by Glyn Iliffe
Suddenly another guard leapt at them from the near corner of the room. Mentor, whose sword was in his other hand, instinctively held up his forearm to ward off the blow. The force of the Taphian’s blade cut through the flesh and bone of his wrist, severing his hand and spraying blood across the smooth floor. He fell against the bed, shouting with pain and clutching the stump of his hand beneath his other arm.
Simultaneously, Koronos launched a ferocious attack on Odysseus. Their swords clashed noisily as the prince checked the traitor’s well-aimed swing. For a moment they stood face to face as their momentum pressed them together, their blades crossed between them. Then they withdrew again, their weapons rasping as they slid apart. Koronos renewed his attack, lunging skilfully at the bulk of his opponent, but Odysseus was quicker than he seemed, easily twisting away from the deadly thrust and in the same movement swinging his blade around to slash at Koronos’s exposed flank.
The older man’s reactions were equally good. He straightened up from the lunge that had so nearly skewered his opponent, and then lithely stepped away from the arcing point of the counter-stroke. In the same instant, the Taphian guard jumped over his wounded opponent and joined Koronos in pinning Odysseus back against the corner of the room. The prince retreated under their alternating cuts and thrusts, twice being wounded on the sword arm as he narrowly beat aside blows that would have split open his belly. Then, with all the strength his great arms would lend him, he not only stopped their advance but began to beat the two men back.
A single opponent could barely have withstood the ringing blows. Odysseus slashed from side to side, forcing the two men onto the defensive. They gave ground before him and became quickly exhausted by the effort of parrying his blows. Then the Taphian slipped in Mentor’s blood and fell at the foot of the bed. Though wounded, Mentor used the last of his strength to pluck a dagger from the unconscious guard’s belt and slashed open the man’s throat. He died with a final blood-choked sigh, just as Mentor collapsed with exhaustion.
‘What did you mean by “wife”, Koronos?’ Odysseus grunted as he renewed his attack on the old man.
‘Don’t try to fool me,’ Koronos laughed. ‘Penelope told us she was your wife as soon as she was captured. She seemed proud of the fact, though I wonder whether she will show such arrogance when she’s a widow.’ He beat aside a sudden probing jab from Odysseus. ‘When you’re dead, Polytherses intends to make her his plaything.’
Odysseus lunged angrily, but was checked and had to defend against a rapid return thrust from Koronos.
‘Penelope would die before she gave him the pleasure,’ he snarled.
‘Really?’ Koronos retorted. ‘The king enjoys a good hunt. Says it makes the meat taste better. She’s with him now, you know, down in the great hall with four Taphians. Do you think that if they want to satisfy themselves with her, she’ll be able to stop them?’ He parried another angry thrust. ‘Perhaps if I kill you now, my reward will be a turn with your wife, too.’
Odysseus resisted the impulse to throw himself into another furious attack. Koronos was easily his match in swordsmanship, if not in physical strength; he was also a cunning man, and Odysseus sensed that he was deliberately trying to provoke his anger. Already his lapses of concentration had nearly allowed the older man inside his guard. He stepped back and eyed him with caution.
‘You know I have Laertes held prisoner in my home?’ Koronos continued. ‘Before you arrived I was telling your mother how he begs to see her again. I find his pleas very moving. If I die, though, my slaves have orders to kill him. Is that what you want?’
Odysseus sensed an undercurrent of desperation in Koronos’s calm voice, the voice that had once persuaded him to leave his family undefended. Now it was trying to convince him that his wife would be raped and his father murdered. And yet for all his skill and power, the old man could not conceal his fear from the prince.
‘Don’t be a fool, Koronos,’ he responded in an even tone. ‘Your slaves hate you. Once you’re dead and I’m standing at their door, they will never dare kill the rightful king of Ithaca. For all your delusions that Laertes was an unfit ruler, the people of this island know different. And before this day is out my father will be back on the throne. Only, you won’t be alive to witness it.’
