by Glyn Iliffe
Odysseus nodded as if recognizing the description, but said nothing.
‘My lord,’ Omeros continued, the tone of his voice more tentative now. ‘She asked me to give you a message.’
Odysseus looked up, expectation and anxiety flickering across his features in the shifting light from the flames.
‘What is it?’
Omeros closed his eyes and thought back to the starlit night on Ithaca when he had last spoken to Penelope. It was the night of Arceisius’s and Melantho’s wedding.
The great hall had been given over to the celebrations. Every table and chair in the palace – and more from the town – had been brought in and were now overflowing with food, wine and guests. The hearth blazed, bathing the hall and its occupants in golden light, supplemented by the numerous torches sputtering on the mural-covered walls. To one side of the central fire a square of the dirt floor had been kept free, bordered by tables on its flanks and the table and chairs of the bride and groom at its head: in this large space, dozens of cheerful – and drunk – young Ithacans were dancing to the music of lyre, pipes and tambourines, while on every side scores of onlookers cheered and sang. Leading the dance were Arceisius and Melantho: he in his battle-scarred armour that spoke of heroic deeds and the glory of war, and she with her white chiton and the first flowers of spring in her black hair. They smiled broadly at each other as they moved in time to the music, delighting in being the centre of attention. Omeros, watching from one side, was pleased for them. Though Melantho had been an immature girl when Arceisius had sailed to war, she was now a woman with all the beauty and allure of youth about her. Arceisius had fallen in love with her almost the instant he had set eyes upon her, and while it was well known on the island that her favours had been given freely to others before, Arceisius was blissfully unaware of the fact. As a soldier who had lived in the shadow of Hermes’s cloak, and who had known more than enough slaves and prostitutes in his time, Omeros thought it unlikely Arceisius would have cared anyway.
As he watched them, his poet’s ears offended by the loud, clamorous music, Melantho caught his eye and skipped over to him, dragging Arceisius behind her.
‘Come dance with me, Omeros,’ she pleaded, outrageously flirtatious with her pouting lips and large brown eyes. ‘Come on now.’
‘You know I hate dancing . . .’
‘Nonsense. You’re just jealous I didn’t marry you instead!’
‘No one hates dancing!’ Arceisius exclaimed. His eyes were bright with alcohol and love, and with an irresistible laugh he pulled Omeros from his chair and almost threw him into Melan-tho’s arms. ‘Now dance!’
Omeros really did not like dancing, but Arceisius’s happiness was infectious and the seductive beauty and heady intimacy of Melantho could not be denied. Eventually he was rescued by Eurybates, who took his place and sent the young bard to join Arceisius, who was beckoning to him from one of the crowded tables. As Omeros joined him, Arceisius pushed a krater of wine into his hand.
‘Are you concerned?’ he asked. ‘About the war, I mean.’
Omeros looked at him, surprised by the frankness of the question, and could tell Arceisius was not drunk. His red face was full of light-hearted cheer, and yet in the middle of his own wedding he could still spare a moment to discuss the anxieties of a lad he had not seen for ten years. Omeros was not sure how to reply.
‘Well, you needn’t be. You have a level head, Omeros, and it’s men like you who make the best soldiers. You’ll do well in Ilium, believe me, and, anyway, those of us who’ve seen a few battles will watch over you to start with. But if you want some advice, don’t spend the whole of your last evening on Ithaca in here. Go for a walk and say goodbye to the island you love. She’ll haunt your dreams while you’re gone and no amount of glory in battle can replace the joy of being on your own soil. Besides, you don’t know you’ll see the place again.’
Omeros nodded. ‘I will.’
He drained his wine and stood up, returning Arceisius’s smile. Then a thought struck him and he looked down at the seasoned warrior in his leather cuirass with his ever-present sword hanging at his side.
‘And what about you? Are you concerned?’
Arceisius’s eyes narrowed uncertainly.
‘I mean,’ Omeros continued, glancing over at Melantho who was draping herself about Eurybates and laughing merrily, ‘I mean you’re married now. You have more to lose on the battlefield.’
