The Girl From Ithaca (9 page)

“On the grey eyes of Athena, you do not owe her anything. She should never have given you that knife. Now listen to me, I don’t want to be nursemaid in the middle of a war. You must go home, where I know you are safe.”

Pulling my hands away, I knew I had to convince him quickly. “I have no need of a nursemaid! Iphigenia was considered ready for marriage and she was two years younger than me. Being a woman, almost, I might be useful in Troy. My presence will be proof of your peaceful intentions.” I saw Odysseus smile. “And they’re more likely to hand Helen to you if I’m there. Menelaus isn’t likely to punish her in front of me, is he?”

“Menelaus isn’t likely to punish Helen, whether you are there or not.”

“I know that. You know that. But the Trojans don’t. Especially with him being Agamemnon’s brother. If they hear about Iphigenia, they’ll think her uncle is capable of anything.”

“You’ve nearly persuaded me, except Mother will never forgive me if I put you in danger, however good my motive.”

“That’s easily answered. Mother put me in danger first, by giving me permission to come here. And her motive was nothing better than she wanted me to see a lot of handsome men.”

“Oh, Neomene, you’ve been listening to discussions at the palace and learnt to put forward a powerful argument! If you’d been born a man you’d be a very good ambassador for Ithaca in a year or two,” Odysseus said, smiling slightly. “But it doesn’t change the fact there’s too much risk for a girl like you.”

“But I know the risks and I’m prepared to take them. I need to do this.”

Odysseus rubbed his chin, staring at the bronze armour stacked in the corner of the tent. “Let’s have our meal and I’ll decide what to do with you then.”

I chewed the bread slowly, watching his face, trying to work out what he was thinking. His expression was sombre. When at last he’d drunk the final drop of wine, he sat back and studied me.

“It will be dangerous and exhausting and uncomfortable. You’ll be cold and hungry much of the time. Some of the sailors stink, stink worse than Father’s pigs and …”

There was a clatter of wood outside the tent and then a moan. “By Hades’ backside, why’s the shit always happen to me?”

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “… and you’ll hear words that would make our poor mother faint.”

I smiled to myself, thinking Odysseus would be shocked to know exactly what I had heard in the company of Lysander and his friends.

“Most important of all, you must do exactly as I say, definitely not one of your stronger points,” he finished, giving me a stern look.

I nodded.

“If you’re willing to accept all that, tell Phoebus you’re coming with me, but don’t reveal anything else to him. He’s a good man, but for now we’ll assume he reports everything to Agamemnon.”

Bathing at the stream by the harbour, I found Rhea with Io and Cybele. Without speaking, I knelt down beside them, amongst the rushes that stood like sentries on the precarious edge of dry land. Cybele stifled a sob. Glancing across, I saw Rhea’s bruised and swollen face.

“Cybele and I return to Mycenae today. It’s fallen on us to give the news to Queen Clytemnestra,” Rhea said quietly. She put her arm around Cybele, as if comforting a child.

I turned to Io. She was hanging her head, her long hair covering her face.

“But what about you?” I whispered.

“Agamemnon noticed me last night. He’s ordered me to accompany him to Troy.”

She raised her head slightly as I took in the full horror of her words. Mother and Euryclea tried to keep such things from me, but I’d heard servants talk of how some men treated women under their control, whether a slave, servant or wife. The cook was especially descriptive, when she was in the right mood. If these ordinary men were cruel, how much worse would Agamemnon be? I was way out of my depth but still desperate to give Io what comfort I could.

“I’m, I’m going to Troy too, if that helps a little,” I said.

“Then I’ll have someone to trust and somewhere to hide. Yes, Lady Neomene, that helps. I shall look out for you in Tenedos.”

Chapter SEVEN

The Little Bear and the Moon

T
he sun was high in the sky when I stood on the platform at the stern of the ship. Evander stood with me, gripping the large steering oar and looking out for cross currents and whirlpools. He was a thickset, muscular man who enjoyed sitting on the Ithacan harbour with a tale to tell any child who asked him, but he was also Odysseus’ most experienced pilot.

I studied the oarsmen on the long benches. Most were resting now, but I knew they’d be able to keep a fast pace for long stretches of time if they needed to because these were the strongest oarsmen in Ithaca, the men who worked on the merchant ships bringing supplies and trade to our island. Under their seats, each rower had leather skins full of water and a bag of barley-meal for when they grew hungry. They needed everything by their side, ready to row all day and then all night if necessary. I saw how they’d stowed their spears and shields underneath the benches, as if they expected an attack while they rowed.

“We’re not at war with Troy yet, so why’ve the oarsmen got their spears ready?” I asked.

Evander smiled. “It’s certainly not for Trojan ships. It’s strange for us Ithacans to understand, but the Trojans have very few ships and little experience of the sea.”

“How do they do their trading then?”

“The Trojan merchants have no need to sail anywhere. Their markets are so famous, trade comes to them.”

“So who else might attack us?”

“Oh, it’s not likely on a swift and well-armed ship like this,” he said. “It’s just a precaution the oarsmen take, out of habit of working on the merchant ships. The cargoes make rich pickings for pirates, but all they’d get from a war-ship is a spear through the belly.”

The rest of the morning I searched the horizon for pirate ships, in case a particularly confident pirate wanted two kings to ransom. While I was keeping watch, I noticed Menelaus and Odysseus in a deep conversation and left them alone. Later, my brother beckoned me down from the platform and led me to a sheltered spot near the back of the ship.

