THE ARROW OF APOLLO: CHARACTERS: Aeneas

Aeneas fleeing Troy (Barocci)

THE ARROW OF APOLLO by Philip Womack

Characters

1. AENEAS

Aeneas was a Trojan prince. His father, Anchises, was a first cousin of Priam, King of Troy; his mother was the goddess Aphrodite, who at one point during the fighting pulled him off the battlefield, veiled in mist. When the Greeks eventually attacked at night with the Trojan Horse, Aeneas rallied his men and fought hard; when it became apparent that the city was lost, he collected a group of survivors, including his son Iulus, and took them on a long journey around the Mediterranean.

Along the way he had many adventures; including meeting Helenus, another exiled Trojan prince, who had founded a city. Aeneas' love for Dido, Queen of Carthage is well known, and its tragic outcome matter for much music and art.

When the Trojans finally reached Italy, they entered into a war with the local Latins, which they eventually won; Aeneas married a Latin princess, Lavinia, with whom he had a son, Silvius.

Aeneas is an important figure in THE ARROW OF APOLLO, providing advice to Silvius, and also relating to the general theme of fathers and sons. He is deeply protective of Silvius, a half-Latin, half-Trojan boy, who represents the future of his new state.

In art Aeneas is usually depicted leaving Troy, carrying his father on his back and leading his little son by the hand, representing the virtue of duty for which he was renowned. Virgil's great poem, The Aeneid, is not only one of the most beautiful things in existence, but is also a clever riff on its predecessors, The Iliad and The Odyssey: Virgil was moulding a new hero, for a new time. In THE ARROW OF APOLLO, Aeneas is ageing. Will he be able to let his son take up new challenges to keep the city safe?

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The Fall of Troy: Part 6

The Anger of Achilles by Jacques Louis David

THE FALL OF TROY

by Philip Womack

Part 6: Iphigenia at Aulis

If any link in the whole great chain of the Trojan War could have been broken, it should have been this one. This, in truth, was the weakest one, and there were many moments when it might have gone the other way.

The Greek fleet should have stayed on the beach. The men should have been left to grow bloodthirsty and restless.  And then what might have happened? Agamemnon would have been killed at night in his tent by a rebel soldier. His brother, Menelaus, would have had to step in to take control. Being weaker, he would have been unable to control the unruly mass of Greek princelings, and they would have formed factions. 

Menelaus indeed would have been challenged, and then would have met his death, in a duel with Ajax or Achilles, a spear through his flank. Released from their oaths, the chiefs would have fought for the high kingship, or would have dispersed back to their plains and mountains.

And Helen would have grown old in Troy, and would not remember Sparta. She would have, like her mother in law, many children, who would grow up speaking the Trojan tongue, which she would master. Her weaving would become like that of her sisters in law, only, because of its slight strangeness, would be more highly valued. She would weave of her own gods at first; and then what she saw around her; and then her children breaking horses.

Thirty years later, a boat would land, and, wading into the surf, would come a proud man, black curls wet with salt water, seeking alliance and marriage: Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, who had fought for his kingdom from Aegisthus. Helen would hear the Greek sounds in his mouth, and would remember the rude halls and the beard of her husband, and would stutter a greeting to him, forgetting the words for "drink" and "rest". 

The Trojans would be more powerful than ever, and perhaps it would be their ships that sailed to Greece, and their poem that lasted for ever.

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But that is not what happened. Iphigenia, Agamemnon’s daughter, was playing ball with her attendants when the news came. Achilles was to marry her. Achilles, most handsome, most brave, of all the Greek fighters.

Her mother, Clytemnestra, who had become perhaps a little too friendly with her cousin Aegisthus, did not sense  that anything was wrong. If anything, she was pleased - with Iphigenia out of the way, she would more easily install Aegisthus in Agamemnon’s place. She would not go, of course; she would stay in Mycenae, and see to the affairs that she had already started to view as her own.

When Iphigenia arrived at Aulis, she saw the marriage tent set out, its cloths hanging heavy. She was given a drink of water by a ragged woman - the only woman she would see.

Inside the tent would be Achilles, nervously polishing his sword hilt. She wondered where the rest of the women were, why nobody was throwing flowers or nuts, why there was no singing. She wondered where her father was. The ragged woman lifted the tent flap, and shoved her in. Inside was airless and dark, and Iphigenia moistened her lips.

Some say that the Greeks almost went through with the mock ceremony. Some say that the king's daughter was led to Achilles at the altar, and that he took her hand, and that she saw in his eyes what was about to happen; and she was butchered where she stood, with Agamemnon looking on in horror. But that is not what happened.

