The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Both Antinous and Ctessipus leapt at Omeros, brandishing their fists and preparing to give him a beating. But before they could reach him they were pulled back by two pairs of strong arms.

  ‘Steady now,’ said Eperitus, hardly able to suppress his laughter as Antinous struggled against his firm grip. ‘Or you might hurt yourself.’

  Arceisius, who was not as powerful as Eperitus and only a little bigger than Ctessipus, had already lost patience with his prisoner. With a grunt, he threw him over his shoulder, carried him to the dung pile and tossed him on it. At the sight of this, Antinous ceased his thrashing and fell limp, whilst Melanthius quickly disappeared into the crowd pursued by his sister, who was berating him loudly as she chased after him.

  ‘Be on your way, lad,’ Eperitus said, cuffing Antinous’s mop of blond hair, ‘and don’t let me hear you’ve been in any more trouble.’

  Antinous turned and scowled at the captain of the palace guard, tears of anger and embarrassment flooding down his cheeks. He bit back the words he wanted to say and, ignoring Ctessipus’s plea to help him out of the dung heap, stormed off into the throng of people.

  ‘You shouldn’t provoke them, Omeros,’ Eperitus warned the young storyteller. ‘You’re nothing more than a whelp compared to them, and one day they’ll give you the thrashing you deserve.’

  ‘Perhaps they will,’ Omeros answered, jumping off his basket and following the two warriors as they navigated their way through the crowds. ‘But it’s precisely because they’re bigger than me that I’m always baiting them. I can’t defeat them physically, so I might as well humiliate them with my words.’

  ‘Which is why Odysseus likes you so much,’ Arceisius said. He took three barley cakes from a basket and gave the seller a wink. The man shook his head resignedly and continued haggling with a fat, red-faced woman.

  Omeros took a bite of the cake Arceisius handed him, then caught up with Eperitus.

  ‘Sir, the king was looking for you earlier.’

  ‘And I’ve been looking for him ever since I finished my duties this morning. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He was on his way to Hermes’s Mount, with the queen and their baby. He said to tell you that he has gone ahead to make everything ready and will be waiting for you there.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should have been looking for me rather than lazing about and telling your friends stories,’ Eperitus said, looking at the boy with as much sternness as he could muster. ‘But I suppose I can’t blame you. Odysseus shouldn’t entrust his messages to daydreamers.’

  ‘I won’t always be a daydreamer, sir,’ Omeros responded, looking hurt. ‘People need stories – and bards to tell them – or where’s the enjoyment in life? If we didn’t give them tales of love, war and glory then no one would have anything to live up to.’

  ‘And if you left us all alone, we could lead contented lives and not be blighted by impossible dreams,’ Eperitus countered. ‘Anyway, I’d be wary of becoming a bard if I were you. Most end up as little more than tramps, wandering from palace to palace to earn scraps from the tables of the powerful.’

  ‘Some say that about warriors, too, sir,’ Omeros suggested, stepping back a little as Eperitus gave him another stern glance. ‘But I don’t intend to be a wandering storyteller – I will be bard to the court of King Odysseus himself, and King Telemachus after him.’

  Eperitus turned to Arceisius and signalled for him to catch up. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, then you should start telling things as they really were. How many times have I had to remind you Odysseus didn’t enter the palace in a pithos of wine? He was disguised as a wine merchant.’

  ‘But it doesn’t sound as good, sir. Too much truth can ruin a story, and, besides, the king says he prefers my version.’

  ‘Odysseus has never been a great respecter of honesty, and you should be careful of following his example,’ Eperitus warned. ‘He was born with the cunning of a fox and knows more than most men about how to live by his wits; but even for him there’s a fine line between trickery and dishonour.’

  Omeros was about to reply, but was silenced by the arrival of Arceisius.

  ‘Odysseus is waiting for us at Athena’s sacred grove on Hermes’s Mount,’ Eperitus informed his squire. ‘We should go and find him now, and leave this young rascal to evade Antinous and his cronies.’

