We had always wondered if part of his charm for Andromache was that he had promised to allow her to drive his own prized chariot pair, whom no other hand was allowed to touch.
`Heracles was the son of the Achaean father god, Zeus, the stern one, compeller of the clouds,' Hector continued, `and Alchmene, a Danaan woman from the Tiryns, which is girded with walls. The hero's companions were Telamon and Iolas and the men of Tiryns, and he came with six ships through the straights, which we thus call the Pillars of Heracles. They arrived at a time when Laomedon had broken his bargain with Poseidon.'
`What was the bargain?' I asked ritually.
`Laomedon had offered six of his horses to Poseidon if he would build the walls of Troy. The god agreed. But when the king could not bear to part with the horses, Poseidon sent a sea monster so ravenous it bit the keels out of boats and swallowed crews whole.'
Hector paused dramatically, then went on. `An oracle commanded that the Princess Hesione, daughter of the king and sister of our father King Priam, be chained on the shore for the sea monster. This sacrifice, the oracle said, would appease Poseidon Blue-Haired, whom Laomedon had cast from the city.'
This was troubling, as we in Troy did not sacrifice living things. Our gods did not like such sacrifices. Only the barbarian Achaeans burnt dead flesh and spilled blood before their cruel gods.
We gave seed and flowers and garments and gold to the gods of Troy, and honey and wine; only once a year did a creature die for the gods. That was the bull which was sacrificed to Dionysius, at the festival which marked the turning of winter to spring. We garlanded the perfect bull with flowers and brought him from his stall to die for the season. Then we ate his flesh and drank his blood mingled with wine which made the whole city drunk, giving our fleshly worship to the god of increase and wine. The Dionysiad lasted for three days and even the maidens of the goddess and the man-loving priests of Adonis danced and coupled in the squares, for a god must have his due.
Hector continued, `The hero Heracles sailed into the bay and saw the princess chained to Scaean Gate where the oak tree grows. Telamon seized Hesione, and Heracles bargained with the sea monster which began to rise beneath the Achaean ship. It was bigger than the ship, and angry because it was baulked of its prey.
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Its head came out of the water and it grabbed the mast, snapping it and chewing the sail. Laomedon had promised horses if the hero could kill the monster.
`Heracles bound on his bronze armour and his helmet and took his spear and his sword, and as the monster's head came around leapt full into its mouth. The Achaeans wailed as its teeth snapped shut over him and it dived beneath the surface again. But Telamon had Hesione and wanted her, though he had made no bargain for the king's daughter.
`In the waters of the bay, the Trojans saw the monster writhing and twisting. It was the length of three ships, as broad in the middle as two, and it roared fearfully, so loud that the guards on the Scaean Gate covered their ears. The Achaeans began to mourn for their hero, wailing and beating their breasts, when the monster gave a convulsive jerk and Heracles the Hero hacked his way out of its belly, so that it spewed its guts and stranded, dying messily in the shallows.
`Later it took all of our fleet to drag it into the deep water so that the tide could bear it away.
`Heracles came alive out of the monster and walked, dripping scales and fishy blood, up the steep streets to the palace to demand his promised price. The Achaeans and the Princess Hesione followed him. Laomedon the horse-lover refused him his reward, again breaking solemn oaths sworn by the gods. Standing in the throne room with his sons all about him, he defied the hero and bade him begone with insulting words. Heracles was possessed of battle fury.'
`What's battle fury?' Eleni interrupted.
`He lost his mind, all knowledge of himself, and killed everyone standing,' said Hector. `He killed the king and all but one of his sons. His sword moved like a reaping hook, cutting down the youth of Ilium. They ran and he pursued the royal house of Tros, breaking down the walls, pulling stone from stone and killing when he found them, with sword and spear and hands and teeth. Stones bounced off him, spears could not pierce him, swords broke on his invulnerable body. Then the Princess Hesione caught the remaining child - Podarkes swift-foot, who had run for his life - and held him to her breast and defied Heracles to kill him. Heracles, servant of women, could not touch her. He ransomed the child for her gold-embroidered veil, the maiden's veil which girls wore at that time. Thus Hesione's body, freely offered, appeased the hero, and he lay down with her in the rubble among the bodies of her brothers. It is said that although he was mired with blood and stronger than the sea, he did not hurt her as he lay with her. Heracles, goddess-brought, was sworn not to harm women.
