Homer’s Daughter (16 page)

Clytoneus gave Antinous's hand no answering grip, but snatched his own away. “If you think,” he said doggedly, “that I have the least intention of eating and drinking in your company, which would be to connive at shameless thefts from my father, you are much mistaken. The Council have by no means spoken the final word, and well you know it. Moreover, when I reach Sandy Pylus, you may be sure that what I tell the King will not redound to your credit; and should I find difficulty in securing a ship, you are the very last man to whom I would apply for either help or advice.”

“If you want a quarrel,” said Antinous, “I shall be pleased to oblige you. By rejecting my hand you have not improved your chances of a long life.”

The other suitors began taunting Clytoneus. Ctesippus shouted: “He talks boldly enough of sailing to Sandy Pylus, but somehow I think that he has a different voyage in mind. Perhaps his destination is Corinth, where Queen Medea left her famous drug cabinet; he plans to bring back a little bladder full of deadly poison and squeeze its contents into the mixing bowl when we are too sodden to notice.”

Leiocritus chimed in. “You are right, by Hermes! But what
a pity it would be if, like Laodamas, Clytoneus never returned! Then we should have to send off the youngest brat in quest of him, leaving only women to run this Palace. And if he fell overboard, that would oblige us to carve up the property and throw dice for the various lots. I have my eye on the orchard as serving a double purpose: fruit store and sporting house. By Hercules, Prince, those fillies of yours are fine leapers! Did you break them in yourself?”

Leiocritus's jokes confirmed my fears that an attempt would be made to kill our father on his return, and to wipe out our whole male line.

Clytoneus entered the house without answering and took Eurycleia aside. “Nurse,” he said, “I need twelve jars of wine, not the best, but the next best; and twelve stout leather bags of bruised barley meal—twenty measures in each. At Lord Mentor's suggestion I am off to recall my father from Sandy Pylus. And understand: you must breathe no word about this to anyone, even my mother, until I am clear of the harbour.”

Eurycleia burst into tears. “My dearest child, you also?” she blubbered. “Are you leaving us utterly defenceless? What is to prevent these shameless young lords from murdering us in our beds and sacking the Palace?”

“My uncle Mentor will be here to protect you. He is a councillor and the Queen's brother, and while he rules the household, who would dare to harm you? The estate may suffer, perhaps, but my grandfather can keep an eye on it, and the labourers are loyal. So are all the chief herdsmen, except Melantheus.”

“Ah, that wretch Melantheus!” she cried. “This morning I
had to take him by the scruff of his neck and kick him from the storeroom. He came wandering in as if he owned it! And his daughter Melantho—there's a harlot for you! The worst of it is that her example has already corrupted several of the other girls. Yesterday they were drinking in the cloisters: holding the men's hands, kissing and pressing feet underneath the table. I watched them through the window. After a while they slipped out by the side door into the garden and began rabitting with the suitors in the rank grass. Upon my word, a nice way for young noblemen to behave when they are supposed to be courting your sister: to debauch her maids! And who will rear the bastards they breed? The world seems to be tumbling about our ears! I told the Queen of the rabitting, and her only comment was: ‘Poor girls, they have chosen a brief pleasure. Aphrodite is a powerful Goddess, and who can withstand her? Those girls are no longer children: they know that they are doing wrong. Now it is too late. A broken maidenhead cannot be patched.' Oh, my child, you are very unwise not to tell you mother where you are going.”

“I promised my uncle to tell nobody, even her.”

At this point I walked in, having been listening behind the door. “Clytoneus,” I said, “play fair, and so shall I. Since neither of us can cope with these troubles alone, each must take the other into his confidence. Sweet Eurycleia, leave us alone together—I should not like you to hear secrets which you will burst your heart in trying to conceal.”

Eurycleia went out, sniffling, and I pressed Clytoneus: “Brother, are you really off to Sandy Pylus, as the rumour goes? If so, that would be very stupid. But if you are sailing somewhere else, I must be told: when hand washes hand, both come clean.”

“Have you any private information to offer me in exchange?”

