The Poison In The Blood (5 page)

“No,” sobbed Dianeera. “No! It is to make you love me again!”

But Heracles was not listening. He was already running out of the house, out of the city. He was running for the mountains. Snow lay high on the peaks. All that Heracles could think of as he burned was to roll and roll in the snow.

Dianeera watched him go, then she returned to the bedroom. She took a cord from her gown made a noose, then tied the other end to a beam. She stood on a chair, slipped the noose over her neck and kicked away the chair. As she slowly throttled herself, the tears flowed down her cheeks and dropped to the floor.

Meanwhile, Heracles was also ready for death. He had reached the mountaintop, but the snow had done nothing to cool his body. As his flesh melted and dripped from his bones, he knew that his end had come. But he also knew that he would never truly die. He was the son of Zeus, and he was the greatest hero of all. If his mortal body were consumed by flames, then his spirit would climb to the heavens. He would live on as a god. In a frenzy, he began gathering wood. He gasped with agony as he worked, but he did not stop once for breath as he built a giant funeral fire. All around him, shepherds gathered to watch. When Heracles had finished, he climbed to the top of the mound of wood, lay down and called out to the shepherds. He ordered them to light the fire. They refused. The thought of killing Heracles was too awful to think about. Heracles roared at them to obey him, but all the shepherds disappeared down the mountainside. And still the poison bubbled and hissed and burned.

Some time later, a boy came walking by, herding goats. Heracles raised his head feebly and called out to the boy. He begged him to light the fire.

The boy looked up at the hero with wide eyes. He shook his head.

“What is your name?” asked Heracles.

“Philoctetes,” answered the boy.

“Then listen to me, Philoctetes,” said Heracles.

“Light the pyre, and I will give you a great gift. You may have my bow and my poisoned arrows. They are the deadliest weapons in the world. The boy who owns them will grow up to be a hero. Would you like that, Philoctetes? To grow up a hero? Or are you content to remain a goatherd all your life?”

The boy paused, but not for long. He scrambled to the top of the pyre and looked down at the dying hero. He saw how Heracles’s flesh boiled and bubbled like a lava pool. He looked at the bow and arrows and saw how the great bow curved, how the tips of the deadly arrows glinted in the sun. He reached down and picked up the bow and arrows. He carried them with him as he clambered back down the mountain of wood and stood by its side. Then he took his lighting flints out of his pouch and struck a spark. Flames licked and curled around the wood of Heracles’s funeral fire.

Within minutes, the blaze was raging. Philoctetes stepped back. The heat was holding him back like a wind. He could not make out the body of Heracles through the smoke but he heard a cry. It soared and echoed, then fell away. As it stilled to silence, Philoctetes saw the smoke form into the silver outline of a chariot. Ten prancing horses made of fire rose into the sky, and standing in the chariot was Heracles. His limbs were healed. His body was repaired. Light like a crown blazed from his head. He shook the reins of his chariot and the horses pawed at the sky. Up they soared, then wheeled and sped on their way to Olympus. Eventually they vanished, leaving only the black smoke. The flames coiled and raged. Sparks flew.

Philoctetes, watching until only ashes were left, smoothed his fingers up and down the bow, and knew that it was his.

He did not stay a goatherd for long. Just as Heracles had promised it would, the great bow made him famous. The poisoned arrows continued to kill many monsters, and Philoctetes became the greatest archer of his day. He was adopted by his city’s king, and named a prince. When the King died, Philoctetes took the crown. The boy who had been a goatherd now sat on a royal throne.

One day, he was paid a visit by the king of a nearby city called Sparta. He had his daughter with him. Her name was Helen. Philoctetes thought that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was so perfect that he couldn’t speak. At last, he found his tongue, but he remained too shy to make any sense. Fortunately, Helen was not the only princess to have travelled with her father. Her cousin, Penelope, had also come to visit Philoctetes. She was beautiful, too, although not as beautiful as Helen. Philoctetes found it much easier to talk to her, and when she left to return to Sparta he missed her terribly.

A few months later, strange news reached him. It was reported that princes from all over Greece were travelling to Sparta. They were all madly in love with Helen and wanted her as their bride. They were camped out in her father’s palace, refusing to leave. Philoctetes decided that he would travel to Sparta as well. But he did not want Helen as his queen. His heart was set on Penelope.

