King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

by Glyn Iliffe

  ‘Lead me to the rising sun then, Cedalion,’ Odysseus answered.

  The other youths immediately spread out in a crescent about the beach, putting themselves at a good distance from the blundering pair at the water’s edge. Eumaeus, Halitherses and Eperitus stood to one side and watched Ctymene shout directions to her brother as he chased her companions about the beach. Their efforts were fruitless, even though their targets were not allowed to run, but Odysseus persisted without showing signs of tiring. Gradually the pair edged closer to the little group at the water’s edge, and Eperitus noticed Ctymene snatching frequent glances at him. Then, suddenly, she instructed her brother to turn right and go straight, and a moment later his large hands were upon Eperitus’s shoulders.

  ‘You’ve found the sun, Orion,’ she announced, removing her hands from his eyes. Odysseus blinked at Eperitus and smiled.

  ‘By the rules of the game it’s your turn to be Orion,’ he said. ‘But my sister isn’t as light as she used to be, and I doubt it would be the most appropriate form of introduction.’

  Ctymene stared down at her captive with a shameless look in her eyes.

  ‘Who’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘Eperitus of Alybas,’ Odysseus answered, unconscious of his sister’s staring. ‘He killed five men the other morning, so be careful not to make him angry.’

  ‘Five men!’ she cooed with sudden interest, clambering down from her brother’s shoulders and threading her arm through Eperitus’s elbow. ‘Really? Five men?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, tensing at the feel of her warm flesh against his. He was unused to the close attentions of a female and did not know how to react to Ctymene’s immature flirting, especially in front of Odysseus. The fact she was attractive was undeniable, with her soft skin and the aroma of flowers that hung about her, but he was also hotly aware of his recent resolve to maintain an entirely formal relationship with the girl.

  The rest of the crew were ashore by now and were ready to make their way to the palace.

  ‘Ctymene,’ Eumaeus said, noticing Eperitus’s discomfort with amusement.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, without taking her eyes from Eperitus, who looked nervously back at her. She gave him a mischievous smile.

  ‘Didn’t you say that the king wanted to see Odysseus?’

  ‘Does he? Oh yes! Odysseus, Father wants to see you the moment you arrive. He’s convening the Kerosia and wants you and Halitherses to go there. Right now, I think.’

  Odysseus took a bag from Antiphus and slung it over his shoulder. There was a sudden sense of urgency about him.

  ‘You’ll have to feast without me,’ he shouted to his men, waving them up the beach. ‘Mentor, see they don’t get too drunk. Come on, Halitherses, we’re required elsewhere. You too, Eperitus. And as for you, sister, if you had a mind for anything other than dancing and boys you might remember that the king’s messages are a matter of urgency.’

  With that he headed towards a wooded ridge that spanned the gap between the two mountains. Here a track led him into the trees, and Eperitus followed behind Halitherses, with Ctymene still on his arm.

  The great hall was windowless and sombre, lit only by a fire in the central hearth. Smoke twisted up towards the high ceiling, where shadowy images of sun, moon and stars were all that remained of its once vivid murals. Four tall pillars stood like sentinels about the fire, half bathed in the light of the flames and half consumed by the encircling darkness. Barely distinguishable about their smooth circumferences were the faded outlines of birds, trees and flowers.

  On every side the gloomy walls were hung with shields and spears, mostly of an antique style and in a state of disrepair, their bronze tarnished black by the smoke of many years. By the wavering firelight Eperitus tried to discern the spectral scenes of animal and marine life depicted on the flaking plaster, but these were several generations old and had diminished along with the glory of what was now an ageing and functional palace. Only the two painted lions flanking the unadorned granite throne, which stood against the east wall, retained any semblance of their former life and colour.

  He sat on one of the seven wooden chairs around the burning hearth, set facing the vacant throne and an empty stool that had been placed beside it. Odysseus was next to him and Halitherses sat on the other side of the prince, both men staring thoughtfully into the fire. Eperitus’s own eyes were upon the silent members of the Kerosia who occupied the other chairs. These were the king’s most trusted advisers, men of seniority who would counsel him in times of need. Most were old or middle-aged, their features illuminated by the flickering flames, deep shadows etched into the creases and contours.

