Текст книги "Heroes"

Автор книги: Valerio Massimo Manfredi

Соавторы: Valerio Massimo Manfredi
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

The Achaeans continued to fall back but shortly found themselves in a deep, narrowing gully. Their enemies were soon upon them, looming from above at the rim of the steep crevasse and pushing huge stones down below. The stones roared down the rock walls, picking up speed and dislodging others on their way to the bottom of the gully. Diomedes ordered his men to flatten themselves against the walls and then to run as fast as they could in the direction of the sea, but some were struck nonetheless by the stones and crushed to the ground, while others met an even worse fate. That cursed gully was rife with pits and swallow holes, covered with thick bushes and brambles. As they ran, many plunged below to their deaths, while others lay helplessly on the bottoms of the pits howling with pain, their bones shattered.

Diomedes took stock of the tremendous danger and, as the enemies rushed to close off every path of escape, he ordered his men to stop and to seek cover among the bushes and the rocky crags of the gully walls. He glanced around and saw that the ground was all scattered with white animal bones. That was how this fierce people hunted game! By herding them towards that gorge and raining down stones on them from above, just as they were now trying to destroy him and his companions. He, King of Argos and son of Tydeus, was forced to scramble like a wild animal being hunted down by savages, was forced to listen to his wounded warriors’ cries for help without being able to raise a hand for them. They hid among the bushes and waited, perfectly still, although the stones never ceased to fall from above, just barely missing them at times. Thus they waited until nightfall. Then the stones stopped falling and fires were lit on the rim of the gully. Their enemies were not going anywhere. They were waiting for the sun to rise and then they would slaughter them all.

One of his men crept towards Diomedes; it was Cleitus, son of Leitus of Las, who had fought at his side at Ilium. He said: ‘This is the fate that has befallen us for following you! To be massacred by ferocious savages without any chance of defending ourselves, to be stoned to death like beasts without ever drawing our swords. If we had remained at Argos we would have at least been able to fight on an open field in the light of the sun, and we would have died in our own land.’

Myrsilus interrupted him: ‘Hold your tongue. No one forced you to follow the king. You did so of your own will. If you don’t stop whining I’ll break your jaw and make you spit blood. What we must do is find a way to escape while it is dark and they cannot see us.’

Telephus, the Hittite slave, approached him as well, and said: ‘The wind is blowing from the sea, and the ground above us is covered with dry grass and branches. Where I come from, when the peasants want to burn the stubble on their fields, they wait until a strong wind picks up from the east; the whole plain soon becomes a sea of flames.’

‘What do you mean to say?’ asked the king.

‘Listen, wanax. While we were running like madmen down this abyss, I noticed that on the left side there was a way of getting back up to the rim. It won’t be easy, but I come from the mountains and I’m a good climber. If any of your men can climb as well, allow them to come with me. When we get up there, we’ll set fire to the grass all around the enemies. The wind will do the rest. There’s no other way, king. If we don’t try it, we will all die and our bodies will lie unburied, like the bones of these animals.’

‘I will come with you myself,’ said the king. ‘As a boy, I often stayed with my grandfather Oineus and my uncle Meleager in Aetolia; I climbed the steep slopes there with no fear. I will take Diocles and Agelaus, Eupitus and Evenus with me; they are Arcadians and lived as boys on the mountains.’

Myrsilus wanted to come as well, but Diomedes ordered him to stay with the others.

They set out and followed the Hittite slave in silence. When they got to the foot of the escarpment, they began their ascent, stopping every time a stone was knocked out of place for fear they would be heard and discovered. As they made their way up, they could hear rowdy laughter and shouting, and the crackling of the fires. When they pulled themselves up over the rim of the gorge, they could see the savages all sitting around the fires, eating roasted meat. They were yelling and belching, throwing bones and pieces of meat at each other.

Diomedes and the others encircled the bivouac and headed for the most isolated fire, slipping behind the men sitting there and killing them before they had even suspected their presence. They seized firebrands then, and spread out. The Hittite slave guided them, just as he had as a boy, helping the peasants set fire to the stubble fields in the immense high plains of Asia. He tested the direction of the wind and touched his brand to the grass and dry branches covering the ground. The flames rose up vigorously and spread, carried by the wind. The other men, lurking in a half circle around the camp, did the same all around their enemies. In mere moments the high plain was a sea of flames and the wind was getting stronger.

The enemies were terror-stricken and yelled out in alarm, as some of them fell, run through by the arrows of invisible assailants. They could see nothing beyond the circle of flames that enveloped them on all sides. Forced back by the unbearable heat, they were soon caught between the yawning chasm and the wall of flames. Some tried to lower themselves down but panic overwhelmed them as they tumbled over and ended up smashed against the rocks, while others tried to run blindly through the fire.

