Homer’s Daughter (25 page)

“How beautiful you look in the firelight,” he said.

“Yes, firelight is more merciful than the sun,” I agreed. “But why remind me of my pallid complexion and irregular features?”

“The strong shadows thrown by the fire,” he explained, quite unruffled, “accentuate the exquisite moulding of your nose and cheekbones.”

“Which so strongly resemble your own,” I said, disentangling my hands.

“To change the subject, who went out by that door?” he asked.

“A pack of she-fools headed by Melantho, the girl who was rude to you. Their lovers are waiting under the trees. I cannot see what good they hope to do themselves by behaving in this way. Perhaps the lovers have promised to acknowledge them as concubines and make settlements on them when our estate is sold. Or to get them accepted as sacred prostitutes in the Temple of Aphrodite if they prove ready pupils in the art of love. It is a reputable profession and exciting for the beginner, no doubt; but as the seasons pass they will probably long for loom, distaff and scrubbing brush.”

“I have been unable to sleep: turning round and round on my ox-skin couch like one of those haggises roasting at the fire.”

“Are you anxious about tomorrow? I thought you were an experienced soldier.”

“You mean tomorrow's battle? Why, no! Since the plan of campaign was settled I have not given the matter another thought, though the Gods alone know what we shall do when we have gained the victory—because it looks as if we must either flee the country or challenge the whole Elyman army. But who cares? Princess, it is you who prevent me from sleeping. You may have believed that I was speaking rhetorically at Rheithrum when I praised your beauty; and there was indeed something artificial in my speech, because the quality of rhetoric is public, not intimate. Yet it was love at first sight; only the presence of your maids and my fear of vexing you prevented me from saying so as passionately as I say it now. Dearest one, you are the light in my eyes, the blood in my veins, the breath in my lungs.”

He put his strong arms about me, but I repelled him and showed that I meant it. “My name is not Melantho,” I panted. “It is Nausicaa.”

“At your orders.”

“Then go up that staircase to the Tower room where Clytoneus is sleeping. Bring him here.”

“Why?”

“Bring him here!”

Soon Clytoneus stumbled in, childishly rubbing his eyes and by no means pleased to be awakened after his hard day. Boys of his age need as much sleep as they can get.

“Brother,” I said, “Aethon and I are marrying tonight. Will you give me away?”

Clytoneus seemed shocked. “In such haste, Sister?”

“In such haste. No, he has not already seduced me, if that is what you mean.”

“But the betrothal, the bride gift?”

“Let him give you his wallet with the half-warm haggis. That is all he possesses; a suitor cannot give more than his all.”

“And the wedding garment?”

“Let him wear the dead man's best clothes. They are of a size, and his ghost will be flattered. Now, Brother, enough of your objections. The only acceptable reason that I could give for not choosing one of the suitors is that I am married, and once I am married they have no excuse for staying.”

“What do you expect our father to say?”

“If Aethon leads us to victory he will be received with joy. If he fails, none of us can be reproached for celebrating this marriage, because we shall all be dead: you and Aethon by the hands of my suitors, I by my own.”

“And our mother? Are you sure of her consent? Though I should like nothing better than to see you Aethon's bride, I dare not oppose her.”

“She cannot withhold her consent when Aethon proposes an immediate marriage as his price for saving the kingdom.”

But our mother was standing silently in the doorway beside Eurycleia, and had overheard most of the conversation. “Clytoneus,” she said, “rouse the men in the court of sacrifice. Order them to fetch the usual propitiatory offerings to Hera, Artemis and the Fates. They need not be told why the beasts
are required. Thornwood torches: we have a few somewhere in the Tower. Flowers and flutes? No: respect for the dead forbids their use until the third day. Candied quince; there is still a box of that in the larder. I should have liked to draw lustral water from the Fountain of the Nymphs. Never mind, we can placate them later; our own fountain will do.”

“And Ctimene?” asked Clytoneus.

Always Ctimene. Yes, she could scarcely be trusted with the secret. But would she not be awakened by the coming and going, the squealing of the pigs sacrificed to the Fates, and the chorus of the Hymenaeus, however quietly we sang it?

