"If only Halius will help us!" my uncle muttered as we skirted the stables, keeping under cover of the olives. Both of us wore stout shoes and the clothes we kept for rough work: darkish frieze unrelieved by any trimming that shone or sparkled. He took his sword with him and a bag of provisions; I had a dagger concealed beneath my dress.
We contrived to reach our private jetty unobserved. The dinghy was ready, and in it we rowed across the southern harbour to the farther beach, thus avoiding the town gates. Then we struck inland, and by the grace of Athene did not meet a soul in our walk over the marshes. Presently we had left the city of Eryx on the left hand and were on the slowly rising track leading to Hypereia and the Temple of Aphrodite beyond. The sun shone blisteringly hot, but this was a journey from which we could not turn back, though the sweat broke from my brow and rolled in rivulets down my dusty cheeks.
"Uncle," I said at last, "when Clytoneus and I were little children and went on picnics, you used to help us along by telling us stories. My favourite was the one about the King who would not die. Tell it me again."
"In this heat, and up this hill? Panting like hounds after a chase?"
"I will carry the bag if you do as I ask. I want to be reminded of the days before I had a care in the world."
"Very well, I consent. No, my dear, I can manage the bag as well. Soon we shall be among the sweet-smelling pines, and then I shall not mind so much… Yes, the King was called Ulysses. Ulysses is said to have been the grandson of Autolycus and an ancestor of the Phocaeans."
"Like Odysseus."
"Like Odysseus," my uncle agreed, "and some people therefore confuse Odysseus with Ulysses. This is the story as I heard it from the mystagogues of Aegesta, in explanation of the ballet formerly danced there in the height of summer:
"Autolycus the Phocian was a past master in theft, Hermes having given him the power of transmogrifying whatever beasts he stole from horned to unhorned, or from black to white, and contrariwise. Thus, although Sisyphus, King of Corinth, his neighbour, noticed that his own herds grew steadily smaller, while those of Autolycus increased, he was for months unable to convict him of felony; and therefore, one day, engraved the inside of all his cattle's hooves with the monogram or, some say, with letters spelling 'Stolen by Autolycus'. That same night Autolycus helped himself as usual, and at dawn hoofprints along the road gave Sisyphus sufficient evidence to summon witnesses of the theft. He visited Autolycus's stables, identified his stolen beasts by their marked hooves and, leaving his supporters to remonstrate with the thief, hurried around the house, entered the portal, and while a hot argument raged outside, seduced Autolycus's daughter Anticleia, wife to Laertes the Argive. She bore him Ulysses; the manner of whose conception accounts for the cunning that he habitually showed, and for his nickname, 'Hypsipylon', which means 'Of the High Portal'.
"Now, one day Zeus fell in love with Aegina, the daughter of the River God Asopus, and disguised as an Achaean prince, secretly carried her off. Asopus set out in grief to search for Aegina, and first visiting Corinth, asked King Sisyphus if he knew her whereabouts. 'I do,' answered Sisyphus, 'but you must buy the information by furnishing my citadel with a perpetual spring.' To this Asopus agreed, and made the Spring of Peirene bubble up from behind Aphrodite's temple. 'You will find Zeus embracing your daughter in a wood five miles to the westward,' said Sisyphus, 'and, by the bye, he has forgotten to bring along his almighty weapons.'
"Asopus started in pursuit, surprised Zeus in the very act of seduction, and forced him to flee ignominiously. But Zeus, when out of sight, transformed himself into a boulder and stood motionless until Asopus had rushed by. Then he stole back to Olympus and from the safety of its ramparts pelted Asopus with thunderbolts. The poor fellow still limps because of the wounds he received, and pieces of coal are often fetched from his river bed. Zeus then ordered his brother Hades to drag Sisyphus down to Hell and there punish him eternally for the betrayal of divine secrets. Yet the undaunted Sisyphus put Hades himself in handcuffs by persuading him to explain their use and then quickly locking them. Hades was thus kept a prisoner in Sisyphus's home for some days—a ridiculous situation, because nobody could die even if he had been beheaded or torn to pieces. At last Ares, God of War, whose interests were threatened, came hurrying up, set Hades free, and delivered Sisyphus into his clutches.
