Odysseus: The Oath

  ‘My father knows that he can decide anything for himself,’ I said, ‘but he also knows that in my absence, the fact that he is seated on the throne to administer justice, to lead the army if necessary and to protect my family is a great comfort to me.’

  ‘As you’ve heard for yourself, I’ve been ordered to take care of the kingdom in the king’s absence,’ said my father with an ironic smile. ‘Luckily I’m familiar with the job. You’ll have to make do with my son, but I’m sure that will be good enough.’

  That’s what he said, but then he went on at length offering me advice of every kind. He ended up by reminding me to give his best to King Peleus, his friend and companion-in-arms, and to invite him, once the war was over, to come and hunt with us on the island of Same with his boy Achilles.

  We left the next day. As I said goodbye to Penelope I thought that this temporary separation might help her to prepare for the much more difficult one that would soon follow. She kissed me on the mouth but shed no tears. ‘Come back as soon as you can,’ she said. ‘I want to take pleasure in every moment of every day and every night that we have together before your departure.’

  ‘I’ll be back, my queen and my love. I’ll come back this time and next time too, I swear to you.’

  She smiled and her eyes sparkled like black pearls. ‘I’m beginning to think that you can tame fate and that your goddess must really love you. But not even she, who is immortal, can love you more than I do.’

  She stood on the pier waving goodbye, her hand as slender and white as a silver leaf, and I didn’t take my eyes off her until she disappeared behind the crest of a wave.

  ‘I know what you’re feeling,’ sounded the voice of the wisest of kings behind me.

  ‘Do you think so, wanax?’

  ‘I know so. This is love, a terrible disease that you will never be free of. I’ve always gone from one woman to another: wives, concubines . . . when one’s beauty faded, I simply found another, younger one. I’ve never known any other way. But I envy you, you know. I felt love once, a long, long time ago. A feeling that transforms a mortal woman into a goddess and makes her beauty and charm eternal. Unfortunately, the spell didn’t last long for me. I lived in the mountains then, I had been sent to garrison the passes that led to Arcadia. She didn’t survive the bitter winter there, accustomed as she was to the warm sun of Crete. Her skin was dark, shiny and smooth as bronze, and her smile was radiant. Sinuous, she was, like a panther. She painted her lips and the tips of her breasts red, like the ancient queens of her homeland.’

  I turned and saw that the lord of Pylos’ eyes were shiny with tears.

  ‘You are a fortunate man,’ he said again. ‘Your Penelope is gentle, wise, very beautiful and as sweet as honey.’

  We were sailing along the coast of Locris, ruled by Oileus, who had a son named Ajax, the same name given by Telamon of Salamis to his gigantic son. We continued to Corinth, which I thus saw for the second time. Here we learned that Jason, the hero of the Argo, was in the city!

  ‘I want to see him, wanax,’ I said to Nestor. ‘I’ll never have another chance to meet the hero who stole the golden fleece from Colchis and who sailed on the biggest ship in the world with a crew of fifty kings and heroes.’

  The old king’s brow wrinkled. ‘Do you really want to see him?’ he asked. ‘Do you not know what has happened?’ He had his men drop anchor and we descended onto the wharf. ‘We’re now going to cross the isthmus at its lowest point. On foot. On the other side another ship will be waiting to take us to our destination. This will save us a long trip sailing around the southern peninsula of Achaia with its promontories and cliffs.’

  ‘This is why,’ I thought, ‘King Nestor is so highly considered by all the Achaians. He knows so much, has so much experience, and is so wise.’ The fact that he wanted me by his side for the most important mission of that moment, to convince Achilles to participate in the war, filled me with pride. We marched for hours across the isthmus, taking with us mules laden with our supplies and everything else we needed for the journey. We went on until we reached a place from which we could see the eastern sea, the gulf and the second port.

  We stood there for a few moments, at the point separating the two slopes. The view that opened up before me was astonishing. Nestor pointed to the cliffs on the northern shore of the gulf.