  The two men turned and walked in the direction of the low, wooded hump of Hermes’s Mount, which lay to the north-west of the town, but as they moved free of the crowd and began along the dirt track that led to the hill Omeros called after them.

  ‘Don’t forget that warriors need bards, too, sir. Without us, your acts of glory are worthless.’

  ‘He’s right, you know,’ Arceisius laughed.

  Eperitus said nothing. He was already thinking of what he had to say to Odysseus after Telemachus had been dedicated to the gods, and what the cost of his own search for glory would be.

  A strong wind blustered up from the sea, flattening the blades of grass that clung to the exposed flank of Hermes’s Mount. Eperitus and Arceisius held their cloaks about them as they walked towards the lonely thicket of pines that stood tall and dark in the centre of the sloping meadow, enduring the gusts that howled through its interlocked branches. Many years before, Odysseus’s grandfather had met Athena walking through the grove, where she had given him her blessing; since that day it had been considered a sacred place by all Ithacans, and especially the rulers of the island.

  As they approached, they could see Odysseus standing beneath the eaves of the small wood. His auburn hair was blowing wildly in the wind as his keen eyes looked out over the Ionian Sea, oblivious to their approach. He was mouthing a silent prayer in preparation for the dedication of his son, and from time to time would close his eyes and bow his head.

  Behind him stood Penelope, the knuckles of her fists white as she gripped the edges of her cloak. Her eyes, narrowed against the gale, were fixed upon her husband. At her right shoulder was her nurse, Actoris, whose back was turned against the squall to protect the baby in her arms. Eurybates, Odysseus’s squire and herald, was also with them; he held a struggling lamb in his arms and carried two skins over his shoulder, one filled with wine and the other with water.

  Then Odysseus spotted the two figures coming across the meadow and waving at him in the bright sunshine. He waved back, and then, cupping his hands over his mouth so that the wind would not snatch away his words, called out, ‘Where’ve you been? Didn’t Omeros find you?’

  ‘We found him,’ Eperitus said as he and Arceisius reached the relative cover of the grove. ‘Telling stories by the dung heap, as usual. If he’d given us your message straight away we’d have been here a long time ago.’

  ‘No matter,’ Penelope smiled. ‘You’re here now, and the gods are waiting. Odysseus, are you ready?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ he replied. ‘Actoris, give Telemachus to his mother. Eurybates, make sure the sacrifice is willing.’

  The squire knelt and placed the lamb on the ground, holding it fast by the scruff of its neck. He pulled a wooden bowl from the woollen bag at his hip and placed it on the ground in front of the gently bleating lamb, then filled it with a slop of water from one of the skins hanging from his shoulder. After a moment of uncertainty, the animal bowed its head to drink. Satisfied it had indicated its consent to be sacrificed, Eurybates removed the bowl and passed the skin to Odysseus.

  After the king had washed his hands, he drew a dagger from his belt and beckoned for the animal. Pinning it against his muscular chest so that it could barely move, he cut some of the coarse black hair from its head and held it fast between his thumb and the blade. Holding it in the air above his head, he released it into the wind and watched it sail off towards the grey mass of ocean to the north. Eurybates took the lamb again as Odysseus turned to receive the swaddled baby from Penelope’s arms. The boy woke and began to cry as his father removed the double-layer of white wool and lifted his naked red body over his head.
Penelope instinctively raised a hand, fearful for her little Telemachus, then forced it down again.

  ‘Mistress Athena!’ Odysseus called. His voice, stronger than the wind, carried out towards the maddening waves. ‘Proud lady of Trito! Virgin daughter of Zeus! Most glorious and great goddess, I call on you to accept the dedication of my son, Telemachus. Bestow on him your protection and guidance, just as you honoured my father’s request for me. Make him strong and courageous, teach him the crafts of war, and endow him with wisdom. Seek for him the blessings of the other Olympians, so that he will be loved and honoured among men. And Mistress,’ he added after a pause, ‘allow me to remain on Ithaca and watch my son grow to manhood.’

  Odysseus lowered Telemachus into his mother’s waiting arms. As Penelope wrapped the baby in the thick woollen cloth, she gave her husband a questioning look. Odysseus, who had never told her about the doom predicted for him on Mount Parnassus, did not hold her gaze.