  As he studied them through the distorting flames, the door behind him opened and the members of the Kerosia stood as one. A man and woman entered the hall side by side, without ceremony, and sat at the two vacant places. A pair of armed guards came with them and took up station by the door. They were followed by slaves carrying platters of drinks, which they served to each member of the Kerosia in turn.

  ‘Remember you’re the youngest here, Eperitus,’ Odysseus said, leaning across and whispering in his ear, ‘and that you’re a stranger. Speak only if you are spoken to; otherwise follow my lead in everything.’

  Eperitus lowered the silver goblet from his thirsty lips and watched the others, whose drinks remained in their hands. Despite the simple, unannounced entrance, Eperitus could tell by the continued silence that they were waiting for the newcomers to speak.

  The man held a twisted staff of dark wood, almost as tall as himself, which would be given to each speaker in turn as the debate began – a sign of their right to speak without interruption. But if this was Laertes, king of Ithaca, Eperitus could hardly have imagined a man more unlike Odysseus. His grey hair, watery eyes and thin, drooping lips made him look old beyond his years. His body was wasted and bent and his thin, bandy legs were forced to support an oversized belly. The pallor of his skin suggested a life spent mostly indoors, and by the way he squinted across his hooked nose at the members of the Kerosia, Eperitus guessed that his eyesight was deteriorating.

  In contrast, Anticleia, Laertes’s wife, bore a strong blood-resemblance to Odysseus. She had the same green eyes, red hair and straight nose that her son possessed, with broad shoulders that echoed his physical presence. She looked much younger than Laertes and all eyes rested upon her as the royal couple sat before the council.

  Laertes took his cup and sprinkled a few fingertips of wine into the flames – a libation in honour of the gods – before sitting down again to drink. The rest of the Kerosia stood and copied his brief gesture. Eperitus was notably the last to do this and caught the king’s liquid eye as he retreated to his place, his glance lingering just long enough not to become a stare. Then he broke the silence by slapping his palm repeatedly on the stone arm of the throne.

  ‘Now then, you all know each other, so let’s do away with the formalities and start the work of the day. Halitherses, my friend, I’m glad to see you’ve brought my son safely back from the oracle. What news from the Pythoness, Odysseus?’

  Odysseus stood and took the staff from his father. Their eyes met in silence: on one side the reigning king, small and frail, his head and nose raised slightly as if listening, his teeth resting on his lower lip in an unconscious sneer; opposite him, the future king, hugely strong, wearing the confidence of his youth like a rich, impenetrable cloak.

  He recounted the events that had happened whilst he had been away, avoiding a repetition of the Pythoness’s prophecy but emphasizing the role Eperitus had played in the fight against the deserters.

  ‘In recognition of his courage,’ he concluded, ‘I’ve asked Eperitus to join the royal guard.’

  ‘The king chooses his guard,’ Laertes replied sternly, without looking at his son’s guest. ‘Both you and Halitherses know that.’

  ‘His appointment is subject to your approval, Father, I grant you. But ask yourself if you can turn away a willing warrior
who killed five men in his first combat.’

  There was a stiffness in Odysseus’s response that betrayed the silent contest between son and father, prince and king. Laertes bit back with the speed of a striking snake.

  ‘Ask yourself if the king’s life can be trusted to a stranger! Have you tested him?’

  ‘More than enough, Father. He’s fit to serve the king, and the Pythoness herself has promised him great things.’

  ‘The oracle never promises anything, Odysseus,’ Laertes retorted. ‘You’ll do well to remember that. Why did you aid my son and his men?’

  It took Eperitus a moment to realize that Laertes was speaking to him. He looked at the king in surprise, suddenly at a loss for what to do or say. Then he noticed Odysseus beside him, discreetly tapping his knee. Eperitus knelt at once, and bowed his head.

  ‘My lord, I saw brave men outnumbered and surrounded. It was easy to decide who needed my help most.’

  ‘And if my son’s men had been in the majority?’

  Eperitus raised his head and met Laertes’s gaze. ‘In that case, my lord, I might have slain five Ithacans instead.’

