by Mary Renault
This did me a good turn. For Pylas, being a gentleman and fearing I had heard, asked me to relate how I killed Skiron. It was half my work done for me.
After the songs had begun again, we were still speaking of the Isthmus. I said, “I fought my way through alive, and that’s one man’s work there. But by now someone else is working Skiron’s bit of road. So it will be, till the place is swept clean end to end. Not one man’s work, nor one kingdom’s either.” The singing was loud; the wine had just been round again. I said, “Two might do it.”
I saw his eyes shine. But he was shrewd, and had lived ten good years longer in the world than I. “That would be a war! But would it tempt the Eleusinians? What about their sea trade, if the road were open?” I shook my head; I had given this thought. “The road runs through Eleusis too. It would bring them trade when winter closes the seaways. Besides,” I said smiling, “their cattle might fatten in peace, if the Megarians kept theirs.”
He laughed. I saw he was listening man to man. But I would soon lose him, if I sounded too simple or too rash. I said, “Your father would need to treat with Xanthos, the Queen’s brother, not with me. But everyone knows in Eleusis that he fights for what he can carry away. Tell him the robbers’ holds are stuffed with booty. That will make him listen.”
Pylas passed me his drinking horn. Presently he said, “You have thought this out well, Theseus. Tell me, how old are you?” I said, “Nineteen.” I almost believed it myself by now. He looked at me, and began laughing into his beard. “What have they done in Eleusis? They set traps for deer and got a leopard. Don’t they know it yet? Tell me, lad, why are you doing this? What will it be to you, this time next year?”
“When you die, Pylas,” I said, “they will make a tomb for you, lined with dressed stone. They will put your ring on your finger and your sword in your hands; your best spear they will give you, and your offering cup, and the cup you drink from in Hall. After a hundred years, when the ring lies loose on bone, old men will say to their grandsons, ‘That is the tomb of Pylas son of Nisos, and these were his deeds.’ And the child will tell his grandson, who will tell his. But in Eleusis dead kings are dug into the fields like horse dung, and have no names. If I don’t write my epitaph, who will?”
He nodded, and said, “That is a good reason.” But still he looked at me, and I knew what he was going to say.
“Theseus, I have lived near thirty years hard by Eleusis. I know how a man looks who foreknows his end. It is in the blood of the Earthlings; they go to it like birds before whose eyes the snake is dancing. But if she dances for the leopard, the leopard jumps first.”
He was shrewd; I should have been a fool to lie to him. I said, “Where I come from, it is the consent that binds a man.” Then I said, “But I might meet it in battle. Who wants to live on without a name?”
“Not you, that is clear. But with leaven like you working in the lump, the custom might alter in Eleusis. There are tales of such things, in our fathers’ days.”
His words waked thoughts that had lain sleeping in my heart. Now after my victory new things seemed possible, and I was too young to hide it. As I looked into the core of the fire he said, “Yes, and we might find you a restless neighbor.”
I liked his frankness. We understood each other. “This is your father’s ox we are eating,” I said, “and my prize. I don’t know which is host or guest, but we are hearth-friends either way.” He scanned my face with one of his sharp bright looks; then he took my hand and gripped it.
The fire crumbled; the ashes grew red and gray with a few sparks of gold; the dogs mumbled their bones full-bellied. As it grew quiet, we leaned and fell to whispering; I could see more than one of my Minyans lying awake to watch if he would make love to me. We agreed together to press for war that autumn rather than wait for spring; like me, he was one to decide on a thing and do it. “Ask your father,” I said, “to say he has heard that Kerkyon knows his way across the Isthmus. My young men won’t like to be a rear guard.” He laughed and promised. Then we slept; I on my face, because my back was sore. Next morning when we all set off home, he gave me his gold-rimmed cup as a guest gift. The Companions stared, and wondered if they had stayed awake long enough.
It was a little after noon when we got back to Eleusis. I saw the people looking out for us; they cheered the boar-mask, which two men carried on spears. I had had enough of hiding my doings like a naughty boy.
The Palace day room was empty of her, but only just. The chief nurse was still there with the children, and the shuttle swung from the loom. When I went upstairs, the chamber door was bolted.