When he arrived at Sparta, however, he found to his horror that there was another prince with the same idea. His name was Odysseus. He came from Ithaca, an island as tiny as it was poor. Philoctetes assumed that such a lowly prince was little threat to him, but he was wrong. Odysseus may not have been rich, but he was clever. Indeed, no one in the world was more cunning or ruthless.

Odysseus was determined to remove Philoctetes as a rival, so he went to see Helen’s father. The King of Sparta was in a nervous state. He was upset to find himself with so many rival princes in his palace, thinking that the rejected suitors might cause trouble if he were forced to choose one of them as Helen’s husband. Odysseus claimed to have a solution to the dilemma, but he told the king he would reveal it only if he were first given the hand of Penelope. The King of Sparta quickly agreed that he would. Odysseus whispered in his ear: “Make all the princes swear an oath. Get them to promise upon the gods that they will accept Helen’s choice of husband. Then, get them to promise that they will go to war with anyone who attempts to steal her away. An insult to Helen’s husband must be regarded as an insult to the whole of Greece. Then, when everyone has sworn this oath, get the princes to stand in a circle, place Helen in the middle of it, blindfold her, spin her round, and order her to walk forwards with her arms outstretched. The first prince she touches will be her husband. That way, the choice will not have been yours. The gods will have made it for you.”

The King of Sparta decided this was an excellent plan and did exactly as Odysseus had advised. All the princes accepted his proposal, swore an oath that they would go to war with anyone who stole Helen from the man chosen to be her husband, then stood in a circle. Helen was led into the centre of the circle, blindfolded and spun round. Then she glided forwards with her arms outstretched. The first man she touched was Menelaus and the two were duly proclaimed husband and wife.

Of course, Menelaus was not the only prince to have won himself a bride. Odysseus, when he went home to Ithaca, took Penelope with him to be his queen.

Philoctetes went home alone. And just as there was poison on the heads of his arrows, now there was poison in his heart, too.

At this point, Yonani paused in her story and looked down at Paris. His face was waxy. Bubbles of sweat beaded his grey skin. He twitched and turned. He plucked at his skin with his nails.

“Well?” asked Yonani. “What do you think? Can jealousy be a worse poison than the venom currently boiling in your blood?”

Paris made a curious sound, midway between a sob and a laugh. “It is hardly for me to say,” he gasped.

“No,” said Yonani coldly. “It is not.” She paused again and listened to the faint sound of the battle on the plain far below. “Philoctetes and his arrows; his deadly, poisoned arrows.” She crouched beside Paris, laid her cool fingers briefly on his burning cheek, then shook her head in mock-concern. “Goodness me, you are on fire.” She rose to her feet again. “shall I tell you,
Prince Paris,
how it was that Philoctetes came to Troy?”

Paris did not answer. Perhaps he had been silenced by the bitterness of Yonani’s tone. But he kept his eyes fixed on her and listened with pained attention as the goddess continued her tale.

“It was you”, Yonani told him, “you who brought Philoctetes here.”

Paris moaned, because he could hardly deny the charge. It was indeed his abduction of Helen that had brought Philoctetes, and all the other Greeks, to Troy. For no sooner had Menelaus learned that his wife had been kidnapped than he was vowing a terrible revenge. He sent news of the outrage to every city in Greece, reminding the princes of their oath. He called them to war with Troy. Most came willingly; a few were less happy about it.

Odysseus, for instance, only just married himself, had no wish to leave Penelope. He had his servants report that he had gone mad. Menelaus believed him, but Philoctetes did not. He told Menelaus that he would make sure that Odysseus came to Troy. He travelled to Ithaca and arrived at Odysseus’s palace. There he found Penelope in tears. “How am I going to bring up my son,” she sobbed, “when his father has gone insane?” She showed Philoctetes her baby. The sight of the boy was like a blade through Philoctetes’s heart. Penelope hugged the baby to her breast. “He needs a father; a father who is sane.”

“Well, let me see if I can cure your husband’s madness,” said Philoctetes grimly. “Where is Odysseus?”

“He started frothing at the mouth this morning,” answered Penelope, “then he jumped through a window and ran howling to the sea.”

“Take me there,” ordered Philoctetes.

