Cassandra (12 page)

`What is?' I asked, still amazed at my first sight of the city.

`There is no prince of Tiryns,' he said. `Since Heracles' days it has changed hands twenty times and always for bad fortune. At the moment it is held for Argos by Dikaos, the `just one', until a rightful prince shall be found. If I was that prince, I would give my inheritance to Boreas the north wind and leave for somewhere nice and distant; Libya, say, or Africa.

`I tell no tales of Heracles in Tiryns, boy. Here lived the coward king Eurystheus, who spoke to the hero from inside a grain amphora, such was his fear of the man to whom he gave the twelve labours.' He laughed. `Come then. It grows cold in these mountains at night. Let us see what welcome unlucky Tiryns can give two wandering healers and a straying bard.'

The welcome was warm. Arion, it appeared, was well known. The guard on duty on the wall over the keystone gate crowned with gods cried out, `The famed singer! Arion Dolphin-Rider has come! Welcome, Master. Who travels with you?'

`Glaucus the healer, master of Epidavros, and his acolyte Chryse God-Touched,' roared Arion. `You did not used to shut this gate so early!'

`Come inside,' said the guard. The gate creaked open and we rode inside. It shut behind us with a clang. Tiryns had bronze gates, hollow cast and fitted over stone lintels and posts. Not even the Cyclopes who had built them could have forced those doors. I had a small internal qualm as they shut. I wondered whether they kept friends in as well as they kept enemies out.

`What's happening, eh?' demanded Arion of the gate guards, who were fully clad in breastplates and helmets. `We saw no enemies on the road.'

`The Lord Dikaos ordered it, Lord,' said the soldier nervously. `Ah, here he comes,' and he abandoned us to return to the wall.

Dikaos, lord of Tiryns, was slim, young, and dressed in a very coarse chiton which barely reached his knees. He wore no jewellery of rank and no crown. Only his haughty, intelligent face made him look any different from a peasant's son. He had heard how unlucky it was to be prince of Tiryns and evidently wanted to make sure that he was never mistaken for one.

`Arion,' he said coolly, and then bowed the knee to my master to the precise depth indicated by courtly custom. `Master of Epidavros. We are honoured. Particularly at the moment.'

`Why?' asked Arion bluntly. I noticed that he used exactly the same manner and form of speech to everyone, from me to the soldier to the lord of Tiryns. Being a bard, he was not accorded any rank and he gave respect to no one who hadn't earned it. He took my hand as I fell back, overawed by the city. `What is going on, Dikaos?' he demanded. `Are you expecting an army?'

`No, we already have one,' said Dikaos. `Without warning and under the shield of darkness, Menelaus and Agamemnon brought Elene here. They meant to go on to Mycenae this morning, but the wretched girl is sick. She is weeping in pain and none of our herb-women can ease her.

`I have shut my gates against the army of suitors who will roar through the plain of Argos as soon as they find out where she is, and I do not know what bitter rain will fall on unlucky Tiryns. Already the old men are recalling Heracles throwing his brother Iphicles off the battlements and recounting the sins of Eurystheus, may he be cursed and all his line and his remote descendants wherever they are.'

`What is the matter with the lady?' I asked. At the sound of my voice the lord of Tiryns looked down and his taut face softened.

`Thank all the gods,' he said. `A healer who is not yet a man. Is he good, master Glaucus?' he asked, taking my hand in his. `Can he be trusted?'

`In all things,' said my master gravely, and I flushed with pride. `He is Diomenes of the healing hands, but he is not yet come into his full power. What ails the maiden?'

`If she was my child I would say it was pure temper,' Dikaos snapped. `But now she really does seem ill. If she dies here, I am a dead man and my city will be sacked.

`But even you, Master, will not be able to see her without one of the Atreidae, either Agamemnon or Menelaus, being present. They will all accept Diomenes, I hope.'

We had crossed a wide courtyard and come to the door of a great house. The walls were of stone, the windows high and narrow and the roof steeply pitched. It loomed, and it made me nervous.

I had never seen a hall of this size and so much high-piled stone oppressed my spirit. Dikaos still had hold of my hand. A slave opened the studded door and the lord of Tiryns led us into a large hall furnished with benches, then into a smaller room hung with colourful tapestries. The bedchamber smelt musty and was airless and cold. Dikaos finally released his hold and I sat down gingerly on the edge of a large, saddle-sprung bed. I jumped up again as it gave under my weight. I was used to sleeping on the tiled floor of my temple. Dikaos did not even smile.