I walked off with my face on fire. I was too young to take it easily. I thought it would be all over the kingdom that my wife could put me out like a slave. When I had knocked the second time, I had heard a maid giggle within; and two servants passed as I turned away, wiping smiles off their faces. She did not treat me so lightly when we were in bed.
Before me were the stairs that went up to the roof. I ran up them, and looked down to the royal terrace. It was not very far; and there was no one about but a woman far off drying clothes. I slid between the teeth of the battlements, hung, and let go. From a boy I had known how to fall lightly.
I landed on my feet, and wrenched my ankle a little; not enough to lame me, but it hurt, and sharpened my anger. I ran to the window of the bedchamber, threw wide the curtains, and found her in her bath.
For a moment, it put me in mind of my mother’s room ten years back; the girl with hairpins and comb, the dress spread on the bed, the scented steam rising from the glazed red clay. My mother was whiter, and her scent more fresh and springlike; she had been younger, but I did not think of that. I heard the Queen’s breath hiss, and I saw her face.
Once in my boyhood, when my tutor had a beating stored for me, I came in by chance before he looked for it, and caught him getting his face slapped by a Palace girl. The beating was a hard one. Now too I came before my time; there was a diadem put out for her higher than the one she wore every day. She stared at me, knees up in the bath, her face unpainted and wet with steam, one foot stuck out while the nails were pared. I saw she would make me pay for it.
She snatched her foot back, making the maid drop the knife. “Go out,” she said, “and wait. We are not ready.” I might have been a servant. It was all I needed. “It is no matter, Madam,” I said, “that you were not there to welcome me. Something prevented you. We will say no more of it.” And I sat down on the bed. There was a stir and flutter among the women. But I saw from their quiet they were afraid of her. In my mother’s room, it would have been like a pigeon loft when the cat gets in.
She sat bolt upright in the bath. I picked up her purple bodice, and looked at the embroidery. “Fine work, Madam,” I said. “Is it your own?” She signed to one of the women, who wrapped her in white linen as she stood up. “What is this insolence? Have your senses left you? Get up, and go.” I glanced at the maids and answered, “We will talk, Madam, when we are alone. Let us remember who we are.”
Suddenly she rushed toward me, the linen clutched about her, her red hair streaming. I can’t remember all she called me: barbarian horsebreaker, son of cattle thieves, northern lout, a savage not fit to live indoors. The women shrank together like scared sheep, near to the door. I jumped up, shouted “Out!” and while their mouths were still gaping pushed them through it. Then I shot the bolt.
I went quickly back to her and grasped her elbows, holding her hands well back from my eyes. “Lady,” I said, “I never yet beat a woman; but I never saw one so forget herself. It is not for my honor to let my wife abuse me like a thief. Be quiet, and don’t force me to correct you. That would be no pleasure to either of us.”
For a moment she stood all stiff between my hands. Then her mouth opened. I had known there must be guards in call. But it was that or let her be my master.
When her eyes looked past me, I set my hand across her mouth. She tried to bite me, but I kept it there. She was strong for
a woman. As we swayed struggling, we tripped on the bath, and overturned it as we fell. There we lay in a wet welter on the checkered floor, among scents of spilled oils and unguents and broken jars from the bath stool. The linen sheet, which had not been girdled onto her, grew heavy with warm water and dragged away. “For once in this room,” I thought, “it shall be a man who says when.” In that same moment, I felt a pain in my shoulder like a bee-sting. She had caught up the dropped paring knife. It was not very long, but long enough, I think, to have touched the heart, only I moved and spoilt her aim.
Blood spread on the wet linen in great blots of scarlet. But I kept my hand over her mouth. “Think before you call,” I said. “Your guards are beyond the door; my dagger is here. If you send me below before my time, by Zeus you shall come with me.”
I gave her a moment more to think, and then let go. She drew a great breath—I suppose I had nearly choked her—then she turned her face against the bloody linen, and shook all over with weeping.
