The Voyage of Odysseus (The Adventures of Odysseus Book 5)

by Glyn Iliffe

  ‘Where’s Elpenor?’ he asked.

  ‘He was feeling sick from last night’s wine – too much, as usual – so he went up to the roof to sleep it off in the fresh air. What’s going on, Eperitus? What’s with all this kicking and rolling us out of our beds?’

  ‘Ask Odysseus when he returns. First you can get up to the roof and bring that good-for-nothing friend of yours down here.’

  Omeros looked down disappointedly at his steaming hot porridge, then gave a sigh and made to rise. Eperitus took pity on him and restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry, lad. Sit and eat your breakfast. I’ll fetch him.’

  Elpenor lay on the thick fur and listened to the voices below. He had often come up to the roof to sleep after a night’s feasting and had learned much from it. Many of the crew had guessed the price Odysseus had paid for turning them back from swine to men, but to a man they also believed he had kept his own company at night ever since. His faithfulness to Penelope had been a topic of debate since Elpenor had arrived at Troy with the other replacements. No other fighting man from the highest king down to the lowliest spearman had given much thought to the women they had left at home, but Odysseus’s fidelity was renowned. Some even admired him for it, though only Elpenor knew the truth. Several times as he had lain quietly on the roof looking up at the oddly misaligned stars he had heard Odysseus and Circe’s voices coming from her bedroom window, always followed by the sound of their lovemaking. And yet Elpenor had said nothing to the rest of the crew. They all thought him a drunk of little intelligence, so rarely questioned his habit of sleeping on the roof. The last thing he wanted was for any of them to join him there so they could hear the evidence for themselves.

  Let them keep their illusions that Odysseus was a good king, he thought. Even those that despised him at least respected him, including Eurylochus and his Taphian henchman. But not Elpenor. From an early age, his father, Melaneus – an ally of Eupeithes – had taught his sons to hate the king of Ithaca. Elpenor’s eldest brother, Amphimedon, had even vowed that one day he would kill Odysseus. That was a lot of old bluster, of course, for everyone knew Amphimedon was a coward. But Eupeithes, the one-time usurper and now member of the Kerosia, would always encourage Amphimedon’s ambitions. Doubtless he had few hopes that the young braggart would ever pluck up the courage to carry out his promise, but if he did – and actually succeeded in killing Odysseus – it would serve the old traitor’s purposes to perfection. And there was nothing Eupeithes would not contemplate that offered the possibility of relieving Ithaca of its rightful king. Elpenor knew that well enough.

  Not that Eupeithes intended to take the throne himself. The man had even less courage than Amphimedon and knew the people would never follow him. But he was rich enough, ambitious enough and ruthless enough to make his son, Antinous, king and rule Ithaca through him. If he succeeded, the old hierarchy would collapse and a new one would rise up in its place. And with such changes came opportunities. Eupeithes also had a daughter, and for someone of Elpenor’s lowly rank – the youngest of four brothers with very little expectation of inheriting either money or power – marrying into the family of the future king was his best hope of joining the new hierarchy. So when Eupeithes had offered him his only daughter’s hand if he would volunteer to join the replacements being sent to Troy, he had accepted the proposal without hesitation.

  ‘Again I ask you, how do the living find the dead?’ he heard Odysseus say. ‘Where do I find the entrance to Hades?’

  Elpenor turned from his own thoughts and listened.

  ‘No pilot can show you the way, neither can you set a course towards it by the sun or any star. Rather you must sail with the north wind behind you, and if you are resolved to visit the dead, then the entrance to the Underworld will find you. And if it hasn’t revealed itself to you by nightfall of the day you set sail, then it never will. One last time: do you insist on going?’

  ‘I do.’

  So the strange discussion he had heard the night before, after the grunts and squeals of their copulation were over, had been genuine. Circe had spoken of a dead seer and sacrificing a ram and a black ewe at the meeting point of the River of Lamentation and the River of Flaming Fire, but the conversation had often drifted out of earshot and left him with only a fragmentary grasp of what they were talking about. Now, though, he understood. Odysseus was going to sail to the Halls of Hades and consult the dead.

