I had spent the morning showing Tantalus round the stables. The boy had an eye for horses and sensibly remarked their points. I harnessed a team he admired, drove to the Field of War and allowed him to handle the reins. He was, naturally, unpractised; the horses pulled his arms out, quickened from canter to gallop and incontinently bolted. I took the reins, brought the chariot under control and parried his shamed apologies. 'Nothing to worry about; this pair would test a trained Companion's skill.' We returned sedately to the stables where he insisted on grooming the brutes. A stallion nipped his buttock, a severe and painful bite as I knew from harsh experience, enough to reduce any boy to tears. Tantalus yelped, gritted his teeth and went on wisping the horse's quarters. A likeable child with plenty of guts.
Soon afterwards someone came to fetch him away, and I had not seen the lad since. Nor could I find him among the flagon- laden squires who flitted from table to table.
A carver beside the hearth sliced a sirloin and heaped a platter. A servant brought it to the king, knelt and placed it on his table. Atreus skewered a piece and tasted. 'Not as tender as I like,' he observed pleasantly to Thyestes. 'The cooks won't pound the joints before putting them on the spits. In your especial honour, brother, I have ordered a particular dish prepared in the women's kitchens where the staff are clever in catering for our ladies' delicate palates.'
He spoke to the man who had served him. As the fellow hurried away I noticed his stricken expression - but slaves were often timorous when royalty gave orders.
Atreus attacked his beef and, between mouthfuls, reminisced about a recent hunt when a savage Nemean lion had disembowelled his favourite hound. Thyestes fingered his wine cup and squinted enviously at Atreus' laden plate. Like everyone else he had not eaten since dawn - a light breakfast, figs and honey, barley-cakes and watered wine - and was ravenously hungry. The banquet's opening course, broiled fish and savoury herbs, had merely whetted his appetite.
The servant re-appeared from an entrance opposite the Hall's bronze-plated doors. He carried a big gold charger, knelt in front of Thyestes and proffered a smoking joint.
Atreus said jovially, 'Tender as newborn lamb, I'll warrant, garnished with cumin, fennel and mint, tasty and fit for a king - a king, my dear Thyestes. Allow me to serve you.'
The meat, a haunch of sorts and somewhat underdone, was certainly tender: Atreus' dagger cut the joint like cheese. He spiked slices and piled Thyestes' platter. 'There, fall to. I'll bet you've never eaten so dainty a dish before.'
Atreus resumed his meal, sending his brother occasional sidelong looks. Thyestes' dagger hacked the meat. He crammed a hunk in his mouth, champed voraciously and swallowed. A thread of pinkish gravy webbed his chin. Meanwhile the kneeling slave, still holding his golden dish on outstretched palms, behaved most strangely. Though his head was bowed in correctly servile fashion he gagged as though he was going to be sick; a greenish pallor tinged his face.
The rascal deserved a whipping. I beckoned a steward.
'Does our cookery earn your approval?' Atreus inquired.
Thyestes finished his plateful and cut another slice. 'Excellent. Never tasted better. Veal, is it not, steeped in milk and broiled, then lightly grilled? Thesprotus served me the like in Sicyon, though not so good by half.'
'Not
quite
the same,' said Atreus gently. 'Have you had enough?'
Mouth full and temporarily speechless, Thyestes nodded. The king reached out a foot and kicked the kneeling slave.
'Bring that which I commanded!'
The man shambled from the Hall. I reprimanded the steward for allowing an incompetent servant to wait on the king, and ordered a flogging. The steward hastened through the small side door where the slave had gone, and reappeared a moment later. He threw me a hunted look, and scuttled to concealment on the farther side of the hearth.
What the blazes was the matter with the palace domestics today ?
Idly I scrutinized spirals and stars and roundels in variegated colours decorating the ceiling. Above processional stags and lions depicted on the walls a dozen bare-bosomed ladies leaned on the clerestory's gallery rail and watched animated gentlemen feasting and talking and laughing twenty feet below them.
