King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

by Glyn Iliffe

  A low mist had crept up from the sea and shrouded the legs of the small army, making them appear to float as they followed Halitherses through the town towards the palace. Eperitus and the other guardsmen were close behind him. As the only trained soldiers, they were to secure the gates whilst the others entered the courtyard and led the assault on the palace.

  There were no fires or torches, but by the first light of dawn that pervaded the already failing night they could see the whitewashed palace walls through the murk. There was a dark hole where the gate stood and they could not tell whether the portals were open or shut, but they were encouraged by the silence that met them as they formed a line along the edge of the terrace.

  A cockerel crowed. Halitherses pointed at Eumaeus, who raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, clear note. For a moment they waited, listening to the lonely sound shiver the darkness, and then they were running steadily towards the gates.

  Their weapons weighed them down, making it difficult to run. Eperitus’s sword banged against his thigh and he was conscious of the bronze greaves upon his shins, stiffening his movements and checking his speed. His feet became quickly sodden from the wet grass, and yet the palace walls seemed hardly any closer. Suddenly someone called out.

  ‘The gates are closed!’

  Some of the men slowed down to look at the tall wooden doors. Though they were still some way off, they could see the gates remained shut against them.

  ‘Come on, you dogs!’ Halitherses shouted grimly. ‘Get moving! We’ll scale the walls while they’re still waking up.’

  But it was too late even for that. Taphian bowmen were already climbing onto the walls from the other side, unslinging their bows and taking aim. Halitherses was leading the Ithacans headlong into a trap, yet even so Eperitus ran on after him, hoping to close the remaining distance before the archers’ deadly arrows stopped them. After waiting so long to return, it angered him that they should fail so early in their mission. Now only death and honour awaited them, and he was determined to fight his way into the compound and die with Taphian blood on his sword.

  The attack had almost stalled behind them, but encouraged by the example of their captain the guardsmen ran screaming at the high walls, followed by most of the townsfolk. Eumaeus, unencumbered by shield or armour, outstripped them all. He passed Eperitus at a sprint and caught up with Halitherses, seeming as if he would run straight up the walls and over into the compound beyond.

  Then the archers fired.

  Their bows sang in the cold morning air. Eumaeus fell into the layer of mist and was gone. Halitherses turned towards him and was brought down under a second volley, disappearing into the vapours like the squire before him. Eperitus thrust his shield out before him and ran towards where his captain had fallen, shouting with rage and heedless of the flying darts from the walls. They split the air about his ears and thumped into the layered ox-hide of the shield, and in the growing light he could see yet more Taphian archers clambering up to shoot at the easy target he presented for them.

  But Athena had heard his prayers. As he searched amid the swirling vapours only a spear’s throw from the walls, he was not brought down by an arrow but by an obstacle on the ground. He stumbled forward into the welcoming mist and his shield fell on top of him, just as two more arrows thumped into its thick hide. There was a tense pause as the archers looked for him through the concealing vapours, then, thinking him dead, they turned their attentions to the mass of retreating Ithacans.

  Eperitus lay still as the noise of battle receded from him. The grass was damp under his stomach and its fresh smell filled his nostrils. Close by someone was crying. Looking to his right he saw Eumaeus, whose legs he must have tripped over. The mist was beginning to evaporate as the sunlight grew and he could see the swineherd lying slumped and motionless on his front, a pair of arrows protruding from his left thigh. It also exposed him once more to the archers on the wall, and another arrow buried itself into the ground perilously close to his side. Eperitus sprang to his feet and, with his shield and spear in one hand, lifted the wounded boy with his free arm and ran as fast as his burdens would allow, back across the terraced plain towards the town. The bows twanged behind him again and he watched the arrows pluck at the last swirls of mist. There were dark humps on either side as he ran, barely distinguishable as bodies in the weak light of dawn, but ahead of him he was encouraged to see the remainder of his comrades, crouched beyond the reach of the Taphian arrows.