  A door slammed in the room below. Elpenor stood and tried to buckle his sword about his waist, but he was distracted and it fell from his fingers to land with a thump on the floor. He picked it up again, secured the belt and began gathering up his sleeping furs. The thought of the Underworld had sent a shudder down his spine. It also woke him from the slumber he had fallen into during the months on Aeaea. He had gone to Troy with a specific purpose, one which he had barely thought through when he had taken it on but which had proved almost impossible to fulfil since. It was not that he was afraid to kill Odysseus. Unlike his brother, he was not a coward. But neither was he a fool. If he was to murder the king, he would not do it at the expense of his own life. There would be no open assassination attempt that would give Odysseus the chance to defend himself, nor would he risk a knife in the dark if there was any chance he would be caught or implicated in the crime. What would he gain by killing the king if he could not return to Ithaca and claim the reward Eupeithes had promised him?

  Yet the chances were fewer than he had hoped for. Odysseus had never been unguarded during the last months of the war, and though Elpenor had considered stabbing him in the back during the confusion of battle, the risks had been too high for his liking. During the voyage the confines of life on a galley had restricted the opportunities for him to carry out his mission unseen. Only in the Cyclops’s cave had a chance arisen: at the point Odysseus was about to blind Polyphemus, Elpenor had dropped the sharpened stake in the hope the monster would awake and seize hold of Odysseus, but his feeble plan had failed. With determination, he should have been able to fulfil his mission during their long sojourn on Aeaea. But something about the island had weakened his resolve. In the first few days he had been too traumatised by the terrible things they had suffered on the voyage and needed to recover his courage and strength. After that, the nightly feasts had pushed all thoughts of assassination to the back of his mind. Though he had continued to feign drunkenness while drinking no more than a cup or two of wine each night – adopting the persona of a drunkard was an essential part of his plan if he was to deflect suspicion from himself – he had become distanced from his mission. The thought had occurred to him, while he lay on the roof looking up at the stars and listening to Odysseus’s gentle snores, that he could easily slip down in the darkness and plunge a knife into his chest. The thought of disrupting the peace of the island, though, and the consequences that followed – including their inevitable resumption of the voyage home – had dissuaded him from acting.

  But suddenly everything had changed. They were to set sail once more, and their journey would take them to the last place on earth any sane man would want to venture: the Underworld. The name alone struck dread into Elpenor’s heart. His soul would be led there one day, where it would drift without memory of either sorrow or happiness and exist without sense or consciousness; but to go to such a place in a living body, able to understand and experience the horror, was too much. He had put his mission off for far too long. He must fulfil it before Odysseus could lead them to Hades.

  ‘Elpenor? What are you doing up here?’

  Elpenor turned to see Odysseus at the top of the ladder that led up to the roof from the floor below. He felt a sudden twinge of nerves. The gods, it seemed, were bringing matters to a head.

  ‘Sleeping,’ he answered, holding up the roll of furs in his hands.

  Odysseus frowned. ‘Who said you could sleep up here?’

  ‘Nobody, my lord. I came here last night to look at the stars and get some fresh air.’ He rubb
ed his forehead with the flat of his hand and squinted at Odysseus. ‘Circe’s wine is powerful. I’m sure her maids don’t water it down enough.’

  Odysseus stepped onto the flat roof.

  ‘It’s strong, that’s for certain. I’m surprised you didn’t fall off and break your neck.’

  ‘I’ve got a good head for heights.’

  ‘And too much of a head for wine,’ Odysseus added, giving him a look before walking to the edge and surveying the view. It was mostly forest, but to the north the land sloped away to reveal a stretch of sea between two green peaks. ‘It’s odd, but in all our months on Aeaea I haven’t once been up here. I didn’t know you could see the ocean.’

