The Girl From Ithaca (5 page)

Chapter FOUR

The Lion’s Palace

T
he ship surged forward through the narrow strait, as fifty Mycenaean rowers strained at the oars. For the first time in my life, I was free, free from Euryclea dragging me to weaving and Mother unpicking my needlework and arranging my hair. I took a deep breath and turned to face the mainland. At last I could see for myself if the tales about palaces bursting with gold and fields rich with flax and wheat really were true. I didn’t believe the story that giants had built the tall walls around Mycenae, but Father told me I’d see well-fed cattle, horses and sheep, all growing fat on the lush grass.

Sailors hauled up the mast and dropped the ropes. The large square sail unfurled and caught the wind, whiteness expanding above me. It was as if the lion’s head opened its mouth and roared, urging the ship on, driving it even faster than before.

Then the oarsmen sat back, letting the wind do their work. Some swung around on the bench and stretched their legs towards the centre of the deck. I stepped over them to reach Phoebus at the other end of the ship. He saw my struggle and snapped an order. The sea of legs parted and my way was clear.

“I apologise for the men. They’re not used to women on ship, and their manners grow coarse without mothers or wives to chastise them,” he said, guiding me to the prow. “Fortunately, when we get to the mainland, we’ll go on alone.”

“How long will it take, to Mycenae?”

“Most of the day. It’s a hard ride, but we’ll rest at noon and arrive before nightfall.”

I nodded and was quiet for a while, not sure what to say to an old official from Mycenae. I glanced at him. He coughed once or twice, then cleared his throat. He didn’t seem the sort of man to have Mentor’s fascination with large clay storage jars and I doubted he knew a thing about pigs, or goats, or sheep. What else did old men talk about? The coast was closing fast and I was on the verge of trying him out on apples, when Phoebus broke the silence.

“Your mother informed me you’ve never travelled to the mainland. But you seem like a lady who notices things. I think you’ll enjoy seeing how it compares with Ithaca. I’ll point out anything that might be of interest.”

I smiled gratefully. Perhaps Phoebus wasn’t quite as boring as I thought he might be.

When we approached the shore, the oarsmen picked up their oars again and responded to the pilot’s orders. They manoeuvred the ship onto the beach, Phoebus insisting on helping me down the gangplank. Two sailors followed with the horses. Others unleashed the chariot and rolled it onto the sand. I took hold of one horse from a startled sailor.

“Lord Phoebus,” he called, nodding his head at me. “She’s got the halter. Do I take it back?”

Phoebus glanced up from harnessing the other horse. “Lady Neomene seems to be managing quite well, Cadeus. I think your time would be better spent returning to your ship.”

“You mean I can go?” the sailor said, edging away.

“Correct. Tell your pilot his duty is done and I will see him next in Aulis.”

Both sailors ran to the ship while Phoebus continued to hitch the horse to the chariot. He checked the leather straps and I backed the second horse up to the shaft. The mare tossed her head as Phoebus rested the leather yoke on her shoulders.

“She’s strong,” I said, patting her muscular neck.

Phoebus smiled. “Yes, they’re both fine animals. A gift from Agamemnon when he appointed me his advisor.”

“He must think a lot of you.”

“It would be nice to think so, though I suspect his gift was to ensure I look the part, when I travel around the mainland, representing the most powerful king this side of the great ocean.”

He tied the breast band around the mare and swatted a fly from her ears. I was burning to ask him more.

“What about on the other side of the great ocean? There’s Troy and, and … ” I tried to think of the strange countries I’d heard about. “There’s Egypt with the desert and their tall pyramids. Then there’s the other kingdom they’re always fighting with.”

Phoebus ran the leather reins through the central loop and back to the chariot. “You mean the Hittites?”

“I think that’s them. They’re good horsemen and archers.”

“Yes, that’ll be the Hittites. Agamemnon’s no match for either the Egyptians or the Hittites. They’ve wealth, land and huge armies that make us look feeble. But we’re not important enough for them to take any interest in our skirmishes. It’s just Troy and her allies we have to deal with.”

