“What did he say then?”
“He muttered darkly that Agelaus, being now the senior Trojan prince left in Drepanum of an age to command the Elyman forces, should have been awarded the regency, and that our father had done wrong to pass him over because of some private quarrel. So I drubbed the fool again. If only I were a few years older…”
I pressed Clytoneus further. “Do you feel no danger threatening our house?”
“What sort of danger?”
“That is precisely what I want to find out. I read Melantheus’s rudeness as a bad sign, because he would be too cowardly to talk in that strain without powerful backing. However solidly based our dynasty is supposed to be, the whole town smells of rebellion.”
“Rebellion by whom?”
“By Prince Antinous. He, not his old father Eupeithes, is the real leader of the Phocaeans, who have always resented their subordination to the Trojan house of Aegestus. But his cousin Eurymachus appears to be the brains of the movement. Behind these two, willingly or unwillingly, are ranged a large crowd of the young bloods, and even a few Trojans—Agelaus, for one. I trust none of them, except perhaps the sons of Halitherses. What do you say?”
“That the exaggerated courtesy with which your so-called suitors now treat me makes me suspect a plot.”
“Dear Clytoneus, the Goddess Athene often warns me clearly what not to do, or what to do. She has just come disguised as the daughter of our shepherd Philoetius, and ‘Mistress,’ she said, ‘a Calydonian boar is to be hunted tomorrow. I foresee mourning.’”
“Explain the reference, please.”
“Are you taking part in tomorrow’s boar hunt?”
“Yes, I have just been asked by Amphinomus, a very honest fellow.”
“You mean Eurymachus’s cousin?”
“I do.”
“Eurymachus has certainly made a stalking-horse of him.”
“Forgive my stupidity, Nausicaa, and be still more explicit.”
“I am suggesting that in the course of the hunt, to which Eurymachus, Antinous, and all the Phocaean nobles will be invited, a javelin intended for the boar will transfix you; as happened to one Eurytion in the famous Calydonian Hunt. Peleus, who threw the javelin, protested afterwards that he had been aiming at the boar; but Peleus was always a dangerous companion. He accidentally killed his brother Phocus with a quoit—if, indeed, it was an accident.”
Clytoneus scratched his head. “Then should I decline the invitation? Should I say that I have fever?”
“My advice is: go boldly to Amphinomus, and tell him in the presence of his kinsmen: ‘Friend Amphinomus, I have been warned by a female soothsayer not to hunt tomorrow, unless I place myself under your protection. She declares that it is one of my unlucky days. If I am pierced by a misdirected javelin, will you swear to take vengeance on the house of the man who flung it?’ As you speak, watch their faces.”
Clytoneus, though inexperienced and unsure of himself on public occasions, never shrank from any difficult assignment. Screwing up his courage, he stalked into Amphinomus’s courtyard as if about to hurl a spear at the sacred images, and his request sounded almost like a declaration of war. Amphinomus, who showed no sign of guilt, remarked in quiet tones that it would be folly to disregard the female soothsayer’s advice, and that since tomorrow was an unlucky day, by all means let him stay at home and offer propitiatory sacrifices to the Infernal Gods. But Antinous avoided Clytoneus’s eye, while Eurymachus glared defiance.
“You have forestalled a plot against my life,” Clytoneus told me later. “I must reward Athene with thanks offerings for the warning she gave me, and placate the Infernals as well.”
“Athene deserves your gratitude,” I said. “Continue to keep on guard. Until our father returns, you would be wise not to go hunting alone, or accept invitations to dine out. Beams have been known to collapse, eaten through by maggots; and brawls to start, in which goblets and stools fly recklessly about, hurled by anonymous hands, killing innocent bystanders.”
Clytoneus asked: “You do not think, do you, that any such accident could take place in the Palace? The staff are trustworthy enough, surely?”
“All but a few. What troubles me is this: since Halius went to live among the Sicels, only two lives stand between you and the throne, namely Laodamas and our father. Do the conspirators know, then, that Laodamas has been put safely out of the way—not murdered, let us hope, but sold to Phoenician slavers—and hopefully expect our father to meet with an accident as soon as he sets foot again on our quay?”
