Читать книгу Jason (Mycenaean Greek Trilogy) - Henry Treece - Страница 10

Table of Contents

As we rode the slopes into the grazing lands of Mount Pelion, the mares squealed and kicked up their legs, the stallions reared and snuffed the air as though they greeted a victorious army.

It was dusk; the night-herdsmen expected us and blew on their little horn trumpets so that the men in the encampment should be warned of our approach and know to prepare food for us after the long ride.

Castor and Polydeuces galloped off straightway to tell the other boys under the wind-break what the journey had been like. But I made my way to Cheiron’s skin-palace, for I knew he would want to hear what the Pythoness had told me.

The flap of his main tent was open and the fires and lamps were flaring in the evening breeze, so that I could see inside the place long before I got there.

Old Cheiron was sitting on his horse-hide cushion but no longer alone. There was a woman with him, her body covered by a long blue cloak and hood of some material like silk; it glistened in the firelight. At first I thought she must be one of the women from the village—the Nymph, perhaps—and I had no wish to meet her again. So I tried to edge my stallion out of range of the light cast by the lamps, into the darkness and safety once more. But Cheiron had been watching for me and his sharp eyes caught me before I could ride away.

‘Hoi! Hoi!’ he called. ‘Come forth, Diomedes! Here is one who has been at some trouble to find you!’

My heart sank as I dismounted before the open tent and walked towards the woman on the cushion beside old Cheiron.

Her eyelids were darkened with blue, and she wore faint traces of the red dye from Crete upon her cheeks; but her face was that of an older woman, not a Nymph. Not that she was old, not past child-bearing, for example; but too old for me.

She smiled gently as I approached and knelt before her, in the customary manner, placing the back of her right hand to my forehead.

In a warm low voice she said, ‘How big he is! And he has a beard coming already, a golden beard!’

Old Cheiron answered, ‘He has just returned from the Oracle at Delphi. That will account for his wild looks, lady. Usually he is quite a well-mannered fellow. You must excuse him tonight.’

She smiled again and placed her hand upon old Cheiron’s arm.

‘I would excuse him anything at any time, Cheiron,’ she said. ‘One allows one’s son to do things which would call for flogging in another.’

I stared up at her rudely now, for I had not expected anyone to claim to be my mother on my return.

Old Cheiron laughed down at me like a merry satyr.

‘Come, lad,’ he said, ‘and salute your mother. She has waited long enough for you, in all faith! She has shown patience.’

I stared at them both, bewildered.

‘My mother?’ I said stupidly. ‘Why, my mother was the Great Mare, Hippothoë, surely.’

The woman laughed lightly and said, ‘What does it matter, one name or the other? I do assure you, Diomedes, that you came out of me and not out of any other mare! And I am the one to know a thing like that!’

I felt all wooden and stiff then as though I was a stranger to them both. It was not my world. I did not know what to say but Cheiron filled in the silence and added, ‘Your mother, Diomedes, has come to visit you. She is Perimede of Iolcos, a queen in her own right but for the tyrant-king, Pelias, who uses her and your father like slaves.’

This was too much for me. If I had been a younger boy I should have wept. But I could not do that before the woman in the blue cloak and hood.

‘Are you not my father, Cheiron?’ I asked, knowing the answer even before he replied.

‘In a way I am, lad. I have looked after you as well as any father could. But I am not your begetter. That was perhaps Aeson, the imprisoned King of Iolcos. Aeson, half-brother to the tyrant-king, Pelias.’

The woman shook her head and helped me rise from my knees; then she made a little sign that I should sit before her on the grass within the tent-flap.

‘It is many years since I carried you out from Iolcos in my apron,’ she said, ‘to put you in the safe care of Cheiron. If I had not done that Pelias would have slaughtered you, as he murdered all who were born at your time. His oracle had told him that there was to be born a noble youth who would one day bring death to him. A score of little boys died because of that oracle! But you escaped—that is the important thing.’

Cheiron half-turned his dark head and said almost in a whisper, ‘And now you are destined to put the sword into Pelias, Diomedes.’

I started with a cold sweat.

‘You speak almost the very words that the Pythoness spoke, Cheiron,’ I said. ‘How is that?’

He smiled above my head, into the darkness.

‘Ananke, truth, the will of God, has a way of floating about the world and of coming out of all men’s mouths at the most unexpected moments,’ he said. ‘So now we know what the Oracle told you!’

The woman made a little signal to old Cheiron and he rose, bowed to her, and went within the skin-palace, to some distant tent. And when we were quite alone the woman smiled at me and said, ‘Diomedes, I have waited for this hour so long that it seemed it would never come. Here, look what I have brought you.’

She reached behind her and drew out a long bundle, wrapped in the tanned hide of a goat. My fingers were shaking almost too much to untie the thongs which bound it. But I succeeded at last and a wonder lay before my eyes.

There were two throwing-spears of broad-bladed bronze, their heads riveted to polished ebony shafts, the sort of wood that comes from Libya, very strong though not too heavy in weight. And between them lay a sword—its leaf-shaped blade as long as my arm and grooved down the centre. The silver handle was fastened by a tongue-grip to the keen blade and was decorated with chiselled spirals. It was the finest sword I had ever seen and my fingers itched to take it up and to test its balance. But I had first to look at the other things; there was a heavy necklace of great oval amber beads, and one sandal, a sandal for the left foot, its toe armed with spikes of bronze.

I stood back from these gifts not knowing what I should say to the woman who called herself my mother.

‘These are from Hera,’ she said, lowering her blue-tinted eyelids. ‘They are sent so that you may fulfil the words of the Oracle, my son.’

