King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

by Glyn Iliffe

  As he stared at their corpses, feeling empty and emotionless, the clamour from the throne room stopped. Eperitus felt a rush of fury and ran the length of the body-strewn passage determined to avenge his brothers. He shouldered the doors open and stood with his legs apart and his sword and shield at the ready. But he was too late. The king lay slumped across the floor, one hand still clutching a sword whilst the other reached towards the throne. His dead eyes stared accusingly at Eperitus.

  Standing over him was a tall figure, wiping the king’s blood from his blade. Eperitus stumbled and lowered his sword.

  ‘Father?’

  A part of him understood what had happened, but the greater part would not accept it.

  ‘It had to be done, lad,’ his father replied calmly. ‘I would have told you before, but I was afraid you’d give my plans away. You have too much of your grandfather in you – I knew your loyalty would be to the throne. Well, now I am the throne.’

  As if to emphasize his point, he stepped over Pandion’s body and sat in the stone chair.

  ‘What have you done?’ Eperitus asked, only then noticing several members of the palace guard standing on either side of him.

  ‘Pandion was a fool and a weakling, Eperitus. Under his rule Alybas was becoming a feeble and insignificant city, so some of us,’ he raised his sword point and indicated the surviving guards, ‘decided it was time for a change.’

  ‘No king is weak who has the full loyalty of his followers,’ Eperitus responded, gripping his sword and taking a step forward.

  Instantly the guards formed a circle about his father, who laughed as if drunk.

  ‘Gods! You remind me so much of my father – that rigid sense of honour and devotion to duty. But that’s what I want, Eperitus. I’m king now, and I need someone trustworthy to succeed me. Your brothers died fighting at my side like true sons; now you must decide where your loyalties are. If you swear allegiance to me, we’ll make Alybas a city to be proud of. And when I die, you’ll become king in my place. What do you say, son?’

  He leaned across the arm of the throne, offering his hand. Eperitus ignored it.

  ‘Once I loved and respected you. I obeyed your every wish freely and willingly. But now you’ve brought dishonour on our family. I can’t forgive you for that.’

  His sense of disbelief had not disarmed his anger, and with a curse on his lips he lunged at his father with the point of his sword. Two of the guards threw their shields before the new king, whilst another knocked the weapon from Eperitus’s hand with a swift stroke of his own blade. Two others leapt on him and pinned his arms behind his back. They dragged him before his father, whose smile had been replaced with an angry scowl.

  ‘You disappoint me, lad. I should kill you, but I’ve lost enough sons already today. You can have your weapons and that old shield you’re so proud of, but from this point on you have no home, no possessions and no family. You’re an exile, and if you ever set foot in Alybas again I’ll kill you myself.’

  Eperitus sat up, gasping for breath and clutching at his blanket. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked about at the unfamiliar surroundings. A grey light was seeping into the windowless room, revealing the rows of large clay jars along the walls. With a sense of relief he realized he was in one of the storerooms in the palace at Ithaca, where he had been quartered after the Kerosia three nights ago.

  As he allowed the emotions of the dream to fall from him and his eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn light, he became aware of sounds from within the palace. The kitchen slaves would be busy lighting fires and cooking breakfast, whilst others would be making preparations for Odysseus’s journey to Sparta.

  After Koronos’s public challenge to the prince’s courage, which he had little choice but to accept, there had been another lengthy debate between the elders. One wanted Odysseus to travel light with only two or three companions, but this was quickly dismissed by the other members of the Kerosia. Some valued his life too highly and did not want him to travel to Sparta without a full escort. Others pointed out that he would need to impress King Tyndareus, and to do this a more substantial guard would be required.

  They finally reached a compromise. Half of the thirty-strong palace guard would accompany Odysseus, led by Halitherses himself, whilst the remainder would be left under Mentor’s charge. This force would be bolstered by a hastily assembled militia that would be sufficient to defend the palace, until Odysseus returned in the spring.

