Argonautika

I'm reading the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece, as told by Apollonius Rhodios (who lived on Rhodes) and translated by Peter Green.

Apollonius Rhodios is a great storyteller fits action, war, gods, monsters, ill-fated love and gods in the space of four books. He also provides a vivid picture of what ancient life was like. For example, he provides a detailed description of the practical process of embarking on a sea journey...

1. dig out a track for the boat to the water
2. get the prow onto a polished treetrunk, which will be the first of several 'rollers'
3. lash the oars to the boat's benches so the handles are sticking out. Push on the handles in unison so the rollers carry the boat to the sea
4. stow the gear (sails, clothes, arms, livestock)
5. conduct a sacrificial ceremony on the shore to Apollo of Embarkations. This involves building an altar of pebbles, killing a couple of oxen, praying, wrapping the butchered thighs in fat and burning them as an offering to the god, pouring wine on the offering (libation), and having a diviner interpret the signs.
6. have a big feast with what's left of the oxen. Tell stories until everyone is obnoxiously drunk, then listen to music
7. get up in the morning and head off.

Story Outline

I have an idea for a book.

A remote village in Asia Minor is raided and destroyed, leaving a sole survivor-- a youth of about eighteen. Bereft of his tribe, he heads south, towards Arabia, planning to exact revenge.

On the way he joins a Phoenician merchant vessel and becomes involved in trade, travelling to many different corners of the Mediterranean world including the Bosporus, Memphis, Carthage, Syracuse, Crete and Athens.

The book will include a violent pirate raid, a pitched battle, a religious festival [sacrifice, singing, women], a market scene [slavery, philosophers] , a love affair, a wedding, and a reunion and one or more hospitality scenes.

I am planning to smuggle in details about dogs, jewellery, cloth, disease, ship gear, scenery (animals, plants, weather, geography), philosophy, speech, contrast between aristocratic life and rural and urban poverty.

Girl in the Meadow

At fluting giggles and hymns,
I woke from dark dreams
underneath a quivering oak.

Girls whose sandals and feet
seemed horses and harnesses raced
through the grass, hair flying.

The sun looked down
on pale cherry blossom
when Love approached (her irises gems,

her limbs the whitest) first,
as her mystical servants bent
with willow-wick baskets to harvest

flowers freshly sown by her feet –
a crumb-trail of lily and larkspur.

I wish you had seen Persephone smiling,
the rope of her hair that hung at her nape,
her skewed wreath of roses and robe of light blue,
in her basket a straw and a crocus.

The moment she saw me
I held a red petal up
between her face and the sun.

nurse's poem

Let go my hand; the purple claw that curls a fist
spreads to clasp my shawl
with writhing motions of that grub-like arm and wrist.
Wear the newborn's caul
and tears your mother just now cried and kissed
to night, your overall.

Black Gruel, part 4

"Ha ha! Outsmarted you!"
I smiled weakly at him as he headed away to the pantry, but really I was filled with alarm. As soon as he untied the pouch he would discover Draces’s ring, recognise it and deduce that things did not happen exactly as I had described.
If I simply ran away, he would advertise a description of me and I would be a known outlaw for miles around. Aside from complicating my training, this would ruin my reputation at the barracks, because above all we prided ourselves on stealth. I would be a laughingstock, a mere anecdote like that fool Pythos who ended up brained by a flute girl.
The obvious thing for me to do was to kill this guy and I really, really didn’t want to do that. Call me a Persian, but I had no desire to arouse the wrath of the divine Host. This person had extended the courtesies to a stranger whom he believed to be a slave. There are those boys from the barracks who would spit on me for that sentiment, but I say that it was not cowardice but piety and prudence. After all, there is no shame in fearing the gods and if I killed this man, there was a good chance Zeus would punish me for it.
I stayed where I was but I could clearly picture in my mind the man opening the pouch, seeing the ring and planning my destruction.
I stole into the courtyard looking for some object that might serve as a weapon if things came to that. I spied a hoe, and moved myself within arms’ reach. I must have stood there in the courtyard with its little garden and modest fountain for a short time, but it seemed like an epoch. The songbirds looked at me curiously and sang songs about how odd I looked and how I was obviously up to no good. The plants, which were essentially weeds growing from converted troughs, hovered in a breeze from the open door and gleamed maliciously. With every minute, I felt more inclined to race down after the man and get him with the hoe.
Finally, his wood-soles sandals clattered on the cobblestones and he appeared laden with not only my purse (which was now bulging) but also a larger bag full of what looked like flat bread and hollowed gourds full of liquid. If he had discovered my identity as the murderer of his friends, he showed no sign of it. In fact, he was whistling cheerily as he approached and he seemed no longer as loutish. In fact he was standing tall and walking easily, imparting a sense of leisurely confidence.
"Ah, there you are, over there lad."
I eyed him warily.
"Here is your stuff. You won’t want to be hanging around here too long, I’ll bet, though I’ve no objection. Take this. You’ll want to try the black gruel – that’s particularly good stuff. Our specialty; pigs cooked in their own blood it is. Get going now. What are you staring at? Oh, this." He looked down at the ring on his hand. "I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it from you. I always thought it would look good on me. What do you think?"
I nodded and started backing away.
"Don’t worry about anything." He called as I ran out of the door. "It will be our little secret."

