King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

by Glyn Iliffe

  Damastor squinted over his shield. ‘Yes – it’s Polybus.’

  Antiphus, who crouched next to him, spat over his shield. ‘Good. I’ve got an old score to settle with him.’

  Eperitus looked up and recognized the arrogant braggart he had knocked into the pool back on Ithaca. His handsome features were out of place beneath the bronze helmet he wore, and his clumsy shield and spear were even less becoming against his elegant, well cared for physique. He looked as if he had just stepped out of his bath, been oiled by slaves and dressed in the finest armour wealth could buy. But none of the accoutrements of a warrior could make him look like a true fighting man. Judging by the way he had spread his men so thinly, Eperitus did not think he was a talented commander of soldiers either.

  As he watched, Polybus stood on a large outcrop of rock and put his hands on his hips.

  ‘Greetings Odysseus,’ he shouted down to them. ‘I hope you like the little surprise I’ve prepared for you. The last time we met I told you we would continue our discussion when the odds were more equal. That time has come, I think.’

  ‘Our spears will speak for us,’ Odysseus replied, his deep voice reassuring to the men around him.

  In answer, Polybus shouted to one of his archers and the first arrow flew. It caught an Ithacan in the chest and threw him back on to the road, his armour crashing about him.

  The lull was over.

  More bowstrings twanged from the hillsides, arrows splitting the air about them. One pierced Eperitus’s shield, the point stopping a finger’s breadth from his face. He stood and looked about himself, but by good fortune or the protection of a god only one man had fallen to the first volley. He leapt over the prostrate body as more arrows whistled about them and joined Odysseus, who stood with his shield held up against the deadly rain.

  ‘Polybus has spread his men too thinly,’ Eperitus suggested. ‘He’s left himself vulnerable on the left-hand slope. There are fewer Taphians there and the approach is less steep. They should break easily if we attack, and we can escape with only a few losses.’

  ‘What glory is there in escape?’ Odysseus smiled. ‘Besides, Polybus wants us to retreat that way so he can pursue us across the plain towards Sparta. He’s placed most of his archers on the right to fire at our backs, and just enough men on the left to hold us until his main force can attack our rear. It’s clever, but obvious. But if we kill Polybus, we break them as a force and gain victory against the odds. So we go right, where they least expect us.’

  ‘But if we fail, you lose everything.’

  ‘The gods will be with us, Eperitus.’

  With that Odysseus let out a great cry and called for his men to follow him up the hill towards Polybus. They obeyed without question, lifting their shields before them and advancing in a steady line up the slope. Forgetting any thought of escape, Eperitus followed close on the heels of Odysseus.

  Arrows fell into them from behind and two men went down before they were more than a few paces up the hill. Damastor turned in a mixture of surprise and anger, but caught his foot and fell, striking his head against a boulder. He did not get up again and his comrades were forced to leave him as they drove on into the rain of missiles from above.

  Despite the early casualties, Polybus had kept the balance of his fifteen or so archers on his own side of the ambush, as Odysseus had pointed out. This made the threat from behind less effective, and all the time the Ithacans were moving out of the effective range of the smaller group of archers. Also, by holding their oversized shields before them they made the shots of the men on the slopes above ineffective, and were able to steadily close the distance on them. And yet the hill was steep and their careful approach, with shields held out as they scrambled around boulders and over loose rocks, allowed the Taphians to pull back before them and tighten their ranks.

  ‘Eperitus!’ Antiphus called over to him. ‘Stay here and protect me with your shield while I take some shots at them. I’m sick of not being able to fire back.’

  Eperitus ran across and fixed the point at the bottom of his shield into the dust. It was tall and broad enough to provide cover for both himself and Antiphus, who slipped his bow and quiver from his shoulders and knelt down. Having no natural skill with the weapon, Eperitus watched with impressed satisfaction as his companion flipped the lid off the quiver, laid a handful of arrows down in his upturned shield and fitted one to the string. He stretched it back with his left hand, resting the shaft on the knuckles of his right hand where his index and forefinger had been severed by Polybus, then steadied his breathing and took aim.

