Homer’s Daughter (21 page)

“Not so fast, kinsman,” I said. “Clytoneus has first to display the arrows and deliver his message of warning. He should order such suitors as still have some shame left, and fear of the Immortal Gods, to lead Eurymachus and Ctesippus in fetters before the Council, each charged with murder. If they obey, he should promise, in the King's name, to pardon them their follies. If they refuse, and thus plainly condone the crime, that will be another matter. Then the arrows of death may be loosed among them. By treating the young fools honourably and patiently, we shall please the Gods—”

“And forfeit the advantage of surprise,” interrupted Clytoneus. “They are all guilty, without exception.”

Aethon shared my views. “No, no, kinsman,” he cried. “There are degrees of guilt, and if we can persuade the less criminally minded of our enemies to take our part against the murderers and rebels, so much the better. As for the advantage of surprise, neither princess Nausicaa nor I propose to forfeit that. Show them the arrows, and they will think only of a threatened Sicel invasion, not of an immediate attack by ourselves, whose powers they are bound to underrate. Meanwhile, I should like you to make me a plan of the Palace, laying it out in pebbles on the turf until I know each door and window as if it were my own. Describe your enemies to me, man by man, so that I can recognize every one of them even in the dark. List all the resources of the Palace. This is how battles are won before they are fought. I shall go as a lame beggar, for the suitors to despise as a creature no less idle and lazy than themselves.”

We soon persuaded Clytoneus that he had been wrong, and
an hour later Eumaeus's son escorted me down to Drepanum, by the same way as I had come. We found the boat still on the beach. Eumaeus's son rowed me to the private jetty, and by the grace of Athene no one noticed our arrival.

A steady sound of wailing, which rose now and then to a shriek, came from the direction of the Palace. I entered by the garden door, and when I met Ctimene in the corridor, pretended to have just got out of bed. “I feel fairly well now,” I said. “I took a soporific and the fever has passed.”

Ctimene began to weep and asked me: “Did you not hear the wailing?”

“Yes, it work me up,” I answered. “Who is dead? No friend or relative of ours, I trust?”

“Your uncle Mentor,” she exclaimed in hollow tones, “killed by an accidental javelin cast halfway to Eryx! His corpse lies propped on its bed outside the main gate. We have already washed and anointed it.”

“Forgive me,” I said, dutifully pulling out a handful of hair and scratching both my cheeks, “I must find the Queen and condole with her.”

Though paler than usual, my mother seemed as calm as ever. She beckoned me close and gave me one of her rare kisses; which made me weep. My tears are rarer even than those kisses.

“How is your fever, darling?” she asked. “I hope I did right to leave you quite alone from one moon to the next?”

“It was what I needed, Mother,” I answered. “And, as you see, though a little shaky on my legs, I am well again.”

Because the maids were listening, I could not mention Clytoneus's return, but when I assured her that vengeance
would soon overtake the unknown murderer of my uncle, she knew that the news must be good.

“I stupidly fainted while I was mourning for my brother,” she said, “and came here to recover. I shall go outside again after a while. You had better do your turn of wailing, if you feel well enough, or people will talk. Ctimene has been revelling in it.”

I did as she suggested. The corpse wore an embroidered robe and a crown of blue periwinkle. His face was benignant. Around the bed stood decorated jars containing wine and oil which would be placed in his tomb, and I noticed a honey sop to appease three-headed Cerberus. A large pyre of driftwood was already piled on the headland, and after I had wailed for rather less than an hour, the procession moved off past the linen factory. The chief male mourners walked ahead; we women followed, singing the dirge in time with the flutes. Eight sturdy slaves carried my uncle's bed, which they set down at last on the flat summit of the pyre. Beside it were laid the sacrificial victims—a cock, a black lamb, and his favourite hound—also arms, armour and an inlaid draughtboard, because he had been the draughts champion of Drepanum. My deaf old grandfather Phytalus pronounced the farewell in a weak, bleating voice. He spoke of his son's generosity, his courage, and the fearful suddenness of death; but made no demands for vengeance on the anonymous murderers, not yet having grasped what had happened. Then Halitherses applied a torch to the pyre, which had been soaked in oil, and after throwing another hank of my hair into the fire, I wept unashamedly. So strong a sea wind fanned the flames that we had to stand back thirty paces to avoid the
heat. As soon as the corpse was consumed, we threw basins of water on the glowing embers, raked out the calcined bones, washed them with wine and oil and stowed them in a large bronze urn. This we handed to my grandfather, who accepted the gift dazedly; it was to be taken across to Hiera and buried under a barrow. Then we returned sadly to the Palace, still singing, to purify ourselves. None of the suitors had the effrontery to take part in the funeral banquet uninvited, and we issued invitations only to the elder members of the Council. When they arrived, we propitiated the Infernal Gods with hearth sacrifies, and grief was expressed on all sides for the cruel fate which had cut short so noble a life. “Most regrettably,” said Aegyptius, “it has so far proved impossible to trace the owner of the javelin. We ought perhaps to institute a public enquiry.”

