‘I will do so,’ said Lamus.
They left the next day, and the Chnandeparted with them. And thus the wait began. Myrsilus raided a village in the mountains and carried off some fine horses. He assembled the king’s war chariot, greased the hubs and fixed the shaft on to the wagon. He shined every decoration until they gleamed like they once had. He chose the two proudest stallions and had them run every day from dawn to dusk along the shores of the river. He accustomed them to the harness and reins and trained them well in every manoeuvre. They were very different from Asian horses, and from Argive horses as well. They were tall and slender, not as fast, perhaps, but more powerful, with a fiery temper. Diomedes spent most of his time alone and took little interest in the training; the great effort that Myrsilus was making to provide him with a chariot worthy of a king, worthy of a hero, a chariot that would raise his fame to the skies, seemed not to matter at all to the king.
This was not true; Diomedes kept to himself in order to gather his strength and concentrate all the power of his spirit. He was preparing for the encounter by distilling every last drop of his life energy. Myrsilus feared that the king would take his own life if Aeneas were not to accept his challenge.
One evening towards dusk, Myrsilus saw Lamus and the Chnanriding towards camp on an ass. He raced to meet them.
‘Did you see him? Has he accepted?’
The Chnanhalted the ass and slipped to the ground. Lamus said: ‘Yes, I saw him. He accepts. Take me to the king.’
Diomedes received him in his tent. He was pale, but his eyes shone with a feverish light. He did not move. He asked nothing. He waited for Lamus to speak.
‘Aeneas accepts the challenge. He will come on the first day of the new moon. Alone, except for his charioteer. You too must use your chariot alone. You will fight as you did in Ilium. Three javelins from the chariot and then, if you survive, on the ground with a spear, a sword and an axe. No respite. A duel to the death. These are the conditions I accepted in your name.’
Diomedes’s face lit up as though life once again flowed through his veins. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I thank you. If I win, if I finally found my city. .’
The Chnaninterrupted. ‘That’s not all. The Latfear him. At least a part of them, while others would be willing to accept him. When they learned of this challenge, they gave me a message for you. They ask you to join forces with all your warriors, to drive the Trojans into the sea. The Tereshare divided as well. Some of them are on the Trojans’ side and are ready to form an alliance in the name of their common Asian origin, but others want Aeneas, and all his people, dead.’
The king looked at him in surprise: ‘How did you discover all of these things?’
‘I can understand the Tereshwell enough, and they understand the Lat. That’s all. What is your decision?’
‘No,’ said the king. ‘I will not drag my men into a war against the Trojans. They have already fought against them once, and it was a cursed war. It brought nothing but grief and endless pain.’
The Chnanshook his head: ‘I’ve yet to hear of a war that wasn’t cursed, that did not bring grief and endless pain.’
‘This is the war they have experienced; they have seen that the victors have suffered as much as, if not more than, the vanquished. With what spirit could they face another war against the same people? No. Tell the Latthat I will not make war at their side. Tell them, if you want, that we have already fought a long war that brought us every kind of misfortune. I will combat Aeneas alone. If I win, you will return to them and negotiate new conditions. From a stronger position. Perhaps this beautiful plain will soon be ours. Perhaps the day in which I will build my city is nearing.’
The Chnansmiled: ‘This land has much changed you, since I have known you. It is harsh and primitive and forgives nothing. It has made you lose your world, a little at a time. You’ve lost pieces on the road, in the swamps, on the mountains, in the valleys and the forests, as your comrades fell, when your immortal horses were devoured by the wolves. Perhaps it would have soon stripped you of everything. No longer a king, or a hero. Only a man. Like me.’
‘And that is a good thing?’
‘I don’t know. But it would certainly be the truth. Your truth. When someone has the truth in front of him, he knows what to do. If he likes it, he continues on his road. If he doesn’t, he kills himself. But now this Aeneas has ruined everything. He has pushed you back, revived the old ghosts. Now you have fooled yourself into thinking that nothing has changed. You prepare for a duel as if you were under the walls of Ilium. Even if you win, nothing will change. This land is made of hundreds of peoples, speaking many different languages, coming from no one knows where. .’
Diomedes fell silent, thinking of the Chnan’s words. They seemed right. They seemed true even though they were so terribly simple. But was it all really so simple? So simple to live, or to die?
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘And yet a particular vital force burns in some of them more than in others, and the others are slowly attracted to them like lamplight attracts moths. Like a small seed becomes a great tree, perhaps one day a new nation will grow here.’
He rose to his feet and went to the entrance of the tent, contemplating the green expanse at his feet which extended like a precious carpet under the golden light of the setting sun. ‘Look,’ he said then, ‘another day has passed in the land of Hesperia, but it has not passed in vain. Many seeds have fallen here, carried by the wind of fate. Some will grow roots, others will dry up and die. And tomorrow this land will be different than it is today. Something is born, something dies, but each thing must be true to itself. An oak seed cannot generate a rush, nor can an eagle give birth to a crow. I am Diomedes, son of Tydeus, destroyer of cities. Even if I were stripped of everything, I would still carry my world inside of me, whether right or wrong. I will combat so that my world may live. If I die, it will mean that my death was meant to happen. This is what the Land of Evening has taught me.’ The Chnanlowered his head and did not speak.
The next day, Diomedes summoned Myrsilus and said: ‘There are only four days to the new moon. Where are my arms?’
‘But wanax,’ said Myrsilus, astonished, ‘I have been doing nothing but taming your horses and preparing your chariot and you have never said a word to me. Your weapons will be ready very soon, if this is what you want.’
The king lay his hands on Myrsilus’s shoulders: ‘This is what I want. They must sparkle on the day of the duel like the day they were crafted.’
‘They will gleam, wanax. They will be ablaze like the noonday sun. You will look awesome and invincible, like that day a goddess took the reins of your chariot against the god of war before the Scaean Gates.’
Myrsilus took the king’s armour from his tent, the embossed greaves and breastplate, the shield and the helmet, adorned by a horsehair crest. He ordered a slave to shine them, to remove the patina that darkened them. He himself took a long ashwood stick from the forest; he removed the branches and the bark, polished it with a pumice stone, and shod it with the heavy, solid bronze head. He weighed it in his hand until it was perfect, and then fitted on the bronze socket at exactly the right point. He then took the baldric which was remarkably crafted in gold, enamel and silver and he cleaned it with his own hands, making it gleam. It had once belonged to Tydeus, when he fought under the walls of Thebes. Last of all, he took the great sword of solid bronze; he sharpened it with a whetstone, tested the long edge and the sharp tip and greased it with pork fat melted over the fire, until he saw it shine. The king had used it only once, when he had fought Nemro; never since had he found a worthy adversary.