Heroes (formerly Talisman of Troy) (35 page)

There were neither servants nor handmaids in the courtyard or under the porticoes, nor guards posted in the atrium. The door yawned into the darkness. Orestes drew his sword and entered, and the silence immediately swallowed up the sound of his steps which faded away into the deserted house.

The clouds slowly parted at the horizon, towards the sea, revealing for a few moments the golden eye of the setting sun. Flocks of crows and of doves descended on to the walls and towers of the city to find shelter for the night. But just then a scream of pain from the depths of the palace rent the silence and made the birds take fright and scatter off with a swift beating of wings. They sailed round the bastions as the echo of that scream drifted off over the valley. But before it had faded completely, another cry, even louder, more crazed and desperate, rose towards the dark sky; it pursued the first and joined with it like some mournful choir, and then the two voices plunged together into the chasm, dying on the bottom like a hollow lament.

The doves settled then, one by one, on the walls and rooftops of the city, looking for their nests. Only the crows remained aloft, flying in wide circles over the palace, filling the sky with their shrieks.

A
NCHIALUS WASN’T BROUGHT INTO
the presence of King Menelaus until two days after the great battle of Mycenae. That same night, the king had sent word that Anchialus should remain his guest in the tent he had had prepared for him until he was summoned. And then the king had gone in the dead of night to the palace of Mycenae: Orestes had not returned.

There was no trace of the prince in the palace; when Menelaus entered all he found was Clytemnestra’s body. She was wearing the gown of the ancient queens that bared her breasts: a deep wound lay between them. Her blood had flowed so copiously that it stained the steps before the throne. It was said that the queen had dressed in that way to welcome her son, certain that he would not dare to sink his blade into the breasts that had nursed him as a baby.

Menelaus’s men toiled until late that night to put out the fire that the Epirotes had set in the quarter of Mycenae that rose outside the walls. Everything had been destroyed, and the houses had been reduced to ashes by the flames.

The king waited at length for Orestes, in vain. He finally asked Prince Pylades to send his Phocians to search for him. They looked high and low, guided by the light of the fire that had devastated the undefended quarter of the city. They carried torches into the corridors and underground rooms of the palace, searched the city’s houses one by one and inspected the valley of the tombs as well.

That was where they found Electra, sitting in silence on the stone that covered the grave of her father. They brought her to Menelaus, who held her long in his arms as she cried all her tears. When she finally found the strength to speak, she told him that her brother had left; she said that the execution of their mother had ravaged his mind and his heart. Pursued by her restless shade, he had gone to a distant sanctuary to seek purification for the blood he had shed. Only when he was healed would he return.

Prince Pylades slept in the palace, on the floor outside of Electra’s room on a bearskin, to assist her if she needed help that dreadful night. Menelaus departed immediately, for that city called up only bitter memories for him. He ordered that the body of his brother Agamemnon be exhumed and buried in the grandiose tomb excavated in the valley, after dressing his body in his armour and his golden mask, as befitted a great king. He ordered that a tomb be reserved for queen Clytemnestra as well. He knew that no matter how evil men seem to be, they are still subject to the inescapable will of Fate, and he knew that death unites all men, and makes them all the same. Thus he also ordered that the body of Pyrrhus be bathed and embalmed and transported by ship to Phthia and the land of the Myrmidons, so he could receive funeral rites from Peleus.

The next day Menelaus marched towards Argos, where he arranged for the city to be blockaded on the west and the north, while Pisistratus set sail with his fleet; that evening, he landed his warriors at the bay of Temenium, closing the city off to the south. It was there that Anchialus was summoned to the king’s presence.

As soon as he saw Menelaus, he threw himself at his feet and kissed his hand: ‘Do you recognize me,
wanax
?’

‘I do,’ said the king, considering the pale bristly-bearded man before him. ‘You are the man who threw the sword to Prince Orestes that saved his life. I am in your debt. Ask and I shall give you everything I can.’

‘No,
wanax
, before then, in the fields of Ilium, don’t you remember? In Diomedes’s tent. I am Anchialus, son of Iasus. It was there that we met.’

