by Glyn Iliffe
They pictured Heracles in their minds, a huge man, bigger even than Odysseus and half again as tall, smashing down the palace doors with one blow of his fist and then carving up Eurytus and his guards as if they were nothing more than a herd of goats. He crashed through their imaginations like a whirlwind until, finally, they noticed that Iphitus had stopped talking.
‘And what do you believe now?’ Mentor asked, the first to speak since Iphitus had begun his tale.
‘There are rumours amongst the people I’ve spoken with. They say a large number of horses were herded north to Tiryns by a lone warrior dressed in a lion’s skin, a huge man bound with muscles the size of boulders. That’s what they say. As for me, I left the trail to come south to Messene, in the hope that my father’s horses would be hidden here by thieves other than Heracles.’
Now Halitherses spoke: ‘And do you still refuse to believe your friend stole these prize horses? It seems clear to me he did. After all, everybody knows Heracles is a slave in Tiryns and wears the skin of the lion he slew in Nemea. To my ears the things you’ve heard aren’t rumours, but news.’
‘Yes, old man,’ Iphitus conceded. ‘Only a fool can deny it – or a friend. But even loyalty can’t stifle suspicion, and for a long time now I’ve known I must confront Heracles.’
Damastor sat back and gave a whistle, expressing the thoughts of them all. Eperitus looked at Iphitus in a new light. How could a mere youth even contemplate matching himself against Heracles? Only a man of extraordinary courage would seek out a fight that would end in his own ignominious death.
The band of soldiers looked at their guest in silence.
‘And how can you hope to get your horses back if Heracles has taken them?’ Odysseus asked. ‘You’re not unaware of his reputation.’
‘I have my bow. Here, take a look for yourself.’ Iphitus handed the curved weapon over with pride, taking satisfaction from Odysseus’s close and knowledgeable inspection of it. ‘Heracles may have magic arrows, but this bow was the gift of a god. Apollo gave it to my father, and he in turn to me, so you see it has divine powers. It can hit a hawk in the eye at twice the distance of any mortal’s weapon. And it can only be strung by the man to whom it is given freely. If Heracles himself were to find this weapon, for all his great strength he would not be able to fit a bowstring to it. So I tell you in full confidence that if my father’s horses are in his possession and he will not return them to me, then I will use this bow to mete out justice to him.’
Eperitus liked Iphitus, but for all the divine origins and powers of the bow he had little faith in the lad’s ability to kill Heracles – especially if Odysseus fulfilled the command of the goddess and took it from him. He watched the prince admiring the weapon in which Iphitus had placed his faith, running his fingers over its smooth surface of crafted horn and admiring the skill that had shaped it. He stood and tried the string, finding that the bow bent to his will as if it had been made especially for him. And Eperitus could tell that he coveted it, that he wanted it with all his heart, as a man would want a woman.
‘Innkeeper!’ Odysseus shouted. ‘Bring more wine in here. My men want to get roaring drunk.’
Another krater was brought in to the cheers of his guards, but Odysseus did not stop to taste it. He announced he was going to check on the mules and, taking the bow with him, went through the door that led to the stables. Iphitus became fidgety without his prized weapon. Unable to let it out of his sight for a moment longer he stood and, excusing himself politely and promising to return, followed the prince. Eperitus waited a short while then followed in his wake.
He reached a doorway onto the courtyard and heard their voices coming from the stables on the other side. Waiting in the shadows, he heard Odysseus explain the real reason for their journey across the Peloponnese.
‘And when will you leave for Sparta?’ asked Iphitus.
‘We won’t delay any longer than we have to,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, if the men’s wounds show signs of healing and they feel fit enough. And what about you, Iphitus? When will you head to Tiryns?’
‘Messene holds no attraction for me,’ he replied. ‘Tomorrow will be as good a time as any. Already the trail is fading, and yet my mission won’t allow me to delay. I have to find Heracles.’