"Sisyphus, however, had another trick in reserve. Before descending to Hell, he forbade his wife Merope to bury him, and on arrival at Hades's palace, went straight to Persephone, complaining that as an unburied person he had no right in her dominions: he should have been left on the farther side of the River Styx. 'Let me return to the upper world,' he pleaded, 'arrange for my burial and avenge the neglect shown me. My presence here is irregular. In three days' time I shall be at your service.' Persephone was deceived and granted his plea, but no sooner did Sisyphus find himself once again under the light of the sun than he repudiated his promise. Finally Hermes was called upon to drag him back.
"Ulysses proved to be a true son of Sisyphus: for he would not die despite the continuous hostility of all the gods and men whom his father had gulled. The God Apollo, in the likeness of a boar, rushed at him while he was hunting on Mount Parnassus and ripped his thigh, as he had ripped the thigh of Adonis. But Ulysses, though he carried the scar to his grave and, indeed, won his name from it—for Ulysses means 'Wounded Thigh'—cured himself with the herb moly, the gift of his great-grandfather Hermes, who alone protected him. On Hermes's advice he enlisted a band of exiles and adventurers with whom he took ship and escaped from Greece, hoping to found a colony in some region over which the Olympians had no power. They sailed to many islands: first to the island of Ogygia, whose queen Calypso enticed Ulysses into a huge cave and offered him the apple of immortality if he would lie with her, which he did. Yet he was not deceived and though eating the apple, also ate of the moly and thus counteracted Calypso's spell of death. Thence they sailed to the Island of the Cimmerians in the extreme north, where night and day meet in twilight and massive icebergs, as they are called, float about in a foggy sea, crushing ships between them. Next, they cast anchor in the harbour of Far Gates, where Charybdis, the daughter of a cannibal king, welcomed him to her bed: and that evening would have sucked his blood and eaten him raw, but the taste of moly was on his breath and she desisted.
"Thence they sailed to the Island of Wailing, whose queen Circe entertained him well, then struck him with a wand, intending to turn him into a hog; but against the moly her spells had no effect. And thence to the Island of the Sirens, where the bird women sing sweetly among the bones of the dead; but he stopped his ears and those of his comrades with wax. And to the Aeolian island, where the souls of men are winds; there the queen who entertained him tried to steal his soul and confine it in a leathern bag; but again the moly preserved him. And to the Island of Dogs, where the lovely Scylla, having taken him as a lover, suddenly transformed herself into a pack of six white, whimpering, red-eared hounds, and pursued him with foam-flecked jaws; but the moly threw them off the scent. Finally the same herb preserved him from the White Goddess Ino, who sat on the gunwale of his ship disguised as a fascinating mermaid, then wound her scarf about him and dragged him to her deep-sea cavern; having moly between his lips, Ulysses did not drown. Seven times during his voyage he had avoided death, and on every occasion had sacrificed a propitiatory goat to Father Zeus. Now he reached Ogygia in the far west, where the sacred cattle of the Sun are herded by the Nymph Lampetië. These he stole, as Hercules had previously also done, and came safe away, though Lampetië had tied his hair to the bedpost while he slept, and summoned her brother Eurytion to behead him. But the hair untied its own knots, the moly being all-powerful. Then the Gods, in admiration of Ulysses who had sacrificed the stolen cattle to all of them together, invited him to live on Olympus; for it was fated that he should never die."
Listening to this story again, I was surprised to find how my childish imagination had transformed it, confusing the incidents and attaching them to familiar scenes. The Far Gates, for example, were the harbour and fortress of Cephaloedium, up the coast from Aegesta, where my father had taken me during one of his royal progresses, long ago; and Circe's palace was our own, but somehow set in the middle of Eumaeus's hog farm; and the sacred cattle of the Sun were a speckled herd, much prized by my father, which a pirate crew had once tried to lift near Rheithrum. The Aeolian island was Osteodes, lying all alone to the north-west, and visible in fine weather from the top of Eryx; being waterless, it is good only for seal hunting and lobster catching. And Calypso's island was Pantellaria, which one can see on exceptionally clear days, far to the southward, halfway to Libya.