Odysseus had bided his time carefully. He had watched the beads of sweat on his opponent’s forehead, heard his struggling breath and noticed the wavering grip on his sword. In the meantime he had allowed Koronos to take the offensive with his voice, encouraging the traitor to switch his thoughts to goading and dissuasion. Then he struck.
He scythed down with all his strength. Koronos attempted to divert the blow and had his weapon swept from his hand, to clatter noisily across the stone floor and leave him defenceless. The traitor stared in disbelief at his empty hand, then fell slowly to his knees. But Odysseus was in no mood for mercy. The sight of Koronos pleading for his life only made him think of his father, imploring his former friend and adviser to let him see Anticleia. Without a second thought on the matter, he plunged his sword through the man’s black heart.
Turning at once to his mother, he gathered her into his arms and pressed his cheek to hers. They held each other for a few moments, then Anticleia sobbed and pushed him away.
‘Find your wife, Odysseus. Let me tend Mentor; you just go – and hurry.’
Odysseus was loath to leave his mother unguarded, but was racked by the sense that Penelope was in urgent danger. He kissed her on the cheek, then ran from the room and down the steps to the lower floor. Beyond the passageway where the bodies of the Taphians lay he could hear the clash of bronze upon bronze in the courtyard. Men were shouting, though the words would not carry to him, and the cacophony of battle was punctuated by the screams of dying men.
Without pause, he turned right and followed the passageway until he reached the entrance to the great hall. There was no guard, so he raised his sword point and walked boldly in to meet whatever perils lay in wait.
The hearth burned low in the middle of the room, just as it had on the day that he and his men had left for Sparta. The previously smoke-stained walls were now bright with a fresh coating of limewash. Upon this were sketched the ghostlike outlines of murals yet to be painted, giving the familiar hall a curiously alien feeling. The great doors that gave access to the courtyard beyond were barred shut, ensuring nothing would disturb Odysseus and the men who had taken his father’s throne.
They stood on the other side of the hearth, their shapes distorted by the heat from the flames. The Taphian warriors were armed with bows, each aiming an arrow at the lone intruder. Between them stood Polytherses, his arm wrapped about Penelope’s waist and holding her to him. His free hand held a dagger to her throat.
Chapter Thirty
KING OF ITHACA
A Taphian warrior stepped out from the gates. His face was covered in blood and rivulets of gore stained the sword he carried, which Eperitus could only think was the blood of Odysseus, Mentor or Antiphus. He beckoned the Ithacans to come to him.
Eperitus drew the sword from his belt and moved towards the Taphian, determined to cut him down, but at the same moment Antiphus appeared next to the mercenary and shouted for them to come. Suddenly they could hear the sounds of battle from the courtyard and realized that the man at the gate was Mentes, his features hidden by the mask of blood. Eperitus ordered Arceisius to help Halitherses then, half-turning to the remainder of the Ithacans, pointed his sword at the gates. No words were needed. As a single body they ran towards the palace, cheering in their hunger to meet the Taphians in battle. Most of the men had lived under their cruel regime for too long and wanted revenge; the guards who had accompanied Odysseus to Sparta had dreamed of this moment for months and were no less fervent in their bloodlust. Within moments they were cramming through the gates and into the courtyard.
Diocles and his Spartans were desperately holding off a great press of Taphians, but as the Ithacans joined them the enemy’s advantage
was lost and they backed away. Dismayed by the loss of the gates and the number of men pouring in through them, they retreated across the compound and re-formed before the pillared threshold of the great hall, ready to confront the assault. Meanwhile, the last man through the gates was the bronze-smith, who had left Eumaeus with the waiting townsfolk and returned to the fight. He was accompanied by a dozen new recruits from the city, who had found their courage in the dawn light and decided to risk everything for their true king.
They formed up to face the enemy horde, absorbing Mentes, Antiphus and the Spartans into their ranks. Eperitus looked about in surprise at the carnage within the courtyard, where the corpses of several Taphians lay as if sleeping. Then he saw their opened throats and realized that Odysseus and the others must have been busy with their daggers whilst their hosts slept. It explained the smaller force of Taphians who faced them – their numbers were now evenly matched – but raised his concerns about the whereabouts of his friend, whose bloody corpse could be amongst the trampled bodies.
