Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  Rob was studying Thea, his eyebrows raised. “He responded to you like a local. I hadn’t realise you’d been on Kefalonia before.”

  “Naturally I speak Greek as languages are my trade,” Thea replied modestly, side-stepping the question but feeling an ugly mottling rising on her neck. Was it so obvious that she had spent time on the island?

  “Let’s check the Mycenean tombs,” Rob suggested agreeably, not pushing the question further. “I rather like this place.”

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

  The car was where they had left it in the empty childless square, under the watchful bell tower. The lane meandered through the village, where pastel-painted and cream-coloured dwellings clung to the steep sided slope, before emerging into open fields. They loosely followed the instructions of their local guide, but there were no traces of stone structures, either ancient or modern, just cultivated lands.

  “I think we should go this way,” said Rob, swinging the car abruptly into a narrow side road. It led to a disused quarry, where huge boulders and piles of rubble barred their way. Rob’s brow knitted with perplexity, as he suddenly halted the car with a screech of the brakes.

  “I felt sure we’d find something here,” he said disconcerted, scanning the pockmarked landscape. He glanced across at Thea, shrugging his shoulders, as he turned to reverse the car. “I must have been mistaken. Do you want to keep searching for these tombs?”

  “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should head back,” Thea suggested, puzzled. For the past few minutes, she had started to experience the strange tingling sensation again, as if her body was trying to tell herself something. The palace is close, she thought.

  The sky was darkening as they left the village and a gloom had descended over the landscape with the thickening clouds. The distant outline of the isthmus had just come into view, when the car suddenly jolted to an abrupt halt.

  “What’s happened?” asked Thea, turning to look at Rob.

  “That’s strange. Electra would have a field day. I think that the car electrics have just failed,” Rob replied slowly. Casually he got out of the car and started to look under the bonnet. After a couple of minutes, he returned, a frown on his face.

  “It looks like a fault with the electrics. I’ve never known that to happen in a modern vehicle. We’re going to need a garage to fix it.” Rob started to reach for his mobile phone. “I’m phoning the hire company to get someone out here." His fingers quickly dialled the number on the key pad. He waited for a response and then abruptly snapped the device shut.

  “What is it?” asked Thea.

  “There’s no signal,” he said, stuffing the mobile back into his pocket. “The phone isn’t calling out.”

  “We must be in a blind spot. There isn’t a hundred percent coverage for the island.” Her mind was working quickly. “We’ll have to walk to the next village to find a taverna or shop with a landline.”

  “That sounds a good plan. Okay, walk it is!” Despite the absence of traffic, Rob grabbed a piece of tarpaulin from the boot and hastily covered up the samples and boxed equipment.

  “Just a precaution,” he grinned as he handed Thea her rucksack.

  Just then, Thea felt a gust of wind against her cheek: the weather was turning.” I think we’d better get moving.”

  Chapter 9

  Xenia (Strangers)

  “Telemachos!” He warmly clasped the younger man to his chest. He could feel the taut muscular arms and the powerful body taking the strength into his own limbs. Odysseus stepped back to inspect his son more closely. He stood a full head taller with the same close set eyes and tight cropped beard. Only the softer lighter hair was now greying at the edges. No longer was Telemachos the youth of Odysseus’ return, but a man full grown with two fine sons of his own.

  “You look well, my son. When did you arrive back on Ithaka?”

  The younger man greeted him with a wide smile. “Late last night, father. When all the palace was abed. The servants said I would find you here in the yard. You are about early this morning.”

  “I wanted to inspect the preparations for tomorrow’s feast day. Will you walk with me?”

  “Of course.”

  There was a sudden hiss of air, like an arrow shot from the bow. A pebble skimmed past, narrowly missing them. Feathers fluttered in mid-air, but the stone had not struck its target. The presence of the white owl had disturbed the peace of the household. Since first light, the servants had been throwing stones at the creature to scare it away.