  Eperitus peered around the other side of the shield. The Ithacans were clambering more slowly up the hillside now, but still maintained the even dispersal of their line. Odysseus was at their centre, undeterred that he was the target of most of the Taphian archers. It was he who kept the advance steady, ensuring with booming commands (which Halitherses reinforced) that no warrior outstripped his comrades. He controlled them like a man reining in a chariot team, keeping each horse in check until the final burst of speed is required.

  Then Antiphus’s bowstring twanged loud in Eperitus’s ear and he saw one of the tall archers flail backwards, caught in the eye. With amazing speed, Antiphus fitted a second missile, took a moment to aim, then let it fly towards a second Taphian, who folded as the point pierced his stomach. Moments later, a third man was hit in the shoulder, and at this the enemy gave up their bows and withdrew behind the safety of their shields. Eperitus saw Polybus then, moving between his bewildered men and marshalling them into a line to meet Odysseus’s advance. Either through stupidity or a complete lack of fear, he walked with his shield slung over his shoulder, unconscious or dismissive of the danger from the slopes below.

  Seeing the opportunity, Eperitus touched Antiphus’s shoulder and pointed at the easy target. ‘Revenge for losing your fingers?’

  Antiphus saw Polybus, who he could easily have slain, but shook his head. ‘His life isn’t mine to take. Odysseus wants him. I have a different revenge in mind.’

  As he spoke an arrow passed between them and tore a channel of flesh from his left shoulder. He cried out in pain and surprise, and clapped a hand to the wound. Together they turned to see that the Taphians from the hillside behind them had left their positions and were closing on their rear, threatening to cut off their retreat and trap them. Eperitus looked up at Odysseus, but he and his guards had restarted their advance on the now fixed line of mercenaries before them, ignorant of the new danger. He shouted to Mentor, who was nearest, and pointed to the ten or so enemy warriors below.

  More arrows fell around them and Antiphus called for Eperi-tus’s shield again. He swung it about to face the archery from below and immediately caught two of the lethal shafts in its thick hide, where they joined the earlier shot that was still buried there. Antiphus moved around behind his companion and knelt down to his right. He drew back the string, despite the pain in his shoulder, steadied his breathing and took aim. This time, though, the arrow went wide and bounced off a rock, provoking jeers from its intended target.

  Antiphus cursed and, almost in the same breath, called on the help of the gods. He did not miss again. His next arrow pierced the cheek of one of the attackers, whipping his head to one side and sending him rolling back down the hill. His comrades stooped and found what cover there was amongst the boulders, propping their shields before them. But they were not quick enough. Antiphus’s next arrow went straight through a man’s thigh, sending him stumbling back down the slope, shouting with pain. A further arrow finished him, piercing his exposed back and dropping him face-first amongst the rocks.

  Mentor hurried down the slope to join them, bringing two others who had received light arrow wounds.

  ‘Can you keep them off our backs?’ Mentor asked.

  Antiphus’s reply was distracted as he searched for a target amongst the broad shields before him. ‘There are already two fewer than before, and I count only eight men left. I’ve enough ar
rows for the remainder, but if they press hard they’ll overwhelm me. So you’d better stay.’

  At that moment they heard shouts and the clash of arms from above, signifying that Odysseus and his eight remaining men had brought home their charge on Polybus’s score of Taphians. Eperitus was torn between rushing to their aid and waiting for the smaller group to attack. Then the weight of the decision was taken from him as the remaining Taphians began their advance, emerging from the cover of the boulders with their shields held before them.

  The situation reminded him of the first skirmish at Parnassus, except that this time he was not an outsider: their prince was now his prince; their home was his home. Antiphus’s bowstring sounded and another Taphian fell, screaming with agony as he clutched at the arrow in his foot. Realizing their vulnerability, his comrades broke into a run, frantic to cover the remaining distance before the deadly accuracy of the Ithacan archer could take a further toll of their numbers.

  Anxiously, Eperitus glanced over his shoulder to the battle on the slopes above. Mentor did the same and they exchanged worried glances. The situation was desperate and they knew that even Odysseus could not defeat a force twice his own number.