Agelaus caught one of them alive and tied him to a tree, to deliver him over to Diomedes once it was all over.

By dawn the fire had burnt itself out and the ground was covered with scorched bodies. The king leaned over the side of the gorge and shouted to his men: ‘You can come up now! There is no more danger.’

The survivors clambered over the side, but Myrsilus hesitated as he heard groaning coming from the concealed pits. He could barely make out one of the men lying at the bottom of the hole; a fractured leg bone had broken through the skin and gleamed sharp white. His low, constant moaning was laden with pain. Myrsilus cautiously made his way along the narrow-sided gully as far as he could go, bending over the pit as a ray of light illuminated the face of the wounded warrior.

He recognized him: it was Alcatous, son of Dolius. He had long ago left Mases, a town on the coast where he had made his living as a fisherman, dreaming of glory and a rich booty. He had followed Diomedes on this last adventure hoping one day to be among the first in a grand new kingdom, with a place of his own in the assembly. He could never have imagined that destiny would bury his life on the bottom of a dark, miserable pit.

Myrsilus leaned over the edge of the pit and took aim with his arrow, while his dying comrade, who had understood, tried to drag himself to clear ground where he could offer an unhindered target.

The arrow pierced the pit of his throat and he collapsed against the wall. As his soul, groaning, fled his wound, his eyes rolled backwards and he could see within himself, for an instant. He found his native town, the glittering water of the sea and his own boyish steps along the shore, he felt the splashes and the foam, the sand beneath his feet and the heat of the sun on his bare shoulders. He wished he had never left as he descended forever, weeping, into the cold and the dark.

Myrsilus approached another hole but he could not get close enough because the walls were too steep, nor could he see inside because the opening was covered with thick bushes. All he could do was to toss down his knife, a sharp blade of bronze that he had never parted from, in the hopes that another one of the men could retrieve it and put an end to his suffering. He shouted: ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you, my friend!’ Only an echo answered: ‘Friend!’ And he climbed out of the gully and up to the rim with a heavy heart, the last of all of them.

Diomedes came close: ‘How many?’ he asked. ‘How many comrades have we lost?’

‘Alcatous. .’ began Myrsilus, ‘shattered on the bottom of one of those holes.’

‘Schedius and Alcandrus,’ added another, ‘crushed by their stones.’

Each of the men looked around, naming the companions he found missing. Agelaus drew close to the king, and pointed at the prisoner he had taken: ‘I got one of them alive, and tied him to that tree. Avenge their slaughter on him.’

But Diomedes said: ‘I’ve already killed so many of them. . what would one more change? Let’s go now, back to the ships. Our comrades will be worried about us.’ He started off, but Telephus and the Chnanturned back first to retrieve the deer they had left down in the gorge, so that its meat would not go to waste.

Myrsilus, who had not taken part in the battle but had listened to the cries of his dying friends, lagged behind; he desired nothing but revenge. He waited until the others had gone on and he approached the prisoner. He was a vigorous man, and in trying to get away was shaking the whole tree to which he was tied. Myrsilus came close and tied him even tighter, and then he unsheathed his sword. The man stared at him without trembling, his head held high. Myrsilus cut the straps that held up the goatskin that covered his body, leaving him naked. Then with the tip of his sword he cut his skin just above his groin, making his blood drip copiously between his legs. The man understood the end he was meant for and widened his eyes in terror, trying desperately to twist free with all his remaining strength. He shouted and pleaded in an incomprehensible language but Myrsilus had already gone off to catch up with the others.

When he had walked for a good stretch, he turned back and saw that a wolf or a wild dog was approaching the prisoner, attracted by the smell of blood. It would stop, doubtfully looking around, before approaching again. The man was trying to scare it off, shouting and kicking, and the animal would draw back, only to reapproach a little more courageously each time, until it started to lick at the blood seeping into the earth. Myrsilus saw it go close to the man and lift its snout towards his groin, and he knew that his aim had been achieved. He turned and started to run down the slope, to join up with his comrades. Just then, an excruciating scream sounded through the valley and they all stopped short with a shudder. The scream echoed again, even louder and more frenzied, following them at length as it bounced again and again off the rocky cliffs, until it died away into a dreadful whimpering.

They started on their way again with heavy souls, eager to leave a land that could swallow up a live, glittering river and regurgitate it back into the sea, cold and black.

4

When they reached the beach and saw that the ships were all there, they felt relief but dared not abandon themselves to joy, for they had lost many companions.