“He should never have sailed. Perhaps we ought to send him a warning.”
“Sandy Pylus is distant and the winds are fickle,” I reminded Clytoneus. “Besides, he proposes to make enquiries at the court of King Pheidon the Thesprotian. Have patience, Brother, be wary, trust in the Gods.”
We walked slowly back to the Palace, and parted at the gate with looks of affection. Clytoneus went to take a warm bath, which Eurycleia had prepared; and I drank half a cup of wine to fortify myself against another miserable visit to Ctimene’s bedside. Ah, to hear the same confidences, complaints, and reproaches delivered for the hundredth time in a flat, whining voice!
CHAPTER
FIVE
WASHING
DAY
I could not sleep. Despite a spectacular storm out at sea on the previous night, which had kept the fishing fleet in port, the air was still heavy with thunder. Another sirocco had been slowly rising since late afternoon, the third or fourth that same month, and was now blowing everything to pieces, banging doors, stripping the trees of green fruit, and fetching tiles from the roof. We could expect a shower before morning, though not one smart enough to make up for the damage done by the wind. Our siroccos are of two kinds: hot and cold. The cold seems the more bearable but scorches the flowers and vegetables just as cruelly.
I began reckoning our chances of success, should Antinous and Eurymachus raise an armed insurrection, and should Agelaus, aggrieved at having been slighted by my father, support them. Could we hold our end of the peninsula, even though forewarned of the assault and reinforced by the islanders of Hiera and Bucinna, the herdsmen of Hypereia and the scattered loyalists of Eryx, Aegesta and Drepanum? It seemed unlikely. Once the enemy reached the Palace, our main gate would soon be battered down by a great log of wood, and fire arrows shot into the open attics, which were highly inflammable. Granted, the common people were on our side, because my father always dispensed equal justice, protected their liberties, and had shown himself a considerate employer. But the common people are notoriously slow to act, and being armed only with clubs, wooden hayforks and suchlike, are easily cowed by men with broad shields, long-plumed helmets, and deadly sharp weapons of war. Would my women be raped? These things happen in real life, not merely in old tales. Procne and I had, as a matter of fact, discussed this unpleasant topic a few months before. My contention was that it would be almost impossible for a man to violate a determined woman against her will, unless he first knocked her insensible. Of the fifty sons of Aegyptus, whom their father ordered to violate the Danaids, I said, the only one who lived to see the dawn was the wise youth who respected his bride’s virginity. But now my argument did not sound quite so convincing as it had done.
About midnight I was roused from an uneasy doze by something which struck the stool by my bedside. The wind had dropped, and I could hear the roar of the sea as it broke on the point It was good to be awake, because I had been dreaming of how an eagle swooped down on the geese which Gorgo keeps in a shed for me and feeds on mash; he tore them to pieces before my eyes. I sprang out of bed and hurried to the window which gave on the garden. Someone must have tried to attract my attention. Could it be a drunken suitor? But nobody showed himself, and the fruit trees were bathed in moonlight.
On the floor I found a strip of sheepskin wrapped around a stone and covered with pictures drawn in cuttlefish ink. A woman burning a ship and a swallow whispering to her. In bright sun, a cart,
and a row of washerwomen; also three scorpions consulting together, with a Cretan axe planted above them. Easily read: Procne—namely the swallow—was suggesting that I should take my women to wash clothes in the morning. She would meet me, Nausicaa, “Burner of Ships”, at the Springs of Periboea—the cart indicated that we should meet at some distance from the town—where she would tell me of a plot hatched by three murderous people, namely the scorpions, for the usurpation of royal power. Procne had never learned to write, but managed to convey her message well enough… It seemed that I was not far wrong in my assessment of the situation!
A sudden cool gust of air. A dark cloud rose up from the north, blotting out the moonlight, and heavy drops of rain began to strike the dusty orchard leaves. I fell asleep soon.
