by Glyn Iliffe
‘Not really,’ Helen answered, kissing the tears from her sister’s cheeks. ‘I understand the hate, but I don’t comprehend how you can give your body and not yourself
Clytaemnestra held Helen at arm’s length and looked straight into her eyes. ‘When Theseus took you, did you give yourself freely or did you divorce your spirit from the physical act? Either way, you’ll understand what I mean.’
‘Then I can’t understand,’ Helen answered, blushing and avoiding her sister’s eyes. ‘I’m not yet a woman in that sense.’
Clytaemnestra looked at her in disbelief. ‘And all this time I thought we shared the same scars. Oh, dear sister, I pray you will get the husband you deserve, and not be struck by the curse that has destroyed me.’
She wept again. Helen held her close and swore to herself she would never let any man hurt her in such a way.
Eperitus watched Mentor with concern as he ate a bowl of warm porridge and drank fresh water, trying to regain some of his strength before recounting his ordeal. The others were desperate to hear his news, concerned as they were for their families and homes, but Odysseus insisted that the exhausted man’s wounds were dressed and he was fed before being forced to relive the events on Ithaca. Despite his calming voice and forced smiles, though, Odysseus was unable to disguise the anxiety that stiffened his features and set his mouth in a tight line.
Eventually Mentor laid the wooden bowl aside and looked around at his comrades, who sat in a crescent about him and waited silently for him to speak.
‘Ithaca is lost,’ he began, and as he spoke tears filled his eyes. ‘Laertes has been taken captive and Eupeithes has declared himself king.’
Mentor looked up and met Odysseus’s hard eyes. ‘Go on,’ the prince said. ‘Tell us everything you know and don’t spare us the worst of it. Leave nothing unsaid.’
It had rained in Ithaca after Odysseus and his men left her shores. In the afternoon the clouds came and hovered low over the island, their great bellies threatening to crush it into the sea from which it had sprung. They poured down endless torrents of water, blotting out the moon and stars and leaving the town in a stifling darkness.
Mentor had ordered the usual guard of one to be tripled. One of the sentries peered out through a viewing slot in the thick wooden gates, but all he could see was an impenetrable curtain of rain obscuring everything beyond a stone’s throw from the walls.
As he watched a figure came into view, struggling against the lashing rain and the howling wind. ‘Let me in, man,’ he shouted. ‘I have urgent news.’
Recognizing Koronos, the guard hurriedly unbolted the gates and pulled them open. The merchant rushed inside the shelter of the walls and immediately swung the gates shut behind him.
‘Make sure they’re bolted. I was followed here,’ he said, removing his hat and shaking the water from the brim. ‘A force of Taphians has arrived on Ithaca and joined Eupeithes. They’re marching on the palace as we speak.’
Koronos possessed a natural air of authority and the guardsmen were quick to obey as he ordered one of them to wake the king and another to fetch Mentor. The remaining warrior looked out into the rain-filled darkness again.
‘Sir! I can see somebody. No! No, there are a few of them out there.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Koronos answered, pulling his rain-black cloak to one side and feeling along his belt. ‘Tall men with long hair and spears as high as these gates. They’re Taphians, and there are around four score of them.’
The dagger in his hand shone blue in the darkness as he walked towards the stooping guard. The man turned his head in time to see the blade flash before him. A moment later he fell dead at the merchant’s feet, the blood swilling out from the gash in his throat.
Koronos dragged the body away from the gates and slipped the bolts aside. The doors were at once thrust inward by Polytherses, who walked in with confidence and looked quickly about himself. ‘Well done, Koronos. We shall not forget your loyalty.’
A seemingly endless stream of heavily armed men poured through the gates after him. Koronos, who had sold his king in exchange for a promise of money and power, stood aside to let the mercenaries pass.
At that moment one of the guards returned with Mentor at his side. They halted just beyond the threshold of the great hall, hardly able to believe that the gates had fallen and their enemies were already filing into the courtyard. Then they heard a shout and saw Polytherses leading a group of Taphians towards them at a run. Several more of the enemy were pulling bows from their shoulders and fitting arrows.
Shocked into action, Mentor and the guard ducked back inside the palace, slamming the doors shut behind them. Arrows thumped into the great wooden panels as they barred the door against the invaders.
For a short while the two men struggled to catch their breath as they stood in the small anteroom to the great hall. But there was no time to spare: there were other ways of getting into the palace from the courtyard now that the outer walls had been penetrated, and unless they acted at once the building would be overrun.
‘Go to where the militia are billeted and wake them,’ Mentor ordered. ‘Quickly!’
The guard ran across the hall and disappeared through a side-entrance. Moments later, Mentor sprinted across to the far wall of the great hall where a hunting horn had hung for as long as he could remember. Pressing it to his lips, he blew hard and a clear and piercing note thundered out into the still air of the hall, blasting beyond the walls and high ceiling to echo about the whole palace.
He blew again, then tugged the sword from his belt and fled through the side entrance into a corridor that skirted the great hall. He heard voices approaching from around the next corner, whilst behind him something heavy crashed against the palace doors, coughing splinters into the great hall. After two more blows the doors burst inwards and the flames of the hearth flickered with the fresh night air. Figures entered and gathered in the shadows, three or four of them, their foreign voices filled with threat. Taphians.