I addressed some casual remark to Menelaus, who answered by pointing a thumb at Atreus. The king's genial, breezy manner had gone. He sat on the throne like a sculpted crag, hands gripping the bull's-head arm rests, staring fixedly ahead, eyes like flames.
Thyestes swallowed wine, patted his stomach and belched. 'What delicacy do you serve us next, brother ? Nothing so good as the last, I'll swear - a culinary masterpiece!'
Atreus slowly turned his head. 'My lord,' he said in quiet, formal tones, 'I shall show you the animal which provided your pleasure.'
Thyestes raised his eyebrows. 'Indeed ? You'll bring a calf to the table?'
On Atreus' lips there hovered a thin and deadly smile.
My clumsy slave re-entered the Hall, still bearing the golden charger and hacked remains of a joint. Another followed him closely; a cloth was spread on a similar dish he carried. They weaved in file between tables and halted side by side before the throne. Both men looked ghastly, sweat glistened on their foreheads. The king's hand moved in a downward gesture. They lowered the joint on Atreus' table, the covered salver in front of Thyestes.
Atreus touched the congealing meat. 'This, dear brother,' he said in conversational tones, 'is the flesh you have eaten. Would you care for another slice? No?' He reached for the second charger. 'And here is the beast which furnished your dish.'
Atreus whipped away the cloth.
Trimly arranged on the plate were two hands severed at the wrists, two feet cut off at the ankles, and a neatly decapitated head. The features were drained dead white, a grey tongue peeped between tightly clenched teeth, half-closed eyes rolled back to show the whites.
Tantalus.
My bowels churned. Thyestes stared in disbelief, his face the colour of clay. His mouth juddered and worked on words that would not come. Painfully he twisted his head and met Atreus' savage glare. His chest heaved in uncontrollable spasms. Yellow, lumpy vomit flooded from his mouth and fouled the mutilated horrors which once had been his son. Repeated convulsions racked him, inhuman noises gurgled from his mouth. He tumbled forward in his chair, dropped face-down in his vomit.
Tantalus' head, disturbed, teetered on its neck.
Atreus leaned back in the throne and impassively studied his brother's agony.
A deathly quiet rippled outwards from the throne. Those nearest the king at once recognized the victim. 'Tantalus. Tantalus. Tantalus.' The name whispered across the Hall like a rustle of leaves. Men at the outer reaches stood to view the spectacle, gulped and abruptly sat. In horrified surmise Thyestes' Heroes scanned each other's faces. Some stepped towards their stricken lord.
As if at a signal warriors moved from the brazen ring at the walls. Spearpoints prodded spines.
Atreus, I thought dimly, had taken every precaution.
Thyestes lifted his head and levered himself erect. Vomit clotted brow and beard. He took a staggering pace towards his silent, watchful brother. He groped on the table behind him, feeling for his dagger, and knocked the head to the floor. Thyestes whipped his hand from the salver as though a snake had struck.
Words came, thick and strangled. 'My son ... why ... you promised...'
Atreus said brutally, 'Who are you, you spawn from the depths, to talk of oaths and honour? None the less I will keep my vow - let everyone here bear witness.' Lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl. 'Will you not stay in Mycenae, Thyestes, and share my throne and kingdom?'
For twenty heartbeats Thyestes stood, swaying on his feet and searching his brother's features. He uttered a wordless choking noise, turned and reeled to the doors. Men flinched away as he passed. At the doorway he halted and turned a splotched and ghastly countenance to the king. A terrible laughter racked him, he cackled like a madman.
'My revenge, dear Atreus, lives within these walls. Within these walls, I say, a gift from brother to brother, a son for a son. Farewell.'
His laughter echoed from the vestibule, faded beyond the portico. Atreus smiled evilly - the last smile I ever saw upon his lips. 'The poor fellow's mind is unhinged,' he murmured. Raising his voice he addressed Thyestes' Heroes. 'Go. Leave Mycenae forthwith, and take away your lord.'
