The Girl From Ithaca (28 page)
“Because why would I lie about Ithaca? Only those who live in Ithaca are proud of its beauty. Others from outside see it as a rocky wilderness of no importance and would never claim to live there.”
Oenone nodded, her dark hair falling in waves upon her shoulders. “I see that. I know what people say about Ithaca. So you know the rascal Odysseus?”
I steadied my voice. “Very well. I’m his sister. It’s Odysseus who needs your help.”
“You declare this with absolutely no shame! Your brother, the one who needs my help, is Odysseus. The gods are playing a joke on me!” She jumped up and strode to the wood. “Hermes, come out and show yourself, you trickster god! I know you seek to deceive me and amuse yourself.”
She stared into the cluster of trees, searching for Hermes as if she expected him to appear any moment.
“There’s no deception, no trick. I’m telling the truth,” I called to her, noticing the height of the sun. “Please, my brother may die at any moment. I need to know if you will help me.”
Oenone swept back to the pool.
“It’s such a ridiculous story. Why have the Greeks sent you and a boy? Have you no men left, or is it a crafty plot by your brother to get you killed? And most puzzling of all, how dare you ask me to help Odysseus, when he is such a danger to Paris?”
I thought up my answer as she gently touched the surface of the water, sending ripples to the side of rocks.
“You are the only one who can help. I have no choice. And I slipped away unseen, with only Agenor as my guide, because I knew I would not be allowed to risk my life coming here.”
She withdrew her finger and turned to face me. We sat looking at each other for what might have been forever. Slowly a smile formed on her lips. “You are lucky, very, very lucky. I believe you. I do not always feel so generous to mortal women, but you have faith in my healing and that is hard to resist. Most put their faith in Apollo. So Odysseus’ sister, describe his wounds and his symptoms, then you and I will work on the remedy.”
The Tale of Three Goddesses
“
I
’m not able to reveal the secret of my potion. Zeus does not permit us to share with mortals,” Oenone explained.
I nodded. I knew the story of Prometheus and how Zeus punished him for sharing the secret of fire.
“But I can prepare enough to heal your brother, with perhaps a small amount left over. Can you grind these seeds into a fine powder? It’ll take some time. I’ll find a few special herbs I cultivate in my wood,” she said, her coldness having melted now she was busy.
She left me alone for a while and I glanced around at every rustle of the leaves or dance of a shadow, dreading that I should see the god Hermes. The messenger Hermes was one of the kindly gods. He guided travellers and protected children, as well as helping shepherds and cowherds. But I didn’t want to meet any god, even one who preferred to persuade rather than fight. To women even more than men, gods were trouble. If they disliked you, they could punish or kill. If they liked you, you risked rape, seduction or the god disguising himself as a lover. I pounded the seeds. It was best to keep away from the gods.
Oenone returned and began to relax as she worked, extracting juice from berries and giving me more seeds to grind. She paused sometimes to talk of Paris. What could I do? Time was slipping away and perhaps my brother’s life with it, but I was in no position to hurry her or show impatience.
“How innocent Paris was. He knew nothing, not even that he was the king’s son,” she said. “He was content with his simple life and I would never have told him he was a prince of Troy. We were together by this pool. We were in love. We were happy.” Oenone put down her knife and turned to me. “Then Hermes came. Paris had never seen a god before and he felt important when Hermes called him by name. I tried to pull him back, but he pushed me away. Yes, my lover pushed me away.”
Tears flowed down her face as she described the message from Zeus. “Hermes told Paris he’d been chosen for an important task, because he was handsome and knowledgeable in love, yet untainted by the ways of the world. Poor Paris was young. He didn’t know the tricks that gods play. He thought it was an honour to be called.”
I wondered what Zeus had wanted of Paris. What terrible thing had made Paris leave Oenone and the mountain, claim his right as a prince of Troy and then sail to Sparta to steal Helen?
“He followed Hermes to that smooth stone over there,” Oenone said, pointing to a rock in the middle of the clearing. “On the stone Hermes placed a large golden apple and told Paris he was to award it to the fairest.” She laughed bitterly. “To the fairest. Do you know what that means?”
“I’m not sure. It could be many things.”
“That was the problem, the gods could not agree and Zeus refused to make a decision, so they asked Paris, innocent Paris, to do it for them.”
“But where had this golden apple come from?” I asked, handing her the powder I’d made.
“Ah, it begins with a wedding of a goddess with a mortal man. You have heard of Thetis and Peleus, the parents of the savage Achilles?”
I nodded. “Achilles told us all the gods came to their wedding and gave wonderful presents.”
“All the gods, except one. It was arranged quickly and they forgot to invite Eris, the goddess of strife. In revenge, Eris rolled the golden apple at the feet of three goddesses and declared it was for the fairest. Immediately, the goddesses fought over the apple. The argument went on and on for many days and the gods grew tired of their shouting, weeping and general disruption. They begged Zeus to settle the debate.”
“And Zeus refused?”
“He knew he risked enraging the two goddesses not selected and all three had a good claim. Hera, wife of Zeus thought she deserved it because she was the most important and powerful. Then there was Athena, the daughter of Zeus. She claimed the apple because she was wise and gave mortals good advice. Last of all was Aphrodite, the goddess of love. She said the apple should be hers because she was the most beautiful and graceful of the three.”
