“In other words, we are back where we were?”
“It seems so: unless his threat frightens your suitors, as is possible.”
“Clytoneus: something important has happened in your absence. It may even prove important enough for you not to tell the suitors about these arrows. Tomorrow at dinnertime our uncle will announce that I am already given in marriage to a maternal cousin, who has unexpectedly arrived here from Sandy Pylus.”
He looked blankly at me; but incredulity changed to attentive interest, and interest to excitement as he heard about Aethon and myself—though I omitted the story of our first meeting at Rheithrum, if only because Aethon had given my uncle a somewhat different account of his adventures and I did not wish to cast any doubts on his truthfulness.
“I will, perhaps, form the same high opinion of this Cretan as our uncle has done,” Clytoneus said at last. “But what if he makes common cause with Antinous and Eurymachus? What if he buys his way home by renouncing his claims to your hand?”
“He is under the oaks,” I said. “Go and judge for yourself whether he is a double-dealer. The old white sow, I may say, thinks the world of him.”
Clytoneus came back after a while to tell me how sincerely he hoped that the marriage agreement between Aethon and myself would prove to be no mere pretence; never had he met a man to whom he took a greater liking at first sight.
This embarrassed me. I hastened to say: “Yes, he is very engaging, but could you expect him to be otherwise in the circumstances? A friendless, ragged beggar, a refugee from the slave ship, who has landed in a foreign country and finds himself greeted as cousin by two rich noblemen! Is it probable that he would display his defects, whatever they might be: ill temper, laziness, cruelty or jealousy? In these circumstances, how can I judge of him as a possible husband? Come, Clytoneus, be practical! He is not avaricious or treacherous, I grant you; and if I thought so, I should certainly have refused to let Uncle Mentor use him in this way. I agree, too, that he is good-looking by popular standards, and well set up. But apart from certain members of our own house, beginning with our father, do you know any handsome man who is neither stupid nor vain? Hold hard, Brother! The plan has been devised solely to gain time, not to find me a husband worthy of your esteem. Aethon himself understands this. Granted, the old white sow had some very flattering things to say about him.”
“In return Aethon said some very flattering things about you.”
“He is getting into practice for his part. And I suppose that I must pretend to feel a certain reciprocal tenderness.”
“Then you dislike him?”
“In the name of the Gods, let him suspect nothing of the kind! Though perhaps, even if you blurted it out, he would disbelieve you. A man like Aethon expects every woman to fall in love with him, even when he stinks of hog and has straws sticking in his tousled hair.”
“I should like to see him properly dressed and armed. He must look magnificent.”
“Let us hope that he is soon given the opportunity to display himself in all the finery at our disposal.”
“Eumaeus and his son are to be trusted, do you think?”
“To the death. When we hear from our uncle what reply the suitors have made, I shall take Eumaeus more or less into my confidence. Naturally he is mystified by our meeting here, and by all this coming and going.”
“What chances are there of the suitors accepting Aethon as your husband-to-be?”
“Some will go home, I have no doubt; but most will stay—Eurymachus, Antinous and Ctesippus and their party have committed themselves too deeply for drawing back. And, dearest Clytoneus, the immediate problem that you must face is no easy one: how to kill Eurymachus without involving yourself in a fight against overwhelming odds.”
“Why particularly Eurymachus? Why not that scoundrel Ctesippus, whose lies banished our brother Halius?”
“Because Eurymachus murdered Laodamas!”
When I told him about the patched undershirt, Clytoneus could hardly be restrained from running down at once to take vengeance. So I took him for a peaceful stroll to the oaks and the Fountain of Arethusa, urging him to disguise his anger lest Aethon might suppose that I had said something unkind. Clytoneus was good enough to humour me, and we presently danced to the sound of the lyre, because Aethon had learned our national tunes from his captive mother, though not the dance steps. Afterwards Clytoneus and he threw javelins at a mark, and then we caught three green-backed beetles and made them race. Sulphur butterflies and red admirals flitted about; lizards sunned themselves on the warm rocks, and the day was so fine and clear that we could see Calypso’s island distinctly far, far to the southward. We spent a very happy morning, and the hounds, posted around the oak wood with their ears cocked for intruders, gave us a sense of security.
