The Girl From Ithaca (31 page)
The chill from the night air made us gasp and Odysseus and I ran as quickly as we could to the Ithacan camp. Io had left for Agamemnon’s hut and much as I loved my friend, I was relieved to find her gone.
“Had a good evening with Antilochus?” Ellissa asked, stirring from her doze by the fire.
“Yes,” I replied, before remembering I was meant to be listening to a flute player. “Oh, and the flutes … ”
Ellissa chuckled. “Don’t worry, Io is so excited about the wedding, she didn’t notice you weren’t quite so keen to work on the robe as she was.” Then she added, “And now we’ve almost finished hers, Io insists I need to work on one for you.”
A Winter’s Song
T
he fragrance of oils carried me back to my early girlhood and the days spent in my mother’s chamber, watching the servants massage her with olive oil and braid her coiled hair. Now we were bathing Io, preparing her for the wedding later in the day. Agamemnon had given us a large jar of olive oil and smaller pots of perfumes, just for the occasion.
“I can’t believe this,” Io said, her skin glowing. “In Mycenae, only Clytemnestra could be so extravagant.”
We were talking at once, trying out the oils and fragrances that had been lost to us for the four years of the war.
“I love this rose perfume,” Ellissa sighed.
“But you’re meant to concentrate on me. You’ve got to do my hair yet,” Io cried.
Ceto smiled and picked up the comb, studying her friend, before she began the arrangement. “Tell us again, Neomene, who’ve you organised for entertainments? And please don’t tell me it’s the tuneless flute player I hear every night. He’s had enough time to practice, but he still sounds like a wounded wood-pigeon.”
I laughed at the agonised face she pulled. “I’m not telling you anything, except there’ll be some dancing in the Ithacan style.”
“Ithacan style, what’s that?” Io said. “Hope we don’t have to dance with a goat!”
“Could be worse, we might have to dance with Agamemnon.” Ceto laughed.
“Or Calchas,” Ellissa added.
While Ceto worked on Io’s hair, we thought up a full range of unpleasant dance options and we were laughing when the loud knock on the door made us all jump.
“No men, not yet!” Io screamed. “Great gods, I hope it’s not Odysseus.”
Odysseus would have better sense than return now, I thought. He disappeared soon after dawn, alarmed at the idea of four laughing women following a ritual he didn’t understand. I opened the door very slightly. Everyone was quiet as I peered through the gap.
Antilochus looked round the partially opened door, so our faces almost touched. I slipped outside and closed the door behind me.
“We’re getting Io ready,” I whispered. “No men can see her yet.”
“Yes, sorry. I just wondered, I just wondered … have you seen Odysseus?”
“He went early. I think he’s hiding out at the Argos camp.”
“Oh, I see. Of course. Nothing important. I was only going to say…” He started to laugh. “You’ve got oil on your forehead.”
He wiped the oil away with his hand and kissed me, first on my forehead and then on the lips. I stood without moving, stunned into silence. Then he turned and walked away.
“What shall I tell Odysseus?” I stammered.
Antilochus looked back and grinned. “Nothing, nothing! I didn’t want Odysseus.”
Io and Ceto looked away when I stepped back inside and Ellissa just smiled and fetched the robes she’d made.
At last Ceto set down her comb and picked up the polished bronze mirror. “That’s your hair finished, but have a look yourself and see if you want a few more curls on your forehead or tendrils round the side.”
Io took the mirror and studied her reflection for a long time, moving her head so she could see herself at different angles. “It’s wonderful, Ceto. You’re completely wasted as Agamemnon’s attendant.”
“Just can’t do anything with his hair, now he’s thinning on top,” Ceto grinned. “Might explain why he’s annoyed with me most of the time.”
Ellissa patted Ceto’s shoulder. “Agamemnon gets annoyed with all the best people.”
“Don’t be so boastful, Ellissa,” Io laughed. “And please, I’m ready now. Help me into my robe.”
Once Io was dressed and I’d lined her eyes with black, we stood back to admire her transformation.
“Walk round a little,” Ellissa said.
We watched as she took careful steps along the side of my bed and then turned and walked back again.
I squeezed Ellissa’s hand. “Well done, the robe fits Io perfectly. All my efforts were worth it.”
Ellisa raised her eyes. “I suggest you make one final effort and get in yours before Agamemnon arrives. And you, Ceto.”
The four of us stood by the door as Agamemnon led the flute players and singers towards us. I was relieved when Ceto smiled at me. “They’re better than I thought they’d be.”
Surrounded by the music, we escorted Io across the beach to a raised platform, where the altar had been built. As soon as Io saw Nicodamas, she relaxed and strode confidently towards the waiting group. At the signal from Agamemnon, Calchas lifted his arms towards the sky and chanted a prayer to Zeus. Then he lowered his voice and sang prayers to Hera, the goddess of marriage. I tried to block out the noise by repeating the shepherd’s song in my head.
At last Calchas stopped singing. With a florish, he lit the fires and sprinkled incense into the flames. As the fragrance hit us, Agamemnon held up the conch shell and poured wine over the ground as a gift to the goddess. He nodded to Nicodamas and the blacksmith stepped forward to offer ox’s blood as a sacrifice.
When Calchas started one of his long chants again, I stole a glance at Antilochus and found him talking with his brother and Diomedes. My heart racing, I turned away quickly and looked along the line for Teucer, Ajax’s half-brother. His archery display was to be the first entertainment and I saw him standing away from the group with Phoebus. Phoebus beckoned to me, pointing to where we’d set the archery targets.