I frowned. “We are not merchants bargaining,” I said. “We are brother and sister, confronted by formidable odds. Unless we trust each other completely, we are lost. What would have happened at Mycenae—answer me that—had Orestes and his sister Electra made separate, unrelated plans for the destruction of the usurping Aegisthus? If you think me a coward, or a fool, or incapable of keeping a secret, say so at once and I shall know where I stand.”

Clytoneus apologized. “Of course I trust your discretion,” he cried, “and of course I intended to share my secrets with you. Just now it was important not to let Eurycleia think that I was confiding in you rather than in our mother, whom I dare not tell that I am appealing to Halius at Minoa. Halius might help us; and neither Uncle Mentor nor I can think of anyone else who could.”

“I had myself considered approaching Halius,” I answered, “but only as a last recourse. To invite foreign soldiers here, especially Sicels, seems a dangerous precedent. Even if successful, it would create the impression that our dynasty governs the Elymans by force of arms, not by force of affection; which would strengthen the Phocaeans in their rebellious plot. Besides, though I long to embrace Halius again, and though he owes loving obedience to our mother, he cannot have forgotten the curse that was laid upon him at his departure. What makes matters worse, in a way, is that he was innocent of the fisherman's barbarous murder. Ctesippus killed the poor fellow, as I accidentally discovered a month or two ago.”

“Can that be true? Then why did you not denounce him?”

“I tried, but as soon as I mentioned Halius's name our father flared up in such a rage that it was impossible to say another word. I asked myself: ‘Why rub salt into half-healed wounds? Halius, no longer a homeless wanderer, has married the Minoan King's daughter and become heir presumptive to the throne. He is happy enough, no doubt, and by this time must be thinking and acting as a Sicel, not an Elyman.' Also, I lacked irrefragable proof that Ctesippus murdered the fisherman. I had only the confession of a dying woman who, it seems, was bribed by Ctesippus to witness against Halius. I told our mother all I knew, and she agrees that nothing can be done to reverse the injustice.”

“Do you think, then, that I ought not to go?”

“How soon could you reach Minoa?”

“Unless the wind changes, in two days, with oars and sails. We have to make some eighty or ninety miles. The return journey will take a good deal longer, if we have to fight a head wind.”

“Since it is unlikely that Halius will be able to supply a naval squadron at short notice, you had better come back by land. Your reappearance must be a surprise. Halius, whatever else he may do, cannot fail to escort you to the frontier, and if you come back by sea, the crew may accuse you to the Council of treating with the enemy. I shall expect you home in seven days, trusting Athene to continue favourable. Take the inland road, and meet me at Eumaeus's hog farm. If I am nowhere about, weep: you may be sure that I am either dead or ravished.”

“What do you want me to bring you from Minoa?”

“Threats of a Sicel raid unless the suitors leave the Palace without delay and compensate us in full.”

“But if Halius refuses to offer any such threat?”

“He will not refuse.”

“And the ship, if I manage to borrow one, which is by no means certain? What orders shall I give the crew when we reach Minoa?”

“I leave that to you, but they must keep away from Drepanum until you have been back here at least two or three days.”

Clytoneus, though tough, is malleable. Having no ideas of his own, but only indignant anger, and finding that my plan agreed with our uncle Mentor's, he was willing to do as I suggested. The immediate problems—where to borrow a ship and pick up a crew; who could be trusted to exercise Argus and Laelaps in his absence; what gifts to offer Halius, and so forth—engrossed him so thoroughly that he forgot to ask me the secret cause of my confidence, or how I should spend the interval between his return and that of the ship. But I proposed to play fair: Clytoneus would meet Aethon the Cretan soon enough. And until then it seemed pointless to burden his head with schemes which were not yet clearly formulated even in my own.

Clytoneus had unexpected luck. One young nobleman, a member of our clan, Noemon by name, happened to have a ship available. This long-legged, pale-faced boy had fallen in love with me, and it occurred to him that by lending Clytoneus this vessel, which lay beached in a deserted part of the southern harbour, and hiding the matter from Antinous and Eurymachus, he could show his loyalty to our house, and me,
and stand well with us when these troubles were over. Unfortunately, however, he disregarded my warning to avoid the Palace; though telling my uncle Mentor in private that he was prepared to pay for all he ate and drank, and that he came there in the sole hope of catching an occasional glimpse of me at the window. I felt a certain pity, and gratitude, too, for Noemon, who had large, prominent eyes, like a hare's; but he could never have become my husband. I had sworn a solemn oath by the Infernal Goddess Hecate, whom Zeus himself holds in awe, not to marry any man, whatever the circumstances, who entered our house uninvited and abused our hospitality.