“Until the wretch is laid by the heels,” growled Halitherses, “a certain ghost will plague Drepanum from harbour to harbour. My lords, I advise you to act speedily.”

“It was surely the work of a Sican bandit, or a revengeful slave,” Aegyptius went on. “No Elyman could have committed so foul a murder intentionally or, if it had been an accident, withheld his confession.”

“My lord Aegyptius,” said Halitherses, “I envy you your innocency of heart. But in my mind's eye I see rivers of blood flowing to appease that ghost. May none of your own kin be present when the arrows fly!”

“You croak like a bullfrog in spring,” Aegyptius answered crossly. “Pray signal to the wine pourer and have him fill our cups again. He is half asleep.”

They began discussing the funeral games that would be
celebrated the next day. Agelaus, now the undisputed Regent, proposed to organize them in the field near Athene's grove: a foot race, a high jump, weight-putting, boxing and wrestling. My grandfather was expected to offer valuable prizes.

Alone with my mother in her bedroom, I told her of Clytoneus's visit to Halius, and of Halius's threat. But she cut me short. “Daughter, these things do not concern me. Your father took a decision many years ago in the case of a beloved son of mine. I swore never again to mention his name, and I am a woman of my word. If, as you say, the commander-in-chief of the Minoans has chosen to send the Elyman Queen a complimentary gift, she thanks him; but there the matter must end.”

After a pause she added: “Daughter, if the threat is disregarded, can he make it good? You would surely be wiser to let your suitors eat our pork and beef for a little while longer than let those uncivilized Sicels burn and sack our Palace? Since this possibility can hardly have escaped you, it follows that you are committed to some alternative plan. In whom do you trust? He must needs be a nobleman of valour and experience: a man of men. You are only a woman, Nausicaa, and Clytoneus is only a boy. And my poor old father has one foot already in the grave—in fact, I am secretly weaving his shroud, not expecting him to last through next winter. Were there anyone else to defend us, he would have come forward long before this. And yet here you sit, in suppressed excitement, almost as though my dear Laodamas had suddenly reappeared; but that, alas, can never be. Eurycleia vainly tried to conceal her story from me; I know now that he has been murdered. I also know that you are
burning with eagerness to avenge him and dear Mentor as well. And I know one more thing, because although I sit here spinning and weaving all day, I still retain the full use of my five senses: that for the first time in your life you have fallen in love, despite your oath not to accept any of the suitors who have invaded our house. So, since you are a girl of principles, who does not allow herself to be tempted into folly or to ride two horses at once, my conclusion is that the man you love, the man who has undertaken to carry out your alternative plan, is none of my acquaintance. Perhaps you will soon be good enough to introduce this courageous stranger to me?”

It is no use trying to hide secrets from my mother; her oracular little finger tells her everything. “Very well, Mother,” I said, “expect him to call on you tomorrow. As you know, I could never marry a man of whom you disapproved.”

She looked searchingly at me. “But can he provide a bride price that would satisfy your father?”

I met her gaze. “Yes, Mother, though he is a beggar, he will provide the bride price—the salvation of our house.”

A brief moment of doubt: was I in love with a Sican bandit chief, or someone equally unsuitable? But she soon recovered her confidence in me, and answered simply: “That will be sufficient, maybe, so long as he is nobly born.”

