Homer’s Daughter (12 page)

My uncle Mentor, gloomily waiting on a bench in the throne chamber, began to weep when he saw me.

“What has happened?” I exclaimed. “No ill news of death or sickness, I hope? Or have the Sicels invaded our frontiers? Uncle, why are you not sitting on the throne?”

“Niece, the news is bad! Though by the grace of Artemis, neither death nor disease has been reported, nor have any Sicels, or Phoenicians, or other strangers threatened us, it is very bad. This enemy works from within. When today I attended the Drepanan Council, I met with unkind looks and cruel words. The clan leaders ordered me to surrender my regency on the ground that in the King's absence the Elyman sceptre always passes to the most honourable of his own clansmen. I declined to obey until compelled by an all-Elyman assembly; because, after all, the King himself conferred the regency on me. And then, as I left the council chamber, Antinous gave notice that, in accordance with your father's wishes, he and others of your suitors will before long visit the Palace; where they expect to find a feast of roast meat and lavish wine spread for them in the banqueting court. And that this entertainment must continue day after day, for a month, or two months, or even more, until a husband is chosen for you from the company. He also said that I am qualified under Elyman law to make the choice, since your mother and I come of Aegadean stock, and—as the King himself admitted—uncle disposes of niece in our islands. My dear, I may be an easygoing man, but there are certain occasions when I dig in my heels and will not budge. I refused point-blank to choose you a husband without your father's consent.”

“I am grateful to you, Uncle Mentor. Did Antinous discuss the case of Ctimene?”

“He did: impertinently asking me to presume the death of Laodamas and send her home to her father on Bucinna. Again I answered no: because Ctimene is determined to stay and has already planted herself on the hearth as a suppliant. To drive
her out now would be to visit this house with a curse; besides, what business is it of theirs whether Ctimene goes or stays? Oddly enough, Eurymachus supported me in this, and Antinous gave way. But you do not seem in the least surprised, Nausicaa?”

“It takes a good deal to surprise me these days, Uncle. Well, what are you proposing to do?”

“First tell me: have you set your heart on any of these young men?”

“Certainly not. The least dull are the most detestable and, contrariwise, the least detestable are the dullest. If I am allowed to marry for love, my choice will necessarily fall on a stranger.”

“Then I am resolved to keep hold of the sceptre until it is wrested from my hands. When your suitors enter this house I shall offer light refreshments and then courteously ask them to retire; and if they defy me, I shall lay the matter on the knees of the Immortals.”

“I am assured, Uncle,” I said, “that the Immortals are already concerned in our affairs and, when we take care not to offend them either in word or deed, will protect us behind a wall of unbreakable shields.”

He looked shrewdly at me, but I gazed back at him with expressionless eyes.

“I hope that you are right, child, for I have begun to smell blood and the smoke of burning rafters. But we need hardly anticipate immediate trouble. Tomorrow I will get out your father's fast chariot and visit the elders of Aegesta. Perhaps they will take a different view from those of Drepanum.”

The very next day my impudent suitors sent word, as if from my uncle Mentor, to our chief swineherd Eumaeus at Raven Rock, and to Philoetius, our chief shepherd, who was grazing the flocks near the Cave of Conturanus. They were instructed to drive down, respectively, eight fat boars and a dozen fat wethers for slaughter without delay. Suspecting no fraud, these honest servants sent what was demanded, and Melantheus the cattlemaster willingly added a couple of prime bullocks. I was superintending a group of women at work in the court of sacrifice when these beasts reached the Palace. It happened to be the day for remaking the mattresses. Once a year we pull out the lumpy wool from the linen ticks, flog the yellowish-white heap with long canes
until it fluffs up; then we refill the ticks, distributing the handfuls evenly so that the whole surface becomes smooth, soft, and buoyant, and sew the ends together again, neatly turning the hems. It is not an agreeable task. Wool dust gets into noses and makes them sneeze, and if a wind rises, as it did on this occasion, and blows the wool wantonly about the court, tempers grow short. I ordered the gate to be barred until we should have finished, but presently heard a violent knocking, and hoarse cries of “Open, open in Lord Mentor's name!”