‘I hear Halitherses is injured, and that you’re leading us now.’
Eperitus turned to see Antiphus. He was barely recognizable, bathed in gore and armed with the strange weaponry of a Taphian warrior.
‘Yes, unless Odysseus is with you,’ he answered, hoping the prince would suddenly appear from amongst the throng of men.
‘He and Mentor are inside the palace, searching for Penelope,’ Antiphus explained. He briefly summarized all that had passed since they parted company the night before. It seemed Odysseus’s plans had been more successful than expected, despite his being captured as they were about to open the gates. Athena had been faithful to her beloved Odysseus.
As they spoke a flock of arrows fell amongst them. Most of the townsfolk had no shields and quickly took shelter behind the guards, who instinctively moved forward to form a wall against the enemy archers. Antiphus took a few of the men to retrieve the bows and arrows of the dead Taphians by the gates, then, taking shelter behind the ranks of their colleagues, began to return the fire of their opponents. The exchange of arrows inflicted casualties on both sides, but the Taphian archers outnumbered the Ithacans and most of the fallen were amongst the unshielded islanders. Seeing this, the mercenaries were happy to remain safely ensconced before the doors of the great hall, waiting for the time when the advantage of numbers would weigh in their favour. Then they would engage them in face-to-face combat, when the recruits from the town would prove easy prey for the long spears of the fully armoured enemy warriors. Realizing this, Eperitus picked up a discarded spear and stepped out between the two opposing armies.
The Taphian arrows stopped and were replaced by jeers and insults from their ranks. It reminded him of the day he had first met Odysseus on the foothills of Mount Parnassus, when he had killed the Theban deserter. Kissing the shaft of his spear as he had done then, he launched it at the massed ranks before him. A man toppled backward with a scream, the spear held fast in his groin, and suddenly the Taphian jeers were replaced by a triumphant shout from the Ithacans. Drawing his sword, Eperitus led them into the attack.
The enemy archers only had time to fire a half-volley of arrows before the Ithacans were amongst them. Eperitus clashed shields with a spearman in their front rank, knocking him sideways with the momentum of his attack and slashing at his exposed back with his sword. He gave a scream and toppled into the dirt, where Eperitus left him to be finished off by the men behind. Two more Taphians now faced him, jabbing at him with their long spears whilst keeping out of reach of his sword. He tried desperately to knock the weapons aside and slip inside their reach, but whenever he succeeded with one spear the other would press him back.
Then, in the few moments before the weight of numbers behind him would push them inevitably together, he was joined by an Ithacan armed with a spear. He was young, frightened and knew little of warfare, and quickly fell victim to a skilful jab from one of the Taphians. But in that moment Eperitus was able to force himself inside the long reach of their weapons, where only a sword would be effective. He hacked at a face above one of the tall shields and split the man’s features across the bridge of his nose. He dropped his weapons and turned away, clutching at his eyes and screaming with pain. Eperitus finished him with a thrust of his sword.
He turned to engage the other man, who had discarded his spear and drawn the long blade from his belt. With the press of struggling men all around, it was hard to remain out of striking distance as they eyed each other closely, trying to guess when and how the first attack would come. The Taphian, like all his countrymen, was tall and had the longer reach, but in the crush of battle Eperitus knew that could be just as much of a disadvantage. He edged closer and his opponent lunged at his face with the point of his weapon. Eperitus deflected the thrust with his shield, then swept his sword across the outstretched arm and severed it at the elbow. The man reeled away in pain and Eperitus left him to retreat into the mass of his comrades, clutching at the stump of his arm.
Suddenly, Eperitus felt a sharp blow to his shoulder and staggered backwards, pursued by a wave of pain that crashed over his senses and plunged him into the blackest night. For a moment he seemed to float, his head swirling like skeins of mist before the hard ground rose up to meet him, jarring him back to consciousness. He lay there amidst the sandalled, dancing feet of friend and foe alike, a curious peacefulness pressing him to the ground like a heavy weight. The sounds of battle receded, though he still sensed the sluggish thumping of feet all around him. Or was it the beating of his own heart?