Black Gruel, part 3

"Help!" I yelled.
The burly man stared at me for a bit, then grabbed a switch and jumped into the pigpen, flapping the pigs away from me.
"There you are – get away while you can."
"Thank you," I gasped and dramatically crawled over the fence of the pen.
The pigs were calming down now that I was out, and the lout scratched them behind the ears as you would a dog. I saw him stoop to inspect the wound in the side of one – she had lain down in the mud and was losing much blood. The big man swore and stuck the pig in the throat with a knife that hung from his belt. Meanwhile I gathered my wits and pretended to catch my breath.
I could see that the man was bewildered, and that he kept lifting up his head looking out for his friends.
"Draces!" He yelled. "Alcias!"
He muttered something under his breath, walked easily over the railing and approached me uncertainly. Immediately I adopted the position of a supplicant; bowing low before him and extending my hand towards his knees, which were the size and colour of treetrunks.
"Kind host, I beg you in the name of Zeus protect me from those wild beasts."
He scratched the back of his head.
"What? Wild…?" Then he threw back his head and laughed. "Those piggies? Those babies? Ha ha!"
I affected to tremble, and even managed a couple of tears. He stared at my face in surprise.
"Please, noble husband, I entreat you to save my life from those vagabonds!"
He looked over his right shoulder, then his left.
"Vagabonds? Where?" He narrowed his eyes "Do you mean the other two…a big one and a little one?"
"No, no, you must mean the two brave heroes."
He looked confused.
"I apologize. Let me begin from the beginning. My name is Nautes I am a destitute helot from P, a settlement four miles away. My old master recently died and before he passed he instructed me to offer my service to a man in H-----, to the the east. I was travelling in those woods late last night, looking for a root cavity to curl up in, when I heard crackling sticks behind me and sure enough I was being followed by robbers. Ordinarily I would turn and fight my ground, but these men were monstrous, and there must have been about eight of them."
"Hmmm. They were big then?"
"Huge."
"And were they dark skinned?"
"Yes! Dusky."
"And did they have big noses like, like one of those eagles?"
"Exactly. By Zeus, have you seen them before?"
"No not them exactly but I know the type. That’ll be the Boeotians. There’s a camp of them not far from here and a lot of no good they do."
"Then you know why I was frightened for my life."
"Well, it is not very manly but …not all of us are raised in the barracks, after all. And even if you were it wouldn’t do any good against those dirty bandits."
"I confess that I was frightened and so in need of comfort that I saw your farm with the pigpen and it reminded me of home. It made me think that if I slept here, among the animals, it would keep me warm and that bandits would not dare to attack a stronghold such as yours."
"Very right-thinking of you."
"But I underestimated their underhand brutality and early this morning I woke up and one of them was there." I covered my eyes and pointed in front of me. "His sword was unsheathed and he was smiling so… I was so terrified I could not even squeak, but the pigs knew what to do. They made a run for it and knocked him off balance just as he was going to lunge at me. I fear that that pig suffered the blow that was meant for me. Luckily, just as this happened, two brave, strong men came out of nowhere and gave the bandit second thoughts. Despite his size, he was startled by their ferocity and turned tail."
"So that was Draces and Alcias. Where did they go?"
"They chased him, but I was in shock and had lost my sense of direction thanks to the mist. I tried to follow to lend them a hand, but I could not find my way. It was awful…I heard screams, the clashing of weapons and the sound of flesh being stricken...."
The man frowned with concern.
"A Boeotian. They’ll have their hands full. Zeus and Mars…" The elaborate workings of his mind came to a standstill as he remembered his manners. Clearly he had enjoyed being called a protector, and proceeded to act the part.
"But I am forgetting myself. Please, guest, come in. Have your fill of food and I will provide you with a place to rest until you have recovered from your ordeal."
"Thank you," I sank lower into the ground and touched his rough feet. "May the gods repay you doubly, and may your friends be safe."
The large man awkwardly motioned for me to get up, so I got to my feet and followed him into the house.
"You’ll want to change," he said, scratching his head again. He scratched it so often I wondered if he had fleas. "You can use Alcias’s spare tunic. He won’t mind."
He fetched a coarse, but relatively clean tunic and I put it on, carefully transferring my pouch to my new outfit.
The man looked at it quizzically.
"My supplies," I smiled.
"It is so small for such a long journey! How do you survive?"
"Oh, my master was a skilled hunter and taught me many things."
The man tut-tutted.
"You will have to take more provisions with you. We have a whole storehouse of things – you will take as much as you can carry. And wine, too. Draces is stingy with the wine, but I’ll smuggle some out with you. Please -- sit down and rest while I prepare lunch and fetch your supplies." He put out his hand to take my pouch.
"Why do you stall?"
"It is too kind of you. I cannot accept such generosity when I do not have the means to return it adequately."
"Pish!" It is the gods’ law of welcoming strangers. Hand it over."
"I am too much in your debt already."
He was too quick for me. Like a falcon his arm swooped for the purse and grabbed it away from me. The man laughed triumphantly.

