Finding Ithaka Read online

  Contents

  Author’s note

  Playlist

  Maps and Genealogy

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Telegony

  Ithaki by Konstantine Kavafy

  Ithaka (English Translation)

  Glossary

  Selected Bibliography

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Finding Ithaka

  Anna Harvey

  Copyright © Anna Harvey 2020

  The right of Anna Harvey to be identified as the author of this work is asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any other form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design © More Visual Ltd UK

  Dedicated to the memories of Rob Godfrey who encouraged me to set out on my writing journey

  and Nick Petrartos for showing how to live life with humour, resilience and resourcefulness.

  “We are all creatures of each other”

  Adapted from Tom Main (1975)

  Author’s note

  Greek names:

  Where possible, the original Greek spellings have been retained throughout the story. Consequently well-known characters or place names may be less familiar to the reader than the common English forms derived from Latin. In particular the Greek letter k is commonly replaced by the Latin c (there is no c in the Greek alphabet). An example of this is the spelling of Klytaimnestra instead of the traditional English version of Clytemnestra. In addition, Greek words typically ending in -os often became Latinised by adding the suffix -us in Latin i.e. Menelaus for Menelaos with some notable exceptions, most notably the name Odysseus which is written in Ancient Greek in this form.

  In Modern Greek, there is a huge controversy and numerous ways of spelling the name of the Ionian island Kefalonia. Here the latter form is adopted as the modern contemporary spelling, but the ancient part of the story retains the original spellings from Homer of Kephallenia and Kephallenians for the people who lived across the island kingdom, the descendants of the hero founder Kephalos.

  Natural Phenomena:

  In Ancient Greece, natural phenomena such as the winds, rivers and dawn were traditionally perceived as divine entities in their own right. Similarly geological features like caverns or grottoes were often believed to be inhabited by semi-divine creatures or local deities such as water nymphs or sea spirits. This also extends to ancient explanations and understanding of civil states such as Strife, Peace and War. Internal psychological or mental states, such as having an idea or experiencing a particular emotion, also would be perceived more readily as stemming from the direct action or influence of a higher deity. In keeping with this tradition, the novel adopts a similar practice and denotes such phenomena by the use of the proper name in italics, for example Hope, Dawn and Sleep.

  The Playlist

  As music played a key role in the creation and envisioning of the story, a playlist is included to accompany the reader through their journey. Each chapter has a soundtrack, but the lyrics should not be taken literally (especially concerning Bronze Age Greece), but rather used to evoke a particular feeling or sentiment linked to that juncture in the story. It is hoped that the playlist enhances and enriches your experience and enjoyment of the story, but this is for you the reader to decide and a matter of personal choice.

  Finally although this book is a work of fiction, the details concerning the conceivable location of Odysseus’ palace are based on authentic historical and archaeological research. Any names, characters and incidents are however the product of my, the author’s, imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Anna Harvey

  Leeds

  2020

  Playlist

  1. Beginnings – The In Between Days (The Cure)

  2. The Return – Adventure of a Lifetime (Sarah Menescal)

  3. Troy – Your Move (Yes)

  4. Goatherds and Penegyri – Beautiful Day (U2)

  5. Quarrel – Running Up That Hill (Kate Bush)

  6. Books – Oxford Comma (Vampire Weekend)

  7. T he Fall of Troy -The Dog Days Are Over (Florence and the Machine)

  8. Vrechei – Rain (Mika)

  9. Xenia – Heart of the Sunrise (Yes)

  10. Hospitality – Will You Love Me Tomorrow? (Carole King)

  11. TheWitch – I Hear You Now (Jon and Vangelis)

  12. Courtship – There’s Too Much Love (Belle and Sebastian)

  13. Departures – The Rhythm Changes (Kamasi Washington featuring Patrice Quinn)

  14. Reunion – Sweet Disposition (Temper Trap)

  15. Feasting –Wonderous Stories (Yes)

  16. Pascha – Heart’s on Fire (Bronwynne Brent)

  17. Home-coming – Land of Confusion (Genesis)

  18. Revelations – When You Said Goodbye (Bronwynne Brent)

  19. Restitution - Can’t Turn Back The Years (Phil Collins)

  20. Rejection –Feelin’ Good (Kaz Hawkins)

  21. Apollo’s Feast – So Long Ago, So Clear (Jon and Vangelis)

  22. Discovery – Can We Still Be Friends (Robert Palmer)

  23. Ending and Beginnings – I’ll Find My Way Home (Jon and Vangelis)

  24. Telegony – A Sky Full of Stars (The Cooltrane Quartet)

  Maps and Genealogy

  The Mykenaian World

  Prologue

  The Shadow of the Plane Tree

  A sweat broke out across his forehead and dripped into his eyes as he wielded the sword high above his head. The battle was only half begun but already he had slaughtered an army of enemies who threatened the island kingdom. Now he wearied as Helios beat down on his body with full heat. If only he could slake his thirst, but he could not quit the field while the fight was still raging.