“But how could Paris decide? It was impossible.”
Oenone sighed. “I warned him if he awarded it to one, he’d make enemies of the others, but he said I was jealous and ignored my advice. Foolish, foolish Paris! As they came before him and offered him bribes, such terrible bribes to tempt a boy like Paris, I knew he’d never feel contented again.”
Hera declared she’d give him wealth and power if she was declared the fairest. Next Athena strode up to him, dressed in battle armour, her grey eyes flashing. She promised Paris wisdom and knowledge if she could have the prize.”
Last of all, the goddess Aphrodite stood before him naked. She treated him like a lover, stroking his hair and caressing his lips with her fingers. She promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. Straight away, without any thought, Paris presented the golden apple to Aphrodite.”
I shook my head in despair. “The most beautiful woman in the world was not Aphrodite’s to give. She was already married. She was married to Menelaus of Sparta.”
Oenone put her finger to her lips. “The goddess of love has never been a respecter of marriages. Neither is she one to plan ahead or think about her actions.”
She took my powder and mixed it with the berry juice. “I’ve told you this because I want you, as a Greek, to understand the war should not be blamed on Paris. Aphrodite bewitched him into loving Helen. He has no control over what he does. One day, when the war is over and Helen has been sent back to Sparta, he’ll be released from the curse and return to me. I’m the only one who truly loves him. His family may pretend to care, but they showed their true worth when they abandoned him on this mountain.”
I hoped Paris would return to Oenone, just as I hoped to return home. I hoped for these things, but I knew our lives could never be as they once were, before the war. Too much had been lost, too much destroyed.
Oenone mixed all the powders and juices and poured the liquid into a large vial. She smiled as she watched me tuck the precious package into the pouch inside my cloak. “Mix the liquid with watered wine and let him take two sips, as the sun rises and as the sun sets, until he recovers. One small tip that Zeus will allow me to reveal is the herb called prunella. It is quite common and has a blue flower, do you know it?”
I nodded. I’d seen the insignificant looking plant growing by the river.
“The juice from prunella will heal a wound far more quickly than anything your man Machaon can provide, in spite of his faith in Apollo. When he’s impressed by your skill, tell him that Oenone from Mount Ida trained you. You’ll do that for me?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“So go now, go heal Odysseus if you can.”
Oenone didn’t speak to me again. With her long hands, she signalled that I was free to leave and then strode back to her place beside the rock pool. When I reached the wood, I glanced back at the clearing and saw her staring at her reflection once more. I raised my hand to wave but she never looked up.
I retraced my steps through the woods and past the other pools. Standing on top of the slope, I looked for Agenor. First I saw the horses and then Agenor sitting beside them. Cupping my hands, I called his name. Immediately he jumped up and stood waiting at the bottom of the cliff.
Carefully, I edged over the ledge and began my descent. I climbed down slowly, aware of the vial tucked inside my cloak. Resting on one of the jutting rocks, I called to Agenor again.
“I found Oenone.”
“And she gave you the remedy?”
“Yes, yes, we have it.”
He climbed up to meet me. Soon my foot touched his outstretched arm and I slid towards him. He took my weight and helped me down the rest of the way.
“Then take a drink while I get the horses harnessed,” Agenor said. “They’re eager for more exercise.”
Soon we were hurrying along the pine forest track, feeling again the threat of that dark and gloomy place. Struck by an uneasy sensation of being watched, we rode in silence. Twice I caught something flicker in the corner of my eye. Spinning round, I found nothing but the shadowy trees. Only when we’d emerged into the sunlight did I feel safe enough to reveal Oenone’s story.
Dogs of War
L
ong shadows spread across our path as we rode through the foothills, back to where we’d rested that morning. Waiting for nightfall, Agenor finished the last of the wheat cakes and we shared the remaining cheese and dates.
The horses grazed nearby as we sat on the grass and watched them. For a few unhurried moments, it felt as if we were in Ithaca, enjoying an evening ride, before going home to the family and a comfortable bed.
“Your father let me choose the names,” Agenor said, sweeping Star’s furlock to the side to reveal a star shaped mark. “I named them after these small white patches on their foreheads.”
I’d not noticed that before. I inspected Jewel and found her white patch too. She nuzzled up to me, nosing under my cloak, expecting the tit-bit that she was obviously used to receiving. “Sorry Jewel, we’ve no food left, but if you get us back in time to save Odysseus, I’ll give you treats every day for the rest of your life.”
“She’ll keep you to that; she’s the greediest horse I’ve ever known,” Agenor laughed.
Once it was dark, we set off on the final part of our journey, the horses’ hooves hammering the track like the relentless beat of a drum. Agenor drove them harder than the night before, calling to them and flicking the reins across their backs. With the extra speed, I calculated we’d be back at the camp well before sunrise. I took a deep breath. I had the vial and the worst of the journey was over. All we had to do was return to Odysseus.
As we hurried on, I grew sleepy. But I couldn’t relax yet, I kept telling myself. That’s when the Trojans would creep up on us. I needed to stay alert, to watch for danger, to concentrate. I rocked with the sway of the chariot. My eyes grew heavy and I forced them open. Shadows were moving across the plain. I nudged Agenor.