Black Gruel, part 2

I forgot about the scratching animals and instead opened a pouch I’d filled with dried food – a sardine, a few figs and a tuber. I didn’t eat it, but just wanted to look at my supplies. Good for about a week. I would have to start relying on my hunting skills. I carefully tied up the material and stowed it in my tunic above the belt.

I sat on the ground for a little while, arms hugging my knees while I thought of what to do next.

I had surveyed the farm for a week now, and ascertained that the farmer was a helot. He was taller than a Spartan, and his movements were more fluid and dance-like. He had two assistants who looked like deformed Greeks – perhaps they had been foundlings.

I’d watched long enough to know that he had a set routine, from which he rarely deviated. At dawn he would rise and toss food to a holding of about seven large pigs, and a few piglets. They would come running, grunting appreciatively, then the farmer would footle about making repairs, tending to a vegetable garden and feeding a mess of chickens.

At lunchtime the whole crew would go inside, probably for lunch and a sleep. Then later on, around sunset, they’d feed the pigs again.

So far I had been very careful not to steal from the garden – I wanted to scope out the area first. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to slip into their garden without leaving footprints and to take a [lettuce/beet]. I refrained because I didn’t want to rouse anyone’s suspicions.

Today I was planning to make my move. My plan was to be as bold as possible, to kill all three farmers under the cover of this mist, then to empty the house of valuable supplies. The house was in such a remote area of the valley that I was tempted to move into the house myself, but I knew that would be unforgivably foolish. Some time or other a visitor or wayfarer would pass and news would spread of my occupation.

My stomach was empty, but I felt my limbs filling with the strength that comes from Mars before any daring venture. My eyes were given greater clarity of vision and I heard the beat of drums in my ears. My fingers tingled with a lust for action and I set off for the direction of the farm, using landmarks I had marked out in my period of surveillance: there was the grove of laurels, there was the pile of old cups, there was the goat carcass – it must have had mange because the skin and silky hair was left on it – and finally I was so close that I could see the black flank of a small pig that was rooting about in a pile of vegetable shavings.

Its eye glinted like a small obsidian bead and I could not tell if it was aware of my presence or not. I had tried to accustom him to my smell and motion by visiting the pig pen in the evenings. If it was aware of me, it didn’t care at all or make any indication of it.

The mist was so thick that I couldn’t see the farmer, though I could tell he was fairly close because he was whistling through his teeth and humming. I moved stealthily around the perimeter of the pigpen and approached the wall of the house, taking care where I put my feet so that I would make no sound.

At last I was within a couple of metres of him, and could make him out. He was about ten years older than me, northern looking, with light brown hair and a tall frame and leathern skin. He had a blade in his hand and was trimming a shrub whose branches were straggling out untidily. I knew that at any moment he would turn around and see me, so it was necessary to get it over with quickly.

I was about to leap out from my hiding place, when one of the Greek servants appeared armed with a club.

"Whar ye going wi’ that club, lad?" Asked the man.
"Oi’m gonna get a lion. Arfes said there are loins ‘round here – ’e ’eard them prowling and growling last night."
"Oh, is that right?" The man said laconically and turned back to his pruning.
"You be careful that the loion doesn’t get you."
"Oi will," said the dope and hobbled bravely along the path. I waited until he’d passed me for the right time to strike and then carelessly stabbed him in the neck, so that he died instantly, with not even a yell of surprise.
Even so, the farmer knew something was wrong because the body made quite a thump when it hit the ground.
"Pires?" The farmer asked, then, sensing something was wrong and perhaps starting to believe the lion story after all, ran towards the bush where I had again ducked. The fool ran right in front of me and I finished him off with the club I’d taken from the first victim.

When I was certain they were both dead I ransacked their clothes and mouths for valuables. Neither of them had any money and they both let off a rank stink involving pigs, manure, sweat and lard. The old man wore a brass ring with the crude signature of a winged man. I didn’t care for it but thought it might serve as a keepsake so I hastily stowed it in my purse.