I stammered a lot, not sure of what I wished to say to her, for as I have mentioned, women had begun to frighten me at this time. But she took my hands in her cold ones and said with a smile, ‘This sword you must put into Pelias, the tyrannos, after the harvest at the Feast of Poseidon, my son. Then Hera will be content.’

I tried to make light of this by turning the conversation.

‘What of the one sandal, lady?’ I asked. ‘And why the amber beads? Am I to wear such things?’

Perimede said softly, ‘The true warrior goes out with only one sandal on his left foot, the foot of war, the foot which faces his enemy. The bare right foot can so gain a purchase in the mud or the dust; while his left foot is then ready to kick the enemy in the middle so that he will bend towards the sword-blade.’

I nodded as though I were knowledgeable in such matters, I, the horse-boy; yet all the same I was disturbed that this woman should speak so calmly of affairs of this sort, men’s affairs.

But she went on, ‘As for the amber necklace—that is not for you in the end, my son. It is for the woman you choose to be your wife. Like the seal which hangs about your neck, it carries Hera’s good-will. No woman to whom you offer this necklace will resist you. Now are you satisfied, my son?’

I nodded though my thoughts were not at rest. The sword hung in my right hand as light as a spider-web. It was a lovely thing. It seemed to ache to be about its business. I had never held a real sword before, not one like this. This was a king’s sword, the sword of a goddess, if Perimede had told the truth.... Surely, no man could regret dying on it?

My mother was speaking to me again.

‘Such gifts bring certain tasks. You must set up the shrine of Hera once more in Iolcos. Pelias has thrown it down, has forbidden the sacrifice to the Mother. You must give her back her rightful place. You cannot take the gifts without taking the duties that go with them—it is your place to do what the Mother asks.’

I said, ‘I am a simple Horse-herder, Perimede. Why is this duty put upon me of all men?’

She half-turned from me, sadly it seemed, and coughed into her palm. The dry cough shook her body, though it caused me no grief.

‘I was the priestess of Hera at Iolcos once upon a time, my son,’ she said. ‘But I let my duties lapse when Pelias stole power in the kingdom. I was afraid that if I kept on with the ancient ways Pelias would kill the old man, Aeson.... So I betrayed the Mother and now her curse lies on me until you set up the shrine once more.’

With a sudden, almost savage movement she grasped my hand and thrust it upon her breast within the hanging robe. The flesh was as cold as ice. I would have drawn back but her voice, hissing like that of a serpent, forced me to let it stay.

‘With your hand upon the breast that suckled you, Diomedes,’ she said, ‘swear now that you will kill Pelias and raise an altar to Hera, the All-Mother. Swear now!’

Her strength at that moment was strangely greater than mine. I heard myself swearing as she had commanded me. A great darkness came over my eyes and then went again, leaving everything clearer than ever before. For a second the ground shuddered under my feet, as it had done down in the stinking cave at Delphi. Then all was still and I was sitting on the cushion, exhausted.

My mother stood before me, above me, the robe having slipped from her body now. I saw that she was as thin as one who had been through a long famine. Only her breasts were still full and round and painted as I had seen breasts before. Her face was haggard in the rushlight that flickered in the night breeze. She wore the blue bodice, the pink flounced skirt of the priestess.

Then I had no doubt that this woman was my true mother, whoever my father had been. And I felt a great respect towards her, bordering upon fear. Though I felt no tenderness, no love.

As I gazed up at her painted cheeks and flounced skirt I heard myself saying, ‘And you too have chewed the laurel? You too have taken the little sickle in your hand, the hand that once nursed me, Mother?’

She did not answer me at once but smiled sadly and then said in a whisper above my head, ‘In this life we must all do what we are called upon to do. There is no escaping it, Diomedes.’

I think she must have seen horror in my eyes because she stooped and flung the robe about her body once again. Then she kissed me gently upon the eyes with her ghastly painted mouth.

A sick scent came from her as though she was indeed under the curse of Hera and I felt faintly sorry for her though I could not think of loving her.

‘Do not be afraid, my son,’ she said. ‘Carry out your duties and I promise you, you will never know the sickle. You will never be the Chosen One at the festivals. That I swear to you, my son. Hera told me so in a dream.’

I said, ‘What of my friends here in this camp? They will ride to the Village of Women at the harvest time. They will suffer though I go free?’

Perimede closed her eyes and seemed to sway on her bare feet before me.

‘If you were staying here,’ she said, ‘I would send trusted men from Iolcos to wipe out the Village of Women, my son, so as to save all for a while at least. But this I cannot do now, not now that I have made my vows to Hera once again. Take your luck as it comes and do not think of others.’

I rose to say something more to her but old Cheiron had come into the tent again and was looking sternly at me.

Perimede nodded to him like a queen to her trusted servant. He bowed his dark head before her in silence.

‘Another will come to be your twin, my son,’ she said. ‘Another who will aid you in bringing back the glory of Hera to the world. You will not be alone. You will never be alone again.’

Then without any word of farewell she strode from the tent towards a white horse which waited for her outside. A Horse-herder ran forward to help her into the saddle and I noticed that she seemed to be in some pain as she seated herself upon the sheepskin.

So without turning towards us she rode away into the twilight towards distant Iolcos.

Cheiron watched her go, a satisfied smile upon his broad mouth. And at last he stood beside me looking down at the weapons which lay upon the ground in their goatskin wrappings.

‘Your days as a horseman are over, my son,’ he said. ‘Now we must set you to another trade, the trade that the Goddess has decreed, if we are to have you ready for the test by harvest-time. Much lies before you, Diomedes. More than you or even I can ever know.’

My head still buzzed with confusion.

‘My mother is a queen,’ I said. ‘Yes, my mother is a queen. But I do not love her.’

One says foolish things like that when one is very young, very young and bewildered and a little afraid.