  ‘Give me the lamb, Eurybates,’ he commanded. ‘And mix the wine.’

  The animal began to kick out, as if it knew what was about to happen, but Odysseus held it tighter and drew the blade across its throat. Vivid red blood began to pour from the opening and Odysseus let the lamb fall into the thick grass by his feet, where it twitched and continued to kick until the last of its life had pumped out of its body. A moment later, he turned to Eurybates, took the krater of wine he held and poured a little on the ground in a silent libation. Then he took a sip and held out the krater to Eperitus.

  ‘Do you still consent to be Telemachus’s protector?’ he asked.

  Eperitus paused. Odysseus had asked him years before to be the protector of his children, should anything happen to him, and he had agreed without hesitation. Even as the king had reminded him of his promise during Penelope’s pregnancy, he had confirmed he would accept the duty. But since the birth of Telemachus and his realization that his destiny lay beyond the safe and homely shores of Ithaca, Eperitus had questioned whether he was still the right man. Though he said nothing of his doubts to Odysseus, he had considered asking Mentor – Odysseus’s friend since boyhood – whether he would take the role. In the end, though, Arceisius persuaded him to keep to his original promise. Even if they joined Agamemnon’s army and went to war with Troy, they would still be able to return to Ithaca from time to time, and Penelope would know where to send a message should anything happen that would require Eperitus to fulfil his vows. With this in mind, he took the proffered krater and poured a dribble of the dark liquid onto the grass.

  ‘I consent to protect Telemachus from any who would do him harm, and provide for him if his parents cannot; and I call upon all the gods of Olympus to bear witness to my oath.’

  He raised the krater to his lips and drank. The ceremony was over.

  Penelope moved past her husband and kissed Eperitus on the cheek. ‘Here,’ she said, placing Telemachus into the captain’s hands and standing beside him, looking down at her son and smiling with contentment. ‘We want you to be a second father to him.’

  Eperitus knew the time had come. He looked at Arceisius, who returned his gaze with a slight nod.

  ‘I’m proud to be his protector,’ Eperitus said, turning back to Penelope. ‘But I can never be a second father to Telemachus.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Odysseus scoffed. ‘You’ve so much to offer him, and it won’t be long before he learns to love you like a parent.’

  Eperitus shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. He won’t see enough of me to love me. Unlike you, I won’t be around when his needs are greatest. The truth is . . . the truth is I’m leaving – today – and Arceisius is coming with me. I’m asking you to release me from my oath to you, Odysseus.’

  Penelope stepped back as if she had been struck. In the same instant Odysseus moved forward, his expression incredulous. He placed his large hands on Eperitus’s arms and looked him in the eye.

  ‘I know I challenged you about this on our return from Samos, because I’ve always feared you would wish to leave one day, but why do you want to go now? Didn’t you tell me you had no intention of leaving? Besides, if it’s because of what the goddess said . . .’ He glanced out of the corner of his eye and lowered his voice. ‘If that’s the reason, we don’t even know yet that this war will happen. Until it does, you should stay here where you have friends and a position of authority, everything you need.’

  ‘But I don’t have everything I need!’ Eperitus rejoined. ‘Yes, I have good friends, a home in the palace, my own slaves and more wealth than I know what to do with, but what’s the point of it all? What I want is something lasting, something to be remembered by when my flesh and bones have rotted in the ground or been turned to ash. You have Telemachus, a bloodline to carry forward your memory. I have nothing.’

  ‘Then find a wife here,’ Penelope said, holding her hands towards him. ‘There are hundreds of beautiful women on these islands who could bring you happiness and children of your own. You could have married Odysseus’s sister, but you never returned her interest and in the end her father let her go to that merchant in Samos, fearing she would get too old to marry.’

  ‘But I don’t want a quiet family life,’ Eperitus replied, gently. ‘I want to make a name for myself with my spear. I used to think I could live on this island and be happy, but in recent days I’ve come to realize I can’t. I just hope you will forgive me, both of you.’