Trying to draw breath, he felt something buried inside the flesh of his left shoulder. From somewhere deep within came the pounding approach of a fresh surge of pain, and instinctively he closed his eyes against it. Then it bit, hot and sharp, jerking him back to his senses.
He reached up and seized the shaft of the arrow. He tugged at it, feeling the barbs tear new furrows into the flesh that had closed about them. Fortunately it had missed the bone, but his muscles screamed with agony as the arrow slid free and dropped into the dust at his side.
He collapsed again, exhausted from the effort. Moments later he felt hands under his arms, causing yet more pain as he was hauled up and dragged away from the fighting. He looked up to see the faces of Mentes and Antiphus staring down at him. The archer looked into his eyes for a moment before lifting Odysseus’s bow over his head and pulling aside his cloak to look at the wound. Mentes joined him, probing the skin with his fingers until he was satisfied there was no danger. Then he tore strips of cloth from his cloak and bound them about Eperitus’s shoulder.
‘The gods are with you,’ the Taphian said in his thickly accented voice. ‘A flesh wound only. It will heal, but you can take no further part in this battle.’
He turned and rejoined the fight that still raged about the portals of the great hall. Antiphus looked at Eperitus, the relief visible in his eyes, and told him he would take command. Then he drew his sword and followed the Taphian into the thick of the fighting, leaving Eperitus amongst the dead and dying at the edge of the battle.
Eperitus looked down at Odysseus’s horn bow beside him and suddenly recalled that the prince was somewhere inside the palace. A sense of urgency gripped him and, picking the weapon up out of the dust, he struggled to his feet. His countrymen, as he now thought of them, were still at close quarters with the Taphians, and though his left arm could not support the weight of a shield he knew that he could still use a sword to help them. But despite their need his mind was now bent upon his friend. He looked about the large courtyard and saw the door that led to the pantry and kitchens. Retrieving his sword, he stumbled towards the door and found it unlocked.
He stepped into a narrow passageway. No torches burned there and the only light came from the doorway behind him, but his keen eyes penetrated the shadows with ease, picking out doorways on both sides of the corridor and a flight of stairs to the right. Suddenly he heard the sound of voices from somewhere within the palace
and paused to pick up their direction. Straining his heightened hearing against the din of battle – filled with the screams of the wounded and dying – he listened for a particular voice, the voice of Odysseus. Moving slowly, he passed the stairs to the upper level of the palace and followed the passage around to the right. As he moved cautiously through the shadows, his sword gripped tightly in his hand, the voices became clearer. Then he recognized the unmistakable tones of Odysseus.
Within moments the short corridor had led him to the great hall, where he found the prince faced by four Taphian archers and Polytherses. The latter held Penelope to his side, with a gleaming dagger poised at her throat. Eperitus saw her and his heart sank, knowing he had arrived too late. Without any force of men behind him, there was little help he could offer Odysseus now other than to die at his side.
‘So, your army has arrived,’ Polytherses mocked.
Odysseus turned and for a moment the look of concern left his face, to be replaced by relief and even joy.
‘I knew I could rely on you, Eperitus,’ he said. Then his looks grew dark again, though determined, and he turned to Polytherses. ‘Release my wife and I’ll spare your worthless life. But if you harm her I will make your death so terrible you’ll beg me to kill you.’
‘You oaf,’ Polytherses retorted. ‘Don’t you see that your life is in my hands? One word from me and you’d be dead in an instant.’
‘Then why do you wait?’ Odysseus demanded. ‘Kill me now. Unless you fear to kill me.’
‘I fear nothing and no man, least of all you. No – I want you to kneel before your king, and then I will kill you. And if you want Penelope to live, you’ll do as I command.’
‘No, Odysseus,’ Penelope shouted fiercely, struggling against the strong grip that held her. ‘I’d rather die than be this man’s whore.’