“I trust you know the way back to your master’s farm?” asked Homer after Philemon limped away.
“I’m sure I could retrace my steps, but I came through the port and market square.”
“There’s a shorter route. Follow this lane out of Polis, then turn right at the first crossroads. A short way down it, there’s a vineyard guarded by a vicious dog. His chain is long, so mind you keep to the road’s far side.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nerissa as she set off.
She walked slowly, but even if she dragged this out at the pace of gnarled Philemon, she had at most an hour to change Homer’s mind. She knew it wouldn’t serve to belabor him with complaints about Tragus or the injustice of her capture as a slave. But Nerissa sensed he might become enticed by the story of her travels. He was a poet, after all. What’s more, Homer’s verse seemed to involve the return voyage of some ill-fated hero following the sack of Troy.
“Sir, I’ve been thinking about your poem,” she tried. “It’s an odd thing, but my family’s troubles started in the same way as your hero’s. With the slaughter of a cow, that is.”
“That isn’t where I start at all. There’s much to tell during the hero’s absence from Ithaca. Of his faithful wife and of her suitors. Of his distraught son and of the gods’ intrigues. The disaster on Thrinacia will happen somewhere in the middle.”
“Really, sir? Did I misunderstand your opening verse? I thought that Zeus becomes enraged when men butcher his cattle. Wouldn’t it make sense for all subsequent misfortune to arise from this? That’s how it was with my family, at least.”
“Your people feasted on the cattle of the Sun?”
“No, sir. Only one old bullock died, and we didn’t even get to eat him. What’s more, he wasn’t part of Zeus's herd, and even less our mortal king’s.”
“What’s your king got to do with it?”
“Well, it was this way, sir.”
Nerissa dropped back a step, to walk beside him as she told her story. She wanted to watch Homer’s face. This way, she’d notice immediately if his interest began to flag. So many things had happened to her and her kinfolk, she could easily leap to the next calamity. She forced her swollen tongue into the Ionian rhythms Homer preferred as she began to speak:
The kingdom of Smyrna long was rich and powerful. Great prosperity always flowed to us because of our location. For centuries, we’d anchored the trade route between Anatolia and the Aegean. But in recent years, our Lydian enemies had made deep inroads into our eastern reaches. To bolster Smyrna’s army, our king was forced to raise the levies every year. Both in terms of men and taxes.
That’s how my uncle Clemon lost two sons. And my adopted brother Andrastus lost his family’s farm, after his father died defending Smyrna’s borders. Baron Iadros, who ruled our region along the Meles River, seized many farms for unpaid taxes. He didn’t care if people starved or had no roof above their heads. That widows and their children had to sleep out in a ditch. That many caught their deaths of cold and wet. That others were enslaved because of debt. Now an orphan, Andrastus sought work among the herring fleet -- that’s when Father took him in.
We managed well enough for the next year, selling half our catch on Lesvos to dodge the Baron’s tax collectors. But then a terrible drought struck. At the same time, a mysterious sickness tore through the schools of herring. The sea was red with it, and nothing could be caught. We had no fish to eat, while on the land, the drought caused grain prices to soar. Merchants brought in stocks from Cyrenaica and Egypt, but only the rich could afford to eat bread now.
There was nobody to ask for help. Everyone we knew was gripped by poverty. Many turned to poaching in the Baron’s forest. But Father forbade my brothers to do this. “We aren’t thieves, he said. Instead, he took my eldest brothers Kestides and Nikos to try the waters far south from Smyrna. He wouldn’t let us younger children or my mother come. He knew there might be clashes with local fishermen once he left our territory.
But Father gave us all of his remaining money. And told my middle brother Euredon to guard the house well with his bow. Which might serve to drive off roving thieves, the desperate sort who’d begun to plague our land, but would have little chance against the king’s press gangs. Still, Euredon was only fourteen, and shorter than I am now. Father had to hope they wouldn’t come to take him for the wars.
Mother hoarded our coins carefully. She traded many of her possessions for the onions and brined olives still available. She showed us where to search for wild figs and mushrooms. But as the drought grew worse, there simply was no food to be found. My baby brother and little sister began to look very pinched. Mother sold our furniture, her clothes and ornaments and house wares, then finally her last possession of any value. It was a golden arm band carved with the story of Persephone and the pomegranate seeds. I believe it came down through her foremothers, belonging to one of the original settlers from Colophon.
Sadly, conditions had grown so bad, the arm band only bought one day of food. Worse, the only buyer Mother could find was the baron’s nephew Laedron, a rich merchant of the port. Though Euredon, Andrastus, and I took half shares at our one meal of the day, and Mother none at all, the little ones still cried themselves to sleep with hunger.