  ‘We’ve got to finish these Taphians now,’ Eperitus said, motioning down the slope with his head, ‘or Odysseus is going to be overwhelmed.’

  Mentor balanced the bulk of his shield on his arm and raised his spear point. ‘Form a line,’ he ordered. ‘Shields and spears at the ready.’

  Antiphus fired one last shot, which bounced harmlessly off the helmet of one of the Taphians, then took up his shield and spear and joined his comrades. Eperitus led the attack, closely followed by the others. The enemy were only seven spears strong now, compared to their five, and the slope gave the Ithacans’ charge momentum as they rushed at their foes.

  The foremost Taphian offered little resistance as the metal boss of Eperitus’s shield smashed through his own. He tumbled backwards before his assailant, the look of shock on his face changing to pain as his head fell against a rock. It was the matter of a moment for Eperitus to push his spear into the man’s soft stomach, tug it free and look for another victim.

  Taphians were a confident breed by nature and remained sure of victory over the smaller Ithacan band. Yet this self-assured reliance on their own brute ability in combat was also the key to their defeat. It made their defence ragged as each man fought his own ground, opening up gaps that the Ithacans exploited with ruthless efficiency. As Eperitus turned to face the next warrior, he saw that Mentor and the others had already attacked the two foremost Taphians in pairs: one forced a parry from his opponent’s shield while the other closed in on the man’s exposed flank, bringing him down with an easy spear thrust. It looked a practised tactic.

  Seeing that the Ithacans’ first onslaught had sent three more of their comrades to Hades and had robbed them of the advantage in numbers, the courage quickly drained from the other Taphians and they fled down the hillside. Only the warrior who faced Eperitus remained, a giant who stood a full head and shoulders above his opponents. He showed no fear as he faced the five Ithacans. Throwing his spear contemptuously to one side, he drew his sword and beckoned Eperitus to attack.

  The young warrior did not disappoint him. Confident after the swift defeat of the others, Eperitus stabbed his spear forward to penetrate the man’s guard. But, though huge, he was not as slow as Eperitus had hoped and easily deflected the spear thrust with his shield. In the same move he brought his sword down upon Eperitus’s shield in a crashing blow that sent him reeling backward with his left arm numbed. Eperitus looked up from the shock of the attack and saw the Taphian raise his arm for a second swing.

  Often the gods will give a man the power to think faster than the chaos and confusion about him, sharpening his awareness and enabling him to react with the speed of instinct. As the giant warrior brought his sword down in a deadly arc, his guard opened. Without thinking, Eperitus twisted aside and pushed his spear into the gap. He felt the elastic resistance of the man’s skin popping beneath the sharpened bronze, followed by the slippery welcome of his stomach as the weapon buried itself in his innards. The Taphian’s sword left his hand and bounced off Eperitus’s shield. He fell sideways and his great weight almost tugged the shaft of the spear from his assailant’s grasp. Then with a snap the intensity of the moment was gone. Eperitus pulled the spear from the twitching body and turned to the others, who were already running back up the hill to join their prince.

  He looked up the rocky slope. The battle now raged at its summit, which was a small knoll on top of the larger mass. It would take them only a little while longer to skirt the mound, giving it a wide enough berth not to be noticed by the Taphians, and then climb up behind them.

  ‘Wait!’ he said, catching up with his comrades. ‘If we rush straight into the fight the Taphians will still have the advantage of the higher ground; if we go around and attack them from behind we’ll throw them into panic.’

  Mentor looked up the hill, weighing up the suggestion as he watched the tight skirmish in which his lord and friend was fighting. ‘Then we’ll need to be quick. Come on.’

  Carrying their spears at their sides they set off at an even run. A goat track led around to the other side of the hill and made the climb much quicker. Soon they were ascending from the other side of the hill and forming a line behind the Taphians.

  The sight that greeted them was a desperate one. The Ithacans had by now been encircled by the greater mass of their foes, and bodies and broken or discarded weapons lay strewn all around. Odysseus’s squat, muscular form stood out in the centre of his men, fighting off two Taphians as if he were fresh to the battle. At his side was Halitherses, straining shield-to-shield against another of the mercenaries.