"What is moly?" I asked.
"A sort of garlic with a yellow flower."
"And I always imagined it snow-white and perfumed like the April cyclamen! Why has it become so famous in magic?"
"Doubtless because of its golden colour and because, unlike other plants, it grows faster when the moon wanes, resisting the magic of the various death-in-life Goddesses whom Ulysses encountered. The pilchard, also unenticed by the moon, has a similar virtue, and its liver is therefore sovereign against the evil eye and witches."
"Are you sure that you used to tell me this story in exactly the same way?"
"Quite sure. And if I were to repeat it ten years hence, there would still hardly be a word changed. This is a myth, rather than an old wives' tale like the one about Conturanus."
"I do not understand."
"Well, the mythographers explain that a certain Corinthian king refused to die when his reign ended. In times past, a new one had been appointed every year and at its close was castrated with a boar's tusk and sacrificed to the Moon Goddess Hera. But this Corinthian Ulysses defied tradition and went on reigning for eight years. And he instituted an annual Demise of the Crown, as when your father lies in state for a day and a goat is sacrificed to Zeus, also hogs to the Infernal Gods. Those visits to the seven islands are an allegory of his seven annual escapes from death. At the close of the eighth year, Ulysses should have gone down to the Underworld, as did his father Sisyphus; but by a divine dispensation he was allowed to live out the term of his natural life. The Gods were thus said to have granted him immortality. However, every ninth year, to commemorate ancient custom, he offered a speckled bull to Zeus instead of a goat; as your father also does."
Ungratefully I wished that he had not spoilt the story by his explanations. "I detest allegories and symbols. By the way, Uncle, what if the King fails to appear in time for the Demise of the Crown?"
"The Regent takes his place, though that is considered unlucky. We can therefore expect your father back within thirty days, unless…"
"Unless what?"
"Oh, Nausicaa, sometimes I think none of us will survive this trial!"
We toiled gloomily upwards, making frequent halts because the ascent was hardly short of three thousand feet. I seldom climb, and my uncle Mentor had a game leg, the result of a chariot accident. But we met nobody and the view was glorious, with the islands stretched out before us like the ones that Ulysses visited: Hiera at last wholly detached from Aegusa, after riding on its back for a while, and marked clearly against the western horizon. We drank at a roadside spring and ate a little food, and presently sighted Hypereia at the eastern end of the summit, which, though walled and ranking as a city, now houses only a few families. A couple of hundred feet below it lay Raven Rock, and the Fountain of Arethusa, and Eumaeus's hog farm, reached by an exceedingly rough path. Oh, what a fearful barking greeted us from his four savage hounds! My uncle halloed to Eumaeus to call them off; then, as they bounded ferociously towards us, dropped his staff and forced me to sit down on a rock beside him.
"Keep as still as an image," he said, "or you will be torn to pieces!"
Fortunately Eumaeus recognized my uncle's voice. He had been cutting two oblong pieces of dressed pigskin and boring holes at each corner to make himself a pair of sandals; but dropped the leather and dashed through the gateway after the hounds, yelling imprecations and hurling stones after them. Though they slunk back to heel obediently, how scared I was! Eumaeus, you see, had been visited almost every day lately by the suitors' messengers, whom he would not dissuade his hounds from treating as if they were Sican bandits; each of the four creatures was as big as a calf and fanged like a wolf. Eumaeus apologized gruffly, and when he had made the dogs smell us, to learn that we were friends, they accepted food from our bag and wagged their tails.
The farmyard was spacious. One of its rough stone walls ran along a sheer precipice; the others were topped by a stockade of wild-pear branches, and protected by an outer fence of oak rails lashed closely together. Eumaeus had built a dozen large sties inside the yard, where the sows and piglings slept at night, while the boars were driven into the space between the stone wall and the oaken fence. When he invited us into his cottage, my heart suddenly began to beat violently in the hope of seeing Aethon again, and the fear that he was no longer about.