Euredon resolved to risk a hunting expedition in the Baron’s forest. He didn’t tell Mother, because she’d only remind him of Father’s admonition. Any protest would result in a sharp “Euphemeite!” from her. As if we were a noisy crowd that needed to be hushed before a drama could begin. But Euredon confided what he planned to Andrastus and me.
“If something happens, go to the Temple of Athena,” he said. “Remember, Father pointed it out the last time we were inside Smyrna?”
“The one with great white columns near the postern gate?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s the place. Go there and tell Athena what’s happened to me. She’ll listen to your prayer, Nerissa. She never shirks a battle. If I don’t return, I know that She’ll protect our family.”
“What do you mean, ‘if you don’t return?’ Do you expect a stag to gore you?”
I knew my brother was a fine shot with his bow. I’d often watched him target the flying fish that leaped around our boat when Father worked the seas off Chios. Euredon always struck dead center. I saw little risk of an injured stag running him down.
“Don’t you know? Many have been hanged for poaching. Their rotting corpses are left to dangle at the crossroads. It’s by the order of Baron Iadros.”
“And the king allows this?”
“In these times of war, the king supports harsh measures. It ensures his army’s ranks are filled. This hunger makes men eager to fight in the wars. The army is the only place that still has food.”
“Maybe we should enlist,” said Andrastus.
Nothing ever seemed to scare him, though he had less than two years on my scant twelve.
“No,” said Euredon. “How would we send food home? My way’s better. When I was mushroom hunting last time, I saw a large stag’s tracks. It was in a remote part of the forest. Baron Iadros will never know.”
“But your father’s right. We aren’t thieves.”
“This isn’t theft. What right does the Baron have to make us starve? Is he some God to claim that every plethron of land belongs to him, and all the wild creatures?”
“But there is one creature that still belongs to us,” said Andrastus. “Iadros has no say in what I do with it.”
“What creature do you mean?”
“The bullock they seized along with my family’s farm. He shouldn’t have gone for taxes, because he was my own possession. My father gave me Atlas when I turned ten. To mark my entrance into manhood.”
“You’re right. The bullock belongs to you. Iadros can’t say that you owe taxes, too.”
“Exactly. Let’s get Atlas.”
“How do you know they haven’t eaten him already?”
“He’s still alive and I know where he’s at. Iadros's men took Atlas to Laedron’s field. He’s the Baron’s nephew, you know. I’ve been there at night to visit Atlas.”
“Laedron’s dogs didn’t bark at you?”
“They’re greyhounds. The ones that always win the races at the summer festival. Laedron lets them sleep inside.”
“Good. Then we should have no trouble.”
They rose well before the dawn and left our house so silently, Mother never stirred. The night before, Euredon had refused to let me come. He ignored my arguments that we could carry home more meat. I said two extra hands were needed, because it wouldn’t be possible to lead the bullock home. Its presence would soon be noted in our village and Iadros would learn of what they’d done. That’s why Andrastus carried a sharp knife to butcher it.
My arguments did no good. Though Euredon knew I’m very strong, he forbade me to take part. Making off with the bullock would be too dangerous for a girl, he said. When I still insisted, he threatened to tell Mother every unladylike thing I’d done for the past year. Many scenes flooded through my mind. The boys I’d wrestled, the clothes I’d flung off to swim naked during the sweltering summer, the lovers’ trysts I’d spied on with Andrastus. I knew the shame of Mother’s disapproval would be blistering.
And so, I’d had no choice but watch Andrastus and Euredon set off in the darkness. My brother’s lips were tight, their contours very sharp. He reminded me of the fresco of Apollo I’d seen on the proscenium at Smyrna’s amphitheater. In the starlight, Euredon had a profile that could only be called noble, both grave and joyous. His righteous bearing made me feel so sad, it wrenched my heart.
They didn’t even bring a covered lamp, since we had no more oil. By first light, they arrived at the field’s edge. In that soft gray hour, Andrastus climbed the field’s stone fence. So beautiful they might have been a girl’s, his olive eyes were steady with resolve. Like Euredon, his mouth was pressed so tight it could have overlain the thin cut of a dagger. It showed nothing of those soft lips that I’d often dreamed of kissing.
Andrastus found his bullock resting by a cistern. It didn’t run away, of course, having known him ever since he was a babe. Murmuring gentle words, Andrastus slipped a loop of rope over the bullock’s neck, then led it to the gate. Now everything was silence, except for the chirp of insects and the early morning larks.
Euredon stayed just inside the tree line, a good position to watch for trouble. Andrastus followed the stone fence toward the hillside. Now and then, he said a soft word to the old bullock. His father had named it Atlas because of its great strength. He’d used it to pull the farm wain, which it could do alone, even with a full load. Once it became too old for this work, he hadn’t sold it for beef, as would normally happen. Instead, he’d given it to Andrastus. With no surviving siblings, my adopted brother’s bullock was more a companion than a pet.
