images of Ilium: Patroclus wounded, holding out that shield as Hector’s blows rained down inexorably, one after another. He saw all the agony of that night, Ajax Telamon returning to camp with the corpse of Patroclus on his shoulders, the savage howl of pain of Achilles, son of Peleus, reverberating like thunder over the silent plain.
The heart of the fierce boy standing before him harboured none of those feelings: neither devotion to friends nor desire for honour; there was no compassion for the vanquished, no respect for elders and women, no tenderness towards children. Anchialus realized in that moment that the son of Achilles wanted to reign alone over the land of the Achaeans, and that nothing would stop him.
The Pelian breastplate that covered him seemed the scaly skin of a dragon or a serpent. But Anchialus knew that his mission was not yet finished and that he must follow him. Much time would pass before he would be able to return west in search of Diomedes.
He said: ‘I will come with you,
The king made sure he was given some hides and a blanket and Anchialus stretched out on the ground at the edge of camp. He was exhausted but could not find sleep because of the emotions that troubled his soul. In his restless tossing, he saw the son of Achilles leave his tent and ascend a hill that overlooked the camp. The young king contemplated his army, with his dog curled up at his feet. But these were not the Myrmidons of his father sleeping under the tents; these were savage Epirotes whom he had convinced to follow him with the promise of pillage and rape. Anchialus finally drifted off, won over by weariness, into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The guard leaned over the bastions, extending his torch to illuminate the clearing before the bolted city gate, and he distinctly saw a chariot with the insignia of the Spartan Atreides. Next to the driver stood a woman wrapped in dusty dark robes. The woman let them fall to her feet, baring a proud head of blonde hair with coppery reflections, circled by a golden diadem.
‘The queen of Sparta asks to see her sister, Queen Clytemnestra,’ shouted out the charioteer. The sentry scurried down the battlement steps to speak to his commander. Another man was sent running to the palace while the commander himself opened the gate and strode towards the chariot with a torch in his hand. When the light illuminated the woman standing alongside the charioteer, the commander was struck dumb: before him was the awesome beauty that had unleashed the bloodiest war that had ever been fought, the destruction of the greatest city in the world. In all of his life, never before had reality so amply exceeded his expectations.
Helen descended from the chariot and walked towards the gate. Although she wore humble travelling attire, the queen’s body was the epitome of divine perfection. The folds of the gown, rippled by the evening breeze that whistled round the enormous door jambs, fluttered over her flat stomach and clung to her marmoreal breasts, slipping between her long, agile legs. Her walk was supple and bold at once, like a lioness’s, her feet seemed to barely touch the ground and her golden hair rippled around her shoulders like ripe wheat ruffled by the wind in the summer fields.
The commander of the guards understood why the greatest army of all time had been assembled to bring her back to her homeland; why a nation had preferred to suffer annihilation rather than turn her over. Just to catch a glimpse of her as she walked down the road, or when she appeared on the temple steps or in the palace halls. He knew that any man would agree to have his throat slit from side to side, for the mere chance of holding her naked in his arms a single time.
A ceremonial chariot drew up just then, sent by the royal house; Helen entered and sat on its seat.
Queen Clytemnestra did not receive her in the great audience chamber, but had her accompanied to one of the private rooms that faced the plains. The little room was well lit by two candelabra, each of which burned with six lamps, but the last glimmer of dusk still entered a little from the windows, prolonging the spring day against the advance of night. Hesperus, the evening star, twinkled alone in the infinite sky, hovering over the shadowy chasm.
The walls of the room were completely frescoed by scenes of a procession of women offering gifts to the
Helen was moved to see those figures; that was the gown she had worn the day the Achaean chiefs had come from far and wide to ask for her hand in marriage, and her breasts, high and white as the snows of Mount Olympus, had blinded their minds and unsettled their hearts. Only a solemn pact prevented them from murdering each other in duels to the death, to win her.
On an ebony table stood a precious Cretan vase decorated with fish, medusas and cuttlefish, filled with sharply scented yellow mountain flowers. There was a chest in the corner and two stools in the middle of the room, nothing else.
A maidservant came in and set two small tables before the stools. Bowing, she invited Helen to follow her to the bathing chamber where the black stone tub was already filled with warm, fragrant water. Helen let the maids wash, dry and dress her and then returned to the little room where dinner had already been served. On her feet before her was Queen Clytemnestra, thin and exceedingly anxious, wearing a white gown that seemed one with the pallor of her face.
She reached out her arms: ‘Finally, I can truly see you, after all those meetings in the dark, those words whispered in fear, in suspicion. .’
Helen embraced her, holding her close. ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘my sister, how much time has passed. .’
‘When I was told you were coming here in person I couldn’t believe it. . you’ve made me suffer so! Why haven’t you told me what I yearn to know?’ She stepped back from her sister’s embrace and gave her a strange look, full of amazement and fear. ‘You haven’t changed at all! That horrible war has not touched the perfection of your face; there’s not a sign on your skin. But you had seemed different to me at the sanctuary of Nemea, you were different. . What is this? What about Menelaus? You had me told that his end was at hand. . is this why you are free to come and see me alone?’
Helen stood silently before her while her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘What is this?’ asked Clytemnestra, bewildered. ‘What is happening?’
‘This is the first time I have seen you,’ said Helen, ‘after all these years. I have never seen you before, nor did I send anyone to tell you that the end of Menelaus was at hand. The king. . is well.’ Clytemnestra staggered backward, seeking support from the wall. Her eyes darted around, confused and frightened, as if she were searching for a way out. Helen continued, her voice firm, just slightly cracking with emotion as her tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
‘I never went to Troy. In all of these years I remained hidden at Delos, among the priestesses of the sanctuary. A plan of marvellous intelligence, devised by Ulysses and helped along by an incredible stroke of luck. . No one was to know except for Menelaus.’ Now her voice was trembling: ‘I was never able to tell you anything, sister. They never allowed me the time, nor the opportunity, to do so. And now destiny is about to be fulfilled. They will have no pity.’
12
As these things were happening in the land of the Achaeans, King Diomedes advanced with his warriors through the heart of the land of Hesperia. The Blue Mountains were an uninterrupted succession of wooded summits and narrow valleys crossed by impetuous torrents that ran between smooth boulders and banks of sand and bright gravel.
They met with vast tracts of oaks and beeches, with huge maple trees and another kind of tree with an enormous, furrowed trunk and fruits as prickly as a porcupine’s back. Inside was a sort of single, flat walnut. The infrequent inhabitants gathered them in the autumn and boiled them in bronze pots or roasted them among the ashes of the hearth, and depended on them for sustenance all winter. They lived in round huts built of stakes and clay-plastered grates, covered by conical roofs held up by tall centrally placed poles. The single room was their
