King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

by Glyn Iliffe

  Agamemnon, whose own gaze had also been fixed on Penelope, nodded and placed a finger to his lips. ‘Already I can see we share similar views, Odysseus, so I’ll bring you into my confidence. But these things aren’t for all ears. Not yet.’

  Together, he and Diomedes explained in hushed voices how Troy was demanding tribute from all merchants passing through the Aegean. Not only was it an affront to all Greeks, they said, it also threatened to become a stranglehold on the trade that the Greek states depended and thrived on.

  Odysseus drained his cup. ‘So what do you propose?’

  ‘Anything necessary to keep the peace here,’ said Diomedes. ‘We’re considering a combined raid on Ilium, the land around Troy, to sack a couple of Priam’s allied cities. Something to give the Greek states a common purpose. But we need to have all the kings on our side, or else who would take their armies across the Aegean if there were enemies still at home? This gathering is an ideal chance to hold a council of war.’

  ‘I’m all for an alliance between the Greek states,’ Odysseus began. ‘Especially if it keeps peace between us all. But putting this idea into practice is another matter altogether.’

  The others were no longer listening. Instead their eyes were looking past him to the open portals of the great hall, which had fallen suddenly silent. Odysseus turned.

  Two women stood at the entrance. One was tall and slim with long black hair, streaked grey at the temples; only a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes marked her age. She would have dominated the gathered warriors with her powerful beauty, were it not for the presence of her younger companion.

  Helen of Sparta had arrived.

  Chapter Seventeen

  DAUGHTERS OF LACEDAEMON

  A hush spread across the hall as Helen stood before the gathered warriors. The words died in their mouths and the drinking cups froze in their hands. It was as if Medusa herself had entered, and with one look turned them all to stone.

  She was tall with long black hair and white skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun. Her eyes were like burning ice and as she looked about at the crowded hall they set a cold fire running through the veins of every man. Peisandros was right, Eperitus realized: the words did not exist that could describe her. She was like a mountain that a man sees from afar and wants to climb, so he can tell himself he is better than the mountain. But Helen possessed no fault in which a man could gain a foothold. There was no blemish or imperfection with which the spectators in the great hall could pull her down to their level. She soared above every warrior, every prince, every king, until it was an agony for them to look at her, knowing they had been defeated by a woman’s looks.

  And yet, if her beauty cut deep into their souls, she had other weapons that struck at their corporeal natures. Though only a girl of seventeen years, she was fully a woman and had the ruthless confidence to display it. She had come barefoot into the great hall and wore only a white dress of the thinnest material, which hid little of the naked body beneath. No man in that room was left in any doubt of what Helen had to offer her chosen husband.

  Eperitus’s sense of honour told him that the mind of a better man would dwell upon her perfect face and not upon her perfect body, and yet he was a slave to his animal nature. By her mere presence she had made pigs of every man in the room, exposing their high ideals and their heroic codes and letting them feed in the troughs of their base natures. Eperitus felt ashamed, but could not avert his eyes.

  Then the older woman threw a cloak about Helen’s shoulders and released the assembled warriors from the fierce grip of her spell. Men looked at each other and spoke in hushed voices. More wine doused dry throats and sluggish movements returned to the organism that had taken possession of the great hall. But the noble suitors, the men who had come to claim her, remained in silent thrall as Helen approached the dais where her foster-father sat. The older woman followed, like a tutor presenting her prize pupil.

  ‘She isn’t interested in any of them, you know.’

  Gyrtias sat down next to Eperitus and held out a platter of bread and meat.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, taking a handful of each.

  The soldier from Rhodes took some of the food for himself and washed it down with a slop of wine that spilled over his beard. ‘I spoke with one of Helen’s slave girls this morning and asked what her mistress thought of Prince Tlepolemos. It took a bit of persuasion, but the girl’s a bit simple so I got what I wanted in the end. She told me Helen isn’t interested in Tlepolemos or any of the suitors. She thinks her father and King Agamemnon will choose her husband for her, so she’s planning to run away!’