  As he had done at Parnassus, Eperitus launched one of his spears into the back of an enemy soldier, then charged at the remainder. Another warrior turned in shock at the death of his comrade, only to receive Eperitus’s second spear point in his throat. The momentum of the thrust snapped the man’s head back and broke his neck, killing him instantly and toppling him to the ground. On either side more Taphians fell to the spears of the others. Still more were killed by Odysseus and his group as they broke through the circle of their stunned foes.

  The effect of the attack was devastating. The brief and chaotic butchery that followed left only seven opponents standing, including Polybus, and these withdrew steadily before the Ithacan onslaught.

  Polybus raised his sword and ordered his men forward. They were the last and the best of the Taphians and obeyed the command without compunction, whilst Polybus turned his back on them and ran. Halitherses and Mentor stood at each end of the rank of Ithacans and ordered them to stand firm and meet the attack. But as the two lines met a hand fell on Eperitus’s shoulder and pulled him out of the battle. It was Odysseus.

  ‘Come with me. We still haven’t finished that discussion with Polybus yet.’

  Antiphus was next to them and heard the prince’s words. ‘I’m coming too,’ he said.

  Odysseus did not question him, but simply turned and set off at a run in pursuit of Polybus. They followed him down the reverse slope of the hill, instinctively finding their footing amongst the treacherous boulders and rocks. Already Eperitus could see their quarry before them, running beside the course of a small stream that cut between large, steep hills. The narrow valley was green with the recent rains, and as they reached the swollen watercourse they found a level footpath that gave them more speed. Ahead of them they could see that Polybus had cast off his spear and shield and was stretching the distance between himself and their pursuit. They followed his lead, retaining only their swords and Antiphus’s bow.

  Despite the heavy fighting, Odysseus showed no sign of fatigue and soon began to close on Polybus. Eperitus had never seen a man so short and stocky run with such speed, and he and Antiphus had to keep up as best they could. The stream wound its way between the spurs of the hills, which sometim
es hid Polybus from sight, only to reveal him again as they passed each bend. Then, just as Eperitus’s legs were tiring beneath him, he saw Polybus head uphill. Odysseus mustered fresh energy and sprinted to where he had left the path, but there he stopped. By the time they had caught up with the prince, Polybus was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Where did he go?’ Antiphus asked, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Odysseus pointed up the hill. ‘He’s in there.’

  They looked up. Another path led to the summit where, surrounded by olive trees and overgrown with scrub, a large stone building stood. Judging by its stern silence it was disused.

  ‘What is it?’ Eperitus asked.

  Odysseus smiled and, as if to himself, said, ‘The temple of Athena.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE TEMPLE OF ATHENA

  The temple was larger and more impressive than any Eperitus had ever seen before. In Alybas they worshipped at natural places associated with the gods: groves of trees, caves or mountain springs. The only man-made objects were altars and statuettes, perhaps the occasional hut, but nothing so awe-inspiring as this. And yet what had once been a place of beauty and reverence was now a scene of waste and devastation.

  They stood by a painted statue of Athena, its once rich colours faded by the sun, and looked through the entrance of the walled compound that surrounded the temple. The decorated wooden doors had been thrown down and lay shattered amidst a chaos of other debris and destruction in the courtyard beyond. Parts of the wall were staved in and the rubble was strewn about at random, punctuated by broken vases, upended tripods, clothing and even an overturned cart. Who, or whatever, had caused such damage had immense strength, and clearly did not fear the wrath of the gods. They drew their swords from their belts and walked in.

  Inside the compound they could see the greater extent of the desolation. Half a dozen olive trees – sacred to Athena – had been wrenched out of the ground and left to wither in the sun. There were innumerable shards of pottery spread about, the tatters of ornamental drapes that must once have hung inside the temple itself, and dozens of clay figurines. It looked as if a whirlwind had sucked out the contents of the temple and regurgitated them over the courtyard, then resumed its chaotic path of destruction until there was nothing left to ruin but the plastered stone walls of the building itself.