  His back was turned as he spoke, staring out at the blue waters and the sun glinting on the waves. Elpenor could feel his heart beating fast now, as if it were lodged in his throat. He took a step closer to the king and laid a hand on the pommel of his sword.

  No, he thought. Be patient.

  ‘Have you slept up here before?’ Odysseus asked, turning to face him.

  Elpenor’s hand shot up from his sword to his forehead, kneading the flesh with his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Sorry? My head’s pounding, I didn’t catch –’

  ‘I asked if you’ve slept on the roof before.’

  Odysseus was eyeing him suspiciously now.

  ‘Have I…? Erm, yes. A few times, I suppose.’

  ‘Circe’s bedroom is directly below us. Did you know that?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Her window is just below here,’ Odysseus continued, moving along the edge and pointing down. ‘Have you been eavesdropping? Answer me! What have you heard?’

  ‘Nothing. I only come up when I’ve had a little too much wine, and I’m in no state to listen to… whatever Circe might have to say to her maids. When I wake up in the morning I can’t even remember how I got here. Usually I just go straight back down to the great hall before anyone else wakes and wait for breakfast to be served.’

  ‘But not this morning, Elpenor. You’re still here, I notice. Why?’

  ‘I… I –’

  ‘What? Overslept? Or were you too busy listening to my conversation with Circe?’

  ‘No. I heard voices, but nothing clear and besides –’

  ‘Besides what?’

  ‘I was watching a sail approaching from the north.’

  ‘A sail?’ Odysseus’s expression changed instantly from distrust to concern. ‘Can you still see it? Did it approach the island?’

  Elpenor’s nervousness left him. As Odysseus turned northward to look at the expanse of ocean, he slid his sword slowly and silently from its scabbard. The moment had come and his only hesitation was in deciding the manner of the king’s death. Too many of the crew knew that Elpenor had a habit of sleeping on the roof, so to run Odysseus through would point to him as the murderer. But if the king was to fall from the roof and break his neck it would be nothing more than a tragic accident – an accident that would earn Elpenor the power and wealth he had always craved. Odysseus was only a few steps away from the roof: a simple run and a push would do it. And yet a fall of two storeys might only result in a broken leg, a gamble he was not prepared to take.

  ‘It was still there when you came up,’ he replied. ‘Close to the shore on the right. Yes, there it is, I can still see it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Odysseus asked, standing on his tiptoes and shielding his eyes from the low sun. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  There was only one way to be sure: Elpenor had to break the king’s neck before he pushed him from the roof. But even if he attacked him from behind, Odysseus’s greater bulk would surely prevail. With quick, light steps he ran up with his sword raised over his shoulder and brought the pommel down hard on Odysseus’s head.

  Eperitus reached the top of the ladder in time to see Odysseus collapse beneath the blow from Elpenor’s sword. With a shout, he sprang up the last few rungs and drew his own weapon. Elpenor turned in surprise, threw a glance around the edges of the broad roof and realised he was trapped. He bent his knees and with a furious expression launched himself at the newcomer.

  Eperitus raised his sword to meet the blow aimed at his head. The blades clashed loudly in the cool morning air before parting with a slither of metal and clashing again. In the last few weeks of the war Elpenor had earned himself a reputation as a poor fighter, too ready to hang back in a battle and let others do the fighting for him. He had also proved himself a weak-willed drunkard with a passion for wine and little else, so their fight would be short-lived. But before Eperitus killed him he would find out why he had struck Odysseus.

  Their blades locked again. Eperitus used his superior strength to push Elpenor backwards, then followed up with a lunge that should have taken him in the upper arm and ended the fight. To his amazement, Elpenor ducked deftly aside and swept his weapon in an arc at Eperitus’s stomach. Eperitus leapt back but the bronze tip slashed through the tunic and across his skin. He felt the searing pain of the cut but had no time to glance at how serious it was. Elpenor reversed the blade, jumped forward and swung again, this time from right to left. Again Eperitus had to jump back to avoid the worst of the attack, though the point of Elpenor’s weapon nicked a rib and sent another wave of stinging pain through his body. Only at the last moment did he remember the drop behind him. Realising this had been Elpenor’s tactic all along – to drive him over the edge to the first-storey roof below – he brought his sword down with all the speed and strength he possessed and met the youth’s blade as it came at him a third time. Drawing the blow aside, he threw a punch with his left hand and caught Elpenor squarely in the jaw, sending him sprawling across the roof. In the moment it took him to get back to his feet, Eperitus glanced down at his chest and saw his tunic was torn and bloodied, though his wounds were more painful than they were life-threatening.