Penelope, still holding her baby, led the way to the beach. There was Odysseus, singing and shouting loudly. He had harnessed two bulls to a plough and was driving them up and down, covering the sand dunes with salt. “You see,” said Penelope, turning to Philoctetes. “It is just like I told you. He is mad. Quite mad.”

Philoctetes nodded, but did not answer. He watched Odysseus through narrowed eyes. Then, suddenly, without warning, he grabbed the baby from Penelope’s arms and placed him just in front of the bulls. Penelope screamed and rushed forward to try to save her son. But Odysseus had already steered the bulls to one side. He had also stopped singing and shouting. He dropped the whip. He stared at Philoctetes with hatred.

“Not so mad when your son lies in your path, I see,” said Philoctetes.

“That was a low trick,” answered Odysseus.

“But one that worked. You are no madder than I am, Odysseus. And therefore you are duty bound to obey your oath. You must leave your wife and son and come with me to Troy.”

Odysseus gave a short nod. With his eyes still fixed on Philoctetes, he crossed to Penelope and took her in his arms. He gave her a long kiss. Then he kissed his son. “Goodbye, my wife,” he whispered. “Goodbye, my son. I will see you soon, I am sure. And in the meantime, do not think that I will forget who tore me away from you.” And with that, he turned and left with Philoctetes.

The two of them set sail with their men to join Menelaus. Philoctetes, aware of his rival’s hatred, never dropped his guard, but Odysseus did nothing. He seemed unhappy and withdrawn. Philoctetes enjoyed his revenge. After all, if he could not have Penelope, then why-should anyone else? And why should another prince enjoy the comforts of family and peace when he had neither? Philoctetes was glad that all of Greece was sailing to Troy. He was glad that men and women were being torn apart by war. He was glad that others would share in his loneliness.

And so it was that the poison continued to fester in his heart.

A thousand ships had gathered to sail for Troy. When all stood ready for their departure, there was a great blast of trumpets and the sails filled with wind. The Greek fleet moved out across the sea. Philoctetes and his seven ships were in the front rank. Just behind them was Odysseus. They all made good speed. After two days” of sailing they were getting near to Troy. This was just as well, for the fleet was already running short of water and the Greeks were getting thirsty. Lookouts in every ship began to scan the horizon for land.

Philoctetes spotted the island first. He ordered his ships to change direction and head straight for it. Odysseus and his ships followed close behind, then the rest of the fleet. From a thousand ships, thirsty men plunged into the sea and waded on to the beaches. The island was small and barren, but streams could be heard babbling everywhere, and the water was clear and cool. The Greeks drank until their stomachs swelled. Barrels were filled and stored in the holds of the ships. A few men went hunting in the mountains for goats. Among them was Philoctetes. No one was a better archer. Each time he came back to his ship he brought fresh game with him. The smell of roasting meat filled the air. The men from Odysseus’s boats breathed it in. Without telling their captain, they asked if they might share in the feast. When Odysseus saw his men eating as the guests of Philoctetes, he was furious. He reached for his own bow and spent the whole day hunting. When he returned to the beach, he brought enough game to feed both his own and Philoctetes’ men - and he did so.

Now it was the turn of Philoctetes to feel insulted. He went into the mountains again: up the winding path he went. Ahead of him he saw a flock of wild goats. He reached for an arrow, drew his bowstring, took a step forwards and aimed the arrow. As he did so, he brought his bare heel down on to the earth. Something crunched beneath it - and Philoctetes felt a sharp stab of pain. He cried out in agony and fell to the ground, clutching his heel. Two trickles of blood were flowing from it, and a horrible smell was rising from the wound. When he looked to see what he had trodden on, he found the body of a snake. It had black diamonds on its back, but otherwise it was red. Its skull had been crushed. Blood and a bright green poison flowed from the pulp.

Using his bow as a crutch, Philoctetes hobbled back to his ships. As he went, he could feel the poison spreading through his blood. The smell from his wound was growing worse by the minute. By the time he reached the beach, it was overpowering. His men could not bear to go near him. Philoctetes fell on to the sand. The other Greeks stood in a circle round him. He sobbed and howled with the pain. He felt dizzy with the stink of the wound and begged for help, but everyone watching him just took a further step away. They all kept their hands clasped over their noses.