He handed me a blanket. “You won’t be disturbed here, so get some rest while you can. When it starts to get dark, we’ll lower the sail and slow our speed. I’ll show you how I navigate using an especially bright star.”

By dusk, we’d passed through the fast flowing channel between the Greek coast and island of Euboea and sailed into the open sea. With the sail down and the mast dismantled, the men began to row and as they rowed, they sang. The steady rhythm of the oars and the sway of the torch light made me sleepy. I drew Penelope’s blue cloak around me and listened to the songs about dolphins rescuing drowning men and brave sailors who fought against many-headed sea monsters. Slowly the words faded as my mind drifted in and out of a song about the horses of the sea god, Poseidon.

I dreamt of home and my father’s orchard and going down to the sands of North Beach. But Iphegenia emerged from the sea, white faced and with the jagged knife wound across her neck. She stretched out her arms to me, but something was dragging me away.

Startled, I woke feeling cold and shaky. At first I thought I was in my room in Ithaca. Then the singing and the splash of the oars reminded me. I crept past the oarsmen and the sleeping charioteers and made my way to Odysseus at the helm. I’d feel better with him. He stood on his own, staring into the water, his face illuminated by the light of the swinging torch. At the sound of my footsteps, he turned and smiled.

“I’ve sent Menelaus to catch up on some sleep,” he said, nodding towards the middle of the deck. “I don’t suppose he’s had much rest since Helen left. Now, stand over here and look at the stars. See the Little Bear? That bright star in its tail is the light that guides me at night. Unlike all the other stars in the sky, it never moves and always points north.”

He put his arm round me like he used to when I was a child and told me the old and familiar story of how the Little Bear was placed in the sky alongside his mother, the Great Bear. We stood together, listening to the sailors’ songs and telling each other tales of the stars. Later I’d look back on that night and thank the gods we knew nothing of what would befall us on the plains of Troy.

The next day we sailed past Scyros, the island where Achilles had hidden amongst the princesses, and saw no more land until the island of Lemnos appeared like a small pebble on the horizon. As we drew closer, a sailor pointed out its mountain and told me it was once the forge of the blacksmith god, Hephaestus. I stared at it open-mouthed and the sailor walked away chuckling.

When darkness fell on the second day, torches were lit and the rowers picked up their oars again. Menelaus, Odysseus and I ate dried meat near the prow of the ship, though I passed most of mine to Odysseus and I noticed Menelaus left much of his.

“We’re not far from the island of Imbros,” my brother explained. “Once there, we sail south and we’ll reach the Trojan coast by sunrise.”

“I’ll be ready,” Menelaus said grimly.

“Then take my skin of good wine and sleep if you can. You may get little rest tomorrow night, if Helen is at your side.”

Menelaus smiled a little and took the wine, his purple cloak melting into the darkness as he strode towards the stern of the ship. Odysseus returned to his watch and I sat for a while longer, watching the rise of the moon in the early night sky. There she was, Artemis, goddess of the moon, the huntress and twin sister to Apollo. Men said the moon was just like a woman, always changing, always showing a different face. But those who observed her carefully learnt her secrets and saw her as one of the most reliable of gods. Not only did the moon’s journey across the sky tell us what portion of the night had passed, but she revealed the coming of the seasons and the time to harvest the crops.

Now she had turned full face to guide us and I sensed a smile on her lips. Yet Iphigenia died so that Agamemnon could appease her. I shivered and pulled Penelope’s cloak tighter, trying to make sense of the terrible sacrifice on Aulis. Had Artemis really valued a prayer by a cruel man above the life of an innocent girl?

Odysseus called to me. “The wind’s blown up and you look cold, Neomene. Go and lie down, it’ll be warmer there.”

I nodded and left him seeking guidance from the only constant object in the sky, the star to which the Little Bear pointed. I moved along the narrow aisle between the two sets of rowers, listening to their singing and the fall of their oars. Many had slept in the afternoon, when the wind and sail had sped us across the water. Now it was their strength that powered our ship, their muscles flexing silver under Artemis’ gaze. Stepping round the chariots strapped to the mast, I heard the charioteers snoring. Menelaus rested nearby, his chin on his chest, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Fetching the blanket Odysseus had given me, I crept back to Menelaus and lay it across him, as an apology for my deceit in Ithaca. Then I curled up in my sheltered spot and waited for sleep.

It was still dark when I woke, but not with the full blackness of night. I lay there for a moment, rubbing the feeling back into my feet. One of the charioteers was talking to the horses in the partition behind me, complaining about the mess they had made, but telling them they’d be on dry land soon. I smiled and stretched my arms, wondering how far we were from Troy.

Odysseus nodded when I climbed up beside him at the front of the ship. “We’ll see the Trojan coast soon,” he said.

“Have you been here all night?”

“Evander replaced me on the middle watch, but I wanted to be one of the first to see the city. I’ve heard the walls and towers gleam in the morning sun.”

As pink dawn crept slowly along the horizon, a long and flat coastline appeared. I strained my eyes, trying to see the towers, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. My eyes closed for a moment. Then a cry from a sailor jolted me awake. I blinked, trying to focus. Another man pointed and I followed his gaze.

There they were, the towers of Troy, proud and defiant and glistening in the sunlight. These were the towers and walls that protected the upper city and kept Helen imprisoned with her Trojan prince. I gripped onto a rope and leaned over the side to get a better view. Many of the sailors did the same. King Atreus had been right all those years ago. The great walls of Troy looked indestructible.