  They stood to welcome him as he joined them, elated that two of their number had returned from the dead. He threw down his spear and shield and passed Eumaeus into the hands of one of the townsfolk, a giant bronze-smith who lifted the lad easily in his giant arms and set off with him back through the streets.

  The rapid defeat had strained every man’s nerves, and Eperitus wondered whether the Ithacans had the courage for another attack. Too few of them were seasoned warriors; the majority were ordinary men who had decided to join the fight for their country with whatever weapons were to hand. Now, with the loss of their captain, possibly of their prince, and with the palace gates barred against them, they were faced with the reality of a bloody fight and little hope of survival.

  Eperitus brushed the dirt from his tunic and looked about at their anxious faces. ‘Anybody who wants to abandon the fight now is welcome to do so; if you can face the shame of it, then your homes and families are waiting for you. Besides, I’d rather fight with brave men at my side than cowards. The rest of us have a duty to fight Polytherses and free our homeland. Halitherses has fallen and we must avenge him. Odysseus may also be dead, but as long as there’s a chance he’s still alive then we must go back and take the palace. If we don’t fight for him now, all hope is lost and the Taphians will always rule Ithaca.’

  ‘I’m with you!’ said a grey-bearded old fisherman, his face stern and uncompromising. He was joined by a chorus of agreement from the rest of the men. ‘I’d rather die fighting than live under Polytherses.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s go to glory, or an honourable death.’

  Eperitus lifted his shield before him and signalled for the other guards to do the same. Together they made a wall of shields and marched once more towards the palace, the arrows parting the air above their heads again. Those without armour fell in behind them for protection from the deadly hail, and for a while, at range, they remained safe. But as they approached the walls two or three arrows found their mark, spinning men backward into the grass to kick out the last moments of their life. Eperitus peered around the edge of his shield and an instant later an arrow thumped into the top of the hide. But ahead of them their objective was getting progressively closer.

  ‘We’ll use our shields to make a platform when we reach the wall,’ he shouted. ‘It won’t be easy: we’ll be under fire from their archers as we climb, and they’ll be waiting for anyone who gets over alive. But when Ithaca is free again, the bards will make songs about us that will be told long after we’re all dead.’

  They cheered at the prospect of glory, and at the same time shrank behind the cover of the shields as the palace defences grew tall before them. A man fell heavily, making no sound as an arrow pierced his heart and took his life. His comrades shrank down even further as more arrows rattled against the line of shields.

  Suddenly Eperitus noticed a slight figure break away from the huddle of attackers and stand exposed before the walls. It was Arceisius, the shepherd boy, who must have slipped unnoticed into the Ithacan ranks. Without a care for his own safety, he fitted a pebble into the woollen pouch of a sling and spun it rapidly about his head. Another cheer erupted from the Ithacan line as the stone found a target and one of the Taphian archers tumbled from the walls. A second pebble followed, hitting one of the defenders in the face before a flurry of hastily aimed arrows forced the shepherd boy back behind the press of his comrades. As he watched Arceisius send a further missile flying at the walls, Eperitus regretted not having any more slingers or archers;
although he carried Odysseus’s horn bow on his back and his quiver of arrows at his waist, his own place was at the forefront of their attack. Arceisius would have to work alone.

  Having seen the first Taphians fall, Eperitus was also keen to press the attack on the wall and take his spear to the elusive enemy. They were almost up to the gates now and he was ready to break into a run, when suddenly he saw the body of Halitherses lying in the grass. At the sight of his grey hair and the distinctive, old-fashioned armour Eperitus felt the hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, provoked to sadness by the loss of his good friend. And then Halitherses moved.

  It was only the slightest twitch of an outstretched arm, but overwhelmed to discover the guard captain was alive Eperitus ran from the Ithacan front rank towards where he lay, determined to bring him safely away from the foot of the walls. But before the Taphian archers could shoot him down, their rain of arrows suddenly stopped and they slipped back into the courtyard. Eperitus looked back at Arceisius, who shook his head in reply.