A distant holloa floated up to us: “My Lord Mentor’s orders. Six fat hogs are required immediately.”
Eumaeus shouted back: “Come and fetch them!”
“We dare not, because of your accursed hounds.”
I ran to intervene. “Eumaeus,” I said, “you had better not let those men come any nearer. Permit yourself to believe, for once, that my uncle did indeed order the hogs. Your son can drive them down and take this message to him. Here; he must conceal it in his wallet.”
I handed him a piece of bark, on which I had scratched: “Help promised”. To write more than this would have been to discourage my uncle.
So Eumaeus, having shouted “Wait, and you shall have the hogs,” went to choose the six worst in the herd.
I began cutting my nocturnal verses on the soft rind of willow billets chopped for me by Aethon, four lines to every billet, improving them as I went—and I may say that this caused a sensation among the watching swineherds, who took me for a witch. I had just finished and was about to snatch a little sleep under a tree, when Eumaeus’s son, returning unexpectedly, greeted me with trembling lips and handed me back the message I had given him.
I looked to see whether the strip of bark bore a reply, but found none. “What answer did the lord Mentor give you?” I asked.
He shook his head and blubbered, brushing away the tears with the knuckles of his grimy hand.
Eumaeus questioned him in rapid Sican. Then he told me sadly: “Princess Nausicaa, I wept last night when my oracle warned me that I should never see your noble uncle alive again. His enemies lay in ambush at the foot of the mountain, where the pines smell sweetly. A javelin, flung from behind a rock, pierced those broad shoulders; and Hermes bore his ghost away, skimming the mountainside with feathered sandals. Antinous was the murderer, though his retainers swear that he was still breakfasting at home when Melantheus discovered the corpse.”
As Clytoneus, Aethon and I stared dumbly at one another, each formed the same private resolution of bloody vengeance.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
THE FUNERAL
FEAST
Whom could we trust? And on whom could we count for armed assistance since pacific means had failed? Aethon, Clytoneus, Eumaeus, Eumaeus’s son—but the last-named had no skill except with the cudgel—and Philoetius who, having been trained to arms as a young man, should still be a useful fighter. Five, against one hundred and twelve suitors, and a score of their servants. It did not seem many.
“We should stand a poor chance, I agree,” said Aethon coolly, “if we fought a pitched battle. But a massacre is a different kettle of fish. We could account for several hundred in a massacre, though the repeated physical exertion of striking off a head, or freeing a spear which has transfixed a man’s body, does tell on one after a while. That afternoon, for instance, not long before my capture, when I killed about forty Egyptians: we were pursuing a column of fugitives down the Pelusian highway and I had only to use the sword edge on their napes. Yet my arm ached before I had done. And it may be difficult to win so considerable a victory unless we catch the enemy off their guard in an enclosed place from which there is no escape. Dear kinsfolk, si
nce no other one of us five has had experience of this sort, I beg you to make me your commander and let me plan the campaign in careful detail. I shall require all your services—especially yours, Princess Nausicaa—but you must give me leave to issue orders which must be obeyed without question; else I cannot promise complete success.”
I hesitated for a moment when I heard Aethon—my grateful slave, dumb pawn, willing tool—confidently proposing himself as my master, my saviour, and my stern dictator. The change seemed too rapid to be wholesome, but of course he was now established as Mentor’s kinsman and pledged to exact blood for blood as relentlessly as Clytoneus. And though I can organize most things, from seaside picnics to high festivals of the Goddess Athene, whose priestess I am, war does not happen to be my trade—as Andromache had to be reminded by Hector on the eve of his death. I saw no other alternative than to agree; and Clytoneus agreed with enthusiasm. Then we called Eumaeus and took him into our confidence. I did the talking. “Eumaeus,” I said, “the time is at hand when you shall have a chance to strike those hard blows of which you boast. But you must be as discreet as a lapwing and as obedient as one of your own hounds. Prince Clytoneus and I have a battle in view, a vengeance of all our wrongs beginning with the murder of our brother Laodamas—we know now that the blood is on the head of Eurymachus—and ending with the murder of our beloved uncle. The royal forces are to be led by Lord Aethon here, my maternal kinsman, whom I sent to you in disguise for this very purpose—”
Clytoneus stared at me, still unaware that I had been Aethon’s protectress from the moment of his arrival.
