Heroes (formerly Talisman of Troy) (16 page)

The king paused to look at the blackened skulls driven into the stakes, and the fog which crept over the earth and submerged everything, the skeletons, the abandoned plough.

‘This is a land shrouded in the chill of winter. Springtime comes here as well, and the meadows are covered with flowers; the tall grass will hide the signs of death. You mustn’t be afraid. But now let us return to the village and prepare for the night. Tomorrow we will return to our camp.’

‘
Wanax
,’ said Evenus, ‘no one will follow you over that moat and behind that palisade. If you order us to do so, no one will shut an eye. Allow us to turn back now! We can follow the banks of the canal. We have brought our fire with us; we can light torches. Heed my words,
wanax
, I beg of you.’

Diomedes saw the terror in his eyes, even though his gaze was steady and his hand firm on his sword’s hilt. If they were attacked during the night, anything might happen. He agreed to take them back to the camp they had left on the shores of the Eridanus.

They ate something so as not to march with hunger in their bellies, then gathered branches which they fashioned into torches, lighting them from the ash-covered embers that they had brought with them in a jar. They began their journey: Diomedes walked at the head of the line and Evenus was last. They marched on in silence, accompanied only by the screeching of the night birds. Weariness began to weigh upon them, and the men slowed their pace, but Diomedes urged them on as if suddenly he had a reason to hurry to the camp.

The sun had not yet risen when a bloody flash appeared at the horizon, a throbbing reddish light.

Evenus ran from the rear guard to the king’s side: ‘Do you see that,
wanax
? It looks like a fire.’

‘I see it. Fast, we must make haste. It could be our camp.’ The men took off at a run and covered the last stretch of road stumbling and falling, since they could not see the ground they were treading on. As they drew nearer, a confused uproar could be heard; swirling flames and sparks rose towards the sky. When they were finally close enough, they realized what had happened: the ships pulled aground had been spotted by the
Peleset
fleet during the night, and set ablaze. Myrsilus and his men were engaging the enemy on the beach, while others tried to put out the fire.

Diomedes beheld that terrible spectacle and the flames consuming his ships set off another fire in his mind: that terrible day that Hector had overwhelmed the Achaean defences and put Protesilaus’s ship to the torch on the beach of Ilium. Fury raged through his veins and the strain of their endless march vanished all at once. He seized his sword and raised a great yell: ‘ARGOS!’ Just as he had when he ordered his men to attack on the battlefield in Ilium. He lunged forward, all the others close behind. He broke through the ranks of Myrsilus’s warriors, who were being overpowered by the crushing force of the enemy and he burst into the front line, throwing himself into the fray.

The king was out of his mind. The brawl raged around him like a dream of the past: the battle under the wall of Thebes, the duels fought to the death before the Scaean gates, the Trojan warriors mowed down as their women watched. The king was like the wind that bends the oaks on the mountainside, like the hail that destroys the harvest, like the bolt of lightning that first blinds, then kills.

His cleaving blow ripped open the belly of the
Peleset
warrior in front of him, making his bowels spill down to his knees. He decapitated the comrade who had come to his aid and he horribly disfigured the face of a third who had dared to creep up on his left.

The blood drove him wild with anger and yet filled his soul with deep sorrow, like the sea tousled on the surface by a storm remains dark and still down beneath. And thus the force of his blows was invincible.

Myrsilus and his men, eager to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of their king, counter-attacked vigorously, repulsing the enemies towards the shore of the river. The
Peleset
chief realized that the situation had been completely reversed and that if the battle were to continue his men would be annihilated. Satisfied with the damage he had inflicted on his enemies, he shouted out that upon his signal, all his men should run to the ships and set sail.

Only Lamus, son of Onchestus, understood what he had said, but he was near the palisade and had no way of letting Diomedes know, as the king was in the thick of the battle and his ears were full of its din. He shouted: ‘Stop them, they want to escape! We must not let them get away, or we will have no ships for ourselves!’ But his cries went unheard. At their chief’s signal, the
Peleset
turned and fled rapidly to their ships, setting off towards the centre of the river, where the current swiftly carried them out of sight, towards the sea.