Eperitus crossed the courtyard. It was lit only by the glow of the moon, an eerie light that reflected in the dozens of small puddles on the muddy ground, which was still sodden from the day’s rain. The mules were huddled together in the darkness, where Odysseus was stroking their long noses and ugly, twitching ears. Iphitus was in the corner of the stable, once more in possession of his bow.
‘Hello Eperitus,’ Odysseus greeted him.
‘My lord.’
‘Not interested in getting drunk then?’
‘Not really. I thought I’d join you and see if I could dissuade Iphitus from pursuing Heracles.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the young archer. ‘I feel honour-bound to find my friend and prove the rumours wrong.’
‘Or right.’
‘At least travel with us, Iphitus,’ Odysseus said. ‘Sparta is on the way to Tiryns. We can share the road together and keep each other company. The men like you.’
‘It’s true,’ Eperitus agreed. ‘Who can forget the way you shot Damastor’s cap off with that arrow? And even he has come to forgive you for it. You should join us.’
As Iphitus shook his head resolutely, Odysseus moved towards the baggage that had been stowed in a corner of the stable, knelt down and untied one of the leather bags.
‘Your decision makes me sad,’ he sighed, standing again. In his hand was his father’s sword, the guest-gift for Tyndareus. He pulled it from its scabbard and the ornately carved blade glinted in the silvery light, each tiny detail pin-pricked by the moon as Odysseus turned it this way and that. Eperitus had never seen a weapon so intricate in its design, so rich in the quality of its workmanship, or so dreadful as it sat poised in Odysseus’s hand. For a moment he feared his friend would strike Iphitus down in cold blood and take the bow from him. Iphitus, too, looked uncertain and took a step back, gripping his bow tighter. But as he did so the prince slid the sword back into its scabbard and offered the hilt towards him.
‘If you won’t accompany us to Sparta, then you must visit me when I’ve restored Ithaca to my father’s line. There I will receive you with fair words, have my slaves bathe and clothe you, and we’ll eat together as old friends. That’s my promise to you, Iphitus, and before Zeus I offer you lifelong friendship, an honourable alliance that will hold for me and my descendants to you and yours for seven generations. And until we meet again in Ithaca I offer you gifts to seal my oath of friendship. I give you this sword of my father’s, which was to be our guest-gift to Tyndareus.’
Iphitus took the weapon and looked closely at the gold filigree on the leather scabbard. He drew the sword and studied the ornamentation on the blade, felt with his thumb the carving on the ivory handle, then held it above his head to watch the moonlight trickle off its glistening edge. Even though he was the son of a king, he had never seen such beauty in a man-made object.
As he admired its workmanship, Odysseus turned to Eperitus and told him to fetch one of his spears. ‘My finest spear, Eperitus. Be quick.’
Eperitus ran to where the others still sat, drinking from a fresh krater of wine. They hailed his arrival and asked where Odysseus was, but he made no reply other than to say the prince needed his spear. Halitherses handed him the great ash shaft and followed him back out into the courtyard, where Odysseus and Iphitus still faced each other.
‘This, too, I give to you,’ Odysseus said as Eperitus arrived, taking the spear from his hand. ‘The spear which Ares gave to my great-grandfather, and which has been passed from father to son since then. Take it, Iphitus, in sign of our friendship.’
Eperitus looked at Halitherses after hearing Odysseus’s extraordinary claims about the ordinary-looking weapon, but the old warrior screw
ed his lips to one side and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Your generosity astounds me, Odysseus,’ Iphitus said, taking the spear and feeling its balance in his right hand. ‘Truly you are a great friend and a noble ally, a man of virtue and nobility. And you do me great honour with your words and these gifts.’ He looked again at the things Odysseus had pressed upon him in the ages-old custom of xenia. As a man of royal birth who had already proved himself to be honourable and true, Eperitus knew Iphitus would accept and return Odysseus’s oath. He watched him take the prince’s hand and look him sternly in the eye.