The cottage was a dark, smelly, windowless place, unfurnished except for a trestle table, a stool, and two large wooden boxes on the floor, strewn with straw, which served as beds. Eumaeus's wife had died in giving birth to his only son—the boy who used to drive the hogs down to us—and no touch of a woman's hand was to be seen anywhere. It occurred to me that the Greek camp before Troy must have been in a pretty filthy condition by the tenth year, unless the women captives taken in raids set themselves to improve it—by clearing away refuse that would attract flies, planting flowers and sweet-smelling shrubs around the huts, polishing the metal, sweeping the floors, making window frames and stretching them over with oiled vellum to keep out the wind and let in the light. These swineherds wore only leather, using sheepskin coats and sheepskin bed coverlets in cold weather, ate like hogs, slept like hogs and grunted rather than talked; but nevertheless had a simple, penetrating wisdom and displayed a more humane spirit by far than reigned among the noblemen of Drepanum.
Eumaeus was making his reverence to me as my father's daughter, when someone passed behind me in the gloom and let fall a load of faggots with a crash. I leaped nearly a foot into the air, but turned and recognized Eumaeus's son, who now gathered an armful of straw from one of the beds, spread it across the fallen faggots, covered it with an old bald goatskin and begged me to be seated. I was only too glad to do so, though the fleas were already eating me alive and, being a princess, I could not scratch.
"Well, well, my lord," said Eumaeus, rubbing his horny hands together. "What about taking bacon, bread, and wine with us?"
"Dinner is not a bad thing at dinnertime," my uncle laughed.
"But, by Cerdo, you had a narrow escape from my hounds! They would have made short work of you and our little Princess, if you had not kept your heads; and then I should have been held responsible. As though I hadn't a sufficiency of troubles: the King gone off in search of Prince Laodamas, and Prince Clytoneus gone off in search of the King, and those cursed noblemen scheming to ambush and kill them both on their return…"
"How do you know that?" asked my uncle sharply.
"The old white sow told me several days ago," Eumaeus answered. "And then these wretches demanding my best hogs in your name, and threatening to cut my throat if I refuse! It is enough to turn my hair white. They have plotted your death too, my lord."
"How do you know that?" asked my uncle again.
"I had it from the old white sow. Now let me tell you something really remarkable. A beggarman came here the other day whom the hounds did not bark at—knowing him, I suppose, to be a friend, though hounds are stupid creatures; and the old white sow, when she saw him, rose from her wallow and offered her neck to be scratched. 'Old lady,' I said, talking Sican to her, as she expects, 'who is this beggar that you love so dearly?' And she answered in her own way: 'A homicide, a wild man, my chosen champion!'"
"Is the beggar still here?"
"Under the oaks with the boars," said Eumaeus, "and what is more, he has contrived a lyre from a tortoise shell and the guts of a dead stoat and is playing beautiful music to them and singing in an outlandish language. He declines to tell me his name or country, and because I have a suspicion that he is a god of some sort—Hermes, or Apollo perhaps—I dare not press him to reveal it."
"What does the old white sow say about him now?" asked my uncle, as Eumaeus hurried to fetch the goatskin of wine, the ivywood mixing bowl and the beechwood drinking cups.
"The same as she said at first, my lord."
"Will you invite him to join us in this splendid repast?"
"I have already sent my son on that errand, my lord, by your leave."
Seldom before have I felt so elated. Oracles from birds, oracles from the entrails of bulls, taken by priests of noble family and long experience—these are all very well; but I have Sican blood and the Sicans say: "The old white sow can tell which way the wind will blow, and is never mistaken."
We heard the distant throbbing of a lyre and a loud, sweet melancholy song with many unexpected grace notes. Though knowing as little Cretan as any Greek woman of Sicily, I recognized it as a love song and bit my lip to choke back my emotion. "Nausicaa," I said to myself, "be careful! Do not give yourself away. The room is dark and by leaning back you can keep your face in shadow; but at least control your voice."