So Andrastus must have felt heart-sore that Atlas must be butchered in the forest. And by the hand of a trusted friend. Andrastus told me later that he hoped to see it one day in the afterlife. Everybody says that there are cattle in the fields of Hades. Andrastus believed his bullock would earn its place by this act of supreme virtue, giving its life to feed starving little children.
Unfortunately, the merchant Laedron was an early riser. When he stepped outside to relieve his bladder, his dogs barged through the door. The largest of them stuck its long nose into the breeze, caught the unfamiliar scent, then shot off toward the upper field. The other three greyhounds were close behind.
These dogs bark very little, as you probably know, but Laedron hadn’t reached his privy yet. Their race caught his attention. He roused six of his retainers from their quarters. Heads groggy from their wine the night before, they stumbled out still pulling chitons over their heads. Carrying the long spears we call doroi, they didn’t bother with helmets, breastplates, greaves, or heavy shields. Lightly armed, they were able to run at full speed up the lane.
But they were still a long way off. Andrastus could have reached safety in the forest, but he was unwilling to leave his bullock. The dogs were close, and though they weren’t muzzled, Andrastus didn’t fear them. Greyhounds aren’t vicious, except when they catch hares. It would be very unusual for them to attack a person. Andrastus urged Atlas forward, but the bullock didn’t fear these coursers, either. He continued at his own slow pace.
By now, Laedron’s men were in range to hurl their spears. But the doru is a thrusting weapon. It isn’t very useful as a javelin. In our army, shorter spears are used for this. Besides, these men could see Andrastus was just a boy, not a serious opponent. Shouting loudly, their leader Cletus ordered him to halt.
Andrastus turned to fight them. Can you imagine? A youth of thirteen, armed only with a knife. Tall for his age, it’s true, and muscular from a boyhood spent at farm chores, then the last three years on Father’s boat, but these were six grown men he faced. Andrastus pelted them with rocks as they approached.
“Leave now, if you wish to keep your miserable lives!” he dared to taunt them.
They dodged most of the rocks, though one guardsman fell with a great lump on his forehead. Drawing close, Cletus sidestepped a swipe of Andrastus's knife, then knocked him reeling with the butt end of his spear. He grabbed Andrastus by the arm, hauled him up, and began pummeling his face open-handed.
What Cletus didn’t see was one of his men falling dead behind him. Euredon’s arrow was stuck into his throat. Another man yelled out when struck in the chest. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been a fatal shot. Then again, Euredon was running down the hillside as he made it.
The other two guardsmen crouched behind the bullock. Cletus was a little braver. He dragged the wounded man to cover, while keeping hold of Andrastus.
“Throw down your weapon, or I’ll slay your friend,” he called.
Euredon’s answer was an arrow that passed beneath the bullock’s chest and stuck into a kneeling guardsman’s thigh. Cletus stabbed poor Atlas in the throat. In addition to his doru, he was the only one armed with a xiphon. As Atlas lowed with pain and terror, Cletus hacked into its fetlocks with his short sword. He wanted the bullock to fall over without delay, in order to provide a better barrier.
Euredon kept coming. He notched another arrow as he ran. His bow was light, made by Father from a young sapling of mountain ash. It wasn’t the heavy sort of weapon now in favor among the hoplon’s archers. Euredon leaped over the dying bullock, twisted in the air, and fired even before he landed. My brother’s arrow took Cletus through the side of his ribcage straight into his heart.
The one uninjured guardsman turned and thrust his spear. From the forest, I could see it slice through Euredon’s shoulder. You see, I’d disobeyed him and followed. I wanted to help. I wanted to carry back as much meat as we could. If neither of them could bring themselves to kill the bullock, I’d been willing to do that, too.
But now all I could do was watch my fearless brother die. His right arm was nearly severed by the thrust. The wound spurted blood so fast, I knew it would only be a matter of minutes. Meanwhile, Andrastus still was dazed. He could barely stand, let alone run into the forest. Laedron had caught up, screaming at Andrastus that he was a murderer.
In fact, the one man he’d injured with a rock now was on his feet. But it mattered little to Laedron. Guardsmen came cheap. It was Atlas that he raged about.
“You slaughtered my bullock. Now you’ll hang.”
“Your men did that,” I heard Euredon answer, though his voice was growing weak. “You can see it was a sword’s strike, not an arrow or a knife.”
“Makes no difference,” said Laedron. “Your thievery brought this on. The penalty is clear.”
Just then, another volley landed. Not arrows this time. It was more rocks. One thwacked into the uninjured guardsman’s temple. Another broke Laedron’s arm. They cowered behind Atlas again. By now, the poor bullock was dead. Nervously, they looked to every side. They couldn’t tell who’d launched the fresh attack. It wasn’t Andrastus. They could see that he was dazed and empty-handed only yards away. And it wasn’t Euredon, who lay amid a growing pool of blood.