It was done quietly, foully. She did not know what happened to her. She entered the tent, and stood alone in the dark, and a man, who did not know her, and who had been found from the barbarian north, and who would go back home and drink himself to death, knocked her on the head with a club. 

And that was enough. Her bridal wreath came loose, and lay in the dust by her long golden hair.

Agamemnon could not look at her body. The priests placed her on a pyre. It burned long, and when the smoke died away at dawn, Agamemnon felt something brush his cheek. 

Across the sea, the billows grew higher, and the white sails of the Greek fleet swelled outwards. 

NEXT WEEK: Troy.

The Fall of Troy: Part 4

THE FALL OF TROY: Part 4

By Philip Womack

Paris could get used to his new surroundings in the palace on the citadel of Troy. There were maids who giggled at him and fetched him whatever he liked. There was a fine set of armour, and a new bow. His brothers - so many of them - seemed like a good lot, at least, the ones who liked dancing and feasting; Hector, on the other hand, was rather a brooder, and was always glowering at him for spending too much time polishing his armour, and not enough time practising with it.

As he sat one night mulling over his wine, it occurred to Paris that Aphrodite, having offered the most beautiful woman in the world to him in the form of Helen of Sparta, had not been particularly remiss in arranging a meeting.

“You’ve been boasting about it long enough,” said one of his brothers, throwing a date at him, which Paris caught with a lazy, panther-like movement. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

So it was that Paris set out from Troy, a few days later, on one of their great ships. Ahead of him was a faster boat, which would bring news to those savage, pale-skinned Greeks, that a great Prince of Troy was coming to visit them on diplomatic relations, to discuss trade routes, and some minor skirmishes between warring factions of cattle raiders in the islands. He had supervised the loading of the ship himself: beautiful, highly-bred horses broken by his brothers; silks from the furthest  East; golden tripods; carved cups; jewelled swords; ox-hide shields; and a glittering diadem. That he kept in a box in his cabin.

Having never before been on a boat, Paris spent most of the journey below decks, clutching his stomach and behaving in a rather un-princely fashion. So it was much to his relief that eventually they reached the shores of Greece. They had to make a long journey overland, and as they processed the villagers and farmers lined the roads and watched them. These found the Trojans  amusing - particularly as Paris travelled on horseback, with two men on either side of him carrying a tent to protect him from the sun.

Eventually, Paris’s chief scout came galloping back, breathless with news. “We are here, my prince. The palace of the Spartans is around the next bend of the road.” Paris took a last swig of his favourite wine, and then, as they rounded the curve, almost spluttered with laughter.

There were some small, shabby buildings, and a big stone house. “That is the palace of the King of the Spartans?” he scoffed.

“It is, prince,” said the scout.

And Paris, felt that he would easily be able to persuade Helen to come with him, away from this shabby, grotty place, where pigs troughed outside the palace gates, and chickens scuttled in and out of doors.

A man came out. He was squat, and ugly, and wearing a kind of tunic, and no adornments whatsoever. Paris assumed he was a slave, and stared down at him loftily.

The man glared back at Paris in an impudent way. “I, King Menelaus of Sparta, welcome, you Prince Paris to my palace. Please, come in and eat.” The ways of guest friendship were important, and so the Trojans were led in, settled, and fed, before any questions were asked.

Paris could hardly contain his disdain. This was King Menelaus - a poor chieftain, scrabbling around with some ill-kempt soldiers? Why, the man even poured his own drinks! As one of Paris’s slaves filled up his horn, a group of women, veiled and quiet, entered the room, and one of them took her place by the side of Menelaus. The boor did not even turn to look at her.

We have been thinking about causes, and about consequences. And there is another cause of the Trojan War, which took the form of an egg. Zeus, the father of all, had fallen in love with the mortal Leda, and had come to her in the shape of a swan. Leda later, in what we can only imagine must have been quite a surprising fashion, gave birth to two eggs. Out of one came the demi-gods, Castor and Pollux; and out of the other hatched two mortal sisters, Helen and Clytemnestra.

Helen had not wanted to marry Menelaus; she was won, in a contest, and he treated her as if she were another of his many prizes. It was true that she did not like this palace, and she did not like the Spartan men; and as she wove, endlessly, in the shady halls, she found that she sought for new things to show in her weaving, and her eyes were beginning to grow dull. 

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But when she took her veil off, and Paris caught her eye, she did not see a means of escape. She saw a foppish, luxurious youth with oiled hair, whose scent thickened the air, and who also seemed to have coloured his eyes like a woman. To Helen, Paris was a sign: that there was another world, another way. He seemed to bring new life into that dull hall, and when the Trojan women that he’d brought began their dances, she clapped her hands, and her eyes lit up as they had not done for many months.

