Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  “We are most grateful to the Archontakis Shipping Foundation for their financial support. If we are successful this season, they have agreed to fund a fuller excavation next year.” Richard, basking in the limelight, beamed as he glanced round at the reaction on the faces. “May I also thank Mr Stelios Ioannou, for his excellent handling of the practical arrangements of our arrival on the island.”

  Twisting her head to follow Richard’s gaze, Thea noticed Stelios was standing at the back of the room. He must have slipped in unnoticed and now seized her glance with a broad grin. She immediately flinched at the unwelcome familiarity and a wave of blackness gripped her again.

  “Please now permit me to introduce someone whom I have had the pleasure to be acquainted with since his undergraduate days.” Richard’s voice drifted far far away. Thea grasped her stiff chair to steady herself. “My valued and distinguished associate, Dr ………” The words hardly registered on her mind as the darkness enveloped her and the floor came up to meet her.

  ************************************************

  “Stand back everyone. Give her air.” Thea blinked back at the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Her mind had splintered into fragments of confusion, refusing to coalesce to make sense. She recognised at once Mark leaning over her, wearing a concerned expression but the other face was unfamiliar.

  “Thea,” the stranger appeared to have taken charge of the situation. “I’m just checking your pulse to make sure you’re alright.” She felt a light pressure squeezing her wrist and a strange tingling sensation sweeping her body.

  “You’ll live” the newcomer grinned reassuringly. “Looks like a sudden drop in blood pressure. When did you last eat?” At last some of the fog engulfing her mind was starting to disperse as she thought back. In her haste to catch the connecting flight in Athens she had skipped lunch.

  “Breakfast time.”

  “Let’s help you back onto your chair and I’ll grab some biscuits for you to nibble.” She felt herself being lifted gently onto feet that refused to obey and eased into a chair. The stranger dug into his bag and unwrapped a foil pack, which he placed in her hand. After a couple of chews, the sugar appeared to be taking effect and her body was becoming trustworthy again.

  “Thank you” she said gratefully.

  “I don’t think you’ve met Dr Rob Hughes,” said Mark “our geophysics specialist for the project. Rob and his assistant are going to be staying behind with you when the team relocates to Paliki.”

  “Pleased to meet you Thea.” The accent was educated, but neutral, suggesting Hampshire or the Home Counties. With his weathered skin, blanched hair and uneven trimmed beard, it was not the most handsome face Thea had ever encountered but there was a humour behind the eyes.

  “Please don’t let me hold you up,” Thea said noticing the hall had drained of people.

  “Don’t worry,” Mark said reassuringly. “Richard has gone on with everyone for pizza. Are you up to joining us for tomorrow’s early start? You have a full day ahead with an excursion around the island, while Richard and I hold the press conference, followed by dinner hosted by The Foundation.”

  Thea shook her head feeling a mounting frustration at how her body was behaving. Her limbs felt weak, still tingling and bristling, as if shot through with a bolt of electricity. For weeks she had been speculating on possible locations for the palace, but this threatened to jeopardise her work. “I think some fresh air and an early night will do me good,” she replied.

  “In that case you had better take these,” said Rob reaching into his bag and stuffing an unopened food pack into her hand. “It’s from the flight but it will save you searching for something to eat. You know troops can’t go into battle on empty stomachs!” It was an odd turn of phrase, but Thea accepted the package gratefully.

  A voice from over Thea’s shoulder interrupted them. “I would be most happy to escort Dr Sefton back to the hotel, to ensure her safe return.” She twisted her head to discover Stelios, who must have observed the whole incident, hovering in the background.

  “No that won’t be necessary,” Thea replied, firmly declining and feeling uneasy at the way this man singled her out. “Please don’t trouble yourself as I will be perfectly fine.”

  They accompanied her out of the library, Mark holding tightly onto her arm as they descended the white marbled steps onto the darkened street.

  “Now go,” she said, releasing Mark’s hand from her arm as they reached the street corner. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “If you are sure?” She nodded her head and then watched their retreating shapes, conscious that Stelios was hanging back in the half-light.