Mentor turned and ran. Arrows bounced off the walls about him as he cleared the corner, only to find himself faced by a hedge of spears. He stopped short and looked into the confused faces of half a dozen Ithacan guardsmen. They had thrown their armour on in a hurry, but they were armed and ready to fight.
‘Taphians,’ he warned, pointing back down the corridor. ‘They’re inside the palace.’
As he spoke, three of the mercenaries came rushing round the corner and almost impaled themselves on the wall of spears. The guardsmen reacted quickly, spitting the invaders upon their sharpened spear points. All three fell in a groaning mass, their stomachs gushing dark blood onto hands that tried desperately to stem the flow. The victors wasted no time in dispatching their souls to the Underworld.
‘They’ll be coming in through every door and window by now,’ Mentor told the bloodied guards. ‘Our only chance is to get to the upper level and defend Laertes. The stairs are narrow and we’ll be able to hold them until the townsfolk come to our aid.’
‘The king’s gone,’ one of the men announced. ‘He took the other guards and went to alert the militia; he ordered us to stay here and defend the way to the upper levels.’
Suddenly the whole palace erupted with noise. A loud shout from the great hall announced the arrival of more Taphians. From the corridors surrounding them they heard more shouts and the ringing of weapons, whilst on the upper levels there was screaming from the women’s quarters. And now the first party of Taphians from the great hall turned the corner and faced them, their swords at the ready.
Mentor struck quickly, swinging his sword to slice open the neck of their leader. A mist of blood sprayed over the knot of soldiers behind him, who fell back as the body drove a wedge into their tightly packed ranks. A moment later the Ithacan guardsmen rushed into the gap, sinking their spear points into two more of the tall warriors.
The remainder turned and tried to push the weight of men behind them back into the great hall. Mentor pick
ed up a spear and thrust it into the back of one man, then trod his body down into the dirt of the corridor floor as he hacked down another. His companions managed to gouge the life out of a further three before the mercenaries escaped back into the open space of the great hall.
Their victory had filled them with confidence and a fierce lust for more slaughter, but Mentor knew the Taphians would quickly return in more strength. Realizing that their best hope was to defend the upper levels, he ordered them back. Upon reaching the stairs they paused before a dead female slave who lay across the broad steps like a toppled statue, her arms hooked above her head and her eyes shut as if sleeping. Only the dark stain of blood still spreading through her clean white dress indicated there had been any violence. The guardsmen recoiled briefly at the sight of her, but Mentor waved them up the steps.
‘Protect the queen,’ he ordered, knowing that at least one of Eupeithes’s men had already found his way to the female quarters. ‘I’ll try to find Laertes. May the gods protect you!’
The men sprang up the steps while Mentor set off down the corridor, past the storeroom and the slaves’ quarters to the door that opened onto the courtyard. The dull clash of arms was audible through its thick panels.
Nervously, and hastily in case of pursuit, he opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard. The clouds had now dispersed to reveal sable patches of night sky and a curved splinter of moon. Spread across the courtyard, individually and sometimes bunched into small knots, were the dark shapes of numerous corpses, the debris of a battle that was now concentrated on the left-hand side of the broad enclosure.
There were around thirty men still standing, but the majority were Taphians, led by Polytherses. At their rear, running about on his spindly legs and shouting encouragement to his men, was Eupeithes. He was a fat, arrogant-looking man in his late middle age, with white hair and pale, mole-strewn skin that looked translucent in the weak moonlight. His clothing and armour were luxurious, reflecting the expensive taste for which he was well known, but remained unsoiled by battle. Although his home was filled with images of heroes and wars, his own bravery was nothing more than imagined and he had no nerve for the filth, the exertion, or the risk of battle.
As Mentor watched from the shadow of the palace walls, the two sides parted and he saw Laertes standing in the midst of five remaining Ithacan guardsmen. The old king raised his spear and invited Eupeithes to decide the fate of Ithaca by single combat. A number of the warlike Taphians murmured their approval and looked at their leader.
The merchant faced the challenge with a smile. ‘Laertes, my friend, don’t be angry. I haven’t forgotten the time you saved my life from the mob, or that you were once king of these islands, so I have no wish to see you harmed unnecessarily. And why should you and I fight each other for the throne? These Taphians have battled bravely to win liberty for their Ithacan allies – to save them from your folly, Laertes – and there can be no dispute who is ruler here now.’
Laertes stared at the merchant with disdain. ‘You’ll never be ruler, Eupeithes. Betrayal begets betrayal and your actions will only earn you treachery in return. Kneel before your rightful king now, and pray to the gods he’ll have mercy on you.’
Eupeithes stepped forward and waved his hand dismissively. ‘A king is but a representative, the bearer of a title and a position, but he is nevertheless a man who will ultimately die. A nation, however, is something which surpasses the individual. It outlives us all and must be honoured above any one man. I act for our nation and that’s why I must replace you, Laertes. You have failed your people with idle hands and a self-regarding mind.’