  “Careful, woman!” Odysseus put on that familiar scowl, as he turned to the offending female servant. From a body stooped with age, her throw had been surprisingly agile. “There would be more trouble if you hit your master, than from this bird.”

  “Forgive me Basileos,” the old woman anxiously replied, lowering her head. “I was scaring the owl away. For the bird will bring death upon this house.” She bowed before hastily hurrying back into the kitchens, leaving father and son alone.

  “Do you believe the servant speaks the truth, father?”

  He shrugged off the notion. “Of course not, they are just the ramblings of her over anxious mind. A servant believes every rustle of the wind is a portent from the gods. I have endured too much to fear a harmless bird perched on our roof.” He casually put his arm around Telemachos. ”Come son, let us walk on and look at these preparations.”

  The two men fell into step as they descended the steep track leading out towards the open fields. The day’s labours were already well progressed. In the fruit groves, the women had been picking ripened fruit hanging down from the heavy laden trees, while the men toiled to bring in the first harvest of wheat and barley. It looked as if the gods had bestowed a fine crop. The granary would be restocked with grain for bread making and barley-broth. In the rough hedgerows, some young children were gleefully scrounging for red berries. Their squeals of delight rang out in the chill morning air. All around were signs of industry: men, women and children working together.

  In a flat piece of land, facing the palace hill, a canopy had been strung between the trees for shade to protect from the heat of Helios. A throng of servants were setting out long wooden tables and benches in preparation for the feast.

  One of the stewards had seen them and came up to join them. Odysseus recognised him immediately and greeted him.

  “Ah, Eurymachos, I see the work is well progressed. Will everything be ready in time?”

  “Indeed my lord,” the steward replied. Odysseus knew him well. He had been the eldest son of his esteemed captain, Eurylochos. His father had acquitted himself well with much glory and valour. If only the man had not challenged and disobeyed his orders. He Odysseus had set the boy to work on the estate to honour the father who never returned from that accursed war.

  “We are expecting many guests from the kingdom to whom we wish to offer full hospitality.“

  “You need not worry my lord. The gods have seen fit to provide for five hundred if that is required,” Eurymachos replied.

  “Well done, you have served well.” And he clasped the faithful steward on the back. “I am proud of you as your father would have been if he had lived to see you.”

  “Is there anything you wish me to show you, Basileos?” he asked, his eyes welling up with tears.

  “No, Eurymachos. Do not linger on our account. We will make our way round,” he said. “Come Telemachos.” And father and son continued on their way. Surveying the land, Odysseus felt satisfied. The well governed land was providing a bountiful harvest, through the will of the gods and the hard work of the people. Even if each day brought more and more people to the kingdom, fleeing violence on the mainland. There would be enough for all.

  “So why is this festival of Apollo so important father?”

  “My dearest son, I was once a stranger, dependent on the kindness of strangers. There were those who took me in. Who fed me, bathed me, and even clothed me when I was destitute. They will st
ay in my heart through their generous xenia to strangers.” He could feel his emotions stirring. “But also there were those who abused the rules of xenia and who behaved like beasts, destroying my men and my ships.” He shuddered at the memories from the past. “If the gods should grant me kleos, then I do not wish to be remembered for my guests going hungry or cold.”

  By now, the sun god Helios had driven his chariot well up in the sky. The burning rays had grown intense and the shadows short. Suddenly Odysseus felt overcome with a weariness deep in his bones. His strength seemed to be deserting him more each day. As if the gods pressed on him the weight of his years.

  “Perhaps we could rest a while, Telemachos. Until the heat of the day is past.”

  The younger man glanced at him concerned. “Of course father. I will ask the servants to lay some coverlets down under the shaded tree. They can fetch us some food and wine from the palace, so we can take our fill outdoors.” He gestured over one of the servants and sent him on with his instructions.

  After they had eaten their fill, Odysseus found himself lying down on the blanket. There was a gentle breeze in the shade, which he felt against his well-trimmed beard. As his eyelids closed, the thoughts of bad philoxenia filled his mind: all the pain and suffering that had beset them on that ill-fated journey back from Troy. Slowly he succumbed to the fatigue and allowed Sleep to cover his limbs, as his mind drifted back to distant shores.