`Hesione ordered that horses should be brought and given to the hero, and gold to Telamon and the men of wall-girt Tiryns. This was done. Hesione gave the child, whom she named Priamos, one who is ransomed, to Lykke the wolf-woman to raise, ordering her to take him into the mountains. She appointed the eldest princess to rule until Priamos returned. That Priamos is our father, the Lord King Priam the old.'
`What happened to Hesione?' asked Andromache. Hector did not answer immediately, but stroked a living hand down the girl's side and kissed her on the mouth. Behind me Eleni muttered. I turned and kissed him, afraid he would make some unfortunate comment. It was the first time that I did not know for certain what Eleni would do.
Hector said regretfully, `Telamon kidnapped her. Heracles, possessed by remorse for his murders, re-built the walls, as you see them now. While the hero was hauling stone, Telamon of Tiryns stole Hesione, Princess of Troy and sailed away with her.
`The princess sent word that we should not pursue her; she had no wish to start a war with the barbarians. Heracles finished the walls and went home. There, possessed of that same fury, he killed his own children and was set twelve labours, the labours that made him a god.'
`And Hesione?' asked Pariki's voice, stilted as though he spoke though clenched teeth.
`She lived with Telamon for the rest of her life and had many sons,' said Hector. `It is an old tale, brother.'
`It is an insult which has not been avenged,' said Pariki. He stalked away. We heard his sandals slap against the stone steps of the palace staircase.
For some reason Hector would tell no further tales that night. He held us close, as though he feared to lose us.
The master was right, of course. In the night most of the children of Kokkinades died.
Next morning the village had reached its decision. They would go to Tiryns, after their one moon's rest at the temple. We mounted and rode away, hearing behind us the wailing of women and the thudding of hoes into the dry, uncultivated ground. Kokkinades had paid a price for disobeying the gods, and they were burying it.
Master Glaucus did not speak for three or four miles, until the noise of mourning had died away. Then he said, `Diomenes, do not say that there are no gods. That place was god struck. No other explanation would ever satisfy men. Do you understand?'
`No, Master.'
`Men will never accept that any stroke of fortune is their own doing. Never. Women will do so, but they are instinctive, incapable of thought, and animal. Men must be daunted and only the gods can daunt them.'
`Not even the gods daunted Kokkinades, Master. They disobeyed the oracle and opened the old well.'
`Against stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain, my son. Tell me what herb is sovereign against affections of the lungs. Which herb do you always use, no matter what the combination?'
`Lungleaf, Master.'
`Why is it called that?'
`Because the leaves are shaped like lungs.'
`And which herb is your basis for all kidney treatments?'
`Marshleaf, Master.'
`What do its leaves look like?'
`Kidneys, Master.'
`And for sexual diseases?'
`Mandrake root, Master.'
`Which looks like?'
`A phallus, Master.'
`The gods designed the herbs to feed and heal all things, Chryse, and in doing so they marked each one with either a colour or shape to tell us what part to use for what ailment. What's the best cure for a nettle sting?'
`A dock leaf.'
`And where does dock grow?'
`Next to nettle.'
`Indeed. Now,' he dismounted and picked a small, bright pink flower, `what's this, Chryse?'
I looked carefully at the shrub, then at the shape of the blunt-toothed leaves and squarish, silky flower. I sniffed and smelt a familiar scent.
`It looks and smells like meadow wound leaf, master, but the plant is too tall and the flower is the wrong colour.'
`Heracles gave it to men,' the master began, looking up suddenly as a rider approached. He stared, then walked forward two paces and held out his arms.
`Heracles, Master?' I prompted.
`Sired on the virgin Alcmene just over the ridge,' said a beautiful voice. `Taken to Thebes after he strangled two huge blue serpents in his cradle. Who talks of the hero on this misfortunate road?'
`Arion,' exclaimed my master, and the two men embraced in a swirl of robes. They kissed like old friends, beard to beard.
`What brings you here?' asked Glaucus. `My dear Arion, how good to see you.'