`This is my own house, lords. Please sit down and refresh yourselves - attend the guests, bring washing water and bread and wine at once' - he called and there was a scurrying of feet as slaves dived to obey him - `then I shall bring you to the kings and perhaps this can be solved without bloodshed. You, little asclepid, have you your healer's tunic?'

I nodded. Dikaos shut the door and we heard him hurry away.

`Chryse,' said my master, `be very careful with this maiden. Do not touch her if you can help. There will be a woman with her - talk to her first. She will tell you what is wrong. Then speak to the other maiden, the one supplied by Tiryns. Between the two stories you may be able to diagnose Elene's illness.

Now, you must clear your mind of all other things. You must wash yourself clean of any speck of impurity and we will give you bread and wine. Then you will go to the kings, and we will accompany you. The woman will take you to the maiden Elene. Take the bag of herbs. There will be water and a fire to prepare an infusion. What are the hysteria herbs?'

`Mistletoe, Master, rosemary to clear the wits, thyme to soothe the brain, poppy for the pain.'

`Good. Here is water. Scrub yourself clean.'

A slave had brought a cauldron of hot water. I stripped and washed all over with soapy lychnis leaf and rinsed myself clean, half-listening to Arion and my master discussing the army of suitors which had set all Achaea by the ears.

`Locusts,' said the old singer. `They have drunk rivers dry and eaten crops off the ground, and behind them famine flies on her ragged brown wings. The men of Pelop's land have gone mad.

It amuses some god, no doubt, to drive a nation insane over one maiden, it makes a good song, Glaucus, but is it reasonable?'

`Is she so beautiful?' asked my master, as I allowed a slave to dry my feet and fit on my sandals. I stood up and the man dropped my healer's tunic, made of the finest Egyptian flax and embroidered with gold, over my head. He combed my hair and bound it with a golden fillet. I sat down with my master and Arion fed me bread soaked in wine, one piece at a time, and told me about Elene.

`She is the daughter of Zeus and a woman called Leda, to whom he came in the shape of a swan,' he said. `She was stolen by Theseus, old though he was, and her brothers Castor and Polydeuces brought her back to Sparta, to her foster father.

`Another mouthful, Chryse... Poor Tyndareus' court was overrun by all the youth of Pelops bawling for her hand - and, of course, the rest of her. She is indeed the reincarnation of Aphrodite on earth. I have never seen such beauty. Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon was chosen, and took her though he has not lain with her yet. He has been made heir of Sparta by Elene's father, a step up from being a mere prince of Argos. Here, a little more - this is good wine, Chryse. But until Menelaus gets Elene to golden Mycenae where the league will be sworn, she can still be stolen. That is why Dikaos' hair is greying rapidly and why you must heal the girl and let her husband take her away. There. That's enough. Not a spot on the tunic. As white and innocent as a new shorn lamb. Look, Glaucus.'

My master inspected me, took my right hand and looked at the nails, put our bag of herbs into my arms and we went out of the room, under the keystone arches which stiffened the building like ribs, into the great hall.

There were four men seated on a dais at the end of the hall. Smoke rose in a column through the roof from a great hearth in the middle of the floor. Bronze and gold gleamed through the fumes.

`Healers of Epidavros, Diomenes and Master Glaucus, and I, Arion the Singer,' announced Arion as we walked toward them.

 

`We bring you greetings.' In a lower tone he added to me, `Agamemnon, Lord of Golden Mycenae, Castor and Polydeuces the brothers of Elene, Menelaus the husband, Prince of Sparta.'

They sat ranked like gods, huge and imposing in their armour. The brothers were identical twins, big men with muscles which crossed and interlocked as they moved. Menelaus was tall and running to fat, a jovial man with a smiling mouth and a beard which curled like a fleece. Agamemnon, Lord of Men, was huge, broad as a door, his breastplate gleaming and his massive arms and hands jingling and heavy with gold.

Agamemnon fixed his eyes on me and said loudly, `Come here, Asclepid.' I approached and he leaned down and peered into my face, his hand engulfing my neck. He smelt of grease, wine and smoke. His beard was streaked mutton fat, his teeth were broken and his breath was foul, but I did not recoil. He closed his hand a little and my heels were lifted off the floor. I kept my eyes on him and tried not to choke.