I nudged Ellissa and Ceto. “I’ll see you later.”
Slipping away, I ran around the back of the crowd and past the long feast table, to reach the targets. Once Calchas’ chanting stopped, Agamemnon arrived and sat at the top and men not considered important enough to have a place at the table, milled around and gathered in groups, waiting for Teucer’s display.
When Io and Nicodamas were seated next to Agamemnon, Phoebus announced the start of the entertainments. Ajax pushed to the front to watch his brother. Other Salamians edged forward too, showing support for their prince. Teucer lifted his bow and the crowd hushed. He glanced at Ajax and started his display.
In spite of his modesty, Teucer hit the centre of a target every time and easily outclassed the bowmen who dared to compete with him. When Phoebus announced the display complete and declared Teucer the greatest archer in camp, Ajax raised his hand to silence the cheers.
“It is good to see my island has such a valiant warrior and expert bowman and I am proud he is my brother, Lord Teucer. I am leaving you now to stand sentry at the gate, but I will return at change of watch. Mind you keep a good supply of food for me.”
The big man beamed at his brother, scooped a leg of mutton from the table and marched away towards the boundary gate.
Phoebus whispered. “Teucer has just saved my neck. I don’t think there’ll be any problems with Odysseus’ storytelling and I can organise the musicians by myself. You go and enjoy your meal.”
Teucer and I found two spare seats and we watched in astonishment as platters full of venison and mutton, bread, dried fruit, nuts and wheat cakes were piled on the table by Agamemnon’s slaves. He must have been keeping his own private supply of food. Goblets were filled and then refilled with a sweet, honeyed wine. The Spartan women moved amongst the crowd, handing out the food to the hungry men. Agamemnon’s herald threw wine skins, shouting out that this was all a gift from the king.
When most were fed, Phoebus nodded to Odysseus and my brother began his tale. “King Agamemnon, I pray to the muse of storytelling for guidance in relating this story of Jason, the heroic leader of the Argonauts.”
When Odysseus described the dangerous passage of Jason’s ship through the Clashing Rocks, I took a large swig of wine and looked around for Antilochus. He was at the opposite end of the table, next to Menelaus and Patroclus. At the very moment I spotted him, he glanced in my direction. He smiled. I smiled. Then I looked away and took a second gulp of wine.
Teucer leaned towards me. “Drink the wine more slowly, it’s strong and will make your head spin. We can’t all drink like Ajax, though perhaps that’s a good thing. They’d not be enough grapes in Greece to satisfy our thirst.”
I laughed and turned to concentrate on Odysseus’ story. It was the goddess Aphrodite who’d made Princess Medea fall in love with Jason. The princess deserted her family and homeland to save Jason’s life and help him in his quest to take the golden fleece. It was Aphrodite again, just as she’d forced Helen to love Paris and leave her home in Sparta.
“Tell us another story. This time about one of the gods,” someone shouted.
Agamemnon stood up, waving his goblet. “Yes, another story, like the man says.”
Odysseus sipped his wine and thought for a moment. “Then a story about the blacksmith god, for our own blacksmith, Nicodamas.” He raised his cup to the newly married couple. They both laughed and raised their cups in reply.
I turned to see Achilles standing behind me with his new slave-girl, Briseis. He smiled as he heard about the kindness of his sea-goddess mother towards the lame and ugly blacksmith god. My heart ached. I missed the handsome prince who’d been so eager to marry Iphigenia.
Odysseus sat down and declared he needed to eat before he told any more stories. Phoebus introduced Thestor, the Spartan herald. Unknown to most in the camp, Thestor had a talent for lyre playing. His playing was good enough to please the crowd and I hoped Ceto was listening.
Servants lit torches and thrust the poles into the sand around the table, so that we were encircled in flickering light. I watched Antilochus talking to Patroclus, their handsome faces illuminated for one moment while being lost in the next, as the shadows danced around them. I could only see shades of men and woman moving outside the fiery circle, almost as ghosts who were banished to a darker world.
“The wine and the music are good,” Teucer said, leaning back in his chair.
One of the Mycenaean slave girls poured him more wine and the Athenian sitting the other side of him started a conversation. I shivered and realised it was a lot colder now. In the short interval between Thestor’s music and the flute players, I decided to retrieve my cloak.
The glow from the fire lit our hut and I didn’t need to light the oil lamp. I glanced around at the tumble of clothes strewn amongst the perfume jars and pots of oil. I sighed and replaced lids on pots and stoppers in jars while searching through some of the clothes. Penelope’s blue cloak lay hidden under my abandoned tunic, so I swept it round my shoulders and made for the door, running through the list of entertainments we’d planned for the rest of the night. Next the flute players, then the Ithacan dancers, the Cretan bull leapers …
There was a noise outside.
I listened. Nothing. I leant against the door and waited. There were footsteps. Light footsteps. Footsteps not meant to be heard. I squeezed up against the wall and held my breath.
The door swung open and shielded me from view. Someone paused and then stepped inside. I felt for my knife. If they turned around, they’d see me. There was rustling, a creak of wood and then quick shallow breathing. I waited. The footsteps came closer. I closed my eyes, expecting to be detected at any moment.
The Box
W
hoever it was, he’d now hurried away. Still gripping my knife, I crept outside. Nothing moved in the dark. Everyone seemed to be at the feast, enjoying the music.