‘Odysseus, I give you an oath of my allegiance, before the all-seeing eyes of Zeus. When our separate missions are completed I’ll visit you in Ithaca to confirm the words we’ve spoken here. And then you shall visit my father’s palace in Oechalia and be our most honoured guest. This is my promise, true for seven generations.’
Then he stopped and withdrew his hand. Iphitus was required to give a gift in return, a token to seal his side of the alliance. And yet he had nothing to give beyond his travel-worn cloak and the plain dagger tucked into his belt. His only other possession was the bow, the one weapon with which he could defeat Heracles.
He looked at Eperitus, who could not return the Oechalian’s gaze. He felt ashamed for his simple part in Odysseus’s trick, even though he had not realized it until the last moment. Then Iphitus looked at the sword again and tucked it into his belt, smiling with what seemed a mixture of pleasure at the richness of the gift, and resignation at the knowledge that he must give the bow to Odysseus. Everything, after all, was the will of the gods, and they clearly favoured the Ithacan prince.
‘This is my gift to you. It’s a great weapon, Odysseus, made by Apollo himself. It’ll respond to you like a lyre in the hand of a skilled bard. You’ll never miss your target with any arrow fired from this bow, and only you or the one you give it to will be able to string it. I give it to you freely and happily in token of our friendship.’
Odysseus took the bow from Iphitus’s hand. It was clean and smooth and sat in his palm as if it had been purposely crafted for him alone. Then they all looked at Iphitus and knew he would never now feast with them in the great hall in Ithaca, for when he found Heracles he was certain to die.
book
THREE
Chapter Fifteen
SPARTA
They stood in the foothills of the Taygetus Mountains and looked across the wide valley to the city of Sparta. It lay wedged between the river Eurotas and a lesser tributary, strung like a gold medallion on a silver necklace. It was a wealthy place, home to a numerous, warlike and proud people who had made themselves rich by conquest and trade. They were further blessed with rolling, fertile plains for the growing of crops and the breeding of horses, for which the Spartans were famous throughout Greece. The Eurotas flowed freely down to the coast, enabling their merchants to reach the sea with ease. And by the same route goods came in to Sparta from the rest of the world, providing Cyprian copper for her armourers, Nubian gold and Attican silver for her craftsmen, and a wealth of ivories, textiles, pottery and other luxuries.
The city was larger than anything Eperitus had ever seen before or had dared to imagine. There were the usual hovels of the poor on the outskirts, but these eventually gave way to the magnificent homes of the richer classes, whose lime-plastered walls staggered upwards like giant steps towards the city’s acropolis, the hill upon which sat the royal palace.
The morning had been a dull one – cold and threatened by rain – but as he caught his first glimpse of Sparta, set against a backdrop of steep mountains, the clouds parted and broad fingers of sunlight reached down to lift the city from the greyness. It glowed golden-white under the scintillating rays as wall followed wall, gate led to gate, and roof overlapped roof, creating an awesome edifice that dominated the whole valley.
The group of dusty warriors looked on in silence. In comparison, Ithaca was nothing more than a poor, unsophisticated island with a few ramshackle towns and villages. There were no glorious buildings or awe-inspiring palaces to impress visitors; no battlements or soaring watchtowers to deter invaders; no paved streets filled with wealthy merchants or bronze-clad soldiers. All that their homeland could offer were dusty cart tracks that led to simple dwellings surrounded by pigs, chickens and dogs.
Eperitus glanced across at Odysseus. After Messene, the men’s spirits had lifted; they knew that once they had passed the Taygetus Mountains and reached Sparta they would find food, drink and plenty of rest. In contrast, Odysseus had grown quiet and withdrawn. On the night before they entered the mountain passes that would take them to Sparta, he had invited Eperitus to join him as he went into the hills to hunt food. Whilst the prince had an arrow fitted to the great bow he was happy again, shooting rabbits at great distances and exulting at the magical accuracy of his new weapon. Often he would comment upon what a match there would have been between Apollo’s bow and the arrows of Heracles. But as they headed back to camp his despondency returned and the prince began to talk about Ithaca and his concerns for his countrymen under the yoke of Eupeithes and his Taphian army. He longed to return and fight, especially now he knew Helen’s husband had already been chosen, but Athena had told him to go on. Yet what would he find there? And what if he failed in his task and returned to Ithaca empty-handed, to lead the last of the palace guard to certain death against Eupeithes’s army?