An hour or so after dawn I washed my face and went downstairs to a breakfast of barley bread, oil, pickled samphire, slices of pork sausage, mulled wine, and honey cake. My mother was seated, distaff in hand, beside the hearth among her sleepy women, spinning purple wool with deft twists of her long white fingers.
“Good morning, Mother. Have you seen my uncle Mentor?”
“Yes, child. He is on his way to attend a special meeting of the Drepanan Council. You may catch him, if you run.”
I had no difficulty in overtaking him. The slowness of his limp suggested that he was not looking forward to the meeting. “Uncle!” I said, “could you provide me with a mule cart today? It promises to be fine for a change, and there are piles of soiled linen waiting to be washed. Unless we attend to it now, we shall have nothing presentable to wear. You have gone around in the same tunic this last month—I recognize the wine stains on the hem—and Clytoneus complains that he is ashamed to appear publicly in such dirty clothes. We Elymans have always been famous for our love of clean linen.”
“Who attends to the laundry?”
“It is really Ctimene’s business, but she spends so much of the night weeping that she is never in a condition to start work until the sun has travelled a third of the way across the sky. If I do not go to the Springs, who will?”
“Surely the maids can manage the laundry by themselves? I like to have you around the house to keep an eye on the linen factory and the dairy.”
“No, Uncle Mentor. I cannot trust the maids with the clothes, many of which are of the finest wool; they would do more damage in a morning than could be repaired in a year. Some of our handsome old bedcovers have escaped being washed for a couple of winters, and are filthy from brazier dust or the smoke of torches. Then there is a pile of robes which my father has set aside as wedding gifts for when I marry—if I ever do. They will make shabby enough presents until the torn embroidery has been darned; but how can I match the colours before they are washed?”
He sighed: “Very well. Tell the grooms to give the cart a good scraping—it last carried dung—and to harness the mules. Do you need a driver, or can you control the beasts yourself? We are shorthanded in the fields at present.”
“Thank you, Uncle Mentor, but I know how to drive.”
“Good-bye, then, and a happy working day to you!”
“Good-bye, and a peaceful council meeting to you!”
He pulled a comically wry face. I kissed him on both cheeks and ran to ask my mother for the loan of six women, besides my own three.
“You can have three. The rest you must borrow from the linen factory; I do not suppose Eurymedusa will mind very much. I am grateful to you for taking on the task, though I doubt whether you realize how formidable it is. Tell Eurycleia to make up your hamper and fill a wineskin. Here, take this bottle of scented oil. You will want to bathe in the harbour, I expect, and anoint yourselves afterwards.”
I thanked her and found Eurycleia. “Quick, pack us a hamper, dearest Nurse,” I said. “Bread, meat, cheese, pickles, fruit and salad from the garden—no, I can choose the salad myself… And a goatskin of that dark raisin wine. We are off to the Springs of Periboea!”
The Springs are called after my Sican great-grandmother, whose son was Nausithous. They rise behind Rheithrum, and their water is unusually soft. Most of our washing is done in huge stone troughs through which the stream has been led. First we rub the clothes with a mixture of wood ash, fuller’s earth, and urine, to remove stains; and then we jump on them, as when one treads grapes in a vat. Obstinate stains we beat out with flat wooden cudgels, laying the clothes on smooth stone slabs. The more delicate woollens we wash in warm, slightly salted water, to prevent their shrinking and to fix the colours. Our drying ground is a pebbled beach, which catches the whole heat of the sun. Washing days are quite enjoyable if the weather is kind. And should a thunderstorm come on, we can take refuge in a cave near by called the Naiads’ Grotto; at the back are stalactites and stalagmites looking like looms, and a row of ancient stone vessels, which the Sicans occasionally fill with food and drink for the Naiads.
“Oho!” cried Eurycleia, as she hurried to the storeroom. “So now you are going to wash at the Springs of Periboea? Is the wind at that door? I have a notion that you will bring home a baby from the thicket.”