Paris stayed a week; and then another. He told her the names of the stars in his language. He showed her how to make the oils that made his hair shine. He wore his finest armour for her. He shot birds out of the sky with his arrows. Menelaus, who was generally busy, did not notice that his wife was beginning to change, and that sometimes she smiled.

Many historians and mythographers blame Helen for the Trojan War. Some say she was seduced; some say she was taken by force. We cannot, of course, ever know. We do know that one night Paris went to his chest, brought out the diadem, which had been made for a queen of Troy, knelt to Helen, and gave it to her. We know that he trained a monkey to bring her nuts. We know that on the night that they left she had sipped from the craters of wine, and so had he. We know that they slipped away in the shadows, with only a couple of Helen's maids, and if Helen, once they had got onto the ship, and were sailing away from Troy into a future filled with bronze and iron, noticed that Paris was a little bit spoilt, and complained when things were not to his liking, and did not seem all that keen on being brave, we do not know if her mind began to change, and if she started to long once more for her boorish but solid husband.

We do know, of course, that she saw a story, and the shape of it; and that when she sat down to weave again, it was her own figure that began. And from Olympus, Aphrodite, who had been enjoying a new kind of lotion, remembered Helen, looked down to earth, and sent a dove to sit on her shoulder.

NEXT WEEK: WAR BEGINS

Read Part 3 Here.

Read Part 2 here.

Read Part 1 here.

THE FALL OF TROY: Part 1

The Wedding of Peleus and Thetis by Cornelius van Haarlem

The fall of Troy is one of the most important events in myth and history. Its causes and consequences ripple backwards and forwards through time and space. You could draw a line from pretty much any character in Greek myth and find a connection towards someone who had fought and died in that war.

I have always been interested in connections and causes: and in the following weeks I will be exploring the main events that led up to the Trojan War.

You could say, then, that it began with an apple. A golden apple, thrown down onto the grass during the wedding of the sea-goddess Thetis, and her mortal husband, Peleus. Thetis had not wanted to marry Peleus: but he had grappled with her as she changed forms, like Proteus, from snake to fire and back again; and so the gods were called, and the wedding celebrations began.

But in the bustle of preparations - one could not say, necessarily, that they were happy -  Peleus and Thetis  forgot to invite one god. The original wicked fairy, Eris, the goddess of strife, was passed over. The gods, careless, feasted and drank, and gods can feast and drink with the best of them. One guest - a young nymph, perhaps, yawning as she longed for her bed, unable to leave before her divine mistress decided it was time to go - picked up something pretty and golden that had rolled towards her feet.

It was an apple, gleaming and golden, and on it were inscribed the words: “To the most beautiful.”

Goddesses are not known for their modesty. Dignities will be stood upon, privileges invoked. The minor goddesses and nymphs bowed out of the way, as, flashing to the fore, the queen of the goddesses herself stood forwards. Two peacocks pecked at her feet; a diadem flashed upon her forehead; proud and haughty she did not even have to glance at her husband Zeus, the king of the gods, as she knew that he would give the apple to her.

But her husband hesitated. And what was this - Aphrodite, the goddess of love, in a dress embroidered with dolphins, long hair falling down her white arms, was looking as if she might have an interest in the matter. And even Athene - so dear to Zeus’s heart, having sprung out of his own head - was adjusting her helmet and looking at herself in the reflected sheen of her warrior’s shield. Concealed behind a nearby tree, Eris watched all, and laughed. She had picked the apple herself, and had inscribed those fatal words with her long fingernails. She lazily picked up a grape from a bunch held by an attendant, and strolled off, delighted with the conflict she had caused.

Zeus, looking at his wife, his daughter and the primal goddess of love, could not bear to be the judge. Choosing between these three mighty goddesses would bring untold strife to the calm mansions of Olympos. Zeus was not a god who enjoyed conflict, and, although he was not necessarily known for his tact, did tend to spend rather a lot of time mopping up after his own mistakes. Sighing - because he, after all, knew what was going to happen, even if nobody else did - he decreed that a mortal man would be found who would be arbiter; and he, Zeus, would wash his hands of it, and go back to enjoying his wine with Ganymede.

Laughter began again in the wedding, and the guests returned to their carousing, glad that the strife had been put off - for now. Peleus and Thetis were joined in marriage beneath the leaves of a broad oak; and the Fates, who were attendant in their white robes, spinning, whispered of the son that would be born to them: the mightiest warrior of all the Greeks: Achilles. The three goddesses retired; and plotted.

NEXT WEEK: The Judgement of Paris

THE ARROW OF APOLLO is a novel that takes place after the fall of Troy. Have a look at the funding page on Unbound here.