Heroes

shores of the Hellespont.

It was the Chnan who woke him, shortly before dawn. They took their things and left without making a sound. At their backs, a pale sun illuminated a group of hills that rose from the plains like islands in the sea. Myrsilus had not noticed them before, and he had the sensation that they had emerged overnight. And perhaps that is what happened.

They reached their comrades outside the village and they took the road of return towards the sea.

‘The Trojans are not alone,’ said the Chnan abruptly. ‘There are others with them, who followed them across the sea.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Myrsilus.

‘I had awoken before you. I wanted to say farewell to a girl; I owed her a gift. She’s the one who told me.’

‘Who are these people?’

‘Enet, I think. They’re called Enet.’

Myrsilus continued on his way for a while without speaking, as if he were trying to recall something.

‘Enetians,’ he said.

‘What?’ asked the Chnan.

‘Perhaps they are Enetians. A nation allied with the Trojans. Fine combatants, both with spears and with bows. They were almost always drawn up on the left wing; they faced the Cretans of King Idomeneus and Ulysses’s Cephallenians. I never met them myself. I wonder what they’re doing here. And I also wonder why they’re with the Trojans. The gods are truly persecuting us; they have cursed us.’

‘Don’t you know how many peoples have abandoned their settlements in these past years? Didn’t you ever notice those strange lights in the sky when we were out to sea? No man alive has ever heard of or seen such a thing, I’m certain of it. And I’m sure that all this means something, although I don’t know what.’

‘If only the seer Calchas were with us!’ said Myrsilus. ‘He would know how to interpret these signs, and he would know what they meant.’

They journeyed that whole day without seeing a soul, and towards evening came within sight of their camp. Myrsilus reported to the king, telling him everything they had seen without making mention of the Trojans. He did not want to march back inland and start up a war again that he hoped finished for ever. He could not know that it was only a sign, and that a man can not escape the destiny that the gods have placed on his scale.

His comrades offered the food given to them by the villagers and someone lit a fire for their evening meal. There were fish from the sea as well, and partridges and teals that some of the men had downed with their bows.

The sun was setting over the plain and a mist was rising from the ground, looking something like a cloud, a milky foam crossed by whitish streaks. It veiled the sun, and everything that was near the ground was swallowed up within it. The men looked around in dismay. Not even the king, Diomedes the hero, knew what to do or what to tell them.

After a while, only the tips of the tallest poplars emerged from that shapeless expanse that fluttered like a veil. Sounds were muffled and even the birds called to each other with weak laments. A heron, passing over their heads in slow, solemn flight, vanished all at once into the void.

‘What is this?’ the king asked the Chnan. ‘You who have seen so many lands, can you tell me what this is?’

‘I’ve never seen anything like this, wanax,’ said the Chnan, ‘but I think it may be a cloud. I have met men who come from the land of the Urartu where the mountains pierce the clouds, and they have told me that it is like this inside a cloud. But I cannot explain why the clouds weigh on the ground in this land instead of sailing in the sky. It is a strange land indeed.’

When darkness fell nothing could be seen at all, and the men stayed very close together for fear of losing their bearings, and kept the fire burning that whole night. Diomedes thought that that land must be similar to Hades, and perhaps he believed that he had truly reached the limits of the other world, but he neither trembled nor sought to flee. He knew that only heroes and Zeus’s favoured sons can face that which is impossible for all others.

He lay down on his bearskin and covered himself with a fleece. Myrsilus slept nearby.

At dawn the next day, Diomedes gave orders to set sail and the fleet began to navigate slowly through the mist that steamed on the surface of the water, amidst the cane thickets on the shore and the little woody islands that cropped up on the sea.

They advanced in this way for most of the day, when suddenly, they all thought they had heard calls of some sort.

‘What was that?’ asked the men at the oars.

‘I don’t know, but it’s best to stop,’ replied Myrsilus.

The king agreed and went to the bow to scan the foggy expanse in front of them. The other ships stopped as well and the splashing of the oars ceased. In that complete silence, the calls sounded more clearly and then long rostrated ships emerged from the mist slowly, like ghosts. A standard with the head of a lion stood tall at one of the bows, and a red cloth hung loose on the mast.

Telephus, the Hittite slave, approached the king. ‘Peleset pirates,’ he said. ‘They must have got lost in this accursed cloud. Let’s hope they don’t attack us.’

‘Why?’ said the king. ‘I do not fear them.’

‘It’s best to avoid clashing with them,’ said Myrsilus, who had handed the helm over to one of the men. ‘We have nothing to gain, and much to lose. Since they’ve seen us, we must speak with them. The Chnan surely knows their language. Have him come.’

The king nodded and the Chnan succeeded in arranging an encounter. The Peleset flagship and Diomedes’s ship both left their formations and met half-way. They manoeuvred slowly with oars and helm until they were nearly touching, side to side. The Peleset chief and King Diomedes, both armed and carrying a spear in their right hands, faced one another.

‘Tell him to let us pass,’ said Diomedes, ‘and we will do them no harm.’

‘The heavens have sent you, powerful lord,’ said the Chnan instead, ‘to free me from indescribable suffering.’

‘I am glad you speak my language,’ said the Peleset. ‘We’ll have no difficulty understanding one another. Tell him to turn over everything he has and we will spare your lives.’

‘The chief pays you his respects,’ translated the Chnan, turning to Diomedes, ‘and he asks if you have wheat or barley to sell him. They are short on food.’ Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned again to the Peleset chief: ‘If you want my personal advice, you’d best attack these people immediately, because the rest of the fleet will be here at any moment; thirty battle ships loaded with warriors are close behind us. This is just the advance guard. In exchange for this information, I beg of you, take me as your slave! These people are savage and cruel. They have sown death and destruction wherever they have passed, burning down villages and setting whole cities aflame! They subject me to the worst of torments for the mere pleasure of ill-treating a poor wretch. With my own eyes I have seen my master, this man here, at my side,’ he continued, indicating Diomedes, ‘rip the beating heart out of his enemy’s chest and devour it avidly. Free me, I beseech you, and you will not regret it.’

The Peleset chief was dumbfounded, and in Diomedes’s stern gaze he thought he saw all of the terrible things that the slave had warned him of. ‘You can die for all I care,’ he said to the Chnan. ‘We’re going our own way.’

‘We have no food to sell him,’ said Diomedes.

‘Of course, wanax, I took the liberty of giving him this answer, already knowing what you would say. They’ll be off on their own way now.’

The Peleset ships paraded past them, one after another, about twenty in all. They turned to the right, heading south. The fog was thickening again and the damp chilled them all to the bone. The last Peleset vessel passed at just a short distance from them, but before it was swallowed up into the mist they heard someone shout from the deck: ‘Achaeans! I am Lamus, son of Onchestus, Spartan. I was