Diomedes wanted a trophy erected nonetheless to commemorate victory over their enemies, and since they had neither spoils nor booty, he dedicated a suit of armour he had won in Ilium. He hung it on two crossed poles and had his name carved on to a stone, so that a memory would remain of his passage through that land.

They raised a lofty cairn on the shores of the sea and celebrated the funeral rites of their fallen comrades, so that they might find peace in Hades.

Telephus and the Chnanlit a fire and roasted the deer; when it was cooked, they carved it into portions and distributed them to everyone. Diomedes had wine brought from his ship and thus, as long as their cups were full and there was food to eat, their sadness was dispelled, although they all knew in their hearts that it would return, grim and oppressive, with the shadows of night.

They took to sea again and the ships sailed the whole day without ever losing sight of one another; towards evening, the Chnanapproached Myrsilus who was at the helm and said: ‘The wind is shifting; soon it will be athwart of us and will push us towards the open sea.’

‘I feel nothing. How can you say that?’

‘I tell you the wind is changing. Strike the sails and dismast, and order the men to row to shore. And signal to the others to do the same, while there is time. Have you ever heard of the Borrha?It is a freezing wind born in the Hyperborean Mountains in the land of night: when it blows on the sea, no one can withstand its force. It raises waves as high as hills and even the most well-built boat will sink in no time.’

The hint of a chilly breeze brushed the shrouds and Myrsilus started, looking around uneasily.

‘Do as I say,’ insisted the Chnan. ‘If you don’t, we will all die. There’s no time left.’

Myrsilus went to the king: ‘ Wanax, we must go aground. The wind is changing. I ask for your permission to signal to the other ships.’

Diomedes turned towards him: ‘The light of day is still with us, why should we do so?’

A sharp gust of wind bent the mast and tensed the sails. The hull listed to its side with a groan.

‘The next will break the mast and sink us!’ shouted the Chnan. ‘By all the gods, do as I say!’

The defiant wind roused Myrsilus and transformed him. He shouted for the men to sink the right oars and to row with all their might on the left ones. He posted another at the helm in his stead and rushed with all the crew to strike the sail. The wind had become very strong and snapped the free end of the great sheet of linen like a whip. They flung themselves upon it and held it down with their weight. When they had restrained it, they began to extract the mast from its step.

‘Too late!’ shouted the Chnanover the roar of the wind. ‘If you dismast now, it will fall on you and kill you.’

Myrsilus returned to the helm. ‘Row hard on both sides now. Set the bow to the wind! Bow to the wind or we’ll go under!’

Diomedes had climbed up to the curved stern and had hoisted the signal to strike sail; some of the ships responded immediately. But one of them appeared to be in great difficulty as it was tossed to and fro in the enormous foaming waves by the powerful gusts of the Borrha. Through a cloud of sea spray, he could see the men struggling with the rigging, but the force of the wind had become overpowering. He saw one of them flung into the sea by a wave and disappear under the billows; another, thrown overboard, grasped on to the railing, floundering and calling for help, before going under himself.

A sudden strong gust cracked the mast and tossed it into the sea along with the sail. The hull seemed to disappear for a moment but then resurfaced and the king saw the men chopping with axes at the shrouds still entangled in the broken shaft of the mast.

Once free of the water-filled sail which had been dragging the ship down like an anchor, the hull dipped at the stern and, as the oars struck the surface of the sea, straightened up again. The king was watching all this with such anxiety that he had not even noticed what was happening on his own ship. He turned and saw the thwarts being washed by the waves; the men were drenched, yet they arched their backs and dug in their feet with every stroke of their oars. Myrsilus shouted out the rowing tempo, his voice overcoming the noise of the squall and the ominous creaking of the hull. He knew that their lives were in the hands of the men at the oars; the moment they were sapped by fatigue, the ship would sink.

The Chnanwas at the bow, grasping on to the ship’s railing, scanning the sea desperately for a safe haven. He turned all at once towards the stern and yelled out with all the breath he had in him to Myrsilus: ‘Put about! Veer to starboard!’ Myrsilus shouted the order to the rowers and leaned into the helm, trying to push it left.

Diomedes ran to his side and the king’s strength got the upper hand over the sea. The hull twisted, forced by the might of the hero who guided the toil of over one hundred arms racked by spasms, and the bow veered to the left, taking the brunt of the wind on its right side. The ship picked up speed and listed sharply and Myrsilus feared for a moment that the vessel would smash to pieces. But the Chnanknew what he was doing; he was directing them towards a strait wedged between two tongues of land. Before long, something miraculous happened: from one moment to the next, they found themselves in a vast mirror of calm waters barely rippled by short, close waves.

