by Glyn Iliffe
Eperitus crossed his arms and looked at Odysseus disapprovingly.
‘You can’t accuse an innocent man.’
‘I tell you he’s not innocent,’ Odysseus insisted. ‘I admit I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I have a strong suspicion how and I intend to prove I’m right. But if it makes you feel better I give you my word I won’t even accuse Palamedes until we can show the council he’s a traitor. Does that satisfy you?’
‘All right, then,’ Eperitus agreed. ‘I’ll help you get your proof, if you’re so certain.’
‘I am,’ Odysseus replied.
He stood up straight and signalled to Antiphus.
‘A little more to the left. As close in as you can get – there’re another nine ships to come after us. The rest of you,’ he added with a booming shout, ‘I want you in the water the moment we hit. Drag her up to the top of the beach so one of the others can get in behind us.’
‘Astynome,’ Eperitus said, offering the girl his hand. ‘Hold on to me. Quickly.’
She took his hand and he pulled her into his arms. A moment later the ship’s shallow bottom hit the soft sand beneath the waterline, sending a heavy judder through the thick timbers of the galley. Eperitus stood firm, his feet planted apart on the deck, while Astynome’s arms tightened around him. The next instant there was a shout of enthusiasm as, all around, men began leaping overboard into the knee-high water.
‘Leave the girl with Polites,’ Odysseus ordered, clapping Eperitus on the shoulder. ‘You and I are going to speak to Eurybates and Arceisius.’
Eperitus reluctantly gave Astynome to the giant warrior, before following Odysseus over the side and into the shallow water. The galley was surrounded by men who strained and grunted as they hauled her further up on to the sand. Then Odysseus and Eperitus heard a shout and saw Eurybates and Arceisius walking down the sloping beach towards them.
‘Greetings from Ithaca!’ Arceisius called.
‘We’ve brought gifts,’ added Eurybates. ‘Ithacan wine and cheese. New clothes for our noble king, made by Queen Penelope herself. And men – over eighty replacements!’
Odysseus greeted his herald with an embrace.
‘It’s good to have you back,’ he said, slapping him on the back. ‘You’ve already missed three good battles and I’ve got a feeling the gods are planning a lot more before the year’s out. I hope you’ve brought some decent fighters back with you.’
Eurybates looked uncertain. ‘They’re good fighters, all right, for the most part, but they won’t be what you or Eperitus were expecting.’
‘What do you mean?’ Eperitus frowned.
‘You’ll see,’ Arceisius said.
He greeted his captain with a tight embrace. Eperitus had taught him to be a warrior, and though he was no longer his squire, Arceisius was pleased to see his former master again after the weeks spent sailing to Ithaca and back. Then he turned to Odysseus and offered the king his hand.
‘I’m pleased the gods have brought you back safely, Arceisius,’ Odysseus said, pulling him into a hug. His smile stiffened slightly and the light in his eyes grew a shade dimmer. ‘But what news of home? Is Ithaca still as beautiful as I remember her? Am I still king?’
‘Mentor and Halitherses continue to rule in your name, my lord,’ he answered, though without conviction. Odysseus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing so Arceisius continued. ‘And Ithaca is as lovely as it ever was. More so. It seemed to me as if hardly a stone had been moved from its place since we left her all those years ago, and yet . . .’
‘And yet?’
‘And yet I’d never really understood the beauty of my home until I went back. When I saw her outline on the horizon, with giant Samos beside her, I suddenly realized that my heart had never left Ithaca. All this time I’ve spent in Ilium I’ve been like a wraith, Odysseus, a soulless shade of my real self.’ He paused and then shrugged, as if his words were of no value. ‘I think it would have broken your heart to have returned, knowing you must come back here.’
There was a moment’s silence, broken eventually by Eurybates.
‘It was a lot colder than I remember,’ he said. ‘The wind coming off the Ionian Sea just seems to cut through anything. And it rained a lot, even for the tail end of winter. But cold winds and grey skies can’t dim the wonder of your own home. Arceisius is right – everything looks the same. It smells the same, too: the dung heap by the palace gates, the livestock in the marketplace, the scent of the pine trees wafting down from Mount Neriton; even the woodsmoke smells Ithacan. It made my heart ache just to hear the birds sing and see the first flowers of spring among the rocks and on the hillsides. The girls were wearing them in their hair as they waved us off.