  Eperitus laughed at the suggestion. ‘Does she really think she can just slip off into the night? Every man in Sparta would be hunting for her, and with a face like that she wouldn’t be hard to follow. Besides, she should be happy to have any of Greece’s finest men for a husband.’

  ‘She isn’t, though,’ Gyrtias assured him. ‘She detests being a pawn in Agamemnon’s political games, and doesn’t have much love for Tyndareus either. She believes her real father to be Zeus, so the will of Tyndareus means nothing to her. The maid claims she would even run away with a common warrior, just to spite him. Can you imagine it, a commoner?’

  Eperitus looked over at the princess as she stood tall and proud amidst the throng of nobles who had stepped down to meet her. Her chaperone – who he assumed was Leda – had joined Tyndareus and looked on approvingly as her daughter stood like a white candle in a crowd of moths. Did any of them realize she was simply mocking their attentions? Suddenly, insanely, Eperitus imagined Helen and himself escaping through the darkness of the night, over the passes of the Taygetus Mountains to freedom. Visions of her perfect face and godlike physique electrified his mind and he felt excited at the incredible thought. But as quickly as the fantastic notion had seized him, it faded away again. His grandfather had told him many times that the greatest enemies of a fighting man were death and women. And the oracle’s words provided a much greater warning: ‘The hero should beware love, for if she clouds his desires he will fall into the Abyss.’

  Odysseus looked at the crowd that stood about Helen. How could they ever hope to possess her? he thought. But as he watched her receive their praise, her even and faultless features meeting their words with little more than a nod or a wry smile, even a yawn, he could not blame them for wanting her. There was something magical about the princess that surpassed the purely physical beauty she had in abundance. Some of this allure lay in the elusiveness with which she taunted their ambitions, challenging them to claim her for themselves. Some looked on her as a boar to be hunted or a horse to be broken in, whilst others simply despaired. But none received anything more than her contempt, and of them all only Odysseus knew beyond the slightest ember of a hope that she would not be his; and so he sat back and watched the others expend themselves upon her.

  Until her bored gaze wandered beyond the group that imprisoned her and fell unexpectedly on him.

  In an instant, Odysseus was pierced to the core by the sudden shock of her beauty. All his plans to ignore her and seek alliances amongst her suitors trembled about him. In the lingering moment that her clear blue eyes probed his he looked into his heart and questioned the things he valued most. Would he give up Ithaca for her sake, she seemed to ask? Would he forget even his family and friends to be with her?

  And he knew the answer was no. The spell was broken, the challenge met. Helen had tested him, damaged him, almost defeated him, and only his love for his home saved him from her. But he understood now what was most powerful and dangerous about this woman. In that brief instant he realized she must have looked at each of her suitors in the same way, questioning their individual values and breaking each of them in turn. He freed himself from the gaze that had locked them together and scanned the hall for his countrymen. He finally found them in the throng and was surprised to see the wilful daughter of Icarius, Penelope, standing before them.

 
‘You’re a curious man, Odysseus,’ Tyndareus said beside him. He, Icarius and Odysseus were the only three who had not risen to greet the princess. ‘You travel halfway across Greece, facing all manner of dangers to see my daughter, and now you sit by without a word to say. You must have strange customs on Ithaca.’

  On hearing her husband’s words, Leda looked at Odysseus with mild amusement in her eyes. ‘What kind of a suitor ignores the woman he longs to marry?’

  ‘Maybe he does not want to marry me,’ Helen said, stepping onto the broad dais to stand before Odysseus.

  ‘Why else would I be here, my lady?’ he replied, bowing his head.

  The suitors resumed their places without removing their eyes from the princess. Only Agamemnon remained standing, sending furtive glances across the room at Penelope. Helen took his seat and faced Odysseus, her cloak falling open to reveal the gossamerthin dress beneath. It was a wonder that human hands could make material so fine, yet Helen was more than worthy of its craftsmanship. It was like a thin mist that gave tantalizing glimpses of the naked form beneath. But at the same time she fixed him with her eyes, offering him the agonizing choice between her face and her body. He chose neither, and instead beckoned a slave to refill his drinking cup.