`Brave,' he laughed, patting me on the shoulder and setting me down again. Menelaus ran a hand down my side to my buttock, poked me in the belly and said, `Young.' He smiled, the smile never reaching his eyes.

I looked at the wrestler and the boxer. Their cold gaze fixed on me for a moment, then dismissed me.

`Enough.' Arion was front of me. `Leave playing, my lords. Will the boy do for your bride, Prince, or shall we find more mannerly company?'

I trembled at this tone, but Menelaus laughed. He had a rich, deep laugh.

`Ay, let him see her. You, Arion, have you any song of Heracles?' he asked, with a spiteful glance at Dikaos.

`Heracles the hero, Lord, has been my especial study.'

Arion snapped his fingers and a slave handed him his lyre. I heard him begin to sing of the disgraceful behaviour of King Eurystheus as I was conducted out of the great hall, up a flight of stairs and into an antechamber.

The woman sitting on a stool was old - I would judge her to have been Elene's nurse. She gave me a raking stare, then smiled.

`She is weeping yet, Asclepid,' she told me. `She fell into a fury, then into this despondency. Her head hurts and her limbs ache and she cannot travel. She has dismissed us all and screams if we enter the room. I have left a brazier burning, and boiled water in the ewer beside it. Go in, healer, and see what you can do.'

`What ails her?' I asked.

`She is the most beautiful woman in the world and no one loves her,' said the woman.

`Where is the maiden of Tiryns?' I asked, recalling my instructions. `I wish to speak with her.' The old woman shooed in a sullen girl and shut the door.

`Are you a healer?' asked the girl.

I nodded, trying to look as grave as my master. `Tell me, maiden, what ails the Lady Elene?'

She shrugged. `Just temper. She cried and wailed and beat her breasts and said she wanted to die. Since then she has been crying and wailing. She will not eat and cannot sleep and neither can we, for worry that she will bring a siege down on us.'

`Get some good red wine, and a young chicken with which you will make a barley broth, and do it quickly,' I snapped. `Take this lump of poppy. Go to my Master Glaucus and say that I need poppy syrup with honey and wait until he has made it, then bring all three things to me at once and with the greatest speed.'

`As you order, Master, but if I behaved like that my father would have beaten me.'

`Quickly,' I said, and pushed her out.

`I will keep the door until you call,' said the nurse. `No one shall come down. Do what my lady wills, boy. She is in desperate need. Go in Asclepid.'

I entered a large room, rich with tapestries. It was furnished with a huge curtained bed, in the middle of which was a humped shape that whimpered.

I paused. I had heard that sound before. Wounded men cry in that manner, knowing that they are dying. This was not an hysterical fit such as maidens have. I sat down next to her and found a hand. It was slim and brown and clung to my fingers.

`Tell me your sorrow, Lady,' I said.

She started at the unknown voice. Her hand slid up to my face, tugging at my hair, and tracing my cheek and jaw with a touch as light as cobwebs. I captured the hand again and urged, `Sit up, Lady, and speak with me. I am Diomenes the Asclepid, God-Touched, a healer priest.'

She wriggled into a sitting position and exclaimed, `You're a boy,' and, in that moment, I first caught sight of the most beautiful woman in the world.

They have sung of Elene that she was pale with blue eyes, but that is not true. She was dark, with eyes like trout pools and hair like chesnut and a mouth the colour of autumn berries or the red poppy flower. Her skin was olive with a dusting of hair like gold. She might have been a little taller than me, not goddess' stature as poets have sung. It was impossible to describe her; no one feature was special, but altogether she was astonishing, even divine. With her hair dishevelled and torn and her eyes red with tears she was still beautiful enough to take my breath.

`Oh, don't,' she wailed. `Not you too!'

`Lady?'

`No one looks at me. They look at this,' she took a handful of the chestnut hair, `or this' she dragged her hands down her perfect cheeks, `or this,' she tore aside her tunic and revealed her body, lovely and symmetrical in every curve. `Not me, not Elene!'

I began to see what she meant. I was flooded with pity for her. I caught both of her hands in mine and looked into her eyes.

`I can see you,' I said. `Elene.'

`They stole me when I was twelve,' she wailed. `Men with their filthy mouths, their dirty hands. Thesueus threw me flat and raped me, his loins all dabbled with my blood. He laughed at my scream of pain; he grinned as if he had done something clever, as though he had stolen something.