‘And there’s another thing about Ithaca that has grown more lovely since we left. I don’t know whether it’s this gods-forsaken country and the lack of women around these past ten or so years, or whether the immortals have simply blessed Ithaca while we’ve been gone, but I’ve never seen so many beautiful girls. And they couldn’t get enough of a couple of battle-hardened old sweats like us. Arceisius here even got married.’
‘Married!’ exclaimed Eperitus and Odysseus simultaneously.
The usually pert and confident Arceisius was suddenly bashful, his naturally red cheeks turning almost crimson.
‘Is it true?’ Eperitus asked, the corner of his mouth rising in an amused smile. ‘The greatest womanizer in the Ithacan camp tamed at last? She must be a real beauty, this wife of yours.’
‘She is,’ said Eurybates. ‘And at least she’s Greek. There are too many men in the army taking Trojan captives as wives or concubines.’
Eperitus ignored the comment and offered his congratulations to his former squire. Odysseus took Arceisius’s hand again and gripped it firmly.
‘You have your king’s blessing,’ he said. ‘Marriage is good for a man – it gives him something to fight for. But who is this girl and where are you hiding her?’
‘It’s Melantho, my lord, Dolius’s daughter,’ Arceisius replied. ‘I insisted she stay on Ithaca. At least she’ll be safe there.’
‘I hope she will,’ Odysseus said. ‘But if Melantho’s the same little firebrand I used to know – though she was only a little girl back then – well, I’m sure she can look after herself until you return. But what of my wife? Tell me, Arceisius, is she safe? Are Telemachus and my parents safe? There’s something about you two that tells me all’s not well at home.’
‘Have no fear for your wife or family, my lord,’ Arceisius replied. ‘At least not for now. But if you want to know about affairs at home, don’t ask us; we weren’t back long enough. You should ask the replacements.’
He indicated the men who had been standing at the top of the beach as Odysseus’s galley had run aground. A few were now helping to haul the ships on to the sand, while others were sharing news of Ithaca with the eager crowds of men who had not seen their homes for over ten years. A sizeable group, though, had remained where they stood, aloof from or ignored by the rest. These were generally older than the other replacements and had the bearing of men who had seen battle and for whom war was a way of life. They were perhaps a score in number and at least half of them were tall and armed with long spears. Eperitus eyed the latter with alarm.
‘Some of those men are Taphians.’
‘I told you they wouldn’t be what you were expecting,’ Arceisius reminded him.
‘Did Mentes send them?’ Odysseus asked, referring to the Taphian chieftain. Though the Taphians had been enemies of Ithaca for many years, Odysseus had forged a friendship with Mentes that – though it had not brought friendship or alliance – had at least put an end to the hostility.
‘I only wish that had been the case,’ Eurybates answered. ‘Unfortunately, this isn’t a popular war with the nobility back home. The law has been changed, allowing those who can afford it to send a proxy in their place. Of the eighty-four men we brought back with us, twenty-two are mercenaries and tw
elve of them are Taphians.’
‘Then we should send them back again at once,’ Eperitus said, clenching his fists. ‘And when we get home to Ithaca we can settle matters with those nobles who’ve bought their way out of joining the army.’
Odysseus shook his head. He was concerned and angry that so many of the Ithacan nobility would dare snub his authority so openly, but sending the mercenaries back to Ithaca would only risk more trouble for Penelope and those ruling in his stead. His revenge would wait.
‘Let the mercenaries stay,’ he said. ‘The gods know we need experienced fighting men, and a quarter of the Greek army is made up of mercenaries anyway. Right now, I need to speak to one of these replacements, someone with a good head on his shoulders. Agamemnon, Menelaus and Nestor will be waiting to hear my news, but first I need to learn exactly how things stand at home.’