‘I feel helpless, Eperitus,’ he said, kicking out at a pile of dead leaves and scattering them across the path. ‘I may be known for living by my wits, but I prefer to know where I’m going. I’d happily exchange places with you or any of the others. You’re soldiers and your job is to follow orders. If your captain says, “Slay that man,” then that’s what you do. But I have the fate of a whole people on my back. If I fail, Ithaca fails. And my captains are the gods – a more heartless and fickle bunch you couldn’t ask for. What matter if their earthly schemes don’t come off? They return to Olympus and forget their sorrows with ambrosia and nectar, whilst mortal corpses lie piled on the ground, their souls shepherded off to eternal misery in the halls of Hades. But what choice do we have but to obey their whims? I tell you in truth, I’d give anything to overturn my fate and dictate my own destiny.’
Talking about it put him in an even blacker mood, and when they returned to the camp he placed himself on guard duty and spoke to nobody for the rest of the evening. His silence continued throughout the next morning as they marched over the mountain passes to the Eurotas valley. But as Eperitus looked at his friend now, with the city of Sparta gleaming in the valley below, his stern expression had gone. He looked at the city as if he were sizing up an opponent. Here was the challenge that would require all of his wit and resources, and it was a test that he could not afford to fail. Suddenly his features were transformed by a smile.
‘Halitherses! See that the men are looking their best. We don’t want the Spartans mistaking us for a bunch of brigands, do we?’
Halitherses made himself busy inspecting their armour, making sure it was laced up tightly and sitting properly on their torsos. Then he tugged their shield straps and belts into place, checked that they still wore their little sprigs of chelonion – to remind them of their homes when they were tasting the delights of Sparta – and finally had them take out their whetstones from their pouches and sharpen the blades of their weapons so that they gleamed with a killing edge.
‘When you march through those gold-paved streets,’ he said, manhandling them into a double file, ‘I want you to walk with your chins held high and your eyes straight ahead. No looking at the pretty young Spartan girls, do you understand? Remember who you are, where you’re from and why we’re here.’
When they eventually reached the city, there were no pretty girls to be seen. In fact, other than a number of soldiers in various styles of armour and dress, they saw very few people at all. But the empty streets did not detract from the wonder of Sparta. Every wall was high and well built,
each strong door ornately carved, and almost every house possessed a second floor. Empty windows stared down on them from every side as they marched up the steep and winding road towards the palace, and Eperitus marvelled to see such beauty and magnificence.
Eventually they reached the palace gateway. The doors were twice as high and twice as wide as their counterparts in Ithaca and were covered in beaten silver that gleamed dully in the watery afternoon light. As they arrived a soldier in full armour emerged from a large guard hut built against the wall to one side of the entrance. He looked strained and tired.
‘State your name and your business,’ he said, with a voice that sounded weary of dealing with foreign nobles.
‘I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca. I’ve come to pay court to Helen of Sparta, by reputation the most beautiful woman in Greece.’
This last was added by way of a compliment to Sparta as a whole, but the guard captain remained unimpressed.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I have orders to permit entrance only to those who have been invited by the king. As I’ve never heard of Ithaca or any of its princes or kings, you’d better turn about and return the way you came.’
When Eperitus heard his words and thought of the hardships they had endured to arrive at these gates, only to be rejected like a pack of mere beggars, he felt the fighting rage come rushing into his veins. By the murmurs of his comrades he could tell they were angered too. One nod from Odysseus and they would happily have killed the guard and stormed the palace gates. But the prince was more patient than his men, and showed no sign of anger as he walked up to the Spartan.