`And what has dragged you out of your temple, Asclepius-Priest?' laughed Arion. `I thought you safely imprisoned these ten years, minding the god and everyone's business.'
`Rogue,' commented Glaucus. He pulled the other man around to face me and said, `This is Arion the great singer, Dolphin-Rider. This is Diomenes called Chyse, my acolyte, God-Touched. He has just found out that there are no gods, and we are journeying to show him that there are.'
`Where to?' Arion took my hand and smiled into my face. He had the darkest and brightest eyes I had ever seen and black hair which straggled down over his rich, dusty, singing robes like ropes. He and my master were alike: beak-nosed, bearded and authoritative. Glaucus was heavier and his hair was white; Arion was thin and wiry and had only two stripes of white in his harsh black hair. Badger-Haired Arion; I had heard of him. I had sung several of his tavern songs and one lyrical invocation of Selene, the goddess of the moon. I had also considered him mythical.
Something of what I was thinking must have come to Arion, because he pulled me into an embrace and laid my hand over his heart. It beat strongly.
`Golden One, I am alive and I am quite definitely Arion,' he chuckled. `Did you say where you are going, Glaucus? My memory is not what it was.'
`Tiryns, then Mycenae. Where are you bound?'
`Mycenae for the great truce. We can travel together. If you wanted the boy to see the greatest princes, they will all be there. Odysseus of the nimble wits, it's his idea. He has a lot of ideas.'
`What is his idea?' I asked, freeing myself.
`There is a maiden called Elene. She is the most beautiful woman in the world,' said the bard solemnly. `All the princes of the Danaans were ready to kill each other for her. Now it seems that King Odysseus of Ithaca has found a solution. There is to be a league of Elene's suitors, who will all swear to defend her father's choice, and to war against those who try to steal her. For she has been stolen before, and now must be safely married before she brings the whole world to ruin.'
`Have you seen her?' I asked.
Arion grew still. `I have seen her. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. You shall see her too, little healer, and judge for yourself. But beware your heart, or she will steal it and eat it. I interrupted you lesson, Glaucus. What were you saying about Heracles?'
`This is Heracles' wound leaf, ignorant singer of the Achaeans,' said Glaucus. `It grows only from here to Tiryns, and is used for all wounds, ulcers and oozing scars. It is hot and dry, boy, so take care to use it only on wet wounds. It dries up blood.'
`Take a supply,' advised the bard. `There will be blood enough before Elene is given away.'
We rode on a little. I had done as the bard advised and garnered two handfuls of Heracles' herb. I was just wondering what the most beautiful woman would look like when Arion slowed and called, `Here is the tomb of the warring brothers. Have you heard the tale, little healer?'
`No, Lord,' I stared at a pyramid of rock, covered with bronze shields which had tarnished to the thinness of skin. It was clearly very old.
`Ignorant singer, eh, brother?' he eyed Glaucus. `Would you like to hear it?'
`Oh, yes, Lord. I love stories. I have not heard that one before.'
Arion slowed his patient horse to a walk and began to sing. His voice was rich, clear and ringing. It cast a spell like Hypnos Priest. No listener ever heard Arion Dolpin-Rider unmoved.
`The brothers Akrisos and Proitos, closer their love than roots clings to vine,' he began.
Pyla carried me - I could not have been said to be riding - at the bard's side as he told of the father who denied his daughter, Danae, marriage. He locked her in a high tower, until the god came to her in a shower of gold and she conceived Perseus the hero. Proitos brought the giants, the Cyclopes, to build him high-walled Tiryns, then quarrelled in turn with the god Dionysius, and his daughters were driven mad. The brothers lost or gave away their cities, Argos and Tiryns, but it did not save them from their dreadful fate.
By the time the song wound down we were treading the dusty path up into the mountains, and Arion touched my cheek.
`Look there, Healer Priest,' he said, turning my entranced face into the sunset. `There are the walls built by the giants.'
`I had not known that anyone could build so high. Occupying the whole of a shoulder of cliff thrust out into a chasm, Tiryns of the high walls glowed tin the sunset. I gasped, and Arion chuckled.
`You are a good listener, Chryse, so I'll give you some advice. Do not mention the prince in Tiryns; one of the mysteries, that is.'