Aethon entered and had the sense to do no more than courteously incline his head in my direction before greeting my uncle. He now wore a filthy, tattered, smoke-begrimed tunic lent him by Eumaeus, and a cloak of undressed deerskin.
"Eumaeus's son tells me, my lord," said Aethon, "that I have the honour of addressing the Regent of Drepanum, the famous Mentor of Hiera. These rough clothes which I wear need not mislead you as to my quality: I am a person of rank in my own country; and though at the moment the Gods are chastening me for having lived too fortunate a life, I trust that before long they will lift their curse and return me to the ivory chair from which I was unseated."
My uncle offered Aethon his right hand and introduced him to me. He bowed deeply, I bowed slightly, and at this point Eumaeus excused himself, and went out to resume his sandal-making. He did not wish to vex my uncle by listening to a conversation between his betters.
Aethon thought fit to tell the truth about himself. "My name is Aethon son of Castor," he said. "I am a Cretan of Tarrha. My mother was a concubine bought at a high price from pirates: a native of Hiera, and of noble family. She was named Erinna, and my father loved her more than his lawful wife…"
My uncle Mentor rose and solemnly embraced Aethon. "Is it possible?" he cried. "Does she still live? My little cousin Erinna, whom the Sidonian pirates stole as she played with her ball on the beach?"
Yes, she was alive and in good health when Aethon had last heard of her, a few months before this.
Everything at once became delightful, except that I could no longer regard Aethon as my personal property who owed his life and his hopes of safety to me. He was now an acknowledged kinsman, and my uncle might, I feared, take my place as his protector.
"Tell us more, Cousin Aethon," I said, greatly reassured.
"My father," he continued, "treated me as honourably as his legitimate sons, but when he died they divided the estate and cast lots for the shares, allowing me and my mother only a couple of fields and a dilapidated cottage. However, I won a wealthy wife by skill in boxing, wrestling and archery, and soon could look down on these half brothers as poorer and less distinguished than I. When she died in premature childbirth, bewitched by a sister-in-law, I sorrowfully took to sea and began raiding the Phoenician coast to avenge my mother's wrongs. In three voyages I came off safe with a huge hoard of treasure and, though loathing the slave trade, did not hesitate to capture wealthy women (whom I treated courteously) and hold them up for ransom. One day the son of the King of Tarrha invited me to join him in a large-scale descent on Ascalon; unfortunately we were beaten back from the city by superior forces, and brought home a dozen wounded comrades, having left as many more behind as prisoners. When the King of Tarrha tried to make me responsible for the disaster, I spoke out fearlessly and charged his son with having affronted the Ascalonians by the rape of their wives and daughters; and the God Hercules, too, by the sack of his treasury. I also blamed him for having failed to leave soldiers behind to guard his fleet, or to make wine-drinking while on active service a capital offence—precautions which I had taken myself. "The ships under my command,' I said, 'did not lose a single member of their crews, and we have brought home quantities of copper ingots, sard and malachite.'
"Every captain spoke in my support, and the King's son earned the royal displeasure. That night he waylaid me in a dark alley. I wrested the sword from him and drove it through his belly. Since nobody witnessed the incident, I was accused of having been the aggressor; but the Council, though kindly disposed towards me, did not wish to offend the King. I was therefore banished for eight years.