The Achaeans remained on the gravelly shore of the river and not a one had the heart to raise the cry of victory although they had defeated a numerous, war-seasoned enemy. Almost all of their ships had been destroyed. Those which had not burned down were in such a sorry state that they could not imagine repairing them.

The king assembled them all near the palisade; he took off his helmet and, dishevelled and blood-spattered as he was, said: ‘We have won the battle but we have lost our ships. We have no choice now. Although the comrades who came with me last night asked me to leave this land which shows so many signs of unexplainable destruction, today it is no longer possible to do so. We will push on and find a place suitable for founding our new kingdom. Perhaps the destruction of the ships is a sign from the gods who want to make us understand that this is the place they have destined for us. Let us go forward; there is always a new land on the horizon. If we must, we shall go towards the Mountains of Ice or the Mountains of Fire, or even beyond. No one is stronger than a man who has nothing left to hope for from fate.’

The men listened to him in silence. Many of them, especially those who had accompanied him the day before and marched with him all night, were distressed thinking of the hardships and privations they would suffer in that deserted, cursed land. But among them the most afflicted was Lamus, the Spartan; he was certain then that he would never be able to see his home and his city again. If he had been free to go as he pleased, he would not have known where to turn. He kept at a distance, head low, choking back his tears.

‘Do not despair!’ said Diomedes to his men. ‘The enemy has deprived us of our ships, but they did not succeed in attacking the camp. What is most precious remains. Follow me,’ he said, heading towards the camp. ‘Since we have nothing left but our arms and our courage, it is time that you know the truth.’

He reached the centre of the camp, where alongside the pole with his standard was the chest that he had always kept tied to the main mast of his ship. He grabbed an axe and with a single stroke broke open the hinges. The lid fell to the ground and revealed what was within. A great silence fell over the camp and the men bowed their heads.

Myrsilus came forward and raised his spear towards the sun which was rising from the bare branches of the poplars and oaks to illuminate the waters of the Eridanus. ‘We will follow you,
wanax
, even to the Mountains of Ice, even to the Mountains of Fire!’

All the men raised their spears to the sun and shouted: ‘
Wanax!
’

They were no longer afraid and they watched their ships sink under the river current, without tears. The ships that had brought war to Ilium, the ships that for years had been the hope for their return, the symbol of their homeland.

‘Now we can only go forward,’ said the king.

They loaded all they had on the backs of the horses. The chest was closed again and loaded on to the king’s chariot, to which the divine horses of Aeneas were harnessed. When they were all ready, he gave the signal to depart and the column began its westward march.

The
Chnan
was one of the last, and he was distraught over seeing the ships destroyed. ‘Madmen and fools!’ he said. ‘They’ve lost their ships and it’s as if nothing had happened at all, just because they saw that thing in the box. Were you able to get a look at it, at least?’ he asked Telephus, the Hittite slave.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘They were all in front of me with those crested helmets. But I don’t think it makes much of a difference for us.’

‘Of course it does,’ said the
Chnan.
‘With a ship, I could have brought you anywhere: to the ends of the earth, to the shores of the Ocean, to the swamps of the icy Borysthenes, to the mouth of the Nile, or . . . home. Even home . . .’

For the first time, his eyes were full of dismay and of terror.

T
HEY ADVANCED FOR SEVERAL
days until they found another of those strange square-shaped cities, surrounded by a canal, filled with huts of the same size. There were still some people left here, just a few families who survived by rearing a cow or two, or a small flock of sheep. They took fright at the Achaean warriors, but Diomedes ordered his men not to harm them and to take only the women they could convince with gifts or words. A pointless order; nearly all the remaining inhabitants were well on in years.

They decided to stop there nonetheless because the weather had changed again for the worst: first rain, then snow and intense cold. They found food there as well: wheat, barley, milk and cheese. And the forests were full of wood for lighting fires.

