L ONG L IVE THE K ING Oedipus stayed on in the royal palace of Thebes, an honoured guest. He had quickly proved himself invaluable to Creon. His grasp of the intricacies of commerce, taxation and governance astounded the older man. Jocasta, meanwhile, adored his company. They played games together, sang songs and composed poetry. One afternoon Oedipus approached Creon and asked if he might have a private word with him. ‘It’s your sister Jocasta,’ he said. ‘We’ve fallen in love. I know she is older than me, but –’ ‘My dear fellow!’ Creon grasped him warmly by the hand. ‘Do you think I’m blind? I saw from the first that there was something between you. Eros shot from his bow the moment you met. I couldn’t be happier. And Oedipus … if you are to marry the queen, why, you must be crowned king.’ ‘Sir, I wouldn’t for a moment wish to usurp your –’ ‘ “Usurp” poppycock. And no “sirs”, brother. A young king is just what the city needs. The people love you. You were sent by the gods, who can doubt it?’ And so, to widespread rejoicing, Oedipus married Jocasta and was crowned King of Thebes in a grand ceremony on the Cadmeia. The Thebans loved Oedipus. Aside from the great victory over the Sphinx, his arrival seemed to have brought the city luck. In the opinion of Creon and the council of Theban elders, their new king was strikingly modern. Oedipus rarely conferred with priests. He was negligent in his attendance at the temples on all but the most important holy days. He was almost blasphemous in his casual approach to prayer and sacrifice. But he was remarkably energetic, efficient and effective. He drew up mathematical tables and charts connected to everything from taxation to population, he instituted laws on household and palace management, on justice and on trade. The money from taxation and tariffs rolled in like never before, of which a proportion was expended on schools and gymnasia, asclepiafn13 and roads. Oedipus’s name for this radically new style of government was logarchy, ‘rule by reason’. Every Theban agreed that they had been ruled over by no wiser a king since the days of their great founder Cadmus. King Oedipus and Queen Jocasta had four children: two boys, ETEOCLES and POLYNICES, and two girls, ANTIGONE and ISMENE. It was a happy family. With the city continuing to prosper and flourish so that it became the envy of the Greek world, onlookers predicted a long and successful reign. And so it might have been, were it not for the outbreak of a terrible epidemic. Rumours were heard of a family struck down with a disease that had made them vomit and flame with fever for a day before dying. Soon the sickness was smouldering through the streets of the poorer quarter of the city; then it burned like a wildfire through all of Thebes. Scarcely a household was unaffected. The calm logic and reason that Oedipus espoused as the answer to all ills now looked insufficient. Frightened citizens crowded the temples and the air was soon filled with sacrificial smoke. Petitions reached the king, who turned to Creon. ‘I have to admit that I am stumped,’ said Oedipus. ‘I try to tell the people that plagues are part of the natural order of things, and will naturally pass in time, but they insist on believing they betoken some kind of divine punishment or cosmic retribution.’ ‘Let me travel to the Delphic oracle and see if it offers any advice,’ said Creon. ‘What harm can it do?’ Oedipus was sceptical, but he consented. While Creon was away, Oedipus and Jocasta’s own daughter Ismene fell ill and nearly died. She was still recovering when Creon returned, grim-faced. ‘Delphi was crowded,’ he said. ‘I queued up as an ordinary citizen. When my turn came at last I asked the Pythia one question, “Why is Thebes suffering from plague?” ’ ‘Not “How do we get rid of it?” ’ asked Oedipus. ‘It amounts to the same thing, surely?’ said Creon. ‘Anyway, this was the Pythia’s answer: “Thebes will be relieved when the murderer of King Laius is named and found.” ’ Jocasta gasped. ‘But that’s absurd. Laius was killed by a gang!’ Oedipus thought hard. ‘If it was a gang, one of them must have dealt the fatal blow. The truth can always be uncovered if you go about it systematically. But let me first say this. Make it known that whoever dares house or protect the killer of Laius will be punished. As for the killer himself – my curse is on him. He will wish he’d never been born. He will be identified, hunted down and justice served on him without mercy. I’ll see to it personally. So let it be proclaimed.’ ‘Very good,’ said Creon. ‘And there’s always Tiresias. All the way home, I was thinking “Why on earth didn’t we consult Tiresias?” ’ ‘Surely he can’t still be alive?’ Oedipus had heard of the great Theban seer. Everyone had. ‘He must be ancient.’ ‘He is not young, certainly, but he still has his wits. We can send for him.’ Messengers were despatched to Tiresias. Oedipus was curious to meet the prophet who had undergone so much at the hands of the gods. As a young man, Tiresias had aroused the wrath of Hera, who turned him into a woman. He served in her temple as a priestess for seven years before she restored him to male form. Then he had the misfortune to attract her ire again and this time she struck him blind. Out of pity Zeus gave him inner sight, the gift of prophecy.fn14 For generations his wisdom and prophetic powers had been at the service of the Theban royal house, but now he lived in secluded retirement. Tiresias was not pleased to be hauled to the palace in the middle of the night and summoned before a man a quarter of his age. The interview did not go well. Oedipus expected all the deference due to a king and especially to the great ruler and Sphinx-slayer who had transformed the fortunes of Thebes and its people. Instead he was treated with grumpy insolence. ‘I am blind,’ said Tiresias, leaning on his long staff. ‘But it is you who cannot see. Or perhaps you refuse to see. Those who curse are most accursed. Those who look out are those who most need to look in.’ ‘No doubt the unlettered and the credulous are fooled by your mystical drivel and portentous riddles,’ said Oedipus, ‘but I am not. Riddles just happen to be my speciality.’ ‘I am not talking in riddles,’ said Tiresias, fixing his blind eyes on a spot just above Oedipus’s head. ‘I speak clearly. You want to find the polluter of Thebes, then look in the mirror.’ Oedipus could get no more out of him and sent him back to his villa in the country. ‘And put him in the most uncomfortable cart you can find. Let his mad old bones have some sense shaken into them as he goes.’ ‘Damn such people,’ Oedipus said to Jocasta when he reported on the interview later. ‘The oracle at Delphi we know to be truthful. It is directed by Apollo and the ancient powers of Gaia herself, but this Tiresias is nothing but a fraud. Full of all that “You will not find the truth but the truth will find you”, “Seek not to know, but know to seek”, “You don’t make mistakes, mistakes make you”, rubbish. Anyone can do it, you just turn sentences upside down and inside out. Horse shit. Meaningless. He must think I’m an idiot.’ ‘Sh …’ said Jocasta, ‘take wine and calm yourself.’ ‘Ah,’ said Oedipus wagging his finger, closing his eyes and giving a fair imitation of Tiresias. ‘Take wine, but do not let wine take you.’ Jocasta laughed. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t set too much store even by the oracle at Delphi. It foretold that Laius would be killed by his son, not by a gang of robbers.’ ‘Yes, I meant to ask you again about the death of Laius,’ said Oedipus. ‘If he and his party were all killed, how can we find out anything about the gang responsible?’ ‘Oh, but they weren’t all killed. Antimedes, one of Laius’s servants, escaped. He ran back to Thebes to tell us what had happened.’ ‘And what exactly did he say?’ ‘He said it had been an ambush. There were more than a dozen of them, all armed with clubs and swords. They sprang out at a place where three roads met. They pulled Laius out of his chariot …’ Oedipus stared at her. ‘Say that again.’ ‘They pulled him out of his chariot –’ ‘No. Before that. “Where three roads met”?’ ‘So Antimedes said.’ ‘Where is this Antimedes now?’ ‘He lives near Ismenos, I think.’ ‘And he’s truthful?’ ‘My husband trusted him above all his servants.’ ‘He must be fetched.’ Oedipus was thinking furiously. An old man pulled from a chariot where three roads met. A coincidence, surely. After all, this Antimedes had described a murderous gang, bristling with weapons, not one unarmed young man. All the same, it was disturbing. He paced the palace grounds and waited for the arrival of Antimedes. The plague continued to claim dozens of lives a day. ‘I can’t solve this without more information,’ he said to himself. ‘Without fresh facts, the brain just churns round and round, like a wheel stuck in mud.’ The next morning Oedipus was sitting with Jocasta when a page came forward. ‘A messenger, sire.’ ‘News from Antimedes?’ ‘No, majesty, this man is from Corinth.’ ‘Can’t it wait?’ ‘He says it is urgent, sire.’ ‘Oh well, send him in.’ ‘Corinth,’ said Jocasta as the page withdrew. ‘Isn’t that where you grew up?’ ‘Yes. I haven’t thought about the place for years. Now, sir. What brings you here?’ A weather-beaten and sunburnt old man had entered and was bowing low. ‘Great majesty.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Oedipus, peering at him with some surprise. ‘You look exhausted.’ ‘I came by foot, sire.’ ‘I don’t know who chose you as a messenger, but it was unkind to send someone so past their prime of life on such a long journey. I hope you will stay with us and rest before returning.’ ‘You are considerate and kind, sire,’ said the messenger. ‘As for the journey, I myself begged to be the one chosen to come to you.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘I wanted to look with my own eyes on the face of the famous King Oedipus.’ Oedipus, never impervious to flattery, smiled. ‘As the queen will tell you, I’m just an ordinary man,’ he said. ‘Never that, my dear,’ said Jocasta. She smiled at the messenger. ‘Your news is urgent, we are told. Rest your legs and tell us.’ ‘I will stand, majesty,’ said the messenger, declining the offered stool, ‘for the news I bear is heavy. You father, sire, King Polybus …’ ‘What of him?’ ‘His life’s course is run.’ ‘Dead?’ ‘It must come to us all, sire. His life was long and filled with blessings.’ ‘How did he die?’ ‘In his bed, sire. Queen Merope held his hand as he breathed his last. He was well beyond his eightieth year. It was his time.’ ‘Ha!’ said Oedipus, clapping his hands. ‘So much for oracles. Don’t look shocked,’ he added quickly. ‘I am filled with sorrow to hear of the death of my father. He was a fine man and a wise king.’ Jocasta pressed his hand and murmured her sympathy. ‘May I hope, majesty,’ said the messenger, ‘that you will return to Corinth with me for the funeral ceremony? And that you will take up the throne? Queen Merope yearns for it.’ ‘How is my mother?’ ‘Full of grief for the loss of her husband, and for the loss of her son, too. The young man who walked out one day and never returned.’ ‘I have written to her many times,’ said Oedipus. ‘But there are deep and secret reasons why I may never set foot in Corinth again.’ ‘The people long for you, majesty.’ ‘Surely there is no reason why you cannot reign in Thebes and Corinth?’ said Jocasta. ‘Double kingdoms have been known. Look at Argolis. It would be a wonder and a glory for you to reign over two great cities.’ ‘Not while my mother is alive,’ said Oedipus. Jocasta’s look of puzzlement provoked an explanation. ‘Since we were talking earlier about oracles, you should know this. When I was young, I visited Delphi and was told that it was my destiny to kill my father and … share a bed with my mother. The part about killing my father is obviously untrue, but I cannot risk returning to Corinth and somehow fulfilling the second part of the prophecy. Can you imagine anything so vile?’ ‘But you are always telling me that reason is a greater guide to action than prophecy.’ ‘I know, I know, and reason tells me it’s all nonsense; but even if the probability of it coming true is unimaginably low, the crime itself is so unimaginably monstrous that it is worth doing anything to avoid it.’ ‘But sire, sire!’ The messenger astonished them both by jumping up and down, clapping his hands and beaming with joy. ‘Forgive me, but I have wonderful news that will relieve your mind. You are safe, quite safe from such a crime. For Merope is not your mother!’ ‘Not my mother?’ Oedipus stared. His mind rushed back to the drunken oaf whose jeers all those years ago had pricked him on his way to Delphi: ‘You’re no more a royal prince than I am … You were adopted, mate.’ ‘No, sire,’ said the messenger. ‘I can explain. Who better? There’s a good reason why I wanted to be the one to bring you news of King Polybus’s death, why I wanted to look upon your features. You see, I was the one who found you.’ ‘Who found me? Explain yourself.’ ‘My name is Straton, sire, and in earlier times I was a herdsman. Many years ago I was visiting Phorbas, a shepherd I knew who tended flocks on Mount Cithaeron, on the border with Attica. One afternoon Phorbas happened on a terrible sight. A baby left on the mountain to die.’ Jocasta gave a moan. ‘Aye, majesty. Well you might cry out. For this poor child had been staked to the hillside. Shackled. Pierced through the ankles …’ Jocasta clutched at her husband’s arm. ‘Don’t listen to this, Oedipus. Don’t listen! Go away, sir. Leave us. This story is nothing. How dare you tell such disgusting lies?’ Oedipus pushed Jocasta away. ‘Are you mad? It’s what I’ve waited all my life to know. Go on …’ Jocasta, with a wild cry, ran from the room. Oedipus paid no attention, but grabbed Straton by his tunic. ‘This baby, what happened to it?’ ‘Phorbas gave him to me to look after. When it was time for me to return to Corinth, I took him with me. King Polybus and Queen Merope heard about it and asked that they might have him. I gladly gave him … you …’ ‘Me? That baby was me?’ ‘None other, sire. The gods put you into my hands and guided you to Corinth. The wounds on your ankles healed and you grew up to be a fine boy, a noble prince. I was always so proud of you, so very proud.’ ‘But who were my real parents?’ Oedipus’s hands twisted Straton’s tunic until the old man almost choked. ‘I never knew, sire! No one knows. They cannot have been good people, for they staked you to a mountainside and left you to die.’ ‘What about this friend of yours? Could he be my father?’ ‘Phorbas? No, sir. Oh no. He’s a good man. Whoever had you shackled and left to die was unworthy to be called a parent. You deserved better and the gods made sure you were given better. They led Phorbas to you and Phorbas to me. Now come back home to Corinth with me, my boy, and rule as our king.’ Oedipus let go of him. It was true that he could now safely return to Corinth. He need never have left. But he had to know who he was. Who had left him to die so cruel a death? Why had he been unwanted? Oedipus clapped his hands and summoned his page. ‘Take this fine old gentleman through to the kitchens and feed him well. Find him a chamber in which he can rest.’ He turned back to Straton. ‘I will send for you again when I have thought this thing through, sir.’ The page bowed. ‘And I was to tell you, sire, that Antimedes of Ismenos has arrived and awaits your pleasure.’ Damn. Oedipus wasn’t sure he wanted to see Antimedes now. He was far more concerned with getting to the truth of his birth and abandonment on Mount Cithaeron. Still, Antimedes might have information that would bring them all closer to discovering who killed Laius. With the plague still ravaging Thebes, he could not in all decency ignore that opportunity. Besides, he was Oedipus. He could follow ten complex lines of investigation at once, if he put his mind to it. ‘Send him in.’ Why had Jocasta run off moaning like that? The image of a baby having its ankles pierced with iron staples must have upset her. Women feel things like that. Ah well. Ah, this must be Antimedes now, Oedipus said to himself. Shifty-looking individual. Won’t meet my eyes. He’s afraid of something. ‘Stand before me, Antimedes, and tell me the truth of what happened the day Laius was killed.’ ‘I’ve told it a hundred times before,’ grumbled Antimedes, staring down at the floor. ‘There will be a report in your archives, won’t there?’ ‘Any more of that sulky manner and I’ll have you flogged, for all your white hairs,’ snapped Oedipus. ‘I want to hear the story from you. Look me in the eye and tell me what happened. If you lie, I shall know. And the deaths of hundreds of Thebans will be upon your conscience.’ Antimedes stared. ‘How can that be?’ ‘The oracle has told us that the disease scourging our people has been sent by the gods because the killer of Laius lives amongst us and pollutes our kingdom.’ ‘Well, that is indeed the truth of the matter,’ said Antimedes, gazing steadily at Oedipus. ‘The killer is here in Thebes.’ ‘He is?’ Oedipus’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘The killer of Laius is in this very room.’ ‘Ah!’ Oedipus became grave. ‘It is as well that you are honest. Tell me all truthfully and it may be that your only punishment will be exile. How did you come to kill your king?’ Antimedes gave a thin smile. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what happened, my lord king,’ he said, and something in the way he said the last three words struck Oedipus as offensive. ‘We were travelling, King Laius, his three bodyguards and me. Near Daulis we came to a place where three roads meet … There was some clod of a vagrant standing there, right in our way.’ ‘But you were ambushed by a gang, surely?’ Oedipus’s heart felt as if it had been seized by an icy hand and his whole body began to tremble. ‘You wanted the truth, I’m now telling it. A lone traveller it was, a young man who looked as though he’d been on the road many a month. Laius ordered him out of the way. The man snatched at his whip and pulled him out of the chariot, like a fisherman landing a fish. The bodyguards, they sprang out … But why am I telling you this? You already know.’ In his agony of soul Oedipus wanted to hear it all. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You wrenched the sword out of the hand of one of them and killed all three.’ ‘And you ran away …’ Antimedes bowed his head. ‘And I ran away. But what business did you have to kill the king after that?’ ‘I didn’t! That is … he was dead when he hit the ground. His neck broke. I never meant for him to die. He struck first, with his whip.’ ‘If you say so,’ said Antimedes. ‘Well, I made my way to Thebes and yes, I did tell them it was a gang that set upon us. Maybe I was ashamed to have run away. Ashamed that we could all have been set upon by one unarmed man.’ Oedipus was the man who had killed Laius. Oedipus had proclaimed a curse upon the killer of Laius. A curse upon himself. ‘And then?’ ‘Nothing more to say. I left Thebes. I didn’t want to serve under Creon. My loyalty was always to Laius and Jocasta. When I heard a young man had come to rule in Laius’ place – you – I thought perhaps you were his son found at last, but then I heard you married the queen and knew that couldn’t be.’ ‘His son?’ said Oedipus. ‘But Laius and Jocasta had no children.’ ‘Ah, she told you that did she? They had one son, but they couldn’t keep it.’ ‘What are you saying?’ Oedipus shook Antimedes by the shoulder. ‘What are you saying?’ ‘I might as well tell it all,’ said Antimedes. ‘I’m not long for this life and I don’t want to face the Judges of the Underworld with an unclean soul. The oracle warned Laius that any son of his would kill him; so when a boy was born to Jocasta, he gave the child to me and bid me peg him to the hillside on Mount Cithaeron and … Oh, by the gods!’ It was Antimedes’ turn to stare. ‘Never say it. No, no –’ Loud screams came from another part of the palace. The moment Straton had told his story of taking the baby Oedipus from Mount Cithaeron to Corinth, Jocasta had understood the terrible truth and taken her own life. When Oedipus followed the screams to her bedchamber, he saw her body hanging from the ceiling and his daughters weeping beneath it. He sent them from the room. It was all clear. He was the killer of Laius who had brought the plague to Thebes. That would have been terrible enough on its own. Now he knew that the whole truth was deeper, darker and more unbearable still. Laius had been his father. He had taken his mother Jocasta to be his wife, and had four children by her. He had loudly and publicly hunted for the truth and boasted that he would find it but – as blind Tiresias had warned him – he had not been able to see. He was a pollutant. A contaminant. He was the disease. He wanted to kill himself, but how could he? Suppose he met his mother-wife Jocasta in the underworld? And the father that he had killed? He could not face that. Not yet, at least. Not until he had been punished for his unspeakable crime. He reached up, pulled the long gold brooch pins from Jocasta’s dress and thrust them into his own eyes.
