died, Lycomedes gave a broad gesture as though welcoming the princesses to his table—which in a way he was, but not to eat or drink. Shyly at first, they all moved towards the jewellery and trinkets, then, with increasing confidence, they began to go through the gleaming pile, spreading it along the table as they selected and tried on rings, bangles, necklaces and headpieces, swapping them amongst themselves as sisters often do, sharing rather than taking. How they could see to make their comparisons and their selections through the veils I shall never know. But so they did, until each princess, aided by her sisters, had selected what suited her best. They stepped back, curtsied to their father, curtsied to the generous guest who had supplied the precious finery and turned to go.

  Ajax burst into the crowded megaron, blundering out of the corridor that led in from the courtyard. ‘Attack!’ he shouted. ‘We’re under attack!’

  Odysseus automatically reached for the swords Elpenor had brought by apparent accident but they were gone. Two of the dancers, one in Spartan crimson and the other in Tyrian purple were standing, sword in hand, veils thrown back, narrow eyes searching for the enemy. ‘Achilles,’ said Odysseus softly, ‘Patroclus. Welcome! We’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘Odysseus!’ shouted Ajax. ‘this isn’t part of your clever scheme. We really are under attack!’

  We arrived in the circular courtyard in a shapeless crowd; the only ones amongst us properly armed were the young men dressed in women’s garments. Odysseus scanned the place with a soldier’s eye and when I followed his gaze I saw that there were men armed with bows and arrows in the four inward-looking towers and along the tops of the walls. Adonis and his guards stood disarmed and helpless once more, surrounded by yet more men. And in command of it all was Lord Hypatios.

  ‘Not here, your majesty,’ he called. ‘If you ever want to see your pretty daughter Deidamia alive again you need to go to the ledge behind the palace. You’ll find the princess waiting for you there with Queen Thetis keeping her company. Her majesty has one or two things she wants to discuss with you. And with you, Prince Achilles.’

  iv

  Unsurprisingly Lord Hypatios’ words caused a good deal of confusion. The crowd of assorted guests, courtiers, servants and slaves—masculine and feminine—all turned at once, blocking the way so that what might have been a swift walk became slow and cluttered. Not even Ajax could force his way through. But the massive warrior made good use of the delay. ‘I really don’t understand all of this, Odysseus,’ he rumbled. ‘Just what in Hades’ name is actually going on?’

  ‘I suppose it had some of its origins in those six dead babies,’ answered Odysseus. ‘Did you know about Queen Thetis’ babies? How they were all stillborn before Achilles arrived. They forged her as a smith takes copper and tin to forge into strong, sharp bronze. No wonder her love for the seventh son, the one that lived, also became something so dangerously sharp and strong. A love that wasn’t tested, though, until Agamemnon called the boy to war and she realised she was going to lose him to death after all. But it also began in another place at another time. Not with the seventh birth but with the first murder.’

  ‘When the apprentice rhapsode had his throat cut on the beach at Skopelos,’ I said helpfully.

  ‘No, lad,’ said Odysseus. ‘The first murder took place long before that and it took place here on Skyros. It’s so obvious now I think about it – it’s been in plain sight all along. The secret murder which gave Queen Thetis such a hold over Lycomedes when she somehow discovered the truth.’ As he spoke we at last managed to force our way into the palace, but the corridors in front of us were still too crowded to allow swift passage. ‘Imagine how it must have been all those years ago,’ he continued. ‘Young King Lycomedes, newly enthroned, not yet settled; with no firm grip as yet on his people the Dolopions. A youthful shadow of the man you see today. And what happens to him? The most popular and powerful hero still living resigns his kingship over Athens then arrives here on Skyros proposing to retire from public life and take up the position of a lowly farmer. The people flock to see him, to honour him; almost to worship him. The young king sees at once that his throne is all-but lost. That this would-be farmer, the ex-king Theseus of Athens, could take his kingdom away from him with no trouble at all. So what does he do? He befriends the old man. He offers to guide him round his farm, to show him the most advantageous places to plant his crops, his olive groves and his vines. The most verdant slopes to feed his flocks of sheep and goats. And then, at the pinnacle of the steepest and most precipitous of these slopes, he gives the old king a gentle push. One push. As simple as that. Done in an instant with no looking back. And Theseus, what little they find of him at the bottom of the cliff, is no longer a threat.’

  ‘Lycomedes murdered Theseus?’ Ajax gasped. ‘But that’s monstrous! Unforgivable!’

  ‘Indeed it is. And just imagine how Lycomedes’ precious reputation would suffer if the facts were made public! At the time it would have ruined him. Even now, it would do some serious damage.’

  ‘And Queen Thetis threatened to do just that?’ demanded Ajax. ‘Good thing too if she did it! Serve him right, the snake in the grass!’

  ‘She threatened to do so unless Lycomedes did everything she demanded,’ continued Odysseus as we approached the megaron along the passage from the courtyard. ‘Starting with agreeing to offer Achilles and Patroclus a perfect hiding-place in his harem. They are light and swift—nothing like you, Ajax. Give them the dresses and the veils and they disappear amongst the women with no-one any the wiser. Which the king was happy to allow, because rumour, confirmed by Thetis no doubt, suggests that Achilles and Patroclus are more than friends. That they are, in fact lovers.’

  ‘So that the women and girls in Lycomedes harem would be safe from their attentions,’ I said.

  ‘Precisely so,’ he nodded. ‘Everything settled down. Thetis and Peleus watched from a distance. Achilles was safely hidden. The Trojan campaign seemed far away. But then you arrived in Phthia, Ajax, and brought unpleasant reality with you. Agamemnon was clearly not going to forget about the smaller kingdoms like Phthia and Skyros and he was never going to take ‘no’ for an answer. He wanted Achilles and the Myrmidons and no alternative would do. Besides, you know Achilles better than anyone except Patroclus. You grew up together. You make no secret of the fact that Achilles would almost certainly leap at the chance to lead the Myrmidons into battle, were the offer to be made to him directly.’

  ‘Peleus puts on the display designed to prove the Phthian army is the equal of the Myrmidons,’ I said. ‘But as you say, it’s immediately obvious that there is no comparison between them.’

  ‘And in fact Peleus has done himself more damage still,’ added Odysseus. ‘For both of us can now tell Agamemnon that Phthia should be able to supply an army of her own as well as Achilles’ Myrmidons. Peleus panics. The instant you leave, he sends his rhapsode Dion to Scyros with a long, detailed message for Lycomedes. A message that is so long and complic
ated that only a rhapsode could commit it to memory but even so the old man has to share it with his apprentice.’

  ‘And the message?’ asked Ajax, forcing his way into the megaron at last, looking over the heads of everyone milling in there, then down at us beside him with a shrug and a shake of his head.

  ‘That you must be deceived at all costs. That Lycomedes has to convince you that he has no idea where Achilles is and he simply must make you believe that, for the moment at least. However, in the longer term the two old kings must find a way to satisfy Agamemnon’s demands or he will destroy them and their kingdoms. Therefore Lycomedes must begin to negotiate with the suddenly unwelcome guests in his harem how best to move the two young men back to Phthia and into command of the Myrmidons, ready for the Trojan campaign.’

  ‘But what’s to stop Achilles and Patroclus from just getting aboard the first ship and sailing home if I’m right and Achilles wants to go to war before all the glory goes to someone else?’ asked Ajax.