When the weather was fine, the king took his horses down to the plain, far away from the square city. He brought them there to graze, and the horses pawed the snow to find grass and scrub to feed on.

He would return in the evening with a look of melancholic peace in his eyes, and would go to his hut without speaking to anyone. If snow fell during the night he would come out wrapped in his cloak and linger there, watching the big flakes swirl through the air in silence, his eyes bright and feverish. Sometimes he wouldn’t go to rest until it was nearly dawn, falling then into a heavy, agitated sleep.

The men who stood guard outside his door said that they had heard him calling out the name of Queen Aigialeia, in his sleep, and that they had heard him weeping, but Myrsilus threatened to cut off their tongues if they ever dared speak of such a thing again. He said they had to stand guard and nothing else, putting the rest out of their minds.

One day the king took only one of his horses with him and when he was far from the camp, he tried to mount him barebacked, as he had seen the
Dor
do. The steed bucked and shook him off more than once, but in the end the king had the better of him and managed to stay on his back as he galloped through the snow-covered plain. It felt incredible, like flying, like squeezing an impetuous sea wave between his legs, and Diomedes felt as if he could feel the hot blood of that great animal flowing in his own veins.

The steed flew, flogging his flanks with his tail, blowing clouds of steam from his frost-whitened nostrils and letting out shrill whinnies. Diomedes let him run until he was exhausted, then dismounted, covered him with a blanket, and let him graze. Every now and then the horse would raise his proud head and shake his mane, seeming to stare at him with a troubled, intense gaze.

‘You’re thinking of your master, aren’t you? Are you thinking of Aeneas?’

The animal shook his head as if nodding. ‘He’s no longer with us. Aeneas is dead. I’m all you have left, and it’s me you must love. If we should ever meet up with him one day, I will challenge him, and if he wins you can return to him, if you wish, and carry him once again into battle. But until that day you must serve me, for I have won you in fair, honourable combat.’

He started back towards the village but a false trail brought him far from his path, very far, to the southernmost edge of the forest. Before exiting the thick of the woods, he saw a caravan advancing from the north through the deep snow. There was a small group of warriors armed with long swords and spears, clad in animal hides and wearing helmets of leather and bronze; behind them a pair of oxen were pulling a covered carriage.

When they were very close, a sudden wind blew at the mats covering the sides of the carriage. For a moment, a mere moment, the king saw a maiden of divine beauty, her blue eyes veiled by shadow, her forehead white and pure as ice, her hair like ripe wheat. She looked like Aigialeia, when he had seen her the first time! Her features were different, the slant of her eyes and the lines of her face, but her spirit and form were the same, as were the enticing ambiguity and directness of her gaze and, he imagined, the fire that blazed beneath her gown. Happy the man who would carry her to his wedding chamber.

He mounted his horse and followed the little cortège at a distance, at length, remaining within the forest so he would not be seen. He felt an invincible force pulling him towards that carriage that advanced, swaying, and leaving a deep trail in the snow. He realized some time later that the carriage was approaching one of those square cities surrounded by a moat and an embankment, but this one was much bigger, and could contain many people. Spirals of smoke rose slowly from the rooftops, towards the cloudy sky.

He came out into the open just as the carriage was stopping and a door was opened in the palisade to admit the new arrivals.

A man crossed the bridge at its centre, walking towards the carriage from which the girl was descending. The warriors also unloaded several wicker baskets, her dowry perhaps, and carried them towards the city.

Diomedes sank his heels into his horse’s belly and got so close that the girl could see him; she looked into his eyes and he returned her gaze and made a sweeping gesture with his hand as if inviting her to follow him. The men who had been accompanying her turned towards him in alarm, then took their bows and began shooting arrows at him. He was beyond their range and he shouted to her: ‘Come with me! No one is more beautiful than you on this earth! Come with me!’ He spoke from his heart; he felt that that woman could become the queen of the city that he would found. Only she, perhaps, could wipe the image of Aigialeia from his soul. He wanted to attack then, and carry her off, but as he was about to charge forward, a great number of men appeared from behind the palisade and drew up before the carriage.