The king stood and held out his hand, helping Anchialus to his feet. He felt like weeping, and his voice trembled. ‘That cursed war,’ he said. ‘What grief! And yet now that I see you I am cheered to recall those times, the comfort and warmth of friendship. Tell me, of what was that awesome sword crafted? How did you get it?’

‘Oh
wanax
, this is the reason I’ve come here. When King Diomedes realized that the queen had taken power in the city and was plotting to kill him, he decided to take to the seas and seek a new kingdom for himself, instead of unleashing a new war. Many of us followed him and we sailed the western sea at the height of winter towards the Land of Evening. But one day, as we were attacking a village to carry off food and women, we saw an immense horde descending from the mountains. There were thousands and thousands of them, and they brought their women and children and their old people with them. An entire people, in migration. We barely managed to survive their attack, and many of our comrades were lost. King Diomedes confronted their chieftain in single combat and risked his life; the man was armed with a sword similar to the one I gave Prince Orestes, and like him all the other warriors of his race. Their weapons are made of a formidable metal, as tough as bronze but as hard as stone; nothing can withstand it.

‘The king managed to win the duel by hurling his spear from a distance, but he realized that no army could resist these invaders drawn up on an open field. They have thousands of horses, as well, but they are not harnessed to chariots, like ours are. Those men ride their animals bare-backed, forming a single creature with the power of a horse and the craft and cunning of a man. Like centaurs they fly over fields and mountains, swift as the wind. They can run in circles and jump over obstacles. This I know, because they later took me prisoner, and I spent nearly three years with them.

‘We managed to escape with great difficulty, fleeing away over the sea, but Diomedes summoned me and ordered me to turn back, although I was loath to do so. He said: “You must return, you must warn Nestor and Agamemnon, and Menelaus, if he has returned, and Sthenelus at Argos, if he has survived. Tell them what you have seen, tell them to prepare their defences, to raise a wall on the Isthmus, to launch the black ships . . .” ’

Menelaus was dumbfounded by Anchialus’s words. He could still hear the voice of the Old Man of the Sea sounding within him; he could see the great cavern and the visions of his comrades: Ulysses prisoner on an enchanted island, Diomedes, in the swamps of a remote land.

‘I obeyed with a heavy heart,’ continued Anchialus, ‘and I turned my prow south, but no more than several days had passed when I fell prey to
Shekelesh
pirates. We fought with all our might, but we were completely overwhelmed. I was the only one of us to survive, but I still have in my ears the screams of pain of my comrades as they were tortured to death. I swam ashore and began to march to the land of the Achaeans, although I had no idea of how far it was. I was twice made prisoner, and I ended up once again in the hands of those invaders, who kept me as a slave until I managed to escape again. After long wanderings and much suffering, I reached Buthrotum and the house of Pyrrhus. The son of Achilles had already departed for the war, but I met Andromache who told me how I could reach him. I crossed the mountains with his army and have at long last arrived here.’

The king fell still in meditation, then asked: ‘How far are they?’

‘It is difficult to say,
wanax
. They don’t seem to have a destination in mind. They sometimes stop in a single place for years, but they do not know how to build cities and so they must keep moving in search of new pastures for their herds. When they do move, they head south and so, sooner or later, they will reach this land. I could not say when, maybe in a year’s time, or two, or ten, but you can be certain that they will arrive. Oh
wanax
, heed the words of King Diomedes, who is bound to you through deep friendship. Build a wall on the Isthmus, ready the defences, launch the black ships to sea! This is what I had to tell you; now my mission is finished. If you are still willing to offer me a reward . . .’

‘Anything I can,’ said the king. ‘Ask me for anything.’

‘Give me a ship, so I can return to my king. I don’t desire anything else.’

‘You will have it tomorrow if you want. But I would ask you to wait until Argos has fallen! Wait to take to the sea, so that when you see your lord, King Diomedes, you can tell him that Argos is his. That he must return. We will make a pact of eternal friendship and alliance that no one will be able to sunder, and we will grow old together watching our children’s children grow. If he will not return, tell him that he shall remain forever in my heart, like all the friends and comrades who suffered with me in the bloody fields of Asia.’