“As a close relative of your own, Mother, he should pass muster. Please excuse me now, and when my beggar arrives remember that your brother Mentor would have already named him to you, and to the suitors, as my affianced husband, had black death not intervened.”

My mother shrugged her shoulders. “Since you have worked these things out carefully,” she said, “I will leave them in your hands without further questioning. If you need my help you will come to me and, short of risking your father's displeasure, I promise to do all I can for you. Come, another kiss. You are a good child, and I thank the Gods that besides sons, the cause of much grief and sorrow, I have also borne a daughter from whose conduct I seldom derive anything but pleasure.”

When had my mother ever said a word in my praise before? She was being prudent as well as generous: giving me increased hope and freeing me from the one anxiety which still beset me—the fear that she would be offended when she found me making adventurous plans without consulting her. To prove her confidence, she did not even enquire the name of the mysterious stranger whom I was trusting to defend our house, nor the degree of kinship in which he stood to her. But she must have puzzled over the problem for hours.

Before going downstairs, I said: “Mother, Eumaeus and his son have sworn to fight with us to the last drop of their blood. Will you make Philoetius take the same oath? He must already guess what is at stake; but the demand would come better from you than from either Clytoneus or myself, now that my dear uncle is no longer here.”

“I can foretell his answer: ‘Only give me leave to kill Melantheus, for the honour of the palace servants, and I will take the oath with joy.'”

And this was exactly what Philoetius did say.

The next day the funeral games were held. Ctimene and I attended, out of respect for the dead. Ctimene was in a strange
mood. She said to me quite cheerfully: “Nausicaa, my dear, I have reached the conclusion that if the King brings no news of my husband, it would be best to assume his death. What do you think? We will give him splendid farewell rites and a cenotaph, and when that it done, I can decently dry my tears. Twelve months of mourning are enough, and a bird-headed Siren perched on my bedrail last night and told me: ‘Ctimene, Laodamas is no more. You are still young. Pay him his dues and marry again.' Let the King restore my bride price in full, and I will agree to go back to my father in Bucinna.”

I asked: “And why this sudden change, Ctimene? Has our new sorrow anything to do with it?”

Flushing, she burst out: “To be frank, it has! I see your household slowly reduced by the ill will of the Gods. Halius is banished. My beloved husband Laodamas disappears without a trace. The King sails off to Sandy Pylus, and rumours fill the town that he is fated never to return. He is followed by Clytoneus, a headstrong youngster who does not hesitate to insult the leading Elymans in public council. Your maternal uncle is deposed from his regency and descends to Hades, struck by the hand of some god. A curse hangs over the Palace, and you have hardly improved our fortunes by refusing to choose a husband.”

Ctimene's manner was so outrageous that surprise was the uppermost emotion in my heart. I decided that something new must have happened. But because Ctimene was so stupid that, if I let her talk, she would soon give her secret away, I answered carefully: “Yes, Ctimene, perhaps you are right. I too no longer feel confident that dearest Laodamas will come
back to us. And it is a miserable state of affairs when a young and beautiful woman like yourself, who has once experienced the pleasures of marriage, finds herself bound by loyalty to a double bed now chilled by the cold touch of death. For myself it is different: never having been a wife I shall stay perfectly content with my own narrow bed, until I meet a nobleman whom I can love and respect as much as you loved and respected Laodamas. But look, the umpires are preparing the course for the foot race.”

One foot race closely resembles another. Nine umpires station themselves is a wide circle and the runners, clad in loincloths, must keep outside them or be disqualified. Usually, after a few false starts, they pelt towards the goal as if an Indian tiger were at their heels; someone wins, a great many protests and arguments follow, finally the prize is awarded. But this race was different. The few competitors were all suitors of mine, and the lazy life they led made them incapable of running fast; moreover, their behaviour was an insult to the dead and a disgrace to the town. About a dozen of them, without even taking the trouble to remove their cloaks, ambled around the course, playing infantile tricks—punching, tripping, shouting, joining hands and cutting capers. When they reached the eighth umpire they squatted down in a ring and, with smirks or chuckles, cast lots in a helmet. The winner then strolled up to the goal, where he claimed the prize, a fine copper cauldron.