  “Allow me to call you a taxi at least,” he said reluctant to desert his post.

  “Thanks but I can find my way. The walk will do me good.”

  “Of course, Dr Sefton, I forget that you have been on the island before.” The comment punctured her feelings and Thea felt grateful for the darkness to conceal her reddening cheeks. “My boss is flying in tomorrow for the press conference,” Stelios continued. “I have no doubt he will be most keen to make your acquaintance.” He rolled his eyes over her body, as if admiring a prized acquisition, a satisfied expression playing on his lips. “In the meantime, if there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to call me.”

  “I appreciate your concern but I‘m sure you must have other pressing matters. If you will excuse me, I’ll say goodnight.” And without waiting for his reply, Thea turned and ventured out into the blackened town.

  Chapter 3

  Troy

  The household was starting to stir. Odysseus could hear the movement of the servants in the kitchen areas, as the first bread was being rolled out, kneaded and prepared for baking. Already the smell of smoke hung in the air as the palace ovens were being lit and stoked for the day. Yet still the main hall was quiet as he nursed his thoughts from far away on a distant plain. The other members of the household appeared to be sleeping. “Untroubled by the dreams the gods sent them,” he thought wistfully.

  “Oh Basileos, may I put m

  ore kindling on the fire for you? Surely you must be cold sitting here, now the flame has died?” the maid servant asked anxiously. He knew that the question came partly out of care but was also tainted by fear. Although unspoken within the household except perhaps in hushed whispers, the events from the past and the fate of her predecessors were not forgotten. And the festival of Apollo was nearly upon them, which marked the twentieth year since his return.

  “Yes, that would be agreeable.” He responded with forced cheerfulness, trying to assuage her fears and pulling his cloak closer to him. “And can you fetch me something to drink. Perhaps a cup of mixed wine if there is some left over from last night.”

  “Certainly, master.”

  “And bring me some meat and bread too from the larder.” Odysseus added, thinking with satisfaction of the palace well-stocked, the result of years of good management and order within the oikos. The gods had certainly been good in providing all. Again he thought of the approaching feast to celebrate Apollo’s day, where the marks of his well governed oikos and kingdom would be on display for all to see.

  “Of course, at once.” The young woman quickly refreshed the firewood, the flames greedily licking the fresh fuel and billowing out plumes of thick grey smoke. Then she retreated to do her master’s bidding. Odysseus recognised her as one of the slaves captured in a raid on the northern mainland some years ago. Then she had been just a slip of a girl of perhaps twelve years. Now she must be at least twenty years old. It occurred to him that she must be of a similar age to him, when as a younger warrior he had first set foot on the plain of Troy all those years ago. He and this young woman, now a lowly serving maid, had shared a similar fate of youthful exile from their home polis, far away from their family and those who were dearest to them.

  Odysseus recalled that very first time he stepped off the ship, beached along the sandy shore with the other black
ened hollowed-out boats. His men were in buoyant mood, chattering excitedly and bristling with hope that the war would be brought swiftly to an end. With his farming eye, he noticed the wide swathe of flattened land as the chilly Boreas wind blew down from the straits and buffeted his himation around him. These were not the craggy and rugged contours of Ithaka, where vines and olives flourished in the loamy soil, but open grassland and pastures ideal for horse-breeding and cattle raising. And watching over the plain, flanked by the low hills, he glimpsed for the first time Troy, with its high commanding towers and impenetrable walls, and shuddered. To take the city was not going to be easy, he thought.

  They were setting camp close to the mouth of the wide meandering river Skamandros, when the messenger arrived.

  “You are urgently summoned to the war council,” the man panted, “by the great Anax himself.”

  “Are you sure it is I who am required?” he asked, taken by surprise, as he lashed the canvas to a wooden stay. With his small contingent of men, he had doubted his place amongst this inner council.

  “Apparently your reputation for smooth words and persuasion goes before you,” the other answered.

  “So you will be elevated far above us,” his captain, Eurylochos, quipped. He looked across and noticed how the other man’s jaw had hardened and the body broadened out under the labour of rowing from the sea voyage. Certainly they had come a long way from those boyhood days when they had wrestled and swum together from the harbour beach.