  “Die you dog!” he cried as he swung the blade into the air with all the strength his limbs could muster. He pulled his weapon up sharp so his enemy would not get the better of him.

  “Odysseus!”

  At the call of his name, he glanced across taking his eye off the prize. But his father beckoned him with a commanding wave he dared not disobey. Odysseus put aside his child’s game and re-sheathed the play weapon, running across the dusty palace yard. His father was seated beneath the broad leafy plane tree in the coolness of the shade.

  “Come sit with me,” said his father, patting the stool beside him, a smile playing on his lips at the boyish spectacle. As he climbed onto the wooden perch, his father handed him a cupful of water, which he greedily swallowed down. He waited expectantly, his eyes mesmerised by the gold foil of his father’s robes
. He looked up and noticed the heavy expression his father wore and how the burden of kingship weighed heavily on him. At last his father, King Laertes spoke.

  “I think the time draws near to find you a teacher who can instruct you in becoming a warrior, now you are nine summers old and not far from manhood. Perhaps your grandfather Autolykos, who knows all wiles as well as fighting skills, can teach you his crafts.” His father threw his head back, breaking into a laugh. “Yes, he is an astute fellow, full of invention and resourcefulness. He would teach you well.”

  His father’s eyes now misted up with tears, as he studied his son. “One day this kingdom will be yours,” he said, his hand pointing to the distant horizons. “These islands of the Kephallenians: Same, Zakynthos, Doulichion, the mainland estates and Ithaka itself. You will be a great warrior following your forebears, bringing kleos to myself and your family.” And Odysseus’ youthful eyes gazed out beyond the stone ramparts where the land dropped away and the town dwellings huddled to the slopes, across the gulf to the island of Same with towering Mount Neriton and south to purple-misted Zakynthos.

  “And I will be proud to call you my son,” his father continued, “the only offspring of King Laertes. It is for the reason of kleos for his service in war, that your paternal grandfather was granted these wheat-yielding lands, the fine acres of orchards, and all the fruit-bearing vine and olive groves you see before us. For it is through individual heroic deeds on the battlefield, that a warrior gains much in wealth and possessions and is honoured above the rest.”

  Odysseus craned his neck around until his eyes rested upon the palace itself, with its straight undeviating walls, looming over them and dominating the skyline. Its four-sided block was perfectly shaped with rows of high-set windows cut square into the walls, their frames brightly painted with blood-red ochre. At its entrance, a row of columns stood upright like bow-legged sentries, guarding admission to the great audience chamber and the inner reaches beyond. In the distance, he noticed gathering clouds that cast a looming shadow over the mountainous island kingdom.

  “Honour,” continued his father gravely, “is the highest virtue of the warrior. And if you follow this code dutifully, your fame will live beyond your mortal years, should the gods see fit to countenance this. But all is in vain, if the warrior cannot prove himself worthy and is not prepared on the battlefield to spend blood or life to meet his obligations. “

  Despite his tender years he listened, grasping the role he was assigned to play from birth: the future leader of the Kephallenians. As he surveyed all he saw before him, he committed his father’s words into his heart.

  “Have no fear, father. I will do my duty.”

  Chapter 1

  Beginnings

  He gazed out across the bay, as the east Euros wind buffeted his body. The waves deafened against the shore, whipped up into a white foaming frenzy, without any sign of stilling. In the distance grey storm clouds had gathered. He paced restlessly as he surveyed the scene, feeling a tightness grip his chest. The thought struck him that he could be enjoying the comforts of family life on Ithaka instead of shivering on this beach forsaken by the gods. This place was Aulis, where Agamemnon, their overlord, had chosen to muster the Greek forces for war.

  For thirty days, they had been trapped in this accursed spot. The winds blew this unfavourable easterly gale, hemming in the fleet and refusing to grant them passage across the sea to the Troy. He pulled his himation closer to him. Across from the headland loomed the deep back-bone of the island of Euboea, which sheltered them from the worst of the tempest. Before him was assembled the fleet of Greek ships, their dark-pitched hulks hauled upon the strand as protection against the crashing waves. From his position, he could see the blue smoking campfires below and the billowing tents pounded by the Wind. With the delay, day by day the men had grown restless and edgy, as if sensing this mission was ill-conceived.

  He looked around him again and at the distant headland. It was a strange setting for a wedding, he thought to himself grimly. At least the arrival of the bridal party two nights before had brought cheer to the camp. The excited chatter and laughter of female voices had lightened the throng of male warriors and relieved the endless wait. Perhaps a marriage ceremony was indeed what was needed to lift the gloomy spirits in the Greek encampment.

  “Odysseus!” At the call of his name, he turned to discover one of Agamemnon’s men had been sent to fetch him. “It is time,” the man panted. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, perplexed why their overlord, the great Anax, had gone to the trouble of having him summoned.