  ‘Where do you come from, Odysseus? Are you powerful and rich like Diomedes?’ At the mention of his name – Helen’s first recognition of him – Diomedes sat up. His noble nature did not begrudge Odysseus the princess’s attention, though he envied him for it. ‘Or are you one of the lesser royals, hoping to increase your country’s might by marrying the daughter of the Spartan king?’

  ‘Co-king,’ Odysseus reminded her, sensing every eye was upon them. ‘In answer to your first question, I’m from Ithaca; in answer to your second and third, I am very much a lesser royal. As for seeking a marriage of power, I doubt that a man of my standing would get very far with the great Helen of Sparta.’

  As he spoke, Helen touched her foot against the thick calf muscles of his leg, rubbing her toes briefly and seductively against his skin. The cloak opened further to reveal more of her perfect body, and Odysseus recognized that her provocative manner was practised and compelling. But he sensed this was a façade, not the real Helen.

  ‘Then why would a man travel all the way from an island in the Ionian Sea to pay court to a princess in Sparta, whom he had never seen before and had no hope of marrying?’

  Surprised that she knew of Ithaca, Odysseus was even more intrigued by her shrewd insinuation that he had not come to Sparta for her. He was suddenly aware that, though young, Helen had an intelligence to match her outstanding looks, and that he must be careful around her. More importantly, he had to be mindful not to fall for the charms of a girl whom Zeus had already decreed should marry another. Whatever her reasons for flirting with him, whether they were born of genuine attraction or of more deceitful motives, he could not allow her to distract him from his mission.

  ‘My country is humble and distanced from the central powers of Greece,’ he replied. ‘Our life is simple and carefree. But in a land of ease a man must go beyond his home borders to experience the world. When I heard the most beautiful woman in Greece was to be married, I thought I should like to see her for myself. That she could show any interest in an island prince was beyond my expectations, and still is, but it does no harm to worship an earthly divinity.’

  ‘Your rough looks belie a fine character,’ Helen remarked. ‘I think I should be happy on Ithaca, if it produces such a breed of well-spoken men.’

  Odysseus was about to say she would be welcome there, and that her presence would turn every Ithacan into a bard, but as he opened his mouth to speak Clytaemnestra joined them.

  ‘Always dreaming of running away, sister. Isn’t it a shame you’re a woman, and your destiny is ever in the hands of others.’ She looked about at the seated nobles. ‘Where’s my husband?’

  ‘Where do you think?’ Helen answered. ‘Snooping after Penelope, as usual.’

  Eperitus looked up at Penelope as she stood before the seated soldiers with her hands on her hips and a smile upon her face.

  ‘Welcome to Sparta, men of Ithaca,’ she greeted them. ‘I am Penelope, daughter of King Icarius. I hope your needs are met, but if not I’ll do what I can to help you feel more at ease in our home.’

  ‘You can tell us whether Odysseus will win Helen’s hand in marriage,’ Damastor asked, to the cheers and laughter of the others. Gyrtias and his Rhodians jeered mockingly and received a hail of bread and barley cakes in response.

  ‘Is he the red-haired one with short legs and arms like tree trunks?’ Penelope replied. ‘Then I hope his clumsy charms are more effective on my cousin than they were on me.’

  There was another roar of laughter. Warming to the young woman in their drunkenness, the warriors offered her wine and a seat, which she accepted.

  ‘And what about you, my lady?’ Eperitus asked. ‘Are you married?’

  She looked at him and grinned. ‘Are you suggesting I should be?’

  ‘I am,’ he said, encouraged by the wine.

  ‘Yes,’ Antiphus added with a laugh. ‘To him!’

  ‘Are these men bothering you, Penelope?’

  ‘No, Lord Agamemnon,’ she answered stiffly, as the Mycenaean king appeared beside her.