  “Let’s see if we can bring a swift end to this business and return to Ithaka,” he said, buckling his sword around his waist and reaching for his horsehair plumed helmet.

  He found the leaders of the Greeks already assembled in the billowing tent of Agamemnon, who was seated on a bench cushioned by animal pelts. He raised his head and acknowledged Odysseus through long eye lashes as he entered.

  “Ah Odysseus, please join us in our deliberations.” He turned his head to the side and snapped, “Fetch food and wine, wench!” Though they were newly arrived, clearly Agamemnon had already procured a woman to warm his bed.

  Odysseus glanced around at the other gathered men recognising the faces. As customary Menelaos, with his softer features and golden hair, flanked his brother. Standing several heads taller than the next man and solid as oak, stood Ajax, son of Telemon. The men had nicknamed Ajax “The Big One” as he towered over them strong, broad and unbendable. Odysseus recognised at once Nestor but there was also a stranger amongst them, whom he assumed must be Idomeneus, famed for throwing the spear, newly arrived from the hundred-citied Krete. A shudder ran down Odysseus’ backbone as he spied Ajax son of Oileus in the corner a mocking smile playing on his lips. Who knew what vile deeds this man might commit if he was left unchecked?

  “We were considering how best to take the city,” the Anax continued. “I say we prepare for battle at first light and take them by storm. With the finest Greek warriors it will not take long to bring those Trojan dogs to their knees.”

  “If I may be so bold, Anax.” The voice belonged to Nestor, the king of Pylos, a kingdom on the mainland only three days sail from Ithaka. The words resonated loud and weighty. “I once encountered a not dissimilar occasion as a young man, many moons ago. Though we were many and brave warriors, that heavy-armed and well-defended citadel inflicted much death and injury upon us. For this reason, I say better to lay siege to the city and wait patiently. If I may recall…”

  “Perhaps there is a third way,” Odysseus interjected, aware of Nestor’s fondness for reminiscence of stories from the past and battles from long ago. “For those walls are impenetrable and we may have to wait until we are all old men to Troy see fall. Might we send a delegation to the Trojans to seek for terms of Peace and appeal to their king to return Helen and make amends to Menelaos, her wronged husband? For our arrival will not have gone unnoticed by the Trojans and they also will be eager to see us gone and avoid a long drawn out war.”

  Agamemnon glanced at his brother and there was a slight discernible bow of Menelaos’ head. “Very well Odysseus, you have persuaded me. Menelaos shall lead the delegation and, as you have a way with words, you shall accompany him.”

  They set out at first light, crossing the open plain by chariot, uncertain what fate awaited them. The thundering of the horses filled Odysseus’ ears, as their hooves pounded the earth, and then he realised that the noise also came from his own heart beating wildly. The image of his infant son flitted across his mind and tearful pleading eyes of his mother as he tore himself away from her embrace. The mission had to be successful to put a stop to this madness. He glanced across at Menelaos, noticing in his haste to reclaim his errant wife, he had not groomed himself that morning. With a flush rising on his cheeks and eyes shining, he realised the man whipping the horses was driven by passion rather than reason.

  Close-up those city walls seemed even more impregnable with the towered gateways and thickened ramparts. They could easily repel a swarm of warriors like a bull flicking off an irritating fly with its tail. They were right to sue for peace he thought again.

  They were met at the city gate by a small delegation and allowed to pass through, escorted to the citadel on high. The city was in the throes of preparing for War. Banks of suspicious eyes and stolen glances greeted them as they passed through the narrow streets, mothers shielding their children with their bodies and craftsmen halting their hammering to watch. Silence followed their steps as if their presence heralded the arrival of death and destruction. Only the wails of babies punctuated the air. Though these were strange peoples of whom he knew so little, he could see the fear rubbed on their faces.

  When they entered the throne room, the hall was crowded with a throng of people, all richly attired and flashes of gold hanging from their bodies. With shock, he noticed that the women, even those of marriageable age, did not veil their faces to receive strangers. On Ithaka, never had he seen his own mother expose her face outside the chamber, let alone his young wife.