I sighed and waved to the porter. He unbarred the gate, and in surged a confused crowd of men and animals: Melantheus with the bullocks, Eumaeus's son with the hogs, Philoetius's cousin with the wethers, and behind them a disorderly group of domestic servants, none of them wearing the Palace badge, who sang and laughed in a most ill-mannered way, staring around them and shouting ribald jokes at my women. A furious gust of wind swept into the court, scattering the wool in all directions and creating a small white flurry in front of the sacrificial altar.

“Shut that accursed gate!” I screamed. The porter was still holding it open for a hog which had taken fright and bolted out again.

“Who is in charge of this rabble?” I went on. “Melantheus! What are you doing with those bullocks? Have you lost your wits? The Feast of Apollo is not due for several days yet. Bar that gate at once, I tell you, porter! Never mind the wayward hog. Have you no sense? Look at this waste of good wool!”

Melantheus had slipped off, as though to retrieve the hog; but Eumaeus's son came forward, touching his forelock, and apologized very decently for letting in the shameless wind,
over which, as he observed, even Father Zeus had no control, but only the three deaf Fates.

“Why in the world has your reverend father sent us those hogs?” I asked in gentler tones. We Elymans always call swineherds “reverend,” because Sican swineherds give oracles from the behaviour of their sows, and Eumaeus, though Ionian by birth, had become more Sican almost than the Sicans.

“A messenger came from my lord Mentor,” he answered, “demanding six of our fattest porkers. My reverend father being away at Aegesta, I wanted to know what good news was to be celebrated. Had an embassy arrived with rich gifts from a neighbouring city? Or could it be that the King had landed unexpectedly with Prince Laodamas? But the messenger explained that the beasts were wanted for your wedding feast. So I obeyed. Philoetius's cousin, here, was told the same.”

“Someone has been making a fool of you both, friends. You had better drive the hogs back as soon as you have rested. Meanwhile, take them outside and tie them by their hind legs to the hitching posts. The waste of it all: walking so much weight off them to no purpose! And that goes for the bullocks, too. Lead them out immediately! They will foul this newly swept court.”

Then I turned to the masterless servants. “You, my lads, what is your business? Has the same idiotic joke been played on you? No, I am not being married either today, tomorrow, or on any subsequent day before the return of the King. I say so myself, and surely I should know? And pay attention: some of you are behaving as though this were the shrine of Aphrodite on a morning of high festival, and my chaste and
well-mannered maids were her temple prostitutes. Remember, your boorishness reflects on the lords whom you serve; and off with you all—or all except you two lads wearing my lord Agelaus's badge! Wait here, pray, both of you, and when the court is empty again and the gate barred, I shall require you to salvage the wool which your rude entry has sent flying about.”

Eumaeus's son touched his forelock a second time. “Begging your pardon, mistress, I fear that my reverend father will tan my back with his heaviest cudgel if I bring these porkers home without direct orders from the Lord Mentor. You would not have me beaten, mistress, I am sure.”

“My uncle is away until tomorrow. Like your reverend father, he has gone to Aegesta. This should be proof enough that the orders are not his. And if you doubt my words, would you perhaps prefer to consult the Queen?”

The boy shifted his feet and looked uncomfortable. “If it please your ladyship, I should like to consult Prince Clytoneus. My reverend father and I honour your mother beyond all women, and your self hardly less, but orders for our hogs always come from the men of your noble house—no disrespect intended.”

“And no offence taken,” I said. “Put someone in charge of the herd and go to the tower room. You will find Prince Clytoneus there, touching up the device on one of the palace shields—though why he cannot leave the task to a skilled painter is more than I can say.”

I turned to the intruding servants again. “Why are you waiting? I told you to be off.”

A tall, curly-bearded man, wearing Antinous's badge, answered
boldly: “We have orders to prepare a feast here for our masters.” He tapped the sharp sacrificial knife at his girdle.

“Have you, indeed? Well, then, my orders are exactly the reverse: get out, and get out quick! You are interfering with the morning's work!”

The servants glanced doubtfully from one to the other, and I clapped my hands for the porter. “Porter,” I said, “call Medon the herald and desire him to clear the court. Since these dolts will not listen to me, perhaps they will listen to him.”