Now that they were dead, I had the problem of the third man.

I realised that it would be to my advantage to keep him alive to care for the pigs. So for now, I resolved to hide these two bodies and earn the friendship of the survivor. I hastily dragged the farmer’s body to a spot behind the pigpen and a hillock, then I got the other man and piled him on top. It was hard work and by the time I’d finished covering the men with clippings, I was dripping sweat and stained with blood.

Thinking quickly, I leapt into the pigpen and cut the side of one of the sows with my knife. She squealed and snorted, which alarmed the others and suddenly I was in the middle of an ear-splitting cacophany.

Black Gruel

Sparta, 520BC

There was dew all over the ground and it had seeped through my bed of dried grass and dampened my tunic, which was already black and grimy with weeks of sweat and dirt.

Thanks to the full moon and the insistent scratching of some small animal, I'd hardly slept . The scratching reminded me of my hunger, but I felt too tired to get up and trap it. A few of the boys I'd trained with could locate a burrow even on an overcast night. They seemed to have charmed ears and feet that could see even the underground, without the light of the sun. They were the boys who had started hunt and fight for food before they could even talk and who now, at fourteen, were expert at all the arts of war and ambush, hunting and tracking.

I must have drifted off to sleep about an hour before dawn. I had dreams of a wolf that mewed like a kitten but that stared at me with the filmy eyes of an eel. I went to stab it with my sword but found that it was covered in gouts of blood already, as if it had been attacked by a lion or another of its own kind. It seemed to want my sympathy, and I reached out to pat it. At that moment the wolf vanished and I was surrounded by my old classmates from the gymnasium -- all glaring at me with hatred and pointing to my dress, which was an absurd purple woman's tunic, and my fingers wore so many golden rings that I could not move my hand.

It was then that I woke. No doubt I had cried out something in my sleep, for in the moment of waking I saw a six or seven crows flutter up into the safety of an oak's top branches.

The sun was obscured by new clouds, and a fine mist bleached the general landscape. The woodland area that had sheltered me since the beginning of my apprenticeship still clung to night's shadows, but the valley meadows glimmered a deathly grey. Although I couldn't see it now, I looked in the direction of a farm I'd scouted yesterday and heard the grunt of pigs being fed.

[to be continued]

The Cyprian Boy

Athens, The Agora 496 BC

I was standing in the central market waiting for Draces to make his decision so we could go and have some dried fish and figs at my house. He was dithering at the goldsmith’s stall trying to decide what to buy his wife, who had that morning demanded a gift of necklace as payback for some imagined insult. Phyllis was a vixen with a foul temper. Ever since their wedding Draces had been jumpy as a cricket on a field of hot embers.

Draces was sucking in his cheeks, rolling his obols worriedly with his tongue and scratching his unkempt hair. The goldsmith was yawning and scraping dirt from out of his fingernails with a thin wire. That’s when I saw the boy.

He was floating gracefully between a couple of elderly donkeys and a pancake stall. You’d think Polyanax had chiselled him out of marble, but his hair and skin appeared glowing, smooth and soft. He moved like a long-legged fawn. Just the sight of him made me lick my lips.

As I stood there gawking he realised he was being watched because he raised his head, cast me a wary look, and smiled a little. I smiled back, fascinated by the way his cheeks spread with a rose-petal blush. He turned and took a graceful couple of steps before looking back at me, which is when I noticed his intensely blue irises. I had to stop myself from floating after him.

"Lunch is off Draces," I said.
"Mmmm?" Draces had forgotten I was there even. "Oh! Wait. I’ll be quick. I found something. This. No…this." He clutched desperately at a couple of necklaces.
"Say hello to your father from me." I kissed him abruptly and left in pursuit of the boy. He had only disappeared two seconds, but already I was anxious to catch up with him and smuggle him back to my place, keeping him out of every other wealthy citizen's sight. Weaving past the stalls of ceramics, fruits, slaves and spices, I finally caught up to him where he leaned on a rock to remove a pebble from his sandals. As he bent down his tunic lifted at the back to reveal the backs of his thighs, covered with a down of fine blonde hairs.
He heard my feet and straightened up.
"Your sandal has come unstrapped," I said. "Here, let me tie it."
The boy looked quizzically down at me as I leaned to fiddle with the leather. I became almost dizzy at the fragrance of his sweat mixed with a perfume of something like lilies. My fingers lingered achingly on the curve of his anklebone.
"Thank you," he sounded foreign.
"Where are you from?"
"Cyprus."
"Cyprus? Any relation to Aphrodite?"
"Of course; son-in-law. Where are you from?"