Heroes (formerly Talisman of Troy) (38 page)

But suddenly, looking into Diomedes’s eyes, he realized that time had never killed the spirit of the Argive hero; the fire was still burning after so many years under the ashes.

‘I’m leaving,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a ship can still land at Temenium. Perhaps the fortress of Tiryns still defends the road from the sea.’

Myrsilus felt his heart plummet. He looked at his son and then said: ‘What you are thinking is pure folly. Those cities will have fallen by now. Thank the gods that they have reserved this place for us, where we can live in peace. Look at those wretches: they are miserable, they have nothing.’

Diomedes smiled: ‘Do not fear. You men will stay here and live in peace. You have your children, and your wives. It is right for you to stay. But I have nothing, only my memories. I lost my bride and the child who was about to be born, but Argos is still alive at the bottom of my heart. She is the beloved homeland I have never forgotten. Listen to me: an oak cannot generate a rush, nor can an eagle give birth to a crow. Now I know what I must do. I will die with my sword in my fist, but I will see the sun shine on the towers of Argos, one last time.’

It was impossible to dissuade him, and for the first time after years and years his comrades saw him as he once was. He seemed reborn to a new life, not a man rushing towards death.

He asked King Daunus for a ship but the man burst out laughing and said: ‘With what will you pay me? A handful of sea salt, and the wool of your sheep?’ The king was coarse and greedy.

But Diomedes did not react. ‘With this,’ he said calmly.

He lifted the blanket that covered the pack on his mule’s back. Sparkling gold wounded the eyes of the native king, who was struck speechless. A suit of armour of dazzling beauty, all gold, gleaming in the sun. The armour once worn by Glaucus, the Lycian hero. He had given it to Diomedes on the field of battle as a hospitable gift, exchanging it with his own copper armour.

‘Will you give me a ship and oarsmen?’ he asked again. Daunus drew closer, his hand hovering over that wonder as if he were afraid that he would burn himself by touching it.

‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ he whispered, still not believing his eyes.

‘Good,’ said Diomedes. And he covered the armour and led off his mule. ‘I want it to be ready as soon as possible,’ he said as he left the courtyard. ‘The sooner it is ready, the sooner you will have what I’ve shown you.’

He walked off to return to his city. Daunus started, as if awaking suddenly from a dream: ‘Who are you anyway?’ he shouted, as the other walked away. But Diomedes did not answer, nor did he turn.

‘Who are you really?’ repeated Daunus, more softly now, as if speaking to himself. He watched as the man walked towards the sea with long strides, his wide arms alongside his body, as if the suit of armour still weighed on his shoulders.

‘But then it’s true,’ said Daunus again. ‘You truly are Diomedes, the king of Argos.’

*

As soon as the ship was ready and the crew enlisted, Diomedes went to the sea to board, bringing with him only his clothing and his weapons. He wanted to leave immediately, although the weather was not good and a cold wind blew over the sea, agitating the waves. But when he arrived he saw the ship empty and his comrades drawn up on the beach. With them were Malech, the
Chnan
, and Lamus, son of Onchestus. They had never had the heart to abandon him.

‘Where is my crew?’ he asked in surprise.

Myrsilus stepped forward: ‘We’re here. Remember,
wanax
? If you live, we shall live. If you die, we will die with you. You were right: an eagle cannot become a crow. Let us set sail.’

‘No,’ said Diomedes. ‘No. I will go alone. Return to your city. I command you to do so, if I am still your king.’

Myrsilus smiled: ‘If we obey, will this be the last order you give us in this land?’

‘The last,’ nodded Diomedes. And his voice was veiled with sadness.

‘Very well,’ said Myrsilus. ‘All aboard then,’ he shouted to his comrades. ‘Argos is our city!’

The comrades shouted: ‘ARGOS!’

Diomedes watched as they took their places at the thwarts and cast off the moorings and his eyes brimmed over. As the ship began moving, he leapt up to grab the rail and vaulted aboard. He stood beside Myrsilus at the helm.

The men hoisted the sail and the ship gained speed, bound towards the open sea. Diomedes’s plan was to head east towards a small group of rocky islands and then to turn south and sail steadily in that direction.

The wind was picking up, but no one thought of turning back. The
Chnan
glanced nervously up at the darkening sky. A shout suddenly echoed from the bow: ‘Ship starboard!’

Diomedes ran to the ship’s side and scanned the sea; a vessel was approaching them from the north. The insignia of the Spartan Atreides stood out on the faded sail.

‘Strike the sails!’ shouted Diomedes. ‘It’s a Spartan ship!’ The crew furled the sails and the oarsmen manoeuvred to maintain their position.

When the ship was within eyeshot, an incredulous expression came over the king’s face, as if a ghost had suddenly appeared before him.

‘Anchialus!’ he shouted out. From the ship a voice even louder than his own answered:
‘Wanax!’