  Then the answer came. They heard the rasping sound of the bar being lifted from the back of the great gates and saw the doors fold outward, ready to unleash the Taphian counter-attack.

  As the gates were slammed shut, Odysseus and his companions were hurriedly escorted into the palace by the scar-faced Taphian and four others. There was no time to bind their wrists, but with two guards in front of them and the sword points of the others pressed painfully into their backs, the Ithacans knew any attempt to escape would be futile and swiftly dealt with. The commotion of battle was already starting behind them as they entered the torch-lit passageway that skirted the great hall.

  They marched rapidly towards the steps leading up to the royal quarters, but were stopped by the sudden appearance of Mentes from a side passage, his sword held menacingly at his side. When Diocles the Spartan joined him, the guards knew something was wrong.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, Mentes?’ asked the leading Taphian. ‘And why isn’t this prisoner with the others?’

  Without a word, Mentes plunged his sword into the man’s gut, killing him instantly. Diocles, though unarmed, crumpled the other man with a single blow from his large fist. Five more Spartans joined them from the side passage; two of them picked up the weapons of the fallen men and, with Mentes at their head, rushed at the remaining Taphians. Odysseus, Mentor and Antiphus twisted away from their captors as their rescuers drove them back down the corridor, their swords clashing angrily against each other.

  ‘Mentes, you traitor,’ hissed the scar-faced warrior.

  Mentes replied with a thrust of his sword. His opponent parried the hasty lunge and laid the younger man’s guard open, but in the narrow passage was unable to bring his own weapon up to find the exposed torso. In desperation he resorted to punching Mentes in the stomach, winding him. Mentes slumped against the wall, but before his former comrade could finish him one of the armed Spartans stepped in and skewered the Taphian through the groin. He fell to the ground, screaming with the agony of the mortal wound.

  Though the two remaining guards had been pushed back, they showed no signs of wanting to run to the safety of the courtyard. Instead, they stood shoulder to shoulder and raised the points of their swords, smiling grimly at the thought of a fight to the death. Odysseus picked up their dying comrade’s weapon, ready to answer their challenge, but before he could advance on the waiting Taphians Mentes stepped between them and faced his countrymen.

  ‘Join us,’ he said. ‘We came here to serve Eupeithes, not Polytherses. There will be no dishonour in laying down your arms and refusing to fight, and tomorrow we can return to our beloved homeland.’

  The men looked at him with scorn in their eyes. They were warriors, proud men who were ready to die in battle; they had also come to prefer Polytherses’s brutal style of leadership to the soft indecision of Eupeithes, and had every intention of fighting for the new king of Ithaca. One of them spat into the dirt at Mentes’s feet.

  Odysseus wasted no time in rushing at them and severing the sword arm of one with a single blow. Shocked, he fell backwards clutching at the gushing wound, and Odysseus finished him with a stab through the throat. The other man was engaged by a Spartan and quickly slain, the victor savouring revenge for the massacre of his comrades the day before. The scar-faced warrior, still groaning, was quickly dispatched, but Mentes insisted they spare the life of the man Diocles had knocked unconscious.

  As they tied his hands and feet with belts taken from his dead comrades, Odysseus explained the desperate situation at the gates to the others.

  ‘It troubles me to fight against my own countrymen,’ Mentes said, gagging the prisoner with a strip of cloth torn from a bloody cloak. ‘But, equally, I hate Polytherses and the way he is putting good soldiers to ill use. If I help you open the gates, maybe the gods will bring some of them to their senses and they will join with us against our true enemy.’

  Odysseus thought of the two guards they had just slain and doubted whether many, if any, of the Taphians would switch allegiance. They were too proud, even for Greeks. But he was nevertheless glad of Mentes’s continuing loyalty, and knew if he could help them open the gates there would still be a slim chance of victory. Something else concerned him, though, and he could no longer restrain himself.