Very well, then: here we had the needed ship. Eurycleia provisioned her; my uncle Mentor signed on a crew; and the secret was so carefully kept that, a few hours later, while the suitors were rioting in the cloisters, Clytoneus slipped out of the Palace by the garden door, hurried to the harbour, went aboard unmolested, and was soon making good progress with oar and sail to the south-east. Not until too late did our enemies notice his absence; and it caused them some concern. Antinous and Eurymachus had flattered themselves that nobody would dare lend him so much as a four-oarer; or that they could, at any rate, keep her in port by threatening the crew. The last thing they wanted was that the King should learn how things stood at home. What if he enlisted armed help at Sandy Pylus, and sailed back with a large punitive force? They had planned to cut him down as soon as he set foot unsuspectingly on the quay. Now they must modify their plans. Yet they could not openly reproach Noemon without giving themselves away, and for most of the suitors this reckless
distraint on our cattle and wine was still a mere joke at the expense of an overthrifty king who had issued a general welcome and forgotten to cancel it at his departure. Thus Noemon remained unaware that he had struck a severe blow against our enemies. They decided to post watchmen all the way down the coast, with instructions to make smoke signals when the King was sighted—he could be recognized by his sea-horse prow and purple-striped sail. Then they would hurry out ships to ambush him off Motya.

My mother greeted me ironically next morning and, having dismissed the maids, asked: “Who put Clytoneus up to this adventure? Was it you or Mentor? Or was it perhaps both?”

Never having yet successfully deceived my mother, I said: “My uncle Mentor arranged it and made Clytoneus promise to tell nobody. Not even you or me.”

“Not even Eurycleia, I suppose?”

“Eurycleia had to provide the barley and the wine.”

She sighed. “But he is obviously not going to Sandy Pylus?”

“Why do you say ‘obviously'?”

“Would he dare face his father without bringing a message from me? Besides, my enquiries show that the helmsman whom Mentor engaged has only coastal experience; Clytoneus would not risk the Ionian gulf unless with a helmsman who had made the run a dozen times before. And his fear of taking me into his confidence must mean that he does not want to cause trouble by asking my approval of certain actions which your father would forbid. In fact, he has gone to Minoa: am I right?”

I nodded.

“Well,” she sighed, “loyalty to your father alone prevents me from praising his courage.”

She said nothing to my uncle Mentor. He now went about with a bodyguard of two Sicel slaves, who had a strong attachment to him and carried carving knives in their girdles. The suitors were careful not to insult him in the Sicels' hearing, but a day or two later, egged on by Eurymachus, Agelaus ventured to enter the throne chamber, reach for the royal sceptre and seat himself on the throne. My mother sprang up from her loom and cried sharply: “Boy, out of the King's throne at once! That is no ordinary chair. If I catch you sitting there again…!”

She ran at him, boxed his ears and pulled him down by the legs. Having never before seen my calm, queenly, beautiful mother angry, Agelaus was so surprised that when he found himself sprawling on the marble pavement with a bruised spine, he scrambled to his feet and blundered away. Shame kept him from telling his friends of this misadventure; but the throne thereafter seemed no less terrible to him than the fiery chair, wreathed about by serpents, in which Theseus (another arrogant usurper) endures the eternal torment imposed on him by Persephone, the Queen of Hell.

That was the day of the suitors' boar hunt. A big tusker had been reported in a mountain thicket some two miles from Drepanum, and the suitors rose early to go after him. I need record no details of the chase except that, Antinous having borrowed Argus and Laelaps for the occasion, poor Laelaps was disembowelled after gallantly seizing the boar by the snout—if only it had been Antinous himself! And because the bunglers had netted the thicket in too great haste, the boar
escaped and did considerable damage to crops and vineyards—fortunately not palace land—until our shepherd Philoetius, meeting it by chance in a narrow lane, earned glory with a shrewd javelin cast.