  With that point grudgingly settled the debate focused upon what gift they should offer. It was the height of good manners that a guest should take a present, and it was customary to give something that reflected the suitor’s standing, as well as the degree of respect with which he regarded his host. Therefore, despite Ithaca’s comparative poverty, the Kerosia agreed to send a gift beyond their means. Laertes’s second-finest sword would be sacrificed – a weapon with an ivory handle and pommel, gold inlay on the blade, and a gold-filigreed leather scabbard. Anticleia also offered three of her finest dresses for Helen (there was not enough time to make new garments), along with the finest jewellery that could be plundered from the palace stocks.

  Odysseus took a surprisingly small part in the discussions, allowing the elders to decide his fate for him. He appeared to have his mind on something else – Helen perhaps – and only spoke to ensure that his father would be adequately protected whilst he was gone. However, it was at his suggestion that the elders agreed to waste no time, and that the expedition to Sparta should set out before dawn on the third day after the Kerosia. A quick departure, unannounced, would draw minimal attention and catch Eupeithes off balance. The recruitment of the militia would then be completed within a few days, before the rebels could muster their forces and threaten the undermanned palace guard.

  By the amount of light that was now suffusing the gloomy interior of the storeroom, Eperitus judged that dawn had already arrived. He picked up his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. As he finished tying on his armour Eumaeus arrived, looking sleepy and dishevelled, to inform him that breakfast was being prepared in the great hall. Eperitus followed him out and joined Odysseus and a handful of his men, who had finished eating and were discussing the arrangements.

  ‘We need fifteen guards, Antiphus, not five,’ the prince said. ‘I don’t care what they’re doing or where they are. Search every house in the town if you have to.’

  The archer turned and gave Eperitus a brief nod before running from the palace. Odysseus ordered Eumaeus to chase the head steward about the provisions for the journey, then turned to Eperitus and gave him a weary smile.

  ‘So much for leaving before first light, eh? No food, no gold, gifts mislaid and most of the guard haven’t even reported in yet. Still, I should consider myself lucky: it took a week to organize the visit to Pythia. How about you? Sleep well?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Eperitus lied, not wishing to share his nightmares with the others. ‘Can I help?’

  The prince placed a huge hand on his shoulder. ‘I doubt it – you’ll only get lost in all the chaos. The best thing you can do is sit down and eat a good breakfast, as you’ll be lucky to eat again before we make landfall.’

  By mid-morning the dresses were packed in a chest, along with the jewels Anticleia had chosen. Laertes’s sword had eventually turned up beneath a pile of mildewed shields and was stowed with the other gifts. The other members of the guard had been located and were assembled on the grassy terrace before the palace walls, sweating in their full armour. Some of them had been in the group that escorted Odysseus to Pythia, others he had met in the three days since the Kerosia, but most were strangers to Eperitus.

  Scattered around were small groups of slaves, gathered ready to carry the gifts and provisions down to the galley. The crowd was further swelled by the remainder of the household, who had left their tasks and come out to see the party off. Finally, the goings-on at the palace had also excited the interest of the townsfolk, who had come to watch the expedition leave.<
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  ‘There goes our plan to slip away unnoticed,’ said Halitherses, standing beside Eperitus and Damastor. ‘We might as well have invited Eupeithes in person to wish us a safe journey.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ve played directly into his hands,’ Eperitus replied, cynically. ‘This may be just the opportunity he needs.’

  ‘Whatever happens, lad, it’ll be according to the wishes of Zeus. He is the unseen mover in the affairs of men.’

  ‘Where’s Odysseus?’ Damastor asked anxiously. ‘We should be going.’

  ‘With his father and mother,’ Halitherses answered. ‘They’re making sacrifices for the journey to Sparta. What about Koronos? I haven’t seen him since the Kerosia.’

  ‘He returned home after the Kerosia,’ said Damastor. ‘His wife is due to give birth.’