I climbed into the chariot and Phoebus flicked the reins lightly against the horses’ backs. The pair of dun horses trotted along the beach and then onto the cart track. The wheels clattered against the sun-baked soil as we rode through land that was indeed full of wheat. Eventually we reached meadows where I saw cattle and sheep, some resting in the shade of oak or elm trees, others grazing in the lush grass. Occasionally we’d hear the sound of a shepherd’s pipe. Three horses looked up from their grazing and trotted alongside us for a short way.

“Perhaps they like the look of the mares,” Phoebus laughed.

As the morning wore on, the landscape changed. At first it was hilly, but as grass gave way to stones, the hills became mountains. Phoebus drove his horses along the rocky track, telling me the names of the mountains as we wound around the valley at the base of the range.

“Men travel from Sparta and Mycenae to hunt for mountain lions,” he said, “King Agamemnon enjoys a hunt and killed a lion last year, on that very mountain. Now he wears the skin on ceremonial occasions, to show he’s the king of the Lion’s Palace.”

“Oh, the symbol of his father Atreus. I saw it on the sail and Odysseus told me about the two stone lions at the city gates.”

Phoebus smiled. “Everyone makes the mistake of calling them lions. But strangely enough, they’re lionesses. See for yourself when we get to Mycenae, then you can correct your brother.”

Eventually we left the mountain range and joined a track leading through a forest. We rode alongside a river until we reached open land again. With trees no longer blocking the view, I noticed a large town in the distance. It looked ten times bigger than our town in Ithaca and had huge stone walls as a fortress.

“Wonder if the walls around Troy are as tall as those,” I said.

“Troy’s walls are much higher, I’m afraid, and the Trojans have watchtowers at the gates.”

No one had mentioned watchtowers and high walls before. “You’ve seen them?” I asked.

Phoebus nodded. “I visited the city with King Atreus, Agamemnon’s father, many, many years ago, to exchange gifts and make a trade agreement. The Trojans insisted on showing us around the walls.”

“So you think it might be difficult to break through?”

“Well, I’m not a soldier. My impression doesn’t count.”

“But King Atreus must have said something. What did he think?”

He shook his head and I assumed he’d not heard me.

“What did King Atreus think?” I repeated.

“It’s over twenty years ago, I’m not sure I remember exactly,” Phoebus said. He paused for a moment and then noticed I was still waiting, unconvinced by his sudden memory loss. “Possibly something about walls being impossible to breach.”

“Impossible?” I gasped. “But Heracles did it. He invaded Troy!”

“That was several years before we visited. King Atreus and I saw how they’d rebuilt the northwest wall and added the watchtowers since then.” Phoebus shook his head. “Atreus was a foolish and cruel man in many ways. He tended to be reckless rather than cautious, always afraid of being thought a coward. Yet after the Trojans had given us the tour of the new walls, he said it’d be madness to attack them.”

The ground seemed to fall away under my feet. Feeling sick, I fixed my eyes on the two black tails in front of me. It had never occurred to me the Greeks might fail. “Phoebus, you have told Agamemnon this, haven’t you?”

“As much as I can, without getting myself killed.” He sighed. “I’ve told you too much. Leave me and your brother to deal with Agamemnon. Your job is to look after his daughter and fortunately, she’s nothing like her father.”

The sun was high and at its most fierce when Phoebus drew up the chariot. He let the horses loose. They shook themselves and trotted to the river bank, dipping their heads to reach the water.

“Mycenae is only an afternoon’s ride away and the oak will give us shade,” Phoebus said, beckoning me to a large tree.

I rested my shoulders against the trunk while we shared a meal of goat’s cheese, nuts, apples and wine. The horses were nearby, chomping at the grass. They snorted occasionally, swishing their tails across their flanks or shaking their heads when too many flies settled on them. I played with an acorn in my hand, waiting for Phoebus to finish eating.

“Do you mind if I ask about Troy? About what it’s like, besides the high walls and towers?”

Phoebus studied me for a moment. “It’s a big question. What do you want to know?”

He was giving me a free rein. I could ask any question I liked. “Tell me about their markets.”

“Ah yes, Troy’s grown very wealthy because of the markets. They are full of luxuries most Greeks have never seen. I think you’d like the jewellery, blue gems from the mines in Egypt, silver in intricate patterns and enough gold to … ” He waved his hands, “ … well, you get the idea. Greeks think Mycenae has fine things, which we do, but Troy overshadows us all.”