Voices muttered and footsteps shuffled. I stared, fascinated, at the hacked-up joint on the charger. Shallow indentations showed beneath the crust, faint but unmistakable.
The marks of a horse's teeth.
* * *
Everyone agreed Atreus had gone too far.
Cannibalism has precedents in Achaea. Gelon once informed me that Zeus' father, in Crete, was partial to human flesh; and people tell dark stories about the Daughters' sacrifices. The Goatmen's predecessors, whose remnants live in Arcadia, are said to kill and eat old men in time of dearth; Goatmen themselves are not above suspicion. Yet, as Menelaus observed, tricking a man to eat his son went much beyond the odds.
The tale resounded through the land and echoed with embellishments from Thessaly to Crete. Even now, years after, nursemaids tame fractious children by the threat 'Atreus will feed you to Thyestes' - though both are dead. Bards avoid the subject - it reflects no credit on Heroes.
Gentlemen in Mycenae walked tiptoe, fearful of offending a king who wreaked such terrible vengeance. In general they opined, in Menelaus' expressive phrase, that Atreus was off his nut; a belief certainly shared by people near the king, elder Councillors, senior Heroes, Menelaus and me. Atreus wrapped himself in an armour of hard indifference, shielding himself from contact with men who had been his friends. In Council and audience he voiced decrees and decisions without consulting anyone's advice. Nobody dared to protest.
Pelopia, after the tragedy, withdrew entirely from society. Before returning to Tiryns I saw her once or twice taking the air on a rampart walk or hurrying across the Court, always surrounded by her ladies. She gave me the impression of walking in her sleep. Menelaus once ventured to approach her. 'A haunted woman,' he told me. 'Terrified. Frightened to death. And no wonder. How would
you
feel if your father had dined on your brother?'
Her relations with Atreus did not bear thinking about. It was at this time he and the queen ceased sharing a bedroom.
Misfortune followed fast. Drought afflicted the land, perennial streams dried up, springs and wells failed. A scourge of ravening insects attacked the corn in ear; famine threatened Heroes and husbandmen alike. Seers and soothsayers cast ineffectual spells, farmers and peasants made offerings to The Lady. Eventually the Daughters in a body sought audience with the king and boldly declared his crimes - Aerope's and Tantalus' killings - had offended The Lady Who now imposed Her penalties.
I have hitherto said little about these women who govern and administer our official religion, or the religion itself, because no man except the king is much concerned. (Until I held the sceptre I never realized how troublesome the Daughters could be.) They are virgins from noble families, dedicated from an early age to The Lady's service. A ministry of Daughters keeps religious tenets burnished in every Achaean city; the king grants rich demesnes which guarantee them wealth and independence.
No one willingly offends the Daughters, servants of The Lady Who gives men life and takes away life and calls them back to the earth from which they sprang. At The Lady's behest burgeon fruit and flowers, trees and herbs, creatures and corn: She gives everything on which mankind exists. All men in a greater or less degree are farmers bound to the soil; so from lordliest Hero to poorest peasant every being - excepting slaves - is dependent for survival on Her benevolence. Therefore men respect The Lady and sacrifice at Her shrines - but the true devotees and worshippers are women.
Like the majority of Heroes I never, before my accession, attended The Lady's rites. Daughters conduct the sacraments at hilltop shrines : usually a small courtyard round a tree beneath which stands an altar surmounted by stone doves and horns of consecration. (The latter, I think, a relic brought by Zeus from ancient Crete's bull worship.) The tree itself embodies The Lady's presence. Here, at midwinter and early spring, they celebrate The Lady's principal feasts involving ceremonial dances, prayers and sacrifices and mystic invocations. As king I attend these rituals, donate white barley-fed bulls for slaughter in front of the altar, and have learned the Daughters' fundamental belief: Eileithyia, as She is named on these biennial occasions, gives birth to a son in the spring who dies at the winter solstice.