‘Then you’ll want to speak to Omeros,’ Arceisius suggested.
He pointed to a well-fed youth sitting in the tall grass at the top of the beach. His arms were crossed over his knees and his shaven chin was resting on his wrist as he watched the ships landing one after another and being dragged up on to the sand. His quick eyes were following the activity around the beaked galleys and remained unaware of the four men who were staring at him from among the crowds.
‘By all the gods on Olympus, it is Omeros,’ Eperitus said, shielding his eyes against the high sun. ‘I never imagined I’d see him here.’
‘Still a dreamer, by the looks of him,’ Odysseus said, smiling. ‘But if he’s as clever and observant as he used to be then he’ll know what’s really happening at home. Eurybates, Arceisius, get those replacements working on the ships – including the mercenaries – and have them ready for my inspection by sunset; Eperitus, come with me.’
As the others bowed and turned to the crowds milling around the galleys, Odysseus and Eperitus walked up the beach towards Omeros, kicking up small fountains of white sand behind them. Omeros only seemed to notice their approach at the last moment, when he stood in confusion and – recognizing his king – dipped into an awkward bow.
‘M . . . my lord,’ he stuttered. ‘My lord Odysseus!’
‘Welcome to Troy, Omeros,’ the king said, pulling him upright. ‘You’ve grown well since I last saw you.’
‘Outwards more than upwards, though,’ Eperitus added, grinning.
Omeros placed a hand on his large stomach and looked down at himself in concern, then back at the captain of the guard.
‘It’s nothing I can’t run off, my lord Eperitus,’ he answered. ‘And may I say that you’ve barely changed at all in ten years.’
Odysseus and Eperitus swapped a knowing glance. Since Athena had brought Eperitus back from death he had hardly developed a wrinkle or grey hair, and Omeros had not been the first to remark on this strange longevity.
‘But can you fight, lad?’ Odysseus asked, looking Omeros up and down and noting his slightly pampered appearance, compared to the lean, hardened figures that populated the rest of the Ithacan army.
‘I’ll fight with as much heart as any of those others,’ Omeros answered, nodding at the mercenaries and Taphians. ‘And what some of them have in training and experience, I’ll match in enthusiasm and loyalty.’
This broadened the smile on Odysseus’s face.
‘I’m glad to hear it, very glad,’ he said, placing his arm across Omeros’s shoulders and steering him in the direction of the sprawling camp, with Eperitus following on Omeros’s other side. ‘Without loyalty every other fighting quality is useless, especially to a king. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ve been told some of the nobles on Ithaca have hired mercenaries to take their places. Is it true?’
The line of tall grass where Omeros had been sitting marked the furthest extent of the sea’s reach, and just behind it were the first tents of the huge Greek army. Most of the Ithacan part of the camp was now empty, though here and there groups of men were preparing food or carrying out other tasks that excused them from the work on the beach.
‘It’s true, my lord,’ Omeros said, ruefully. ‘Some of the nobles threatened rebellion if their sons were called to war. Eupeithes told Penelope he could calm their tempers, but only if the Kerosia allowed men of a fighting age to send substitutes in their place. Which meant that while the poor went to serve their king, the wealthy could stay at home and hire mercenaries instead.’
‘This doesn’t bode well,’ Odysseus mused. ‘Eupeithes is still a snake, even if a reformed one, and it’ll take all of Penelope’s skill to keep him in his place. The sooner we can finish this war and return home, the better.’
‘Forgive me, lord,’ Omeros began, ‘but if an army this size hasn’t defeated the Trojans in ten years, what chance is there of ever defeating them?’
‘He’s beginning to sound like a veteran already,’ Eperitus said with an ironic laugh.
‘It seems to me the men don’t have any appetite for victory,’ Omeros added, hesitantly. ‘And I think I know why.’
Odysseus cocked an eyebrow.
‘Really, Omeros? So what’s the secret of our persistent failure?’
Omeros’s chin dropped a little at the king’s chiding, but he did not back down.