  “Welcome strangers.” An older man, distinguished by his long white beard and purple robes, addressed them. “I am Priam, king of the Trojans and ruler of this city.” He was sat on a high stone-carved chair, purple robes and a profusion of gold distinguishing his status as a high-born. Besides him sat his queen, Hekabe, a woman past her childbearing years but her face bore a dignified and regal beauty. Despite his wife’s ample skills with the loom, suddenly Odysseus felt under-dressed and ill-prepared in his simple warrior’s tunic in the face of this dazzling display of wealth.

  The king gestured for them to sit on two wooden benches, hastily set out for them and waited for them to settle before continuing.

  “And this is my trusted and wise counsellor Antenor,” he said gesturing to an upright man standing beside the throne, “and my eldest son, Hector.” They exchanged courteous nods of acknowledgment. It was obvious from the flecked muscles of the sword arm and tough strong body that Hector was a prime warrior like himself. Yet the son had a forbearance that was much to his liking and, under other circumstances, they might have formed a strong guest friendship.

  “And these are some of my many sons and daughters,” the old king continued, motioning to the throng of young people gathered around him, ”through birth or marriage.” It was rumoured that Priam had sired over fifty sons by his multiple wives and concubines, but his brazenness caught Odysseus by surprise. Then the thought came to him that despite the strange custom, this was an intended display of the power and the might of the Trojan kingdom. For those tied through blood would fight harder to defend their home city.

  “So please, tell us your names and the nature of your visit,” Priam asked, his pale eyes still intent upon them.

  “I am Menelaos, son of Atreus and king of Sparta.” began his companion, courtesy only thinly veiling his words from the seething rage beneath. “My brother Agamemnon leads the Greek contingent. This man is Odysseus, king of Ithaka and the proud hearted Kephallenians. Surely you know why we have
come, sir.”

  “Your arrival has been expected, but please go on.”

  “Your son Alexandros stayed in our kingdom as a stranger and was accorded the full rites of guest hospitality. However, he abused these blessed ties of xenia, that the gods gave us to bind one stranger to another to maintain peace and harmony. He charmed my wife with smooth winged words of deceit and then abducted her. I believe she is being held against her will within these city walls. I ask that she is allowed to return to her rightful husband and suitable reparation is made to our satisfaction for the harm and trouble that has been caused.”

  “That is a lie!” The source of the outburst came from a strikingly handsome young man, his features blended like those of a woman such was the perfection and flawlessness of his appearance. He had hair golden like sunlight and deep blue pools for eyes, which would have enchanted even the female gods. Concealed by his siblings, it had been hard to notice him. It was clear this was the wayward son who had brought trouble to the city gates, Alexandros of Troy. “She came of her own volition. I did not force her!” Odysseus could feel Menelaos’ body tense beside him and he put out his hand to stop his companion from acting at the provocation.

  “Silence Alexandros!” Priam spoke out firm and commanding. “Let us hear what these men have to say.” He knew that Menelaos was struggling to keep his passions in check, so this time Odysseus stood up and spoke, keeping his eye firmly fixed on the royal couple.

  “Sire, King Priam, I know that you are a wise and just ruler.” His mind worked fast, as if impelled by one of the gods themselves. He chose his words carefully, mindful that the speech he uttered was the only chance of averting a long and bloody conflict. “We are not concerned with how this unfortunate juncture came about. Previously the peoples of Troy and the Greeks have lived in peace and harmony. Let us not allow this matter of a woman to come between us. Both our peoples stand to lose much if we enter into war and many on both sides will die and there will be much sorrow. Let us find a way to bring this unfortunate incident to a swift end. So that we each can return to our normal lives and the rightful order of the world can be restored according to the gods’ wishes. All we ask is the return of Helen, the rightful wife of this man here, Menelaos, and for some recompense to make up for the harm that has been done. Then we Greeks will be happy to leave your shores and return to our homes once more to raise our families, tend our crops and govern our lands. Hateful War will only bring calamity to both our peoples.”