Valerio Mafredi - The Oath

‘Father, how did Eurystheus come to rule over this city?’

My father was silent at first, then walked over to the window and looked out at the dark night. I could almost read his thoughts: he had come certain to find some sign, some clue that would allow him to absolve Hercules of such a monstrous crime, at least in his own heart. Leaving without achieving this would mean defeat. A mute city, a sullen king, a segregated room, a still, stifled atmosphere, were all that we had seen and heard.

‘Eurystheus and Hercules are cousins. . Many, many years ago, an oracle had decreed that the last descendant of the Perseids would reign over Mycenae and Tiryns. Now, that should have been Hercules, but a priestess of Hera stepped up and swore that Eurystheus had been born first. She claimed that the goddess Hera herself, who is present at all births, had revealed this fact to her. Eurystheus became the lord of the two cities; Hercules was forced to leave and to begin a life of wandering.’

‘Then why should this terrible crime have happened at all? What possessed him to return here?’

‘That’s what I’d like to find out, but Eurystheus has done his best to make that impossible. We’re not free to go anywhere or speak with anyone. But you are certainly right, my son: that is the heart of the matter. Why did the massacre happen here? Perhaps in Argus we’ll learn something more. There are some things that can only be whispered by one king into the ear of another. Not here.’

We finished eating and I didn’t see the bottom of my cup. We retired into the adjacent room where two beds had been prepared with linen sheets woven through with purple threads. My father laid his sword and sheath on the floor next to him and I kept my dagger under my pillow. I fell asleep, although scenes of the bloodbath kept throbbing under my eyelids.

Then in the middle of the night I heard a noise in the next room. It was coming from the foot of the door, and it sounded like a dog trying to scratch his way in. I put my ear to the floor and listened. Someone was scraping something hard and rough over the stone, to make a noise that could only be heard at a short distance. Someone who wanted us to hear, but no one else?

I got up and made my way to the other room, following the dying light of the last oil lamp left burning. I lifted the bolt very slowly, without making the slightest noise, and then swiftly pulled open the door. What I found outside was a boy, his eyes flashing with fear.

I took him by the hand and pulled him in.

‘Was it you making that noise? With what?’

He showed me a nail stuck in a piece of wood.

‘Who’s there?’ asked my father from the other room.

‘It’s just a little boy. . What’s your name?’

‘Eumelus.’

My father approached and our little visitor backed up to the door, clearly frightened.

‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ he said. ‘We’re friends. Where do you come from, Eumelus? And what are you doing in this place?’

‘I’m from Pherai, in Thessaly. .’

My father turned towards me: ‘This isn’t just any child; look at his clothing. He’s a young guest of this palace, a prince, most likely. A guest, perhaps, but more likely a hostage. .’

Then, turning back to the boy, he said: ‘Why have you come here? Is there something you have to tell us?’

The boy was struck dumb, and I motioned to my father to step away: his presence was too intimidating. He understood without me saying a word and he went back to the other room. I looked in my knapsack for something the child might like; I found a little wooden horse I’d carved with my knife and showed it to him: ‘Look, I made this myself. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Would you like to have it?’

Eumelus nodded. I stretched out the open palm of my hand with the little horse. He hesitated for a moment, then snatched it up and put it in his belt.

‘This is my gift for you: remember Odysseus of Ithaca whenever you take it out of your belt to play with. Do you know what that means? It means we’re friends. Friends exchange gifts.’

‘I don’t have anything to give you in exchange,’ the boy replied.

‘Your friendship is the best gift. And then, who knows, maybe some day you’ll receive me in your palace and you’ll give me a gift to remember you by. But now, tell me why you were scraping the floor under the doorway. You wanted me to hear you and open the door, didn’t you?’

Eumelus nodded again. I came close, took his hands between mine and looked into his eyes: ‘What did you want to tell me?’

Eumelus started to speak, very quietly, without ever changing the tone of his voice or the expression on his face, and to describe what he’d seen one night some time in the past in the very hall we found ourselves in. He’d been awakened that night by strange noises and then by moaning and gasping. He’d got up and followed the direction that the noises were coming from, opened the door a crack and had then seen something so horrible that he turned and ran back down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him, desperate to get back to his room and jump into his bed before anyone saw him.

When he’d finished talking he just stared at me with those eyes: so big, so black, so open, as if he wanted to let me look all the way into his heart.

‘Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?’ I asked him.

He shook his head: no, he hadn’t been dreaming. Then he showed me what the nail stuck in the piece of wood was for. He scraped between one stone and the next on the floor and gathered the dirt that had collected in the cracks. He poured some into the palm of my hand and then he showed me that the little sack hanging on his belt was full of it.

‘You have to leave with us, tomorrow. We’ll take you back to your parents. They can’t have imagined what a situation you would be in.’

I beckoned for my father to come close, certain now that the child trusted us, and showed him the dirt. ‘He uses the nail to scrape at the cracks in the floor: look, this isn’t dirt, it’s dried blood. The floor was cleaned but not everything was washed away.’

My father sniffed at the specks in my hand and nodded solemnly. ‘It’s blood, no doubt about it.’

‘We have to take him with us,’ I said. ‘We can’t leave him alone in this place with this secret in his heart. It’s too much for him.’

‘They won’t let me go,’ said Eumelus, ‘and there’s not enough room on your chariots for you to hide me. If they found me, they’d kill all of us.’

‘You are Admetus’ son, aren’t you?’ said my father. ‘I’ll tell him what we’ve seen here and the state you’re in.’

‘He can’t do anything either, not even if he wanted to,’ protested the boy. ‘There’s only one man who can free me from this prison.’

None of us said a word because we were all thinking of the same person: Hercules.

The next day, at dawn, we went down to the palace courtyard. Eurystheus was already waiting, surrounded by his warriors. Two men bore his gifts for the king of Ithaca: a bearskin and an antique ceremonial sword whose burin-engraved blade was inlaid with gold. It had a gilded hilt as well, its pommel ending in two lion heads. I’d never seen such a wondrous thing. We reciprocated with a bronze and amber staff that my father had taken as booty in Asia.

As we were leaving I happened to look up and then caught my father’s eye. I said, softly: ‘Up high, third window.’ There was a child leaning out slightly and seemingly waving his hand.

Eurystheus’ gaze shot to the window and his mouth twisted into a smirk. Perhaps he wanted to make sure that his young guest was staying put.

My father dropped his head, I think to hide his impotent outrage. Leaving a child in such a place, in the grip of such a ruthless, ferocious man, was against his nature. The heart inside his chest was certainly howling like a dog. We passed under the gate of lions, still shrouded by darkness, then continued down the ramp until we reached the fork in the road. We turned left, towards Argus.