‘Oh gods!’ gasped Myrsilus, not believing what he saw. ‘Oh gods, what is this?’

The Chnantraversed the ship from bow to stern, looking down at the still waters and up at the open sea, whipped by the squall.

‘To shore!’ shouted the king. ‘Hurry, we must guide our comrades to this place or all of them will die!’ The men rowed first to a little island on their left and then to another on their right; on each Diomedes set fire to a jar of resin and pitch, lighting them from the embers which were always kept burning in a covered urn under the curved stern. The comrades at sea saw the two lights and steered their ships towards the narrow strait, as the king’s vessel had done. Four ships made it but the fifth, the last one, could not overcome the force of the sea and the wind. From the island, all the men shouted loudly to encourage their comrades still at the mercy of the sea, but the crew was exhausted by the long struggle. Diomedes saw the oars stop moving, one by one, and slip into the sea, he saw the hull, no longer animated by the strength of its crew, turn in a spin. It offered its side to the sea, and sank.

The king clenched his fists and lowered his head.

The men began to gather the branches and tree trunks that the tides had abandoned on the beach, and lit fires to dry themselves, their clothing and cloaks. They then hauled the ships aground and took refuge inside. They stretched the sails over the thwarts and lay down beneath them, holding each other close to keep warm. The wind continued to blow all night without cease, not subsiding until dawn. The next morning the sea gave up the bodies of some of their comrades who had drowned in the storm. They were green with algae and their eyes were open in a watery stare, like those of fish that a fisherman tosses on the beach to die.

They were buried in that low, grey land, among the cane thickets and brushwood on a clear, cold morning, and when the king had finished their funeral rites, the four pilots of the ships, including Myrsilus, approached him.

‘Let us stop here, wanax,’ Myrsilus said, speaking first. ‘We have already lost many men. The days are getting shorter and the weather is worsening. If we go on, we will all die. How will you be able to found your kingdom then? Who will you share your destiny with?’

The king turned to face the sea and seemed to be absentmindedly watching the swell of the waves which stretched out over the sand until they licked at his feet. The Chnanspoke then: ‘I heard tell of this place from a sailor of Ashkelon who had learned about it from an Achaean of Rhodes who imported amber. I think we have reached the coast of the Seven Seas: seven lagoons which pour into one another until they reach the mouth of the Eridanus. There lie the Electrides islands, where amber falls from the sky, they say. . or where amber arrives on mule-back from the lands of the long nights, I say. From this point on, the paths of the sea are calm and sheltered. We need only steer clear of the shallows, but a man with a sounding line at the bow will suffice to avoid them.’

Diomedes turned to him: ‘You know many things, and you saved my ships yesterday. When I found my kingdom I will build you a house and give you weapons and a cloak. I will give you a beautiful woman, tall with rounded hips. But tell me, why is it that yesterday you spoke in the language of the Achaeans? You’ve been with us for some time and you’ve never spoken a word in our language.’

‘Because there had been no need,’ replied the Chnan, ‘but I thank you for your promise. I would ask you to do the same with your Hittite slave as well. He saved you and all of us by setting the grasslands on fire.’

The king shook his head: ‘I owe my life to a slave and to a foreign merchant! I wonder whether our gods still have power over these lands. . What you propose is only right; when I found my kingdom, the Chetaean slave will have the same things I’ve promised you.’ Then he turned to his men and said: ‘Let us go forward and explore these lands. We will seek a landing place where we can find water and food. There’s nothing here; not even the possibility of shelter.’

The men obeyed and put the ships to sea, first the king’s and then all the others. The Chnanstood at the bow, dropping a line every so often to gauge the depth of the water. Not much time had passed before they saw a group of low islands on the surface of the waves. They followed a wide channel that wound like a serpent through the small archipelago and soon sighted the mainland and went ashore. The place was deserted. The silence was broken only by the shrieks of sea birds flying low over the cane thickets. Diomedes sent some of the men hunting with bows and harpoons and then called Myrsilus. He ordered him to advance inland with a group of men, to see who lived in that land and whether they could settle there. He sent the Chnanwith him as well.

As soon as they had left the coast and were out of sight, the Chnansaid to Myrsilus: ‘Hide your arms here under the sand and keep only a dagger or sword under your cloak. We’ll move forward in small groups, at a distance from each other. In this area there should be a market where the goods that come from the north are exchanged with those that come from the sea. Merchants won’t attract attention, but armed men would.’