Arceisius gave a small laugh and shook his head.
‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’
The large double doors were wide open as Omeros left the great hall. A slab of orange light lay at an angle across the wooden portico, reaching out far enough to illuminate the trampled soil of the courtyard where the wedding ceremony had taken place earlier. Omeros crossed to the gate in the outer wall, followed by the mingled noise of music, laughter and drunken voices. Arceisius had been right: while others could forget their fears and doubts in the company of wine and friends, it was better to leave the celebrations behind and spend the remainder of his last evening on Ithaca with his own thoughts. Tomorrow he would sail for war, but tonight he wanted to walk beneath the familiar stars, listening to the wind in the trees as he stared up at the dark, humped shapes of Mount Neriton and Mount Hermes. Omeros sighed; though he had volunteered to go to Troy, seeking adventure and glory on the battlefield, now the time was almost upon him to leave he found the place he most wanted to be in all the world was right here in Ithaca.
He stepped through the unguarded gates, intending to walk down to the harbour and look out at the straits between Ithaca and the neighbouring island of Samos. The broad terrace in front of the palace walls was covered with the tents of the men who had left their homes on Samos, Zacynthos and Dulichium to join the expedition. They were empty now, flapping in the wind that came over the ridge from the sea below, and their canvas was a ghostly grey in the light of the countless stars that circled above. Omeros filled his lungs with the briny air, then crossed to the houses on the other side of the terrace.
‘There you are,’ said a voice behind him.
He turned and saw the black shape of a dog running towards him from the gateway he had just vacated. He flinched instinctively as the animal reached his ankles, but it did no more than bark and sniff a circle around his feet, before pressing its wet nose against his thighs and beating the air with its tail. Omeros recognized Argus, Odysseus’s old hunting dog, and ran his fingers over his domed head. Then a tall figure stepped out from the shadow of the palace gates.
‘Had your fill of feasting and dancing already?’ Penelope asked, walking up to him and slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.
‘I wanted to clear my mind, my lady.’
‘Thinking of Troy?’
‘I suppose I should be, but the truth is I was thinking of Ithaca. I’ll miss the smell of the pine trees and the sound of the gulls following the fishing boats back into the harbour. It’s all I’ve ever known, of course, and now that I’m leaving it behind I feel . . . suddenly uncertain. I don’t even know if the stars will be the same on the other side of the world.’
‘They will,’ Penelope assured him with a smile as they walked between the dark, silent houses of the town, Argus sniffing the ground in their wake. ‘And there are trees and gulls in Ilium too, just as there are here.’
‘But they won’t be the same. It’s just that I might not see Ithaca again. After all, I’m not a soldier. I’m just a storyteller.’
‘You’re stronger than you realize, Omeros, and you’re not a coward – although you think too deeply to be a natural warrior,’ she added, tapping her forehead. ‘Stay close to Arceisius, Odysseus and Eperitus: they’ll keep you safe.’
Omeros nodded, smiling at the thought of so many people seeming concerned for his safety. They walked on, following the broad path out beyond the edge of the town and down towards the harbour. For a while they said nothing, then, as they passed the town spri
ng and the poplar trees that surrounded it, Penelope’s grip tightened about Omeros’s arm.
‘I want you to do something for me, Omeros.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I want you to give a message to Odysseus. I want you to give it to him in person, when he’s alone.’
‘Me? But Eurybates is Odysseus’s squire. Wouldn’t he . . . ?’
‘No, I want you to give it to him. Eurybates has spent the past ten years in Ilium; what can he tell Odysseus about Ithaca? But you’ve seen everything that’s happened here these past ten years. You can let him know everything that’s happened while he’s been away, in all the detail he could want. More importantly, you can tell him about Telemachus: how tall he’s getting, how strong he is, and how he’s always talking about his father. Tell him that . . .’
She paused. They could see the harbour below them now, where the two galleys had their sails furled, ready for the morning departure. Penelope stood watching them as they rolled gently on the black, starlit waves that swept in from the straits. Across the water was the vast bulk of Samos.