The rocks were from my sling, of course. Though Mother scowled every time I touched it, I’d practiced hurling stones ever since Father taught me at the age of six.
“You’ll be a great beauty some day,” he said on a rare occasion when we were alone.
Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous to repeat this now. But back then, I looked nothing like this. What Father said next, maybe it’s only the way a good man builds his daughter’s confidence, or maybe he really worried what might come to pass in only a few years time.
“I won’t always be around to protect you,” he told me. “You may need some knowledge of a warrior’s arts to fend off suitors on your own.”
He’d given me his sling, a keepsake from his own service as a hoplite. He’d taught me how to launch well chosen stones. I’d learned so well, I could strike a gliding locust at two hundred paces.
Mother made no secret of her fierce displeasure. But she never took away the sling, since it was Father’s gift. No suitors had come yet, but I’d killed a viper with it once. The snake was coiled near my baby brother Mavros as he played behind our house. And even then, from the look on Mother’s face, you might have thought I’d been the one to put his life in danger.
Laedron ran back down the lane. I feared it was to get more men. I bent and grabbed a large, round stone. I was tempted to hurl it into the back of his skull, but I resisted. It seemed more urgent to help Andrastus and Euredon. If I slew Laedron, I’d have to slay the injured guardsmen, too.
Much misery could have been avoided had I summoned the courage to be ruthless. Sadly for my family, I lacked the necessary grit. Instead, I tore a wide strip from my tunic’s skirt and bound Euredon’s half-severed arm. After Andrastus staggered over, together we were able to raise Euredon. But he was very weak. My brother could hardly walk, let alone run.
“Leave me,” he whispered. “I’ve lost too much strength. I’ll never make it home. Anyway, there’d be a trail of blood. Look, it oozes from this bandaging already. Just leave me here. They don’t know who I am. I couldn’t bear it if trouble followed us to Mother’s door.”
At that moment, I spotted more men running up the lane.
“Go,” growled Euredon with all his failing strength. “Andrastus, take my bow and quiver. You’ll have need of them before this ends.”
Though it was as if my own blade gave the mortal strike, I had no choice but leave Euredon to die. It would mean all our deaths if I tried to drag him. Tears filled my eyes so full, it was as if I’d turned bli-Ah, forgive me, sir, I’d forgotten that I speak to one who must bear this sore affliction every day… At any rate, I steadied Andrastus with an arm around his back. Or maybe it was to steady me. My legs felt like they’d turned to iron.
Feeling like a murderess, I took a last look at Euredon.
“Hon hoi Theoi philousi apothneskei neos,” whispered Andrastus.
I tried to tell myself that the old saying was right - whom the Gods love dies young. That Euredon’s valiant sacrifice meant he’d have an honored place among immortal heroes. But it was so hard to leave my brother while he still shared the mortal air and soil with us.
I wrenched my tear-shot eyes away, then together, Andrastus and I reeled into the forest. We didn’t stop until we reached a cleft in the hillside. It was protected by vines hanging from the ledge above. Though the entrance was invisible, Andrastus led me straight inside. He knew of this secret place because it was sacred to Demeter, the Goddess honored above all others by his late mother. We remained there through the day, then after it grew dark, we crept along a deer track until we reached our home beside the Meles.
We heard later that Euredon lived all through that day. Uncle Clemon’s neighbor, who was present at the public execution, said they tortured Euredon with fire and with blade. They put out his eyes and flayed his skin. Still, my valiant brother never revealed his name or ours. They quartered his corpse, fed it to the dogs, and left his head on a pike outside Smyrna’s northern wall. The crows soon stripped it to the bone.
Weeks later, they threw Euredon’s skull onto a dung heap. But in my heart, he enjoys the burial chamber of the greatest prince. I know his shade dwells in the Isles of the Blessed, hunting stags and wolves and lions alongside our most noble heroes.
I can only imagine that the vilest traitors are tormented in the place where I will spend eternity. I still wake every day stifling a scream, fresh from abandoning my brother yet again. Worse yet, I know his sacrifice was all for nothing.
When the guardsman with the cracked head recovered his wits, he remembered who it was they’d captured first. This man had worked as one of the Baron's tax collectors before he was sent to Laedron as a wedding present. He’d seen Andrastus on that day when they seized the farm and took Atlas.
It became a simple matter to ask around and learn that Andrastus had found work on our boat. Someone must have told them that he’d come to live with us. Naturally, they didn’t care that Mother had no part in this, or that Father would have forbidden such a raid had he not been at sea. Laedron went straight to his uncle Iadros, who declared my entire family outlaw. He waited until the day Father and my brothers returned from sea, then sent a score of battlehardened troops to seize us all.