I continued: “—to keep him out of harm’s way until we should have need of his strong right arm. Clytoneus and I trust Lord Aethon to do what needs doing better than any man in Sicily and we commend him to you as your leader. Yet keep still and say nothing while he works out a plan of action which we can all carry into effect. Now I require you to swear in Cerdo’s name that you will be bold, loyal, and tireless.”
Never have I seen such solemn joy shining on a man’s face. Eumaeus took the oath in firm tones, and sacrificed a young boar to the Goddess, burning every scrap of the meat to win her favour. We watched in grim approval.
Clytoneus afterwards told Aethon about his visit to Minoa, and showed him the quivers. Aethon drew out an arrow, balanced it on his finger tips, examined the set of the feathers and the quality of the barbed head. “The Sicel who fledged and armed these arrows knew his trade,” he pronounced. Then he asked Clytoneus: “Do you still propose to threaten your enemies in Halius’s name?”
“That was my promise.”
“You shall keep it, to our great advantage. For if you display these arrows merely as tokens, the suitors will despise them, knowing of Halius’s weakness at sea, and never pause to consider that, given a bow and a bowstring, they can deal immediate death.”
I laughed happily. “Aethon,” I said, “your plan matches mine, as one half of a sliced pear matches its fellow. Listening the other day to Odysseus’s Return, I wondered how he had disposed of so many suitors with a single bow. But Clytoneus and I talked the matter over—did we not, Brother?—and the Goddess Athene granted me a vision of slaughter.”
When I spoke of Philoctetes’s bow and explained the use for which I intended it, he answered simply: “The Gods seem to be as active in this affair as ourselves. We must accept with gratitude whatever help they lend us, especially Athene. She always gains the upper hand of the War God Ares, since Ares trusts to brute strength and scorns stratagems… Why not go down to Drepanum ahead of us, Princess, and tell your mother that Clytoneus is returned again? Eumaeus’s son can escort you. Then send for Philoetius, and having revealed to him, if you think fit, all that you have revealed to Eumaeus, put him under my command. The funeral will be this morning, no doubt, because the ghost of a slain man demands to have the corpse burned without delay, as Patroclus’s ghost did in the Iliad. Therefore, when I see a distant pillar of smoke rising from the pyre—deeply chagrined not to be present at the farewell rites—I shall know that tomorrow I can descend this mountain, spy out the position, lay my plans, and communicate secretly with you. On the third day, when you and I have made every possible preparation, let Clytoneus, accompanied by Eumaeus, carry these beautiful arrows to the appointed place; whereupon the massacre may begin.”
“Not so fast, kinsman,” I said. “Clytoneus has first to display the arrows and deliver his message of warning. He should order such suitors as still have some shame left, and fear of the Immortal Gods, to lead Eurymachus and Ctesippus in fetters before the Council, each charged with murder. If they obey, he should promise, in the King’s name, to pardon them their follies. If they refuse, and thus plainly condone the crime, that will be another matter. Then the arrows of death may be loosed among them. By treating the young fools honourably and patiently, we shall please the Gods—”
“And forfeit the advantage of surprise,” interrupted Clytoneus. “They are all guilty, without exception.”
Aethon shared my views. “No, no, kinsman,” he cried. “There are degrees of guilt, and if we can persuade the less criminally minded of our enemies to take our part against the murderers and rebels, so much the better. As for the advantage of surprise, neither princess Nausicaa nor I propose to forfeit that. Show them the arrows, and they will think only of a threatened Sicel invasion, not of an immediate attack by ourselves, whose powers they are bound to underrate. Meanwhile, I should like you to make me a plan of the Palace, laying it out in pebbles on the turf until I know each door and window as if it were my own. Describe your enemies to me, man by man, so that I can recognize every one of them even in the dark. List all the resources of the Palace. This is how battles are won before they are fought. I shall go as a lame beggar, for the suitors to despise as a creature no less idle and lazy than themselves.”