  ‘A midwife is he?’ Halitherses sniffed, making no effort to hide his dislike of Koronos. ‘Clearly a man of many talents.’

  At that moment Ctymene appeared. It was the first time Eperitus had seen her since his arrival on Ithaca and he was relieved to see her fully covered, wearing a clean white dress clasped at one shoulder and carrying a basket of flowers on one arm. As she crossed the grass in her bare feet she was the very image of childish innocence.

  ‘Good morning, Damastor; Uncle Halitherses,’ Ctymene said, her voice like sunshine on that cloudy, rain-threatened morning. ‘Good morning, Eperitus. Have you killed many men today?’

  ‘No, Ctymene. Have you?’

  She laughed and shot him a mischievous look, then linked her arm through his. ‘I have a gift for you,’ she announced.

  He watched as she untangled a single pink bloom from the mass of flowers in her basket. The smell of perfume that hung about her was delicate in comparison with the sharp tang of sweat that clung to Halitherses, Damastor and himself.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing him a flower. It had been plucked and dried in the sun to preserve its beauty. ‘We call it chelonion, because its root is shaped like a turtle. See? Wear this to remind you of your new home when you’re far away. I’ve prayed to Aphrodite that it will protect you from harm and bring you safely back to Ithaca.’

  Eperitus slipped the stem of the flower through a loop in his leather belt, then bowed silently. Ctymene squeezed his hand before slipping her arm from his and offering flowers to Halitherses and Damastor. They accepted the reminders of their home with cheerful words and kisses. Then she left them and went over to share the remainder amongst the other members of the escort. As Eperitus watched her, Odysseus walked out from the palace gates and joined the guards. The men shared a joke and a few words, then the prince turned to his sister and embraced her. She held him tightly, throwing her arms as far as they would reach about his muscular chest, but neither said a word. When they finally parted there were tears glistening in Ctymene’s eyes. She kissed him on the cheek then ran back into the palace.

  ‘I’ve said my farewells to the king and queen,’ Odysseus announced as he came over to the others. ‘They won’t be here to watch us depart. The men say they are ready, Halitherses.’

  ‘As ready as they’ll ever be, my lord. There are oarsmen waiting in the galley below, and we have a good crowd to ensure our departure is known by the whole island.’

  ‘I share your worries, old friend,’ Odysseus said, looking at the number of townsfolk who had come to see them off. ‘But our anchor ropes are cut and we must see this thing through to the end. I only hope I have a kingdom to return to when it’s all over.’

  ‘There’ll be a strong militia in place before the news spreads to Eupeithes,’ Damastor assured him. ‘Everything will be safe and secure.’

  ‘All the same, I pray the gods will watch over the place in our absence,’ Odysseus replied. ‘And may Mentor and the others have the good sense not to underestimate their opponents.’

  At his signal the escort picked up their shields and spears and the slaves hoisted their burdens onto their shoulders. The expedition formed up in two files and set off, the townsfolk parting to let them through.

  Odysseus walked beside Eperitus and they looked about themselves at the cheering crowds. The people called out Odysseus’s name again and again, honouring their prince as he set out upon whatever new mission his father had assigned to him. Eperitus caught the scent of the chelonion in his tunic and thought how little time he had had to get to know his new home. The Ithacan faces were unfamiliar and their voices strange compared with Alybas. He knew little about them or their island, where the hills were called mountains and the alien sea lay all around. And yet here he was, venturing into the unknown for the sake of a country and people not his own, but which he hoped one day would be.

  He had spent only three days on the island, and with Odysseus as his guide had trekked its wooded hillsides and dusty cart-tracks by mule. The prince had shown him many of the caves and bays along the rocky coastline, where the high cliffs were thick with gulls. He named each different hill, copse and spring in both halves of the island, and pointed out the numerous little farms that they passed. Often, when they were hungry, the prince would stop at one of the farms and be welcomed with warmth and good food. He seemed to know everyone by name – including many of the children – and was greeted lovingly wherever he went. And the people had treated Eperitus with kindness and respect – partly because he was Odysseus’s companion, but also out of their naturally contented and welcoming natures.