  ‘Look down there,’ he said. ‘See that enormous wreck run aground on the rocks?’ Cold terror nipped at my heart. I didn’t have the strength to let a single word come out from between my teeth.

  ‘That is the Argo!’

  We started treading down the hill with heavy hearts, continuing until we reached the shore of the eastern sea and the pier where the ship that would take us to Phthia was waiting for us.

  ‘We can go aboard now,’ he said. ‘We’ll sail past the Argo, but remember what I’m telling you: you won’t like what you see. And you’ll like even less what you hear.’

  ‘I can’t believe that, wanax. What are you saying?’

  Nestor ordered the helmsman to direct our ship towards the huge beached hull.

  ‘Have you ever seen a ship of this size in your whole life? Listen. After Jason had returned to Iolcus, he soon realized that his savage princess, Medea, could not live a life like any other woman’s. In fact, his people feared and detested her; they whispered that she could work dark magic. She was hated by all but still madly in love with Jason. He was the only person she would obey and she bore him two children. But then one day, she spotted old King Pelias, who she knew had seized the throne during Jason’s absence. Using trickery, she lured him to a secret place, where she murdered him and cut him into pieces. They found her cooking up his sorry remains so she could devour them.

  ‘Jason fled from the city in horror. He set sail with his wife and children and a crew of mercenaries and escaped here, to Corinth, whose king was his friend. He fell in love with the king’s daughter, a beautiful young woman named Glauke, and she with him. Medea went crazy with jealousy and transformed herself into a tiger, like the ones who roamed her homeland. She pretended to accept Jason’s new bride and even gave her a gown as a wedding present. The day of the wedding, Medea dressed her children as pages, crowned their heads with flowers and had them accompany her. Holding a sacred torch, she approached Glauke and touched it to her gown. Imbued with some kind of noxious substance, the gown burst into flames, turning beautiful Glauke into a human torch. Her screams of agony echoed through the whole city. She melted into a shapeless mass, a charred black firebrand. Not content, the savage princess murdered the two children she’d had with Jason under their father’s eyes. She cut their throats. Then she jumped on a chariot, whipped the horses into a run and vanished. His men gave chase, searched everywhere for her, but she was never found. Jason went mad. He boarded his ship, all alone, waited until the west wind started to blow and then heaved out the sail. He took the helm and crashed the ship onto the rocks.’

  He hadn’t finished speaking when, from the gloomy, rotted wreck of the Argo, all covered with algae, an inhuman scream was heard, a cry of anguish and folly that froze my blood. For a moment I thought I could see in the false light of dusk a spectral figure lurching behind the shredded sail, among the mouldy shrouds.

  ‘There,’ said Nestor, ‘that is the voice of Jason, the hero of the golden fleece. And this is his last landing place.’

  I wept.

  21

  THAT ANGUISHED VOICE AND THE SIGHT of the smashed hull of the Argo tormented me for days as we made our way up the eastern coast of Achaia towards Phthia of the Myrmidons. We rounded Cape Sounion and sailed down the channel that separated the mainland from the island of Euboea. Nestor had plenty of time to tell me what he knew about those lands and the people who reigned over them, although much of what he told me I’d already heard when I met the other princes vying for Helen’s hand in Sparta.

  ‘Peleus of Phthia is the older brother of Telamon, the king of Salamis, so that means that Achilles and Ajax are
first cousins. Both are exceptional young men; there is absolutely no one else in all of Achaia that can measure up to them. The fact that they are so closely related has led to much conjecture about their ancestry. Achilles was born when his father was already very advanced in age, and no one has ever seen his mother. You can imagine how many stories about her have sprung from the lips of poets and singers!’

  ‘A goddess?’

  ‘A sea goddess. Thetis.’

  Nestor continued: ‘Peleus’ city, Phthia, dominates the southern plains. And on the other side of that plain is Pherai, the city of Admetus and Alcestis. But we won’t be going that far. Their son Eumelus has already said that he will come to the port of Aulis in Boeotia, where all of our forces will gather to set off for Troy . . .’