"One year I passed in the Achaean settlement at the mouth of the River of Egypt, a stream which separates the Jewish Kingdom from Egypt, and pretended to be a Cypriot. I was then captured in a border war with Egypt, and became a mercenary officer in Pharaoh's army. Six years later, I agreed to captain a Phoenician merchant ship on a voyage to Libya. As soon as she sailed, however, the owner, having heard that I was the same Aethon who had once raided Ascalon and stolen his copper ingots, stripped off my fine clothes, replaced them with rags, and thrust an oar into my hands. I learned that he planned to sell me as a slave. We sailed along the southern coast of Crete, put Tarrha well astern—how my heart ached at the beloved outlines of the hills!—but in the narrows between Sicily and Africa met with high seas and rough weather. The mainsail split and carried away, and while we were struggling to turn the ship's head into the wind, a heavy sea jarred her timbers, and we began making water faster than we could bail it out. I had given up all hope of survival when a fast Corinthian unexpectedly appeared and stood by, fifty yards to windward, not daring to close with us for fear of a collision. 'We sink, we sink!' screamed the Phoenicians in their own tongue. 'Is any Greek sailor there?' bawled the Corinthian captain. 'If so, let him leap into the sea and clutch this line.' He made fast a long stay to the foot of the mast and threw it out into the wind; whereupon I leaped over the gunwale, swam stoutly, grasped the life line, and was hauled aboard. Then the Corinthian veered off, leaving the Phoenician to founder."
I waited for Aethon to tell the rest of the story as I had heard it—how the ship was struck by lightning and he drifted ashore at Rheithrum. But he knew that I should not like my uncle to ask embarrassing questions, and therefore invented a tale of how the Corinthian captain had also decided to sell him as a slave; and how, halfway down the coast towards Motya, they had landed to fetch water, leaving him tightly lashed under the benches. "I managed to bite myself free with my strong teeth," Aethon said, "swam ashore and took to the hills. The Gods guided my feet up a rough track until I reached the house of this noble swineherd. My lord Mentor, I was rich once, and though I am now impoverished, perhaps you can guess at the harvest by a survey of the stubble. Well, I have escaped black death from drowning, and slavery, which is worse than death, and here I am, good Cousin, at your service. If a bold heart, a strong sword arm and a marksman's eye can be of use to you and my kinswoman, the Princess Nausicaa, in your present misfortunes, you know on whom to call. Eumaeus has told me about the cruel wretches who are plotting your ruin and the ruin of the royal house."
My uncle came to a sudden decision. "Aethon," he said, "your features are the features of our clan; your courage is our courage; your pride, our pride. With your permission and that of my niece I propose to inform her suitors that you have been sent here from Sandy Pylus by my brother-in-law the King to be Nausicaa's husband; that she consents; that I consent; and that they no longer have any excuse for camping in our courts. This announcement, you understand, will be one of expediency alone. Although I should be happy indeed to find that the King would accept you as his son-in-law, I am unable to guarantee anything of the sort. Besides, he has promised my niece not to force any husband on her whom she dislikes; and who knows whether she shares my high opinion of you? I shall therefore add that you have sent to Crete for the bride price and that meanwhile the marriage cannot be consummated. This will enable us, if all goes well, to stave off our troubles for a while. Now I must be off, leaving Nausicaa under your charge until my nephew Clytoneus keeps his tryst here, which may be tonight. He has sailed to Minoa in the hope of armed assistance from his elder brother Halius."
"I accept the charge willingly. What are my instructions?"
"If the suitors do as I ask, then I shall send up embroidered robes and handsome red shoes so that you can make a good impression on your entrance. If not, stay here in hiding until I send arms and armour instead. And when you accompany him, Nausicaa, wear moly, rather than roses, in your hair; and rub moly on his palms, that Hermes may protect him. But whatever news I send, let me know as soon as possible what message Clytoneus brings from Halius. Cut it with a knife on a strip of bark and give it to Eumaeus's son to hide in his wallet among the bread and cheese. And let us all trust in the Blessed Gods!"
"Wait, rest. You are forgetting your dinner."
"I cannot wait. There is still food in the bag to eat as I go, and my feet feel no longer tired; they will skim down the mountain as if shod with the winged sandals of Hermes."
He kissed me tenderly, grasped Aethon by the hand, and went to tell Eumaeus that I would be staying in the cottage for safety's sake, and that nobody except the family must know of my presence there.
I watched him out of view, and sighed gently. When I returned to the cottage, Eumaeus was weeping, but he would not say why.
聚合中文网 阅读好时光 www.juhezwn.com
小提示:漏章、缺章、错字过多试试导航栏右上角的源