Not considering this a joke in very good taste, I made no answer. Eurycleia was referring to the story of childless Queen Periboea who, having one day taken her laundry women to a stream near the Corinthian seashore, happened to find an eight-day-old infant washed up in a chest. She retired to a thicket, and afterwards told her women that she had just been delivered of the child, whom, according to the Corinthians, she named Oedipais, the “Child of the Swelling Wave”—though the Sons of Homer change the name to Oedipus, or “Swollen Foot”. This Oedipais subsequently captured the city of Thebes. He is said by some to have killed his father and married his mother: an obscene and improbable story.
I collected the women, climbed into the cart—where the hamper, oil bottle, cudgels, washing and all had been carefully stowed—touched the mules with my whip, and clattered away. The women ran alongside, laughing and singing. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the rain had cooled the air.
Rheithrum is a landlocked bay a quarter of a mile wide and over a mile long; behind it stretch clover meadows dotted with clumps of olives suitable for picnics. At the farther end rise the Springs of Periboea, which are Palace property and run into the harbour. I unharnessed the mules and sent them off to graze—when evening came, a lump of bread would soon tempt them back—and made the women gather sticks and light a big fire to heat up stones. Live charcoal for this purpose had been brought in a pot. A second breakfast of bread, cold meat, olives and onions, over which we wasted little time; then as soon as the stones were red-hot, they were plunged into a shallow trough to warm the water for the woollens. We worked on these and the finer pieces a good two hours or more.
Presently I heard my name called, and saw Procne running towards us. “What a surprise,” she cried. “I had no notion that you were out washing today. My father is breaking in a colt by the Naiads’ Grotto. Would you care to watch him? He is making the beast trot round in circles at the end of a rope; but it is still very frisky and obstinate.”
“I cannot come until the woollens are done; but we shall not be long now. Lend us a hand, will you, dear Procne?”
“With all my heart,” answered Procne, and we washed silently for a while. Then I set the women to scrub the sheets and plain tunics and the white presentation robes, while she and I strolled off. We were no sooner out of earshot than I asked: “Darling, may I guess the names of your three scorpions?”
“I should be delighted. Afterwards I can deny on oath ever having mentioned them: I need only nod or shake my head when you ask me.”
“Well, let me guess: Antinous, Eurymachus, and that lout Ctesippus with the twisted mouth.”
Procne nodded vigorously.
“Is Agelaus in the plot?”
She fluttered her hand and pushed out her lower lip, meaning “Not exactly”.
“Who gave you this information?”
“I heard it by accident. While I was gathering
strands of wool from brambles and thorn trees near our house—I like to have an excuse for a walk—I happened to be posted behind a thicket when the second and third scorpions came by and lay down in the grass at the verge. I had not noticed their arrival until they began to talk, and then it was too late to escape. So I stood quietly, rooted like a tree. I heard Eurymachus—I should say the second scorpion—insisting that their chance had come at last to revenge themselves on your dear father.”
“Oh, Procne, why do you sweeten Eurymachus’s bitter words? He must have called the King by some very disagreeable names.”
Procne blushed. “Yes, ‘miser’, ‘skinflint’, and ‘bloodsucker’, were among the less flattering of them, and he suggested that since the King had invited all eligible bachelors to court you and then sailed away to Greece in undignified haste, leaving as his Regent your uncle Mentor, to whom they owe no allegiance, rather than Agelaus, on whose knees the Elyman sceptre should properly have been laid… How did this eloquent sentence begin? I forget. But Eurymachus suggested that the said bachelors should show their disapproval of the way in which the clans have been treated by the King: for instance, being forced to give the Hyrian merchant public presents in acknowledgement of a private benefit—that is, if telling barefaced lies could be regarded as a benefit—and denied even the satisfaction of seeing the promised gold goblet added to the pile. He also complained that the King had refused to provide you with the traditional dowry of cattle, tripods, cauldrons, chased swords, gold-mounted scabbards, silver mixing bowls and the like, offering commercial privileges, priesthoods and other intangible gifts instead.”