In the end we decided to call her as a witness to the betrothal, and running upstairs, I knocked at the bedroom door. She did not answer. I went in and called “Ctimene, Ctimene!” Still no answer. I moved carefully towards her bed and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. The bedclothes were still warm, the bed unoccupied; and when I came down again, the only explanation that anyone could offer, shameful though it might seem, was that she had gone into the garden with the maids on the same errand as they. Yet we had no time for speculation.

Our troth was plighted at the foot of my father's throne, in the presence of my mother, Clytoneus and Eurycleia; and Aethon solemnly handed Clytoneus, as his bride price, a bald old wallet containing a haggis! The maids and menservants stood wide-eyed about us, sworn to silence by oaths which they would rather die than break. Aethon and I were ceremonially washed by our attendants, each apart, in spring water from the gateway fountain; then dressed in bridal costume, and garlanded with leaves. What did I care if my
wedding dress wanted a deal of embroidery at the back? Clytoneus hastily slaughtered the beasts—the squealing of the pigs would be interpreted by passers-by as the sound of placatory sacrifices for Mentor—and I threw another lock of my hair into the fire by way of farewell to Athene, whose virgin priestess I could no longer be, though I adored her none the less. Aethon and I then shared our slice of candied quince, eaten for Aphrodite's sake, kindled the thornwood torches at the braziers, and distributed sweetmeats, while our attendants sang the Hymenaeus, but gently, gently, so that the noise should not reach the garden. We also drank cups of honeyed wine. At last the maids led me by torchlight into the banqueting court, kissed me and tiptoed off.

Aethon followed, taper in hand, and found me trembling beside a brazier. He unloosed my girdle and, lifting me up, laid me naked on the white ox hide, covered with sheepskins, which had been his bed.

Neither of us said a word, and never had I realized how overpoweringly fierce is the Goddess Aphrodite. She maddens her votaries, confounding pain and pleasure, love and hate, joy and rage in a holocaust of passion, burning away all shame, all memory of things past, all care for the future. Yet I struggled against the Goddess, remembering poor foolish Ctimene: resolved upon keeping my woman's pride. I must not let Aethon know that I loved him more than the whole world, more than myself, more than anything in existence but the Goddess Athene, whom I invoked silently for strength.

At grey dawn I left Aethon and went back into the house to awake Eurycleia, who hurried down to remove Aethon's
wedding garment, the charred stumps of the thorn torches, and other relics of the festivities. When this was done she set the maids to whitewashing the cloisters, as had been agreed, while I slept again in my own narrow bed until high day, dreaming of the Golden Fleece. But Aethon remained in our nuptial couch dreaming of me.

It was a heavy morning. When Aethon awoke to the swish of whitewash brushes—we use bunches of ass-grass—and the low laughter of the women, he went into the court of sacrifice and prayed softly to Cretan Zeus: “Lord, this is the day of days, after a night of nights. Grant me two things: lucky words from the first person I meet, and a lucky sign from Heaven!”

Would you believe it? He had hardly spoken before a distant roll of thunder sounded from a blue and cloudless sky; and at the noise one of our Sicel slaves looked up from the heavy quern in which she was grinding a mixture of wheat and barley, and gave him his lucky word. I should explain that, being weak in the chest, this woman was the last of a
team of six to complete the stint set her just before dawn; the others had already crept back to their straw pallets for a nap. All our maids must do an occasional spell at the quern; it is good exercise. As my father tells us: “A slave who does not eliminate the gross humours of his system, by daily sweats, is a sullen slave and soon will be a sick one.” But, as the priests of Apollo say: “All things in measure,” and the unusual consumption of bread, since my suitors had begun to plague us, made work at the quern ten times longer and more tedious than before.

The lucky words were these: “Father Zeus, for whom do you thunder assent like that? From a clear sky, too! Has some distressed nobleman prayed and found you in a good humour? Then, please, listen to a poor Sicel slave and fulfil her wish at the same time! Pitiful Zeus, let today see the end of impudent banquetry at the Palace! The quern is grinding away my life and breaking my back. May those greedy suitors never again eat the flour that falls from it!”

Aethon's heart leapt in his breast, and he prayed aloud to Apollo: “Archer Apollo, whose servitor I am, favour me on the festival of your vengeance!” For, this being the anniversary of the God's victory over the Python, we had chosen it to be the day of our vengeance also.