‘Lord, I’ve been watching the army since I arrived and they look more like barbarians than Greeks: their hair and beards are long, their clothing is foreign, and half of them are equipped with Trojan armour and weapons. All the women in the camp are Trojan and the men speak to them in their own language. Shouldn’t it be the other way round? It’s as if this camp, this makeshift colony of tents and huts, has become their new home. And as long as they’ve forgotten who they really are and why they came here in the first place – to rescue Helen and return to Greece – then I don’t think they’ll ever take Troy.’
Odysseus looked at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked away along the curved line of the beach.
‘You’re right,’ he conceded. ‘The Trojans have checked our every move for ten years and no army can fail to lose heart after so long. But perhaps you’re being a little too hard on us. Some may have given up the hope of victory and a return home, but the rest have just . . . forgotten, as you say. But it’s forgotten, not forsaken. We’ve forgotten what it’s like to stand on our own soil, or to have a solid roof over our heads and be surrounded by our families. All we need is to be reminded of those things and we’d return tomorrow, given the chance.’
‘Ithaca hasn’t changed much, my lord,’ Omeros said.
‘So I hear,’ Odysseus nodded, placing an arm around his shoulder and leading him into the armada of tents. ‘And I wouldn’t want it to. But how are my family, Omeros? Are my parents well? What about Telemachus? Does he look like me or Penelope? And how is my wife?’
Eperitus dropped back and let them walk on alone.
He watched them head in the direction of Odysseus’s hut, then returned to the beach to find Astynome.
Chapter Eight
HOME
Despite his youth, Omeros bore the burden of Odysseus’s desire for news admirably. As he described Anticleia’s sickening for Odysseus and the way she mourned her son’s absence as if he had died, quiet tears fell from the king’s eyes; and when he spoke of how Laertes would climb Mount Neriton every evening to look for the homecoming sails of his son’s ships, Odysseus just nodded his head and smiled.
‘And Telemachus? Is he like me? I mean, can you see anything of me in him?’
‘He’ll be taller than his father,’ Omeros answered, ‘and not so broad.’
‘Like his mother, then.’
‘Yes. Handsome like her, too, but with your eyes. Penelope says she can look at Telemachus and see you looking right back out at her.’
Odysseus laughed with unexpected delight.
‘He has your cunning too, my lord, but it’s kept in place by his mother’s principles. I’d think he could be a very naughty boy if he wasn’t so good.’
/> ‘As long as he can still be naughty when he has to,’ Odysseus said as they reached the entrance to his hut. ‘A future king has to know when to lay aside his morals.’
They stooped as they entered the gloom of Odysseus’s quarters. A small fire burned in the hearth, filling the enclosed space with warmth and the smell of woodsmoke. Odysseus swept off his cloak and unbuckled his armour, before settling down on his haunches before the flames and indicating for Omeros to do the same.
‘What about Penelope?’
Omeros nodded to himself. This was the question that was at the heart of the king’s yearning, the question that would prove whether Penelope’s faith in him had been justified. He glanced at the king, whose eyes were fixed rigidly on the small tongues of orange and yellow flame while he chewed unconsciously at a thumbnail.
‘The queen is well.’
‘Well?’
‘As well as any queen can be without her king.’
Odysseus’s face twitched. A flicker of guilt, Omeros thought.
‘And how does she look now? Has she changed much since I last saw her? It’s been almost ten years, Omeros, and I can barely remember her face – as if she were nothing more than a dream. I sometimes wonder whether she existed at all.’
‘She exists, lord, and she’s hardly changed since you departed.’
‘Describe her, for me. Just as she looked when you last saw her.’
Omeros sucked in his bottom lip and swept his hand through his hair as he recalled the scene.
‘It was night time. No moon, just the starlight. It made her brown hair look black and her skin pale. She stood a little taller than me, dressed in a dark cloak with the hood down.’
‘And her face?’
Omeros, who had been staring at the king as he described Penelope, blinked and looked down at the fire.
‘She’s still beautiful. Not youthful beauty, like Melantho’s, or the powerful beauty I imagine Helen has, but something calm and reassuring instead. The sort of beauty you don’t think would laugh or sneer at you.’