  When had that journey home turned bad? Odysseus wondered. Had the Fates always decreed so right from the moment of my birth? Or sitting aloft on Mount Ida, had the gods witnessed the terrible outrages of the Greeks as the city was sacked? He did not know. It had been Agamemnon’s orders to put Troy to the torch. For five whole days huge fires had ravaged Troy, reducing the famed city to piles of ash and rubble. On the beach head, it was a pitiful sight. The Trojan women and children huddled together, weeping and clinging to one another. Some blank eyed, numb with shock. As the city lay smouldering, they waited lamenting their fate. There felt no kleos in the warriors’ task of dividing the spoils and apportioning out the captives to be taken into slavery.

  It had been a terrible spectacle. Even the most hardened men had watched in horror as the beautiful Trojan princess, Polyxena, had plunged a stolen knife into her breast: she had preferred death in the land of Hades than life as a concubine. And what of the lot of the noble Andromache, the wife of Hector? The Fates had been cruel in apportioning her lot to her child’s killer Neoptolemos, the son of the man who had slain her husband. Now this monstrous pairing was destined to share a conjugal bed. Odysseus had involuntarily shuddered remembering his own son and family on Ithaka. This was what happened when a kingdom was ruined and the male warriors no longer there to protect their kin. It was a relief he was only ten days sail away under oars from his island kingdom.

  And what of the booty allotted to him. Through the smoke and ash of the windswept beach he had glanced at her sat hunched by the shore, unveiled and in ragged clothing. It was as if over the night, the gods had drawn her life’s breath out of her body. Her hair was falling lankly at her sides, covered with ash and dust thrown in lament. Her cheeks were hollowed with grief mourning the loss of her husband and sons. He approached her. This former queen of Troy, Hekabe.

  “Lord Odysseus, I would keep away from that woman.” Eurylochos put out his hand to restrain him. “Some god has taken her wits away. She spits and scratches anyone who goes near.”

  “We should kill her,” muttered one of the other men joining in the conversation. “That would put her out of her misery and stop her wailing tormenting our ears.”

  “Silence, hold your tongue!” At his rebuke, the men ceased their chatter and cast their heads downwards. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself,” he continued more mildly. Already a plan was forming in his mind. He went up to her, approaching her slowly as he might a wild animal. An animal cornered, trembling and fearful, which might strike out in terror.

  Ensuring the men were out of earshot, he knelt beside her. “Queen Hekabe,” he whispered, “it is I, Odysseus, the kinsman of Helen.” The woman barely seemed to register his presence but sat still with her head bowed. “I am sorry for your loss. Through fate your husband was our enemy but he was a good man. If times had been different and the fates had allotted us another path, we might have been linked by ties of xenia. You showed me kindness when you did not expose me to the guards. For that I owe you my life. I swear you an oath now by the gods that I will protect you. No bad fate will befall you.”

  The woman slowly looked up. Her whole countenance had been transformed by grief. “And how will you do that, pray tell me Odysseus. You have seen the fate that befell my husband. They killed him at the altar and despoiled his body. So even now in death the dogs and scavengers feed on his unburied corpse. How can I believe anything you say, when you Greeks behave like animals. I spit on you all.” He quickly put his arms out to calm her.

  “Hush. Do not rouse yourself more than you need. The gods will take their revenge on me if what I say is untrue. You are a Thracian Greek princess. We speak the same language and worship the same gods. Before you were taken as a bride by Priam, you came here as a Phrygian maiden to serve at the temple of Aphrodite as is the tradition of your people. I plan to return you to the town of your birth. But for the moment, keep this to yourself. So that none can raise opposition before our departure.”

  Hekabe looked at him attentively through her tears and grief. “You need not do that, Odysseus. Perhaps you are moved by a generous spirit but you prolong my suffering. For my life is over, like that of my husband, my beloved sons and this once noble city.”