‘Tell him that sometimes I look at Telemachus and see Odysseus staring back out at me. And sometimes I can’t bear it. I want him back, Omeros.’
She turned to face him, and though her face was in darkness he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. He took her cold hand and pressed the palm, trying to offer reassurance and yet not knowing how to comfort a queen.
‘The gods will bring him back.’
‘The gods are fickle,’ she replied. ‘And yet I still pray and hope. When I saw those galleys a moment ago, I imagined they were his and that he had come home at last. I could almost see him climbing the road from the harbour, as if the past ten years had been an awful nightmare and that he had returned. But this isn’t a nightmare; it’s reality, and Odysseus is in a darkness that’s beyond my reach.’
Omeros lowered his eyes.
‘I’ll tell him for you,’ he promised. ‘I’ll tell him all about Telemachus and how much he needs his father. And I’ll tell him about you, how much you love him and need him.’
‘Thank you, Omeros,’ Penelope said, laying her hand on his arm. ‘But there’s something else you must make clear to him, something I will entrust to you alone. Tell Odysseus his kingdom is under threat again.’
Omeros’s eyes widened briefly, before settling into a frown.
‘If that’s true, then the ships should remain here. While you or Ithaca are in danger, our first duty is to defend you. It’s what Odysseus would have us do.’
‘No. If Eurybates and Arceisius don’t return he’ll fear the worst and do something rash. Tell him we’re safe for now, but the threat will grow the longer he is away. It’s Eupeithes again.’
‘Eupeithes!’
‘Yes. His influence has increased in Odysseus’s absence, but never such that he could be a threat. The Kerosia has always been too heavily weighted against him. He bought Polyctor’s support long ago, but he’ll never win over the rest of the council.’
‘Then what has changed?’ Omeros asked.
‘The arrival of the galleys was the catalyst,’ Penelope replied. ‘Before then, the people thought the war could not last much longer, but the call for replacements has crushed their hope. Now they are wondering if Odysseus will ever return, and with some of the nobles refusing to send their sons to Troy, Eupeithes’s confidence has grown. He’s pushing for his son – Antinous – to be added to the Kerosia, as a favour for persuading the nobles not to rebel. He won’t be allowed – not yet – but if he can gain support among some of the richest families we’ll find it hard to resist for ever.’
‘Will he try force again?’
Penelope shook her head.
‘Not outright: he lost his taste for that the last time. He’ll stick to what he’s best at – politics of the worst kind – and though I will defend my husband’s kingdom in every way I can, I’m not sure how long I can outwit a resurgent Eupeithes for. If he can somehow take control of the Kerosia, with me as titular head of Ithaca, he will be ruler of Ithaca in all but name. Omeros, you must tell Odysseus that if the war isn’t over soon he could lose his kingdom altogether.’
Omeros nodded and looked out at the wooded slopes of Samos across the water. If he ever saw his homeland again, he had a feeling it would not be the same place it was now.
Chapter Nine
CALCHAS
The sun was low in the west before Odysseus and Eperitus dismissed the replacements. The inspection had been delayed by Odysseus’s report to Agamemnon, where his news of victory had been questioned at great length by the King of Men, aided by Menelaus and Nestor. Now, as the men began to stream back from the beach and into the camp where the rest of the army were preparing their evening meals, the king of Ithaca and the captain of his guard stood looking at the Aegean Sea beyond the black hulks of the Greek fleet, contemplating the merits of the newcomers.
‘There’s not a man among them who’s fit enough yet,’ Odysseus said, his face sober with concern. ‘Those mercenaries will flag in a prolonged battle, but the lads from home wouldn’t even make it through a skirmish.’
‘They’ve been crammed on to those galleys for days,’ Eperitus replied. ‘It’s bound to have left them a bit weak and groggy. But I’ll make sure they’re put through their paces over the next few days.’
‘They need more weapons training, too,’ Odysseus added, looking up at the pink skies scored with lines of purple cloud as if great claws had been drawn across the heavens. ‘The hired men will be able to stand their ground, but from what we saw of the others the Trojans would cut them to pieces without breaking into a sweat.’