  ‘Diocles, where is Penelope? I know she was with you when the camp was ambushed.’

  ‘She was captured with us, but we were separated the moment they brought us inside the palace walls.’

  ‘Then I have no choice,’ Odysseus announced. ‘Diocles, I want you and your men to open the gate. Antiphus and Mentes will go with you. They won’t be expecting an attack from within the palace so you’ll have the advantage of surprise, but you still have to open the gates and hold them until Halitherses can reach you. When he does, then you must do what you can to defeat the Taphians inside the courtyard.

  ‘As for Mentor and I, we will search the palace for Penelope. Any victory will be a hollow one for me if my wife is harmed, so I must be sure of her safety. Then, if the new king is anywhere to be found, I’ll make sure of him too. But first I must find where Eupeithes is being kept.’

  ‘He was imprisoned with us in a storeroom, down there,’ said Diocles, pointing to the passageway from which they had emerged earlier. ‘Have pity on him, Odysseus.’

  ‘May the gods be with you,’ was Odysseus’s only response, then with Mentor he went to find the man who had brought so much trouble to Ithaca.

  The corridor was lit by a single torch, which Odysseus freed from its holder and took with him into the storeroom. For a moment they could see nothing but large clay jars amidst the flickering shadows cast by the flame. Then, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they distinguished a man in the far corner, his legs sprawled out before him. They stepped closer and held the torch up, causing the man to squirm away from the light, cowering and whimpering as he covered his eyes with his forearm.

  It was Eupeithes, though only just. His once proudly fattened physique was diminished through starvation, and his previously clean-shaven, fleshy cheeks were drawn and covered in a scrawny beard. So this was the man who had deposed Laertes, and for fear of whom Odysseus had taken the palace guard across the Peloponnese to Sparta. He lowered the torch.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘And leave him?’ asked Mentor, shocked. ‘You’ve wanted to kill this rat for the past half-year; surely you aren’t going to turn your back on him now? He deserves death, Odysseus!’

  ‘Maybe,’ Odysseus answered, ‘but I haven’t the heart to murder such a pathetic creature.’

  He turned and, without a further glance at the former king, walked back out of the room to the main corridor. The others had gone already and, with no time to waste, Odysseus flung the torch into the dirt at his feet and pulled the sword from his belt.

  ‘Come on, old friend,’ he said, looking at the steps to the royal quarters. ‘Let’s see this thing to its finish.’

  Th
ey mounted the steps two at a time to the floor above, where they turned to scan the dimly lit corridors for guards. Seeing none, they moved cautiously to the point where an intersecting corridor ran to the right. Both men knew the palace intimately; the turn led straight to the royal quarters.

  Odysseus had been born and brought up here. This was his territory, the very heart of his home, where he, his parents and his sister had lived in happiness for as long as he could remember. The sight of the familiar walls and doors, the faded murals and the worn mats on the stone floor made Odysseus suddenly realize the depth of the offence that had been caused to his family. That he had been forced into exile, his father taken to the northern tip of the island and his mother and sister imprisoned in their own home; that their enemies were now enjoying the food from their own kitchens, cooked and served by Laertes’s slaves; that foreigners bathed, dressed and slept in their own rooms, filled him with a murderous anger. Gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were white, he turned the corner.

  Two guards lay propped sleepily against the door jambs of his parents’ room. The first barely saw Odysseus as he clove his head open to the base of his neck. Though the second threw the shaft of his spear up as a defence against Mentor’s sword, he was killed by the follow-up thrust that split open his stomach.

  They jumped over the corpses and into the large room where his mother sat gripping the edge of the bed. Beside her stood Koronos, the traitor who had deceived the Kerosia into sending the palace guard to Sparta. He held a sword in his hand, but appeared calm and collected before the unexpected appearance of Odysseus and Mentor.

  ‘So, the fledgling has returned to the nest,’ he scoffed. ‘But a little too late to save your darling wife, I fear.’