‘You see things with the eyes of a merchant, Eupeithes,’ Laertes replied. ‘You don’t see there are other things in this world beyond how much a man does or does not possess. You were born into a wealthy family who trained you to think about the acquisition of riches, to know what to buy and where to sell, and you have spent your life as a trader in goods. That makes you an excellent man to trust when it comes to money and making a profit.
‘I, on the other hand, was born into a ruling family. I was trained to think about the welfare of my people, to provide for them and protect them. From boyhood I was taught to fight and to lead troops; I was told how to take from the people in times of plenty, so that I could give to them in times of hardship; I was shown how to watch every part of my kingdom, from the harvest, to the work of the craftsmen, to the trading of the merchants and the scheming of the nobles, so that there was balance and harmony. And that’s how I’ve spent my life, be it for better or worse. But whatever truth there is in your accusations, I have kept this nation together. It’s only through you that Ithacans have spilled each other’s blood on the soil of their homeland. Only you, Eupeithes, have divided these islands and destroyed the one thing that has kept them together and at peace for so long. In your very first act you have invited our oldest enemies onto our shores, killed your compatriots and put the future of these islands into question. The biggest mistake I made was in allowing you to spread your lies amongst the people.’
As both groups listened to the king, his voice filled with authority despite his tiredness and wounds, Mentor heard the sound of others coming down the corridor behind him. Looking about himself, he snatched a long Taphian spear and a shield from one of the many bodies in the courtyard and retreated back into the shadows, pressing his body as close to the wall as possible. Just as he did so, Koronos walked out into the courtyard, followed by Polytherses and the remainder of the Taphians, who had broken in through the great hall.
Laertes saw the approaching reinforcements and knew that the battle was lost. Realizing their desperate situation and not wanting to waste more lives, he threw down his weapons in surrender and ordered his men to do the same.
Eupeithes had won a stunningly quick and complete victory. By clever deceit and ruthless determination he had overthrown the king and taken power. And as Mentor slipped away unnoticed through the palace gates, he knew that only the return of Odysseus could save Ithaca now.
Chapter Eleven
THE ROAD TO MESSENE
Mentor raised his head and looked at Odysseus. ‘There’s something else,’ he said. Despite his hardships, he sat tall and as straight as a spear. ‘The fishermen who helped me escape told me a galley had already left for the mainland. A force of Taphians was aboard, led by Polybus. Eupeithes knows that until you’re dead there will always be hope and resistance amongst the Ithacans. He also knows from the crew of your ship where you landed, so he intends to hunt you down while you’re still within his reach.’
After breakfast, they gathered in the shade of the trees where Odysseus had called them to council. Other than Eperitus, every member of the expedition had family and friends back in Ithaca. However, it was so incredible that their homeland could now be under the rule of Eupeithes that for a while nobody knew what to say.
It was Damastor who broke the silence. He had a wife and infant son at home and did not want to leave them to the mercy of Taphian pirates. There was no choice, he argued, but to go to the nearest coastal town and take a ship back to Ithaca. They knew the countryside better than the Taphians and could observe their numbers and defences from the hills surrounding the town. If they sailed by night the invaders would not even be aware of their return, and then they could gather an army of the people and wrest the island back from Eupeithes.
There were murmurs of agreement, but little enthusiasm. Laertes’s defeat had lowered their spirits and put doubt into their minds. Eperitus could see from the lifeless expressions that they questioned their chances of defeating Eupeithes’s much stronger force. Even Halitherses looked sullen and dismayed. Only Odysseus seemed unbowed by the news. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the distant shoreline as he pondered what to do.
After a few moments he stood and looked at his men, their dirty, tired faces raised in expectation. If they hastened back to Ithaca now, he explained, they might catch Eupeithes unprepared and the isla
nders angry enough to fight. But it was more likely their small force would be massacred, gifting Ithaca to their enemies for ever. The alternative was to continue to Sparta, where they might gain powerful allies and come back with a force that could optimistically challenge Eupeithes. And yet that would also give the usurper time to establish himself and strengthen his position.
‘Whatever we may think,’ said Halitherses, ‘the decision has to be yours, my lord. We all have homes and families on Ithaca, but you are the heir to the throne. You know what’s best, and we’ll commit ourselves to your judgement.’
‘Then I’m going to pray on the matter,’ Odysseus announced. ‘If you’re wise you’ll do the same. I’ll decide when I return.’
He turned to go to the other side of the hilltop, and as he did so gave Eperitus a long look and nodded his head for him to follow. The young warrior waited a short while then went to find him.
Odysseus sat on his haunches, his elbows balanced on his knees and his hands wilting at the ends of his outstretched arms. He was looking out towards the sea. Though winter had begun the sky had few clouds and the sun was bright as it climbed towards its apex, enabling a keen-eyed observer to see for great distances. The prince did not look at Eperitus as he joined him.
‘You wanted me, my lord?’
‘No formalities here, Eperitus. Sit down.’
Rocks were scattered everywhere, none of them flat or smooth enough to sit on, so he squatted next to Odysseus and faced the sea. The landscape was typical of southern Greece – hilly, boulder-strewn, punctuated with scrubby plants and olive groves – but it felt an empty and lonely place.