I was too young to have expected it. For a while I lay beside her staring like a fool, and could think of nothing better to do than pull out a broken crock from under her back, lest it should cut her, while my blood splashed down upon her breast. I wiped it off with the linen, and managed to stop the flow a little. Then I picked her up out of the mess and water, and carried her to bed.
After a while, one of the women scratched on the door, and asked if the Queen wanted anything. “Yes,” I said, “bring us some wine.” When it came I took it in; and after that we did not get up till lamp-lighting. It might have been longer, but she said the place must be cleared up before night. I must own it looked as if conquering troops had sacked it.
After this there was a time of quiet in Eleusis. I set myself to please her; once I had shown I was no one’s dog, I had no wish for strife. I slept no more away, and indeed had no call to wander. There were one or two of her girls who looked aslant in corners, now they thought they knew I had a roving eye; but I looked away. Sometimes I saw the woman who had wept for Kerkyon. She was a bath-pourer; but when she came to wait on me I used to call someone else. A look of hate strikes cold when one is naked.
We had had the first touch of morning frost, when heralds came from the King of Megara, calling for the Eleusinians to help him purge the Isthmus. The terms were those I had agreed on with Pylas: no more cattle raids, a fair share of the spoils, and free passage through either kingdom for the other’s traffic, when the road was open.
Xanthos called a war council, on the plain by the shore. This was the only men’s assembly the law of the land allowed. I came with my Guard, and led them to the accustomed place. I had told them to make a good entry, bold without swagger, which, as I see it, is the mark of a man who conceives his courage could be doubted. The warriors seemed to approve their style.
The Megarian herald spoke, putting in those arguments which are not graceful for kings to write in letters. The council was quite orderly. They had picked up from the Hellenes the use of the scepter, and I saw no one speak without it. Before long they had agreed on war; but the older men were for waiting until spring.
This was all very well, for people with the rest of their lives before them. I stood up, and held out my hand for the gold-bossed staff. “In winter,” I said, “men eat up the summer’s wealth. Why should these misbegotten thieves feast through a season on fat livestock that might be ours? With captive girls warming their beds who would be glad enough to change masters?” The young men liked this, and cheered. “Besides,” I said, “over so long, they will get wind of our coming. It will give them time to make their towers strong, and dig their gold into the ground. We should lose the richest of the booty, that at the best.” They all saw sense in this; Xanthos too had listened. He reminded the men we should be in two days’ march from home with no sea crossing, and gave his casting vote for war in autumn.
The Megarian herald then proposed that Kerkyon, who had done things in the Isthmus, should lead the vanguard. I kept my eye on Xanthos, from whom I looked for some hindrance or other; I thought he might not like the noise. But when he could be heard, he said very civilly that there could be nothing against it.
I felt well pleased with myself. I had thought I should have my work cut out with him. Once or twice, since the tussle in the marriage chamber, I had caught his eye on me. I thought my eloquence had won him over. A boy is youngest when he thinks himself a man.
3
WHICH OF YOUTH’S PLEASURES can compare with the making ready for one’s first big war? One’s spear shaft oiled and tried, one’s sword and dagger and spear blade ground sharp enough to cut hairs with, one’s chariot polished till one can see one’s face in it, one’s leather sweet with beeswax; thinking, as one goes about, of tricky thrusts and guards, or trying them out with a friend; visiting the stable three times a day to look at one’s horses. I had wondered what I should do for a charioteer, but Xanthos had found me one. Before I came, his pair had been the only Hellene horses in Eleusis. I was pleased to find him so helpful.
The evening before we marched, I walked upon the Lower Terrace, and looked out across the wrestling ground to the mountains of Attica, fading into the dim eastern sky. Standing there in the dusk, with the Companions not far away, I thought of those who claimed to love me, and whether there was one to whom I dared say, “If I fall in battle, take my sword to Athens and give it to the King.” But there was none I dared trust so far. “Better so,” I thought. “Hope never hurt men yet, so why should I send him grief?” So I went back to the others, and joined in the laughing and horseplay. Their keenness was good to see.
The Queen rose early that night from supper. When I followed her up, not many words were spoken; but we did not forget there were lonely nights ahead. After our last embrace, it touched me to feel her eyelids wet. I told her to keep that for my death day, and not to go before the gods.