In a few moments, the two vessels were side by side. Anchialus jumped on board and embraced the king with tears in his eyes. ‘I’ve been searching so long,’ he gasped between sobs, ‘so long!’ All of the comrades gathered round and embraced him. Only the
Chnan
remained at the helm and gravely watched the white seafoam that frothed leeward, pounding the ever-nearing islands.

‘Where are you headed?’ asked Anchialus when he had calmed a little.

The king raised flaming eyes. ‘To Argos,’ he said.

Anchialus looked at him in dismay. ‘To Argos?’ he said with a broken voice. ‘Oh, unhappy wretches! Don’t you know? I met refugees on the sea just yesterday, fleeing the city. Argos no longer exists.’

A stony silence fell over the ship, broken only by the sharp whistle of the wind.

‘To the oars!’ shouted the
Chnan
. ‘Men, to the oars! Reefs ahead!’

Myrsilus turned towards the little rocky islands, beaten now by huge billows rimmed with white foam, and then towards the cloud-dark sky. He shouted, as if out of his mind: ‘You gods have betrayed us! You will have no more suffering from us! You will have no more tears! To the oars, men! To the oars!’

The comrades exchanged glances and understood; they looked at the sky and at the boiling surf and they threw themselves at the oars, rowing with savage energy as Myrsilus gripped the helm forcefully, guiding them straight into the rocks. Diomedes understood as well and stood tall at the side of his pilot, firm against the fury of the storm.

Myrsilus yelled out at the top of his lungs to overcome the roar of thunder. He cried: ‘ARGOS!’ And his comrades echoed him, shouting with everything they had in them and making the surface of the sea boil with their oars.

The stern dipped down, pushed by the aft wind and by the force of one hundred arms and the ship rammed straight into the reefs. The keel crashed into the rocks and shattered; the ship rolled like a wounded whale, its stern shooting up and its bow going under. A gigantic wave smashed into the hull, already nearly dismembered by the terrible impact, and dragged it down into the abyss.

The storm raged on for many hours with huge billows, and the sky became blacker than night. It ceased only towards evening, when a cold ray of sun pierced through the grey clouds. A flock of seabirds rose up then from those desolate rocks. Among them was a great white-winged albatross which lifted above all the rest, higher and higher, letting out shrill shrieks of grief. He sailed through a rift in the clouds and was swallowed up by the darkness.

*

The foreigner finished his story thus, one evening at the end of winter. He left the day after, and we were never to hear of him again.

I’ve often asked myself who he was, really. Of all those who lived through those events, who could have had complete knowledge of all the facts? I have never been able to find an answer. Or perhaps I have never wanted to find one. Whoever he was, he had the right to oblivion, for destiny had forced him to live despite himself.

The last thing I remember about him were his eyes, when he turned to look at me before disappearing behind a curve in the road. They were no longer the eyes of a man. They were as empty and black as the circle of the new moon. There was nothing left inside of them, for he had given everything over to us: memories, pain, regrets, everything. Now he could finally look at the world as if he were no longer a part of it, as if he had long crossed the last horizon.

V
ALERIO
M
ASSIMO
M
ANFREDI
is the professor of classical archaeology at the Luigi Bocconi University in Milan. He has carried out a number of expeditions to and excavations in many sites throughout the Mediterranean, and has taught in Italian and international universities. He has published numerous articles and academic books, mainly on military and trade routes and exploration in the ancient world.

He has published twelve works of fiction, including the Alexander trilogy, which has been translated into twenty-four languages in thirty-eight countries, and
The Last Legion
, now a major motion picture.

He has written and hosted documentaries on the ancient world, which have been transmitted by the main television networks, and has written fiction for cinema and television as well.

He lives with his family in the countryside near Bologna.

Also by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

A
LEXANDER
: C
HILD OF A
D
REAM

A
LEXANDER
: T
HE
S
ANDS OF
A
MMON

A
LEXANDER
: T
HE
E
NDS OF THE
E
ARTH

S
PARTAN

T
HE
L
AST
L
EGION

T
YRANT

T
HE
O
RACLE

E
MPIRE OF
D
RAGONS

T
HE
T
OWER

P
HARAOH

T
HE
L
OST
A
RMY

Ah, could we but survive this war
to live forever deathless, without age,
I would not ever go again to battle
nor would I send you there for honor’s sake!
But now a thousand shapes of death surround us,
and no man can escape them, or be safe.
let us go . . .

Homer, Iliad XII, 322–8

KEY TO MAP

I
TALY

Mountains of Ice
– The Alps
Lake of the Ancestors
– Lake Garda
Eridanus River
– River Po
Mountains of Stone
– The Ligurian Alps and Carrara Mountains
The Blue Mountains
– The Appennines
Mountains of Fire
– Vesuvius to Etna
Island of the Three Promontories
– Sicily

B
ALKANS

Hyster River
– Danube
Epirus
– Albania
Land of the Achaeans
– Greece
Palus Maeotis
– Sea of Azov
Pylum
– Capital of Messenia
Pontus Euxinus
– Black Sea

A
EGEAN

Ilium
– Troy
Tyre
– Tyre
Assuwa
– Asia
Keftiu
– Crete