Andromache, Gilbert Murray [short books for teens .TXT] 📗

understood.

Molossus.

What did it say, mother?

Andromache.

It spoke in a language that you know not, my son.

Molossus.

Did it speak Phrygian?

Andromache.

It spoke the language of old, old men, and those whose gods have deserted them.

[Orestes moves forward as though to speak, but checks himself.

Molossus.

But you could tell me what it said.

Andromache.

[Looking at him, and not answering.]  Why did you ever wish to kill that herd-boy?

Molossus.

We had taken their cattle before. They always fight us.

Andromache.

Would it not be better that they should live at peace with you?

Molossus.

Why should I fear their blood-feud? I would sooner be slain than ask favours of them. My father would avenge me well!

Andromache.

And who will be the happier? Listen. Can you hear that little beating sound—down seaward, away from the sun?

Molossus.

It is the water lapping against the rocks.

Andromache.

There is a sound like that in the language I told you of. Old, old men, and those whose gods have deserted them, hear it in their hearts—the sound of all the blood that men have spilt and the tears they have shed, lapping against great rocks, in shadow, away from the sun.

Molossus.

But, mother, no warrior hears any sound like that.

Andromache.

Hector learnt to hear it before he died.

Orestes.

[Coming forward.]  Before he died! Is that its meaning?

Andromache.

The stranger!  [Turning.

Orestes.

Does it mean death, that sound?

Andromache.

Nay, methinks a man hears it when he has suffered enough, if he has the right ear to hear it.

Orestes.

But it is then that death should come, when a man has suffered enough.

Andromache.

Nay, death should not come for suffering. Death should come when there is no hope left for any one thing in the world.

Orestes.

[Broodingly.]  One thing!

Molossus.

But, Mother, they called Hector "Slayer of Men." I want first to slay many, many men, and many wild beasts, and burn a town, that people may fear me, and call me "Slayer of Men." And after that—after that, I will be merciful, and slay only those I hate.

Andromache.

Shall you hate men still?

Molossus.

If they wrong me!  [Andromache smiles.]  Shall I not hate them that wrong me? Do you not yourself?

Andromache.

Light of my age, if I hated, how should I live? There are three living souls that I love—you and your father and old Alcimus. And if I hated, whom should I hate more bitterly?

Molossus.

I know my father was your enemy once. But what did old Alcimus?

Andromache.

He was one of the three who slew my little child.

Molossus.

Astyanax?  [She nods.]  I wish Astyanax were alive, mother. I would take him hunting.—He would have no share, would he, in my heritage?

Andromache.

I know nothing of that.

Molossus.

And did you never hate them—not at the time?

Andromache.

[Looking at him, then passing her hand across her face.]  Oh yes, I hated them!

Molossus.

But not me! I never did much harm to you.

Andromache.

Some day perhaps you will hurt me worse than any of them; but I shall not hate you.

Molossus.

[After a pause, handling the objects in the bowl.]  Well, I give you my oath this time, Mother; but I will not atone for my next slaying.

Enter Alcimedon and Attendants.

Alcimedon.

The bull is finished, and a fine beast he was. [Seeing the bowl.]  What is this?

Molossus.

[Shamefaced.]  Nothing. Some pieces of mother's old stores.

Andromache.

The price for the blood of the herd-boy.

Molossus.

She made me vow it!

Alcimedon.

The atonement? That is right. I feared that Pyrrhus would be too proud to pay it.

Molossus.

You need not think that I wanted him to pay it!

Alcimedon.

H'm! That was how I talked once, before I knew what a blood-feud was. And now I would pay a dead man's weight in silver to be clear of one. Of course, with a stranger it is different, or a man who has no kin. [Examining the stores.]  No need to pay too much, though. It was a little boy, they tell me, and poorly clad.

Molossus.

[Almost crying.]  He was a big boy!—I hate the Napæans, and I will slay more of them!

Alcimedon.

There are the oxen as well. We have killed two; but sorry beasts, both, sorry beasts. Any two calves will more than make up for them.

Molossus.

But I hate them!

Alcimedon.

Hate them your fill; but make up the feud: we must not have Pyrrhus left childless.

Molossus.

What is it to me if Pyrrhus is childless? He can avenge his children.

Alcimedon.

Peace is better.

Molossus.

[Contemptuously.]  Peace!

Orestes.

And what is the road to peace? The hate must eat itself out, till it stays for weariness.

Alcimedon.

A long road, stranger, too long and too rough to the feet. We want peace now!

Orestes.

How can you get peace now, when the blood is still wet? He may give all his silver and his kine, but he will hate the men whose blood he has drunk; and though they swear by all the gods of their valley, they will hate him. And hate will out, in time, one way or another.

Molossus.

If ever they swerve a hair's breadth from their oaths——

Alcimedon.

And is there to be no peace at all?

Orestes.

Peace for this one—[touching Molossus]—when Pyrrhus is childless, or when——

Alcimedon.

Your words on your own head!

Orestes.

——when the last of the Napæans has gone from the earth.

Andromache.

Nay; no peace then.

Orestes.

Not for the dead?

Andromache.