‘Did we expect anything else?’ Eperitus asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning at his friend as they turned and walked back in the direction of the camp. ‘But don’t worry – I’ll see they know how to fight, too, before we inflict them on the enemy. Besides, I’d trust our own countrymen more than I would those mercenaries. At least they have a sense of loyalty and honour.’
‘What good’s honour in this place?’ Odysseus said. ‘Omeros was right: remembering who we were and what we’ve left behind is the only thing that’s going to win this war – that and ruthless determination.’
‘Honour is the lifeblood of a fighting man,’ Eperitus protested. ‘Without it we’re nothing more than murdering brigands. You’re a king, Odysseus, you should know that.’
‘I’m a king of nothing unless this war finishes soon. And the longer we fight the Trojans the more our sense of honour and humanity is dying out anyway. You saw how the men were by the time we sacked Thebe – brutal and merciless, like wild animals. I’ve watched it growing in them as the years have passed, and the Trojans are no better. It’s despicable, but perhaps we have to abandon our notions of honour and become the worst kind of savages if we’re ever to see our homes again.’
‘If that’s what’s needed, then perhaps it’s best we never return to Ithaca at all,’ Eperitus said.
They walked between the weathered tents where the men were seated around small fires, eating smoked mackerel and bread washed down with wine from home. Eperitus looked at the new arrivals, sitting in twos and threes among the men for whom Ithaca was nothing more than a faded memory dressed up in nostalgia. For a short while they would listen to news from their homeland, of their loved ones and of the places they had once known as intimately as they knew their own bodies. Then the wine that had been fermented on Samos would help them forget and instead they would tell the newcomers stories of the war against Troy and of the kings and heroes whose names were already becoming legend. How long, Eperitus wondered, before the newcomers would also lose their identities as Greeks? How long before they became longhaired barbarians, carrying captured weapons and married to foreign wives who spoke a different tongue? How long before their honour faded and was stained with acts of black cruelty?
‘Well, I have no intention of dying here, with or without my honour,’ Odysseu
s said, looking determined. ‘You and I are going to prove Palamedes has been passing our plans to the Trojans, and once we’ve stopped him I’ll think up a new way to defeat Hector once and for all.’
‘That’s assuming Palamedes is the traitor, Odysseus. And I can’t see how you’re going to prove that.’
‘I’ll find a way,’ Odysseus replied confidently. ‘The gods will reveal it to me. But now I’m going to my hut; Agamemnon, Menelaus and Nestor tired me out with their questions, and I need time alone to think about this news from home.’
Eperitus watched him pick his way through the campfires to his hut, his shoulders sagging with the burden of what was happening back on Ithaca. It was hard for any man to be away from his family for so long, and whatever Omeros had told him had concentrated that sense of separation. But Odysseus was also a king, and the threat of rebellious nobles when he was trapped in a war on the other side of the world was not an easy load to bear. Unfortunately, it was not a load Eperitus could share, though he wished he could.
‘Eperitus?’
He turned to see Astynome standing behind him. She was barefoot, as usual, and her white chiton was covered by the green cloak he had found for her a week ago in Lyrnessus. In her outstretched hands was a krater of wine.
‘I brought this for you,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s Ithacan. Perhaps it will remind you of your home.’
He took it and raised the dark liquid to his lips. After a long day with nothing but water the wine was cool and refreshing.
‘Thank you. Try some.’
He passed the krater back to her, but instead of taking it from him she placed her warm hands beneath his and lifted the cup to her mouth, watching him with her dark eyes as she drank.
‘It’s good,’ she said, removing her hands from his. ‘Polites gave me a whole skin of it for you. It’s at your hut, with the food I’ve prepared. Come.’
She led the way between the various campfires, walking with her head high and her long black hair cascading down her back. The Ithacan soldiers looked up as she passed them by, staring desirously at the fine, proud features of her face but looking away as soon as they saw their captain a few paces behind her. It was obvious they assumed she was more than just his slave, an assumption he was happy for them to make; after saving her from Eurylochus and his cronies at Lyrnessus, he did not intend to allow the rest of his men to force themselves upon her.