Phoebus checked I was still listening. Satisfied, he continued. “The upper city has glorious courtyards and fountains. Most of the wealthy citizens live there, with the palace and shrine to Athena at the highest point. Very beautiful, though as a young man I preferred the excitement of the lower town, with the markets and the music and dancing. Pretty women too.”

There was a lot more to Phoebus than I’d thought. Yesterday he’d seemed a staid court official, now he’d become an amusing travel companion who didn’t mind answering my questions.

“Though you have to be careful with the Egyptian traders,” Phoebus continued. “Some of their medicines are useful, but don’t trust them if they offer you a bright red essence, guaranteed to cure a broken heart. It doesn’t.”

He laughed. “No need to worry! I’ve been cured by other means. The passage of time has healed my love for the beautiful Trojan girl who served me wine at one of King Priam’s banquets. She was slim, with dark hair and a silky soft voice. I expect she’s now enormously fat, toothless, surrounded by thirty screaming grandchildren and has nagged her husband to an early grave.”

We laughed together as we pictured the toothless grandmother with her noisy brood. Phoebus took another drink from the wine skin and then handed it to me.

“The Trojans have adopted ideas from the foreign merchants coming in to trade. So in some ways, they live much as we do, yet a few of their customs seem very strange to us.”

I leaned forward. “What sort of customs?”

“For one thing, the men can take several wives. That’s why their king, King Priam, is reputed to have over fifty sons and about twenty daughters.” He chuckled at my shocked face. “You’ll be relieved to know the fifty sons are not all by the same mother.”

“But fifty sons! It means each one has forty nine brothers to compete with. They’d be fighting all the time, especially over the throne.”

“The Trojans believe it’s a good thing. If one prince is killed or even nine or ten, Priam has more to take their place. And there’s a rigid order of importance. The sons of Priam’s chief wife have the highest ranking and her eldest son is the recognised heir.”

“So the prince who stole Helen from Menelaus, is he one of the important ones?”

“Yes, he’s second in line, after his elder brother. We don’t know much else about him, except all the Spartan ladies who met him this summer claim he was the most handsome man they’d ever seen.” Phoebus smiled. “Of course, these things get exaggerated.”

We passed more towns in the afternoon and with the sun racing towards the horizon, Phoebus pointed out a long range of mountains and explained we were near Mycenae. My stomach tightened. What was exciting this morning had become an ordeal, something to be endured as best I could, and hopefully without shaming my mother.

When we rounded the brow of a hill, the city loomed before us, rearing up like a magnificent stallion. The chariot clattered up the road to the Lion Gate and I stared at the huge sculpted lionesses standing guard over the entrance. Odysseus hadn’t mentioned they were beautiful. Perhaps I saw them at their best, for although the bodies were carved from stone, the heads shone with a rosy glow, as the shafts of evening sunlight tinged their metal tops.

“Definitely lionesses,” I whispered to Phoebus.

Grim-faced soldiers peered down at us from the high walls above the Gate. Then they recognised Phoebus and waved us through.

Once inside the walls, we rode uphill for a short way. There were two-storey houses and workshops set back from the road, a blacksmith’s forge standing a little way back, the furnace still alight. Phoebus swung the horses into a courtyard and moments later, three stable boys ran out to meet us.

“We walk from here,” Phoebus said, taking my arm and pointing to the stone steps leading to the highest part of the city. I glanced ahead and noticed two figures waiting for us at the very top. The tall, dark haired woman had to be Clytemnestra; no other woman in Mycenae would wear such an array of gold around her neck, arms and fingers. I saw her studying me closely, but if she was disappointed in my appearance, she didn’t show it. Instead she opened her arms and embraced me.

“Welcome, Neomene, sister of Odysseus and friend to my family. I have a room waiting for you tonight, but first I’ve arranged a banquet in your honour and in honour of my daughter, Iphigenia.”

Then she turned to introduce the slim and elegantly dressed man at her shoulder. “This is my husband’s cousin, Aegisthus, son of Thyestes. He’s here to offer advice on matters of state while my husband is away.”

Aegisthus bowed his head and walked behind us as Clytemnestra guided me to the palace doors. Two muscular soldiers swung the heavy doors open and I walked inside, into the mouth of the lion itself.