  He left the woman still consumed in her grief and returned to his men. Already the preparation for the long sea crossing ahead were well advanced. Those skilled in carpentry had been hard at work repairing the planking and decking, ensuring that the boat timbers were seaworthy. Even now their rhythmic beats and clattering of tools reached his ears. All twelve ships had been newly coated with black pitch to prevent the seawater seeping through the planks. For otherwise the sea would overwhelm them, dragging them down to the kingdom of Poseidon as food for fishes. High on each ship’s bow, the blue indigo eye, the eye of Protection, had been freshly painted. On the shore besides had been piled the war spoils apportioned for him and his Kephallenian warriors. As soon as the ships were seaworthy, the precious cargo would be loaded.

  “Are the boats nearly ready?” Odysseus asked his captain, Eurylochos. The man had been with him from the start. On Ithaka they had played as boys, together learning to swim in that glistening turquoise sea. Under Trojan skies, the soft-skinned boyish face had become deep creased and leathered through the years of fighting. He tipped his head skywards and the mouth broke into a beaming smile.

  “They are indeed. I thought this day would never come,” Eurylochos replied, his voice full of joy. “We have only three more boats to finish. Everything should be ready by sunset tonight.”

  “Good! Then load everything on board and take on supplies of fresh food and water. We set sail tomorrow at first light.” Some god propelled him to start the journey home with haste. He had stayed away too long. “Hopefully we will be back home before the next full moon.” The cheerful words masked his gnawing unease and growing apprehension.

  Eurylochos nodded in assent. “Of course, my lord Odysseus. And will you not stay with us?”

  “Later,” he answered, tight lipped. “There is first a matter I must settle.”

  He found Agamemnon in his tent with his brother, Menelaos. As he approached, he could hear their raised voices arguing over Helen’s fate.

  “The slut deserves to die brother!” Agamemnon’s voice rose to a roar. “She has heaped disgrace on our house of Atreus.”

  “And I say we are reconciled.” The pitch was milder and more malleable.

  “Are you a mule head! That your mind is turned by a pair of women’s bare breasts!” The argument was now attracting attention from within
the camp, as heads raised to glance at the quarrelling brothers.

  As he entered, they fell silent and Menelaos withdrew to the corner of the tent, turning his back and pacing from side to side.

  “Welcome, Odysseus” Agamemnon greeted him with a ready smile, recovering his temper. “Our hero of Troy! You catch us quarrelling.” Menelaos turned, bolted upright like a spear, his face flushed and his fists clenched. “Over a woman. Your kinswoman Helen.”

  Agamemnon was sat on his bench, cushioned with animal pelts. Beneath his leather corselet, he now wore a fine murex purple tunic and bright gold-leaf crown both plundered from the city. In victory, the man had become even more arrogant and insufferable. Odysseus quickly assessed the situation.

  “If I might be so bold to speak, my lords.”

  Agamemnon nodded in encouragement. “Speak your mind.”

  “Enough blood has been shed on this Trojan soil. We came to war so that Menelaos might reclaim Helen, his rightful wife. Let her live if that is his pleasing. For he has been the more wronged.”

  “Is that your counsel, Odysseus?” A shadow crossed Agamemnon’s face, darkening the fine looking features. Since the sack of Troy, his hair had been cropped close to his brow and the beard carefully trimmed.

  “It is, O Anax.” His tone was deferential, but Odysseus stood full shoulder to him, staring him squarely in the eye.

  “Very well, Odysseus.” A beam now broke out on Agamemnon’s face. “As the city fell into our hands by your brilliant strategy, I agree.” He turned to his brother. “You may do as you please with Helen. For the gods have blessed us with this day. Our treasuries will be filled with gold, silver and precious copper. Our names will be famous and known to men for generations to come. So much wealth and kleos we have gained. Let us set this quarrel aside.” He held out his arms generously for the two brothers to embrace.