  Without questioning, he followed the man back down the steep cliff path to where the gathering had assembled. At his approach, the troops parted in waves for him to join the Greek leaders waiting at the altar. Odysseus took his place towards the end of the line, as befitted his status as the leader of a small island kingdom.

  “Surely you would not have missed this spectacle,” quipped Ajax, son of Oileus, through hooded eyelids, a mocking smile playing on his lips. Holding his head high, Odysseus chose not to answer. Rumours abounded amongst the troops about how he had tried to escape Agamemnon’s call to arms and been a reluctant combatant in this venture.

  Odysseus’ eyes fell on his own men, able-bodied warriors he had recruited from across the island kingdom standing proud within the gathered throng. He knew their faces and could call each by name. There were some older veteran faces within the troop, but most were like himself, men newlywed or young fathers to infant children. It struck him again how their numbers were small amongst the assembled forces. He smiled inwardly to himself, remembering how he had not pushed any man who held back, suspecting a bloody long drawn out conflict. Rather he had allowed any who willed it to carry on with their trades of Peace, tending their fields and animal herds. He had not outwardly defied Agamemnon, but when he had presented to Aulis with his twelve ships, he Odysseus suspected the Anax deep down had known his resistance.

  And now Agamemnon, overlord of all the Greeks, took his place. As customary, Menelaos stood at his side, the younger of the two brothers from the house of Atreus. It was for his sake, Agamemnon had rallied a Greek force to right the wrong and humiliation inflicted by a Trojan guest for stealing his brother’s wife Helen.

  From close quarters, Odysseus took time to study Agamemnon himself. He was tall-boned and fine featured in appearance that often was pleasing to women, unlike his own diminished stature and ruddy complexion. As the father of the bride, the Anax had taken extra care in his dress, wearing his kingly robes festooned in famed Mykenaian gold. But he noticed Agamemnon’s grim face and tightly clenched jaw, more fitting for a funeral pyre than a marriage celebration. The wedding procession interrupted his thoughts as just then the wedding chorus struck up and the sweet sounds of feminine singing filled the air.

  The procession began as the female attendants advanced through the male throng scattering, at their feet, herbs gathered from the hill slopes. And then finally the bride, Iphigeneia herself, radiant and finely dressed, her hair braided, with a row of neat curls framing her face. Though tightly pinched at the midriff to reveal her slender waist, her fine tunic scarcely showed the mounds of her breasts. At her approach, the Euros wind buffeted her progress, clutching and tugging at her robes as if trying to pull her back. Odysseus could see Iphigeneia shiver as the caress of the breeze chilled her body. But despite the squalls and the long dusty journey from her home city of Mykenai, the bride appeared in full bloom unfolding like a flower. From the pink flush on her cheeks, he imagined the excited wedding preparations for the day. Her mother Klytaimnestra would have eagerly gathered together the finest clothes and jewellery for her daughter’s dowry and offered her instruction as a new bride. At last the maiden procession reached the altar and the young bride took her place at her father’s side.

  The priest started to mumble the words of an incantation, pouring a libation into a cup and raising it high towards the heavens. He was a strange fellow, wild-eyed and z
ealous, who Agamemnon himself had summoned from the city of Megara less than one moon ago. Even the men avoided the priest’s gaze and shrank back at his approach.

  Now Odysseus’ eyes darted around the amassed crowd, suddenly wondering which warrior was to be honoured as the son-in-law to the great Anax: for the choice had been kept secret. Without warning, a tightness weighed his chest and in his throat he could taste sour bile. He searched around wildly, trying to discover the reason for the dread that gripped him. Only then did he glimpse the flash of burnished metal. The look of joy on Iphigeneia’s face had frozen with horror, as the priest plunged the knife into her chest. There were screams and the sickly sound of metal cracking bone. In her betrayal, the maid took faltering steps, her eyes reaching desperately for her father who looked on like hardened stone.

  Instinctively Odysseus stepped forward, his sword arm flecked and moving towards his sheath to draw his weapon. Hastily his eyes fell on his men amongst the ranks, reckoning up their numbers. But the pressure of a restraining hand stopped him.

  “Know your place or you might be next.” The words were softly spoken, but the grip on his hand was flint-like. Nestor, the old king, bowed his head in warning. Odysseus swallowed his outrage and stepped back in line, glowering at Agamemnon and the priest.

  He forced himself to stay motionless, remembering his father’s words and not wishing to bring dishonour to his family’s house. He lifted his eyes to witness Iphigeneia’s body now collapsed and limp held upright in her father’s arms, the fine wedding garments fouled with blood as her spirit descended to the underworld. But a heaviness weighed down upon his breast and he could barely lift his head to meet the eyes of his men in the throng.

  The fire raged for the full afternoon, stoked by the firewood piled beneath the corpse and the fury of the Euros wind. Holed up in his tent, trying to shake the image from his mind, he had seen plumes of grey smoke billowing upwards. Even then, the smell of death and burning flesh lingered over the camp, the bitter taste sticking in his throat.