  As he said these words, he caught a movement in the distance behind Odysseus’s shoulder and stared out at the grey sea, where a large warship was cutting through the turbulent waves. Its deck was crowded with armoured soldiers, their weapons glinting like gold in the sunlight as they stared up at the rocky, inhospitable slopes of Ithaca. Above their heads, a gigantic purple sail snapped repeatedly in the strong wind. It bore the device of a golden lion pinning a deer beneath its huge paws as it tore out its throat with its teeth.

  Odysseus, seeing the alarm on the faces of Eperitus, Arceisius and Eurybates, turned to watch for himself the swift progress of the galley as it rounded the headland.

  ‘Arceisius,’ Eperitus said, his voice calm but urgent. ‘Run back to the palace and call out the guard. Send the townsfolk to their homes and assemble the men on the terrace; Odysseus and I will follow shortly.’

  ‘Wait!’ Odysseus countermanded. ‘They’re not enemies: that sail belongs to the royal house of Mycenae. It’s Agamemnon!’

  ‘Agamemnon!’ Eperitus repeated. ‘But what’s he doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ve a nasty feeling it’s to do with what Athena warned us about.’

  Eperitus turned to the king and was surprised to see fear in his eyes. ‘But if that’s the case, what have you got to worry about? If Agamemnon is seeking recruits for war with Troy, then tell him it’s nothing to do with you. It’s just as you told Athena: you owe no allegiance to Mycenae or its king.’

  ‘Not him,’ Odysseus replied. ‘But I do to Menelaus. I’ve been pondering the goddess’s words to us, Eperitus, and I think I may have been caught out by one of my own tricks!’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ Penelope asked, looking concerned as she rocked Telemachus gently in her arms. ‘What’s all this about Troy and Menelaus, and tricks?’

  But Odysseus did not hear: he was looking around as if searching for something. His eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, and then he snapped his fingers and looked urgently at Eperitus.

  ‘Was that old farmer still ploughing on the other side of that hill when you came over from the palace?’

  ‘Yes, and he’ll be there all day at the rate he was going.’

  ‘Excellent! Arceisius, run to the palace and get Eurylochus to call out a guard of honour for Agamemnon – and possibly his brother, Menelaus. Then I want you to bring an ass and a bag of salt to where that farmer was ploughing, as quickly as you can. Is that clear?’

  ‘As milk!’ Arceisius smiled, before setting off at a sprint up the hillside.

  Chapter Nine
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br />   THE MADNESS OF ODYSSEUS

  King Agamemnon, son of Atreus, stood at the edge of the broad terrace before the palace walls, his tall, muscular form still swaying slightly from having spent several days at sea. He wore a short tunic of the purest white wool and a golden breastplate that gleamed savagely in the sun. A red cloak, fastened by a golden brooch at his left shoulder, flowed over his back and around his calves like a river of blood. His smooth brown hair was tied into a tail beneath the back of his head, and his reddish-brown beard was short and meticulously trimmed. At only thirty-five years of age, his face was still young and handsome, but it was also stern and authoritative, as befitted the most powerful man in Greece.

  His emotionless blue eyes scanned the Ithacan guardsmen paraded before him, instinctively noting the good condition of their dated weaponry and the well-oiled shine of their leather armour. Though their clothing lacked any sense of uniformity, the practised way in which they moved suggested to Agamemnon that they worked well together as a unit of men. He also approved of their physical condition – whether young or old (and there were many greybeards) the development of their muscles indicated long practice with their armaments. If all the men on Ithaca were to the standard of the hundred before him, they would be worth five times their number in levied soldiers.

  Things had clearly changed since Odysseus had visited Sparta ten years before, when the soldiers he brought with him had been a spirited but bedraggled band. In those days they had been led by a captain called Halitherses, as Agamemnon recalled – an old warrior who liked to keep his men fit and well trained. But Halitherses was nowhere to be seen, and it was unlikely that the man who stood before the line of Ithacan spearmen now was responsible for their battle-readiness. Nevertheless, he signalled to the two men beside him and crossed the terrace towards the line of waiting soldiers.