  The king smiled at his reply, but it was not a smile that brought any sense of warmth or relief.

  ‘You are on probation, Eperitus of Alybas,’ he told him. ‘But I’ll watch you.’

  This time he fixed the young warrior with a stare that he would not release. Eperitus met his eye, but as he did so he felt the keen gaze stripping away the fragile barriers that concealed his innermost thoughts. Quickly he lowered his eyes for fear that the old man would follow the passages of his mind into areas he had not even dared to explore himself.

  ‘Yes, I’ll watch you like a hawk,’ Laertes repeated, before turning to the others. ‘Now, where are you, Koronos? Stand up so my old man’s eyes can see you. I’ve called you all here because Koronos has news for us from Eupeithes’s camp. Stand up, man, and take the speaker’s staff.’

  A middle-aged noble with pitch-black hair raised himself from the chair closest to the king and took the staff from Odysseus. Eperitus could see that he was wealthy by the quality of his clothes and his well-kept, well-fed appearance. From his confidence before the Kerosia he also guessed he was a man of position, used to deference from others.

  ‘My lords, your ladyship, King Laertes is fortunate in having me as his close and faithful ally, for I bring news which those of us loyal to his rule must act upon immediately. Sometime ago a god put it into my mind to bribe one of Eupeithes’s slaves into my service. This man has become my eyes and ears in the traitor’s household, and there’s little of that man’s scheming that I don’t know about.

  ‘Eupeithes is an Ithacan and familiar to us all. But allow me to enlarge on what we know of this man, if only for the sake of our guest.’ Koronos bowed briefly to Eperitus. ‘Though he is a noble, a wealthy merchant, a powerful orator and a man of political ambition, he has never before sought to bring violence to these islands. For some time now we’ve been subjected to his speeches in the marketplaces, so we know he claims to be a patriot . . .’

  ‘Patriot!’ snorted one of the Kerosia, a man bent with age who could barely straighten his back to vent his disgust. ‘He’s a fat, pampered coward with no mind for anything other than increasing his own wealth! Who can forget how he sided with the Taphians when they raided our allies, the Thesprotians? Can a man who attacks his country’s friends call himself a patriot?’ The old man stopped to draw breath and, in honour of his age, nobody dared interrupt him. Not even Koronos, who held the speaker’s staff. ‘I was among the crowd of islanders who wanted to kill him for his treason. We chased him from his farm on the north coast all the way to the palace – you’d never have thought such a fat man could move so quickly.’ He took breath again, wheezing in his excitement. ‘Only Laertes had compassion on the man, and gave him sanctuary in this very house. He and the boy’, he pointed his stick at Odysseus, ‘held the gates, forbidding us entry and persuading us to return to our homes. And this is the family he wants to overthrow!’

  After a respectful pause, Koronos continued. ‘Thank you, Phronius. If we all bore grudges as tenaciously as you, perhaps Eupeithes wouldn’t have wormed his way back into the hearts of the people. But, nevertheless, he claims himself a patriot and a respecter of the gods, and he spreads his lies amongst those who’ll listen to him. He claims Laertes is an idle king, an incompetent ruler who wants to keep Ithaca in stasis, never growing or rising to fulfil her potential. He tells us that, if he were monarch, he’d make our small knot of islands into a kingdom to be reckoned with. And the people are listening to him! They believe Eupeithes when he tells them he’ll bring new wealth to their towns and farmsteads, when he promises to build a palace to rival Mycenae, and that he’ll make powerful alliances with other states. And I’ll tell you what’s even more dangerous: he has the ear of many of the nobles of these islands.’

  Koronos looked round at each member of the council, sliding his gaze from one set of eyes to the next, pushing home to them the prospect that Laertes was losing his grip on the populace.

  ‘But for all his influence, for all his patience in stirring up the people, he doesn’t have the majority of support. Perhaps a quarter of the people and nobles are for him.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ shouted Phronius. ‘A tenth at the most.’

  ‘Another quarter is sympathetic,’ Koronos continued, ‘but undecided. The remainder are loyal to the rule of Laertes and will never support a usurper, even if some of them agree with Eupeithes. Because he knows this, the traitor has changed his plans. And that is what brings me here.’