  ‘Eumelus,’ I thought to myself, ‘the brave young witness of Hercules’ innocence . . . ready to take his place among us.’

  Nestor heard me thinking, I suppose, because he said: ‘He swore the oath of the princes, but he also knows of the pact between his parents. He was there when Hercules dragged his mother back from the gates of Hades. Perhaps in his mind throwing himself into the burning jaws of the war is better than living alongside a father who trembled with fear in the face of death, a mother who can never be more than half alive and half dead . . .’

  I nodded. ‘You’re right, wanax, tremendous things have happened in our land. And I can only wonder what still awaits us.’

  ‘You will convince Achilles to join us. You’re the only one who can carry this off. If Achilles comes, his cousin Patroclus will come as well; the two of them are inseparable. Patroclus lives in Phthia, in exile. He was forced to flee his city after he killed a man during a quarrel over a game of dice; the man’s relatives are still seeking revenge. His fate would be sealed if they had their way, but they won’t dare come forward as long as Patroclus is with Achilles.

  ‘But what I don’t understand,’ Nestor continued, ‘is why Achilles wasn’t the first to take up the challenge. War is his element. Like water for a fish, the air for a bird. He was born to slaughter.’

  ‘Have you ever seen him in combat, wanax?’

  ‘I have. Just watching him is enough to strike fear into a man. The armour he wears is blinding, his shield reflects the light of the sun like a mirror, and all you can see behind his helmet are those ice-coloured eyes. He is as swift as lightning, and no one can guess his next move. He usually gets his kill on the first try; if he doesn’t, it’s only because he wants to prolong the fight, and the agony of his adversary.’

  ‘Then how do you explain his reluctance?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what you’ll have to discover,’ he replied.

  We sailed by the bay of Iolcus on our left and the port from which the Argo had once set off to go to the ends of the earth. We berthed in a small protected cove beneath the striking bulk of Mount Othrys, disembarked and began to climb up the mountain path that led to Phthia. They were certainly expecting us; it was clear that no one could hope to get close without being seen by the invincible Myrmidon warriors. When we got to the pass, they fell into step alongside us, silently escorting us to the city. I was impressed: these could be the automatons built by the god Hephaestus! They marched with precisely the same step, their armour was burnished to the same sheen, their crests fluttered as one in the light breeze. They looked like giant ants, as their name suggested. Perhaps they had been ants once, long ago, who could say? Finally, Phthia appeared, towering above us on the peak of the mountain. It nearly took my breath away.

  Peleus welcomed Nestor like a brother, but it didn’t take long to realize that no preparations had been made for a great banquet or feast. The shadow of the war made any revelling impossible.

  ‘May I introduce the king of Ithaca?’ said Nestor, motioning for me to come forward.

  ‘You are the son of Laertes . . . Achilles has told me about you,’ said Peleus thoughtfully. ‘How is your father?’

  ‘He sends his best wishes and he hopes that you will one day accept an invitation to Ithaca when . . .’ I hesitated, ‘when the war is over.’

  Peleus sighed. ‘From the moment you all leave Achaia, your father and I, and all the fathers like us, will think of nothing but the day of your return. And even if you weren’t to leave, where could you hide?’

  ‘I don’t want to hide,’ I said. ‘I did everything possible to prevent a war being fought, but now that it is inevitable, it must be won.’

  ‘So you’ve come to get Achilles?’

  ‘We cannot win without him.’

  ‘This is his curse.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Peleus pointed at a spot on the slope of the mountain looming before us. A cloud of dust was moving swiftly across the hillside. A war chariot. A figure clad in dazzling metal, a red crest, two horses, long fringed manes, bronze frontlets spiked like the horns of unicorns.

  ‘There,’ he said.

  From the way he looked at me he’d already understood that it wouldn’t be Nestor doing the talking.

  I was fascinated by what I was seeing: Achilles’ chariot plunged downward at a frightening speed and then burst onto the plain, slicing through the fields full of crops, scattering the herds of cows and flocks of sheep.