  He quickly came to understand Odysseus’s love of his home, and appreciated the time he spent showing him the island. But he also realized that the prince was not simply expressing his pride; he was saying goodbye to the place he loved. No one knew what the expedition to Sparta would bring or how long they would be away, so Odysseus was spending the final days before his departure with the place and people he loved above all things.

  Eperitus wished he were not leaving Ithaca so soon and that the Fates had been kind enough to give him just a few days more to enjoy its hospitality. But the gods had other uses for him and he supposed that, like Odysseus, he must earn his place in the hearts and minds of its people if he was to establish himself amongst them.

  As the group passed the outskirts of the town and left the crowds behind them, all bar a few children, they passed a group of young men standing by a spring. It was here, surrounded by tall black poplar trees, that the townspeople fetched their water. To Eperitus’s surprise the men greeted them with mocking jeers. One of them, a handsome man with close-cropped black hair and fine clothes – noticeably missing the whole of his right ear – was more abusive than all of his companions put together. Eperitus left the file with every intention of knocking the man’s teeth into the grass at his feet, but Odysseus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m surprised you have the courage to leave your master’s side, Polybus,’ he said. ‘And where’s Polytherses? Your sneering face seems incomplete without your brother’s alongside it.’

  ‘Keep your charm for the beautiful Helen, oaf-prince,’ Polybus replied. ‘The sooner you and your clowns are gone the better we’ll all feel around here.’

  ‘Which Helen is that, Polybus?’

  For the briefest instant the other’s composure wavered, but he was quick to gather his wits about him again. ‘The whole of Ithaca knows you’re off to Sparta, expecting to bring back Tyndareus’s daughter as your wife. News spreads quickly on a small island, Odysseus, and the crew of Koronos’s ship was full of it. Your dim-witted guards may not know it yet, but it doesn’t take an oracle to guess what you’re up to.’

  Eperitus realized the braggart was one of Eupeithes’s twin henchmen, mentioned at the Kerosia. As he had listened to the debate about these would-be usurpers, he had felt his hatred growing with each mention of their names. A man must be loyal to his king, his grandfather had taught him, or social order falls into chaos. Only by accepting authority can a man receive the rewards of order and peace. That is why his grandfather had told him to obey three things unfailingly: his gods, his o
aths, and his king. Without these principles the world of men would fall into the abyss.

  Eperitus’s eyes narrowed with anger. He shrugged off Odysseus’s restraining hand and advanced on Polybus. The sneering braggart looked at him with disdain, as if offended that he should dare approach him, but soon retreated as he realized his intentions. An instant later Eperitus swung his fist into Polybus’s face and watched with satisfaction as he fell backward into the waters of the spring, blood pumping from his lips and broken nose.

  ‘That’s what I think of traitors,’ he spat. ‘Tell Eupeithes that Laertes will remain king of Ithaca, and if anyone is to replace him it will be Odysseus, the only man who can claim that right.’

  Polybus scrambled out of the pool, helped by his friends. He was incandescent with rage and in a deft movement whipped out a dagger from beneath his tunic.

  He lunged with the weapon, but Eperitus brought his shield round and knocked him to one side. Quickly stepping back, he pulled the sword from his belt and faced Polybus’s six companions, who held daggers of their own. In the same moment he was joined by Odysseus and the rest of the guard, spears and shields at the ready.

  Now they were seventeen fully-armed men against Polybus’s seven, carrying only daggers. It did not take them long to see the futility of the situation.

  ‘There’ll be no bloodshed here, Polybus,’ Odysseus said, his voice as calm and commanding as ever. ‘Not if I can prevent it. So put your toys away and go about your business.’

  They had no choice but to do as they were ordered, but as they slunk off Polybus could not resist turning and having the final word.