  He slipped his hand about her slim waist, his thumb almost touching her breast. The soldiers fell silent as he stood before them in his immaculate clothes and golden armour (which he wore at all times for fear of assassination). Eperitus felt a strong dislike for him, irked partly by the king’s arrogance and partly by the arm about Penelope’s waist. He noticed her flinch slightly as Agamemnon’s arm encompassed her and felt a surprising urge to defend her from his possessive touch. He could not understand why she did not remove herself from the king’s embrace, though perhaps she knew better than to resist the advances of the most powerful man in Greece, who rumour said would frequently take lovers from slaves and nobility alike.

  ‘These are Odysseus’s men,’ Penelope explained. ‘I was simply welcoming them and trying to make them feel more comfortable. The palace can be an overawing experience for those who haven’t been here before.’

  ‘I’ve heard of the fate of your home, and you have my sympathy,’ he said. The men grunted, approving of Agamemnon’s recognition. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  Halitherses stood and took a step forward.

  ‘I am, my lord. Halitherses, son of Mastor.’

  ‘Tell me, Halitherses, if Ithaca went to war how many men could it muster? How many ships?’

  Agamemnon had already put the same question to Odysseus, but to ask the captain of his guard would let him know whether the prince had been honest or was hiding his real strength. It would also make the men think he cared about their opinion, which would earn their loyalty if they were ever to fight under his command.

  ‘Nobody really knows, my lord,’ Halitherses answered. ‘We’ve never had to summon every man to war before. But I should estimate that from all our islands we could fill twenty galleys with men able to fight, whilst leaving enough men to defend our homeland in our absence.’

  ‘Over a thousand warriors,’ Agamemnon said, nodding. ‘And how many men could be sent on a prolonged campaign, keeping sufficient at home to carry on normal life?’

  ‘Perhaps ten galleys, sir.’

  At that moment Penelope saw Clytaemnestra approaching and released herself from the king’s grip in a quick, graceful movement. Agamemnon acknowledged his wife’s presence with a cold nod, but no familiar arm was placed about her hard, thin body.

  ‘Thank you, Halitherses,’ he continued. ‘You should know I have every respect for Odysseus. He and I are like-minded men. Now, carry on your drinking and find yourselves some willing girls to warm your beds tonight.’

  The men cheered his words and there was a riot of speculation amongst them as he led the two women back to their fathers. Eperitus and Halitherses, disquieted by his questions, exchanged conce
rned looks.

  Eperitus was the first of the Ithacans to leave the feast. He sat on the balcony adjacent to his quarters and looked out over the city of Sparta and the plains beyond, where the clear moonlight reflected from the winding course of the Eurotas river. His mind was full of the events of the evening, when from the corner of his eye he saw a young girl approaching and turned to face her. She bowed and asked if he was one of the party of Ithacans.

  ‘I am with them, though not an Ithacan,’ he replied. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My lady sent me – she must speak with you about an urgent matter. Meet her in the temple of Aphrodite tomorrow night, after the evening’s feast has begun. Come alone and tell no one.’

  Her errand accomplished, the slave did not stay to be questioned. She ran off into the shadows at the end of the corridor and disappeared down the steps to the second floor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  SECRET LIAISONS

  The streets of Sparta were quiet and dark. The moon had not yet risen, and when it did would remain hidden behind the thick rain clouds that were filling the sky. Several times Eperitus stumbled in the deep wheel-ruts that numerous wagons had carved into the road, and though the palace armourer had given him directions to the temple of Aphrodite he felt sure he was now lost in the eerily empty streets. The only sounds came from the palace at the top of the hill, where the feast he had just left was at its height.

  He clutched the hilt of his sword, comforted by its presence. These past two days, since arriving in Sparta, he had felt naked without his weapons. Only his mission outside the palace walls had given him the right to have his sword returned, and now he felt whole again and capable of taking on any enemy who dared confront him. But the safe streets of Sparta posed no threat, beyond the danger of being endlessly trapped within its unlit labyrinth of thoroughfares. The only encounter he expected was in the temple, though he could not guess who would want to speak with one of Odysseus’s men, or why.