Do not men see the dead roaming the world, and hear them call for blood?

Orestes.

[Excitedly.]  How know you, woman, that the Dead call for blood? [Gloomily again.]  When the whole of a race is gone there may perhaps be peace.

Andromache.

But the whole of a race is never gone. Even from Troy there are men escaped who may make cities and seek for vengeance again. And if you blot out all the Napæans, there are those beyond the Napæans who will hate you for that very thing. Make peace, swiftly, before you die, my son, lest there be no peace for ever and ever.

Enter Hermione, with Priest of Thetis and Attendants; she is richly dressed, and her eyes bright and anxious. She passes up to the two high seats, and takes one. She talks with her Maids, and Alcimedon goes over to her.

Orestes.

[Detaching another pendant from his chain.]  Woman, you can see men's hearts, and you talk not as these talk. Behold, there is no peace, for peace is nothing; there is either Love or Hate. [Throwing pendant into the bowl.]  If gold can buy love where hate is, put that to the blood-gift!

Hermione.

[To Orestes, across the hall.]  Sir Stranger, this Priest tells me you are skilled as a bard.

Orestes.

I have little skill in music, but I have journeyed much.

Hermione.

You can tell us strange tales of your voyages?

Orestes.

Not of my own. But I was telling this boy a tale even now.

Hermione.

Nay, no boys' tales! Andromache, take your son and help with the ox flesh. [To Orestes.]  And sit not so far off, among the slaves' seats. Tell us some man's story.

Orestes.

[Approaching, but bringing Molossus with him, while Andromache goes out.]  Nay, I will keep the boy. It is a boy's tale, this, and of little meaning. But seeing I have begun—— [To Molossus.]  Have you heard of a man that once had a great feud—Orestes, Agamemnon's son?

Molossus.

Who slew his mother, and was driven by——

Priest.

Nay, name them not, child, name not those Holy Ones.

Alcimedon.

We love not his name in this house, stranger. Have you no other tale?

Hermione.

[Controlling her excitement.]  Nay, what hurt is his name? It is only some boy's tale.

Orestes.

He took on him a great feud, greater than he knew. For his father called from the dead for vengeance on the woman who had murdered him. And the gods called, too, and put voices always about him calling for blood. And then they betrayed him!

Molossus.

Did his father betray him, too?

Orestes.

Nay, it may be that the voice was not his father's, after all. But the gods——

Priest.

See that your tongue offend not, stranger!

Orestes.

So be it. Well, in the end he recked not of the gods. He cared not how sore they hated him, and cared not if he lived or died.

Molossus.

And what did he do?

Orestes.

This is the last story I heard of him, from a Chalcidian man who had been in Sicily.

Hermione.

Had he gone so far away?

Orestes.

Beyond the end of Sicily to a kingdom of the Iberians. For he vowed that he would be like Paris, and win the most beautiful of all women for his wife; for, you must know, the gods had marred all the world for him, and made it all as ashes in his mouth, except beauty. For beauty is immortal, like themselves; and they cannot hurt it. So he sought and questioned where that woman might be; and men said she was queen of a land among the Iberians.

Hermione.

[Half divining his meaning.]  Had he seen her himself?

Orestes.

Ay, long ago, they said.

Hermione.

And did he too deem her so fair?

Orestes.

[Looking full at her.]  More beautiful than the flowers and the sunlight, so that in dreams her eyes haunted him.

Molossus.

Well, and what did he do?

Orestes.

He took his ship, with a hundred men well armed, and hid them in a bay of Iberia. And he went up alone to the king's castle and saw the woman. For he was not sure if she was really so beautiful, and wanted to see her again very close. So he stayed in the king's house and made a plot to bear her away.

Molossus.

But what happened?

Orestes.

I said it was but a boy's story. The Chalcidian knew not what had happened. Some said he won the queen to his ship, and fled away, wandering; and some said she told the king of his plotting, and they slew him there in the banquet hall. [A slight pause.]  So perchance even Orestes has found his peace; or, perchance he is still an outcast man, with a new feud following him.

Molossus.

But I wish I knew.

Orestes.

Oh, 'tis a foolish story, without an ending.

Hermione.

[Breaking out from her suspense; recklessly.]  And a poor fool, your Orestes, whatever befell!

Orestes.

How so? What if he won the woman?

Hermione.

He only fled on the seas with her, an exiled man, with no comfort. Could he not get him a kingdom?

Orestes.

Belike he cared not for a little kingdom, being once robbed of his own great kingdom.

Hermione.

If a high seat is empty, shall not a great king's son be bold to sit on it? Were his men good soldiers of Mycenæ?

Orestes.

Some, of Mycenæ, who had sacked Troy; some, pirates he had got in his voyaging; all good fighters!

Hermione.

Could he not slay that Iberian in his halls, and sit upon his seat?

Alcimedon.

By Thetis! that would have been a gallant deed.

Priest.

Unrighteous, very unrighteous; but doubtless the Iberian would have sinned against some god!

Orestes.

The Iberians may be brave fighters; I know not. And he knew of none to help him.

Alcimedon.

A hundred good Phthians might have tried it.

Hermione.

The queen