Meanwhile, Clytoneus had taken his spear from the spear stand and gone off to attend Apollo's public sacrifice, Argus following at his heels. Eurycleia kept the maids busily whitewashing, and when they had completed one wall, sent them to draw water, put purple covers on the settles, lay the tables with goblets, two-handled cups and trenchers, and strew freshly cut branches of juniper on the pavement. Before long
Eumaeus drove in three splendid hogs and, meeting Philoetius, who had brought a heifer and some fat goats ferried across from Hiera, greeted him with: “Honest friend, the Queen wishes to see you.”

When Philoetius returned, he found Melantheus insulting Aethon again. “Are you still about, troublemaker?” Melantheus stormed. “Didn't you collect enough food yesterday, that you must beg for more? Where do you stow it all away? Don't tell me you have eaten that entire haggis in a single night as well as those scraps! Now, look here, fellow! Any more of your mischief and you and I must come to blows. I fancy that I can hit a trifle harder than Irus.”

But Philoetius interposed. “This man is under the Queen's protection,” he said, “having cheered her with news of Prince Laodamas. If it proves to be true, our troubles will soon be over. The King and he will send those damned rogues packing, and give you your deserts, you traitor!”

Then he approached Aethon and pressed his hand, saying: “My name is Philoetius, at your service.”

Melantheus slunk out of the court. Philoetius was not a man with whom he cared to quarrel.

About an hour later Clytoneus entered the Palace, followed by the suitors, who threw their cloaks down on the settles and lost no time in sacrificing the beasts provided by Eumaeus and Philoetius. Being hungry, they set their servants to cook the livers, kidneys, brains and suchlike in a huge mixed grill, resting them on the marrow bones, and called for wine and a great deal of bread. Two big black cauldrons also bubbled at the hearth fire, containing pigs' trotters, the heifer's heels and tongue, sheeps' heads, and lengths of tripe, to which barley,
beans and vegetables had been added. The rest of the meat was roasted on spits of pomegranate wood and five-pronged toasting forks. Eumaeus, Melantheus and Philoetius acted as waiters, because the other servants were still working in the stables and the garden; it was not nearly dinnertime yet.

Clytoneus called to Aethon: “Beggar, come and sit at this table with me!” The table had been set on the threshold, just outside the front door, where the red stone dogs stood guard, and he filled a golden wine cup for Aethon, saying in a loud voice: “Cypriot, you may rely on me to protect you from any abuse or assault, though these uninvited guests often forget that they are banqueting in a palace, not a country tavern, and behave accordingly. My lords, are you listening?” He beckoned to Eumaeus, who thereupon helped Aethon, before anyone else, to a steaming bowl of stew.

A contemptuous murmur arose, which Antinous, who had arrived fairly drunk, interrupted. “Well,” he said, “I suppose that we must put up with Prince Clytoneus's bragging a little longer; for I do not think that the Fates have measured him out a very extensive life.”

Ctesippus guffawed. Then he shouted: “Comrades, our licenced beggar has already been served with food enough to satiate a smithy full of blacksmiths, and since Prince Clytoneus has shown courtesy to so distinguished a foreigner, I do not propose to be behindhand in following his example. Here is my contribution, and if he finds it too tough even for his ostrichlike stomach to digest, let him pass it on to Gorgo the goose woman or some other humble and deserving person.”

Melantheus had brought him a dish of broth, and Ctesippus,
picking up one of the heifer's heels—but, because it was very hot, using one of our best purple covers as a glove—hurled it at Aethon. With one of those mirthless grins that you see on the bronze figures of horned men imported from Sardinia, Aethon moved his head aside; and the missile struck the wall instead.

Clytoneus, grasping his spear, burst out: “It is fortunate for you that the heel missed my guest, Ctesippus! If he had not ducked in time, I should have spitted you like a sucking pig. My patience has a certain breaking point and if you stretch it any further, will snap. No doubt, you have decided to kill me; but beware, for I will take one or two of you with me to Hades first. My lord Agelaus, as the noblest born Trojan present, next to myself, you must help me to keep order here. When the Council chose you to act as Regent for the King, did they authorize you to see his son publicly insulted?”