Some of the servants had raided the woodpile and were lugging out faggots. It would only have made matters worse if I had intervened, so I paid no attention to what they did and continued to direct the wool beating until Eumaeus's son returned with Clytoneus. Clytoneus's hands were stained cinnabar red from the painting and, in the light of the first words he spoke, this accident struck me as pleasantly ominous.

“I warn you wretches who have broken into our Palace, with butcher's knives at your girdles, that when the time comes, my men and I, not you and your masters, will do the butchering!”

Medon then entered, blinking and yawning, newly awakened from sleep, his favourite pastime. He raised the white wand, which, like his plumed sandals, showed that his person was sacrosanct, and made a long, eloquent speech. He began with a preface in praise of the Elyman people: their courage, honesty, tenacity, gentleness and good manners, the deeds of their forefathers, the favour bestowed on our nation by the Gods, the wisdom of our rulers, the solidarity of our clans,
the beauty of our princesses, the extreme rarity of riots, quarrels or brawls in our market place. Next, he enlarged on his own position as royal herald, the sacred duty imposed on him to keep the peace, and the surprise which had overcome him when informed that certain sacrifical beasts were spontaneously offering their necks to the knife…

Would he ever reach the point? I wondered. But it was soon obvious that he had no intention of doing so—he was playing for time. Presently the servants' masters would arrive, and the dispute must enter upon a new and more interesting stage.

So I asked Medon to desist, and addressed the men myself for the last time. “Lads,” I said, “if you leave this court now, your masters will beat you for disobeying their orders. If you do not leave, however, then as sure as my name is Nausicaa, the Furies will pursue you with their brazen scourges and hound every man to death, though he run a thousand miles. I am a priestess of the royal hearth, and when I summon those daughters of Uranus, they come crowding at my back.” Here I took Medon's wand from his hands and advanced towards them with slow menace, glancing frequently over my shoulder and smiling encouragement to the invisible Furies. Antinous's bearded valet folded his arms and stood his ground, but I struck him across the head and kicked him hard in the groin. He cried “Oh! Oh!” and stumbled away, doubled up with pain, and there was a concerted rush for the gate, through which Eumaeus's son and Philoetius's cousin had already driven their beasts. The two fat bullocks took fright and charged after them, bellowing, and this added to the fun; but it was not long before I had cleared the court and barred the gate myself.

“Dear companions, let us collect the scattered wool,” I ordered cheerfully. Suppressing their mirth, they obeyed, all but Melantho, who sat and scowled on a bench, as though she had not heard me. She was a tall, well-built girl who walked like a princess—as I do not; and this beauty of gait encouraged ambitions in her which she lacked the intelligence to make good.

“You will come to an unlucky end, daughter,” I prophesied. “What begins in the boathouse, as they say, ends in deep water.” I added “as they say” to pass it off as a proverb, and pretended to be mystified by the sniggering of the other girls. “What's the merriment?” I asked severely. Melantho bent to chase a whirling strand of wool, but I read the hate and fear in her eyes.

I drew Clytoneus aside. “Our enemies are showing their hand at last, dear Brother, yet I can trust you to preserve my honour, and that of the house. You must act for our father now, because I have a notion that Uncle Mentor will be detained at Aegesta, so that you are the only man left about the Palace—except grandfather, of course, but he is deaf and his memory is failing.”

Clytoneus embraced me tenderly, and I was back working at the wool when Medon's loud voice sounded again from close behind: “Mistress, allow me to present a number of distinguished suitors whom your beauty and the King's reiterated invitations have drawn together out of all the clans of our nation. They come here in hope of lavish hospitality, and in the confidence that, after a careful review of each suitor's merit, one of them will be chosen and garlanded as the fortunate sharer of your bridal couch.” There they stood in a
solid mass, grinning like naughty children who have broken into the larder and find themselves faced by a staid housekeeper.

Melantheus had led them around by the garden door, and they numbered no less than one hundred and twelve—fifty-six Phocaean clansmen, twenty-four Sicans, twenty from the mixed clans, and twelve Trojans.