We soon persuaded Clytoneus that he had been wrong, and an hour later Eumaeus’s son escorted me down to Drepanum, by the same way as I had come. We found the boat still on the beach. Eumaeus’s son rowed me to the private jetty, and by the grace of Athene no one noticed our arrival.
A steady sound of wailing, which rose now and then to a shriek, came from the direction of the Palace. I entered by the garden door, and when I met Ctimene in the corridor, pretended to have just got out of bed. “I feel fairly well now,” I said. “I took a soporific and the fever has passed.”
Ctimene began to weep and asked me: “Did you not hear the wailing?”
“Yes, it work me up,” I answered. “Who is dead? No friend or relative of ours, I trust?”
“Your uncle Mentor,” she exclaimed in hollow tones, “killed by an accidental javelin cast halfway to Eryx! His corpse lies propped on its bed outside the main gate. We have already washed and anointed it.”
“Forgive me,” I said, dutifully pulling out a handful of hair and scratching both my cheeks, “I must find the Queen and condole with her.”
Though paler than usual, my mother seemed as calm as ever. She beckoned me close and gave me one of her rare kisses; which made me weep. My tears are rarer even than those kisses.
“How is your fever, darling?” she asked. “I hope I did right to leave you quite alone from one moon to the next?”
“It was what I needed, Mother,” I answered. “And, as you see, though a little shaky on my legs, I am well again.”
Because the maids were listening, I could not mention Clytoneus’s return, but when I assured her that vengeance would soon overtake the unknown murderer of my uncle, she knew that the news must be good.
“I stupidly fainted while I was mourning for my brother,” she said, “and came here to recover. I shall go outside again after a while. You had better do your turn of wailing, if you feel well enough, or people will talk. Ctimene has been revelling in it.”
I did as she suggested. The corpse wore an embroidered robe and a crown of blue periwinkle. His face was benignant. Around the bed stood decorated jars containing wine and oil which wo
uld be placed in his tomb, and I noticed a honey sop to appease three-headed Cerberus. A large pyre of driftwood was already piled on the headland, and after I had wailed for rather less than an hour, the procession moved off past the linen factory. The chief male mourners walked ahead; we women followed, singing the dirge in time with the flutes. Eight sturdy slaves carried my uncle’s bed, which they set down at last on the flat summit of the pyre. Beside it were laid the sacrificial victims—a cock, a black lamb, and his favourite hound—also arms, armour and an inlaid draughtboard, because he had been the draughts champion of Drepanum. My deaf old grandfather Phytalus pronounced the farewell in a weak, bleating voice. He spoke of his son’s generosity, his courage, and the fearful suddenness of death; but made no demands for vengeance on the anonymous murderers, not yet having grasped what had happened. Then Halitherses applied a torch to the pyre, which had been soaked in oil, and after throwing another hank of my hair into the fire, I wept unashamedly. So strong a sea wind fanned the flames that we had to stand back thirty paces to avoid the heat. As soon as the corpse was consumed, we threw basins of water on the glowing embers, raked out the calcined bones, washed them with wine and oil and stowed them in a large bronze urn. This we handed to my grandfather, who accepted the gift dazedly; it was to be taken across to Hiera and buried under a barrow. Then we returned sadly to the Palace, still singing, to purify ourselves. None of the suitors had the effrontery to take part in the funeral banquet uninvited, and we issued invitations only to the elder members of the Council. When they arrived, we propitiated the Infernal Gods with hearth sacrifies, and grief was expressed on all sides for the cruel fate which had cut short so noble a life. “Most regrettably,” said Aegyptius, “it has so far proved impossible to trace the owner of the javelin. We ought perhaps to institute a public enquiry.”
“Until the wretch is laid by the heels,” growled Halitherses, “a certain ghost will plague Drepanum from harbour to harbour. My lords, I advise you to act speedily.”