The trumpet woke me too soon, and the shouts of men assembling. I got up to arm myself, while she lay watching with half-shut eyes. The civetskin cover with its purple lining lay heaped on the painted floor. Her hair looked as dark as red porphyry in the glimmer of daybreak.
I strapped on my loin-guard and clipped my greaves, and put on a white quilted tunic, for the air was frosty. I wore my armbands too and my royal necklace; I have never cared to go into battle looking like a man who would rather not be singled out. When I had put up my hair, I fitted on my new helmet made of Phaia’s hide, and looked at her smiling, to remind her how we had made up our quarrel. But she only lay still and heavy, her mouth smiling without her eyes. The window lightened; the white bird whistled softly, and said, “Kiss me again.”
From the Great Court out of sight I heard my chariot clattering from the stables. As I turned to pick up my shield, I thought within myself, “Why be angry? I am a wolf in a dog-pack here. A Minyan would not be angry. Among the Earthlings, no man would hope to be higher than I am lifted. Men come and go, they say, but the belly carries the child. I should know no good to strive for beyond this, to be chosen for the Mother, to quicken a woman and to die; I should not ask to outlive the height of my fortune. Why am I angry, then? Is it because I am a Hellene that the blood about my heart says to me, ‘There is something more’? Yet what it is I do not know, nor whether there is a name for it. It may be there is some harper, the son and the son’s son of bards, who knows the word. I only feel it about my heart; it is a brightness, and it is a pain.”
But as everyone knows, it is neither good nor wise for a man to go off to war bad friends with his wife, and least of all for a king. So I did not ask why she lay there, when she should have been dressed to see me off. I bent to kiss her; she lifted her head like a wave drawn up by the spring moon, and her mouth as if of itself took hold of mine; then she sank down again without a word. I paused; it was in my heart to ask her if she had conceived by me; but I did not know if her silence was sacred, and unlucky to break. So I said nothing, and went away.
Across the border we joined
with the Megarians, and marched to the end of the guarded road. After that it passed on into the Isthmus, where no one mended it, and the weeds grew over; and instead of the guard-towers that stand where a king’s law runs, there were only the holds of the robbers, squatting in the rocks above. Some were nameless, some had both name and fame. The first of these was the castle of Sinis.
It stood on a pine-grown hillside, a square tower built by Titans, no man knows when, of gray-black limestone. Sinis had made his den in it, as the hyena does in an old burned city. Its walls were steep; we needed ladders and ramps to take it. When we came to hew the pines, we found that the tales were true. Tied into them were pieces of men’s bodies, sometimes a limb, sometimes a trunk. It had been his custom to bend down two strong saplings, bind the man between them, and let them fly asunder. The ropes were still on the trunks, some of them great trees now, forty feet high; he had been at the game for years. And, in case you wonder whether some god he served demanded such a sacrifice, I may say he did it for pleasure, and had never pretended anything else.
We took the tower on the third day. He had not enclosed the spring within the walls, so sure of himself he had grown, offering victims to himself in his accursed grove. He fought in his courtyard like a cornered rat, after we had stove the gate in; and it was thanks to me we took him alive, for I remembered his face in the ambush, when I passed through before.
What we could get down from the trees, we gave a decent funeral; but there were things we could not reach, besides what the ravens must have carried off. The wood was alive at evening, like a cave of bats, with souls of unburied men keeking and flittering. We gave them what they were thirsty for. When he saw the saplings bent for him, he did not even face the reckoning like a man; he knew something of pain, who had made it so long his study. He should have been left to hang, as those others had, till life bled out of him. But when he did not die, and the greater part of him hung aloft crying, it made me feel sick, not having a stomach as strong as his had been. I was ashamed to let anyone see me give an enemy the best of the bargain, so I put my young men to shoot at him for sport. Before long a bad shot finished him. We had dispatched his men already. When we had taken his stuff and the women from the castle, we set fire to the grove. The beard of the flame hid the hilltop from us; and the smoke was seen at Eleusis.