  The roar of wheels and the roll of hooves got louder and closer, until the chariot entered the courtyard and Achilles jumped to the ground. He took off his helmet and his armour and went to wash at the fountain. He wet the muzzles of his magnificent chargers.

  ‘Balius and Xanthus,’ he said, pointing at them as he came towards me.

  ‘They’re amazing, Achilles,’ I replied as the servants loosened them from the yoke and dried them off.

  I walked towards him and soon we were face to face.

  ‘Welcome, king of Ithaca.’

  ‘Achilles! It is a joy for my heart to see you again.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Nestor is with me. He’s talking to your father.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ve come to talk to you.’

  Achilles dropped his head for a moment in silence, then said: ‘Follow me.’

  We left the palace and walked down a path that led towards an oak forest. The horses followed us, step after step, alongside each other. We stopped near a spring that gushed from an enormous moss-covered boulder. Achilles sat on a toppled tree trunk. He touched its gnarly bark. ‘Hit by lightning,’ he mused. ‘This used to be a beautiful, vigorous tree.’ I knew what he was getting at.

  ‘I’ve come to ask if you’ll fulfil the promise you made at Sparta.’

  His long silence unsettled me.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ I asked him.

  ‘A pact can be interpreted in many ways.’

  ‘I’m here because I think the oath we made was clear. The Trojan has carried off Menelaus’ wife. He and I went to Troy together, to ask that Helen be returned. We were met with a refusal. The townspeople mocked and insulted Menelaus.’

  ‘Helen left freely. Our oath would be binding if she had been abducted.’

  ‘She was abducted. Helen belongs to Menelaus and she was taken from him. I would have expected different words from you.’

  ‘So why do you want to go?’

  ‘Because the oath was my idea. I can’t back out now. I tried to prevent this war, but that’s no longer possible, and all I’m thinking now is that we have to win. But without you that’s simply not possible. Tell me why you’re hesitating, Achilles!’

  The horses came close and nuzzled Achilles with their noses. They seemed to hear the voice of his heart.

  Achilles stroked them. ‘For me, they’re like people. They talk to me, you know? In their own way, they talk to me.’

  ‘I can see that. . . Answer me, Achilles: why are you hesitating? You are like the god of war. There’s no one who can stand up to you. Why weren’t you the first to step forward?’

  Sad smile.

  ‘You know, each one of us, when war is in the offing,
can choose to go down one of two roads: you either go to war, die young in combat and are remembered forever by those who hear of your exploits, or you don’t go, and you choose obscurity: a tranquil, meaningless, never-changing life.’

  ‘There’s a third possibility, Achilles: you can win glory and come back alive to your home and family. That’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘That may be so for you, Odysseus, ingenious and astute as you are, but not for me. It’s either one or the other for me.’

  I couldn’t understand. ‘What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Who told you such a thing? An oracle? A soothsayer? Was it your own mother, perhaps, the mysterious being that no one has ever seen? I have to know, Achilles, because what you decide is key to the life or death of thousands of young combatants, and to the future of our world.’

  ‘What difference does it make? These are my possible destinies and I’ve already made my choice. When we die all that remains of us is our name. The rest is consumed by fire. I want my name to be remembered forever. Glory is the only light of the dead, Odysseus. Farewell. We’ll see each other at Aulis, in the spring.’

  We were both too choked to continue, or perhaps there was simply nothing left to say. Nestor and I were leaving the next day and so I didn’t have the chance to talk to Patroclus, although I did see him in passing. He looked much older than Achilles, and I realized that he had been among Helen’s suitors in Sparta.

  When the time came, Nestor and Peleus embraced; when they separated both had tears in their eyes. I overheard Nestor whispering: ‘I just can’t watch this happen from behind the bastions of my palace, waiting for my boy to return, torturing myself in the meantime. I’m going with them. Maybe they’ll be able to use some wise advice from an old man.’ He and I walked off in silence, flanked as we had been at our arrival by a host of Myrmidon warriors.

  It wasn’t until we were back on the ship that Nestor spoke to me: ‘Will he come?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll be at Aulis, in Boeotia, in the spring.’