  At this point Koronos signalled to one of the slaves, who came over and refilled his cup. He took a mouthful and looked around again.

  ‘Eupeithes, for all his treachery, doesn’t want to kill our great king. He still feels a debt of honour for the time that you shielded him from the mob, my lord. But he’s also a politician, and fears your death would win him more enemies than friends. Therefore he’d rather see you retired with the agreement of the nobles than murdered like a dog. And yet he has gathered about him men who are not so discerning. These men, most notably the twins Polybus and Polytherses, are tired of waiting for public opinion to turn in their favour. They’re pushing for action now, and they mean to have their way.

  ‘Until recently, I’ve been content for my spy to report the daily goings-on: the name of any new nobleman won over to Eupeithes’s cause; the travelling plans of the traitor; any new schemes he has dreamed up to oppose the rule of our king. These are the things that have been reported to me for months, but a few nights ago Eupeithes was visited by the twins and they spoke together long into the night. My man served them throughout and has relayed every word to me. These men don’t care for their country – they want only wealth and power. They’re also young and don’t share their leader’s patience in sowing dissent for a popular and peaceful removal of the king. They’ve spent the winter recruiting hard and raising funds, intent on recruiting a force of mercenaries. They even mentioned the Taphians, who their master still has secret connections with, and Eupeithes has agreed a plan to attack at the end of spring and take the throne by force. My lords, the time of political strife is passing. We must sharpen our swords for war.’

  Chapter Seven

  ODYSSEUS’S CHALLENGE

  Tyndareus paced the floor of the great hall. Fired by his idea for gathering together the best of the Greeks, Agamemnon had sent mounted messengers to spread the word that Helen was to be married and her father was inviting suit from the greatest kings and warriors in all Greece. Perhaps fearing that the Spartan king would change his mind, he had dispatched the heralds that same evening. By now news would have reached every corner of the Peloponnese, whilst merchant ships would already be carrying messages out to the islands. Some horsemen might even have reached northern Greece, especially as this was a time of relative peace and the only trouble on the roads was the occasional brigand.

  The king sighed
. He might have a few days or even weeks of grace as Greece’s greatest men made preparations to come, but he also knew how much these men hated each other and would not want their rivals to steal a march on them. Though they would want to come with a full retinue, they would also be keen not to waste time in getting to Sparta: each would want to stake a claim on Helen before some other suitor could work his way too deeply into Tyndareus’s favour. He imagined that within a month the cold, echoing walls of the great hall would be filled with the clamour of many mighty voices.

  He sighed again and tugged desperately at his beard. Though he admired his son-in-law, he was also frequently vexed by Agamemnon’s ability to persuade him into doing things that he did not want to do. Helen was a good age for marriage, but he had not wanted her given to another man just yet. In truth, he had hardly put his mind to the matter before now, probably because he was too happy having her about his palace. No doubt she was a moody girl and not as disciplined as a daughter should be, but Tyndareus knew he was clay in her hands. She only had to bat her long-lashed eyelids or pout her full lips and he was helpless. Hence the thought of actually losing her, now that he had milled it through his mind for a couple of days, made him very unhappy.

  If Agamemnon had not headed home at first light yesterday, to tell his brother Menelaus to make ready, Tyndareus would have confronted him on the matter. Losing his beloved daughter was one reason for concern; feeding the most ravenous appetites in Greece was entirely another. Sparta was a rich state, but he resented having to give one copper piece of its wealth for the sake of Agamemnon’s grandiose strategies. For that reason he intended to make a full inventory of everything in the palace, from each head of livestock and bushel of corn right down to the smallest clay drinking krater.

  ‘Tyndareus, are you in here?’ asked a female voice.

  ‘Yes, Leda,’ Tyndareus answered, turning to greet his wife as she entered.

  Helen was with her and together they crossed the floor to join the king. Leda was a tall and attractive woman, beautifully dressed and wearing her long black hair over her shoulders. The only sign of age, other than the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, was the two thick streaks of grey hair that sprouted from her temples. She kissed her husband and took his big hands in her slender fingers.