‘I will do as you advise,’ said Anchialus. ‘If you like, I will fight alongside your warriors, as I once did.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said Menelaus. ‘Argos will fall without a fight. The army that was sent out with Aegisthus’s forces has been destroyed. The survivors have come over to our side. The city cannot resist.’

‘Aigialeia . . . what will become of her?’

‘The war council will decide. But the queen of Argos is a proud woman. Perhaps she will take things into her own hands. But go now and take your rest. We all need to rest.’ The king took his leave, kissing Anchialus on both cheeks.

Anchialus started to leave, but before crossing the threshold he turned back: ‘There’s something I have not told you.’

‘What is it?’

‘That people . . . speaks a language like our own. Different. And yet very similar. I have always wondered why.’

He went out into the night and the king remained alone in his tent with those words. ‘A language similar to ours,’ he kept repeating to himself. He lifted his hands to his face and closed his eyes. ‘Oh gods,’ he said, ‘gods of the heavens. Destiny is fulfilled. The sons of Hercules are about to return. If you are just, allow me, please, to live until the moment in which I will know if the war in Asia was fought for the salvation of our people or if so much blood and so many tears were shed for nothing.’

A month later, Argos surrendered. Menelaus and Pisistratus entered the city, welcomed by the rejoicing inhabitants. Queen Aigialeia killed herself.

Anchialus was given his ship and he left one day at the end of winter, sailing north towards the mouth of the Eridanus. He remembered Diomedes’s promise: when they had come to a suitable place, he would found a city on the coast and would place a signal on the beach so that Anchialus could find them. The king never broke his word.

*

Meanwhile, in the land of Hesperia, Diomedes had crossed the snow-covered Blue Mountains and had descended a great river until he reached the confines of a plain which extended all the way to the western sea. It was inhabited by the
Lat
who had settled there not long ago, having crossed the Mountains of Ice, some said, or perhaps the eastern sea. Eurimachus the Trojan told them the
Teresh
lived north of that land, and that Aeneas had occupied a territory on the coast that he had won from the
Lat
in battle.

If nothing had changed during his absence, the Dardan prince could be found at no more than two days’ journey along the shores of the great river. Diomedes decided to set up camp there. The climate was mild and the pastures were lush. One night he summoned Eurimachus and said: ‘Tomorrow you will leave.’ Then he called Lamus, son of Onchestus, and ordered him to accompany the Trojan as his herald. ‘When you see Aeneas, you shall say: “Diomedes, son of Tydeus, who has already defeated you on the fields of Ilium, is here. He thinks that there is not room for both of you in this land, and that the quarrel that set our peoples one against the other for long years must be settled once and for all. Why else would the gods have made us wander at length over land and sea only to find each other here in this far land? He awaits you in a valley along the great river, and he challenges you to this duel. He who wins will certainly have the favour of the gods and the dominion over this land.” ’

‘I will do so,’ said Lamus.

They left the next day, and the
Chnan
departed with them. And thus the wait began. Myrsilus raided a village in the mountains and carried off some fine horses. He assembled the king’s war chariot, greased the hubs and fixed the shaft on to the wagon. He shined every decoration until they gleamed like they once had. He chose the two proudest stallions and had them run every day from dawn to dusk along the shores of the river. He accustomed them to the harness and reins and trained them well in every manoeuvre. They were very different from Asian horses, and from Argive horses as well. They were tall and slender, not as fast, perhaps, but more powerful, with a fiery temper. Diomedes spent most of his time alone and took little interest in the training; the great effort that Myrsilus was making to provide him with a chariot worthy of a king, worthy of a hero, a chariot that would raise his fame to the skies, seemed not to matter at all to the king.

This was not true; Diomedes kept to himself in order to gather his strength and concentrate all the power of his spirit. He was preparing for the encounter by distilling every last drop of his life energy. Myrsilus feared that the king would take his own life if Aeneas were not to accept his challenge.