  Elpenor threw himself into the attack again. His expression was fierce, but each thrust was controlled and purposeful, testing Eperitus’s defences and skills as the blows were parried or beaten aside. Whatever Eperitus had thought of the lad before, he knew now he had been wrong.

  ‘You’ve more skill than you’ve been letting on, Elpenor,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know.’

  ‘Indeed. Such as why you would attack your own king.’

  ‘Because Ithaca deserves a better one, of course,’ Elpenor grunted, deflecting a thrust from Eperitus’s sword and following up with a failed attack of his own. ‘And if you hadn’t appeared I would have broken his neck and tossed him over the edge, an excuse for us all to go home and find ourselves a new ruler.’

  ‘Yourself perhaps?’

  ‘In time. Why not?’

  ‘Because the throne passes to Telemachus. If the lad has grown up with even a scrap of his father’s courage and intelligence, he’d make a far greater king than you or whoever it was that sent you. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Elpenor? You’re nothing more than a hired assassin.’

  Elpenor leapt forward, launching a series of attacks that tested Eperitus’s skill to the limit. And with each counterblow he felt the raw edges of his wounds moving against each other, soaking his tunic in yet more blood until he felt his head growing light. There was no question of taking the young Ithacan alive. Though he wanted to know who had sent him to kill Odysseus, he knew that if he did not kill him soon he would grow too weak from blood loss and Elpenor would finish him off. Elpenor could see it too. What he could not see was that Odysseus was beginning to stir on the floor behind him.

  ‘Give up, lad. Even if you kill me, do you think you’ll cover your crime from the rest of the crew? You might have got away with making Odysseus’s murder look like an accident, but how will you explain two deaths?’

  ‘Simple. I’ll make it look like you killed each other. After all, do you think the crew haven’t noticed the tensions between you? You didn’t like it when he abandoned the rest of the fleet to the Laestrygonians,
did you? Or, I think, when you found out he had betrayed Penelope.’

  Elpenor parried a sudden lunge from Eperitus’s sword and responded with a thrust of his own. The movement was quick, the tip of his blade aimed at the groin, but Eperitus saw it coming and struck down hard. Using his greater strength, he drove his opponent’s weapon aside and brought the point of his own in to stab at Elpenor’s exposed chest. With the speed of his youth and the skill of a seasoned swordsman, Elpenor spun round and turned the blow away.

  ‘Who was it, Elpenor?’ Eperitus grunted as the two men pushed against each other, their faces almost meeting. ‘Is he worth dying for?’

  Elpenor laughed.

  ‘I’m not the one who’s losing blood, Eperitus. Your strength is fading faster than mine, so perhaps you should ask yourself whether Odysseus is worth dying for.’

  ‘He’s my king.’

  ‘And as perfidious a man as ever lived. You know, of course, he didn’t sleep with Circe just the once, don’t you?’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘I’m not lying. I’ve been up on this roof enough times to hear their lovemaking. Seems like she managed to turn him into a pig after all.’

  As he drew his sword back to strike, two large hands seized his wrist and twisted it with a snap. Elpenor cried out with pain and his sword fell from his fingers. Odysseus swung him round and drove his forehead hard into the young Ithacan’s face. Elpenor collapsed unconscious on the roof, blood streaming from his nose.

  ‘Zeus’s beard, you’re covered in blood!’ Odysseus declared.

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ Eperitus said, though the pain was making him feel nauseous and light-headed.