Myrsilus was reluctant to abandon his arms, but remembering how the Chnanhad saved the fleet the day before, he thought it was best to heed his advice. He ordered his men to do as he had said. He took the lead in the first group, scanning the territory continuously as they advanced. He felt exposed, alone and naked in that flat solitude. In all his life, he had never crossed a land from which neither the mountains nor the sea could be seen, in which the countryside was not bright with myriad colours. Here, as never before, the land was a uniform, endless expanse, all the same pale green. They saw, towards midday, a herd of horses, hundreds of magnificent animals grazing peacefully, twitching their long tails; their long wavy manes nearly touched the ground. A pure white stallion galloped around a group of mares and ponies, his tail erect. He would stop and rear up, whinnying and pawing at the air, and then start to gallop again. No one guarded over them; that immense wealth seemed to belong to no one.

Here and there, marshes glimmered on the ground, and the land would suddenly become soft and spongy under their feet. Thick oak groves sheltered groups of boars rooting about in search of acorns and tubers. Deer with majestic horns would stop suddenly at the edge of a wood and stare at the intruders, blowing little clouds of steam from moist nostrils.

They walked and walked until they could see a wisp of smoke rising in the distance, as the western sky began to redden in a muted sunset. There was a little town of grass-roofed wooden huts covered with mud. There also seemed to be a camp at a short distance from the settlement.

‘If we had brought our arms we could have had food and women!’ said Myrsilus.

‘Instead, we’ll go to them and ask for their hospitality; that way we’ll find out where we are. You don’t say a word. I know better how to deal with them.’

They got closer and saw that around the little town were droves of small, black swine and flocks of sheep. Ducks and geese dipped their bills into the mud on the shores of a little marsh. A group of children swarmed towards them and a dog started barking, soon joined by others. Several men came forward then as well; the Chnanraised his hand and told Myrsilus to do the same. The men got closer and were staring at them. Their legs were covered with tanned skins and they wore long-sleeved tunics of thick wool, belted at the waist with a strip of leather decorated with carved pieces of bone. They carried no arms, at least, none that could be seen. They spoke among themselves for awhile and then one approached and said something.

‘What did he say?’ asked Myrsilus.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been around these parts before.’ The Chnanloosened his belt, raised his tunic and slipped out something he wore against his skin: a long string wound several times around his waist, strung with brightly coloured glass beads and bronze clasps adorned with amber or glass.

Myrsilus looked at him in surprise: ‘Where did you find all that?’ he asked.

‘This is my personal treasure; I always carry it with me. I was wearing it when you pulled me from the sea.’

The men instantly drew closer and behind them, Myrsilus noticed some women as well. They raised up on tiptoe to admire the wares that sparkled in the hands of the Chnan. Soon they were all chattering away, each in his own language, and it seemed that they could all understand each other well enough. The Chnanmoved his hands with the skill of a juggler as his face assumed a great variety of expressions; he soon was directing all his attention towards the women and ignoring the men. He would place the shining clasps on their rough-hewn woollen clothing, and those little trinkets seemed to light up the beauty of those coarse, wild women, much as a bare stone is brightened by the colours of a little springtime flower.

The Chnangave up a couple of the clasps and a few beads in exchange for hospitality for the two of them and for the comrades who were waiting just outside the village, in addition to a sack of barley bread and five whole cheeses for their return journey.

He and Myrsilus ate in the house of the man who seemed their chief, the only one who had bought ornaments for himself, his wife and his eldest daughter. His arms hung on the walls of the only room that made up the house: a long bronze sword, a studded shield and a dagger. The floor was made of flame-hardened dirt.

The Chnanspoke during the whole dinner and it was evident that as time passed, he was rapidly learning to understand them and make himself understood. At times he accompanied his words by drawing signs with his knife in the barley loaf in front of him or on the curdled milk in a bowl in the centre of the table. The dogs lay near the entrance, waiting to lick the bowls once the meal was finished.

After a while, they heard low noises outside the door, the sound of hushed words; the reflection of flames flashed under the door. The door then opened and a man entered, to speak with his chieftain.

‘Could you understand what they were saying?’ Myrsilus asked the Chnan.

‘Not much of it. But I think I’ve convinced him that I understand much more than I really do; that’s what’s important. No one would talk to a man who understood nothing.’

Myrsilus shook his head: ‘So what’s happening now?’

‘Someone has just arrived. Perhaps from the camp we saw as we were approaching.’

The Chnanfollowed the chieftain out of the house and saw a group of men gathered in a nearby field. They were carrying lit torches and were dressed in a style he did not recognize. He turned to ask Myrsilus whether he had ever seen similar people, but his companion had drawn back, into the shadows behind the door. The Chnanturned back. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you coming to see the new arrivals?’

‘Trojans,’ said Myrsilus in a low voice, his head down. ‘They’re Trojans and we are unarmed.’