by Glyn Iliffe
‘Wait here and keep watch, Peisandros,’ Odysseus commanded, handing him the sword. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
With that he sprinted back up the hill at a speed that belied his heavy bulk. They watched him out of sight, wondering what had brought about his sudden desertion, and then Peisandros turned to the young soldier.
‘What’s all this about, Eperitus? I was with you last night before they sent everybody back to their quarters, so I know you couldn’t have been in Penelope’s room. You’re covering for someone, aren’t you?’
Eperitus remained silent.
‘Was it Odysseus? You can trust me not to say anything. If you’re standing in for the prince then I honour you for your sacrifice, but I’ll not see you murdered for something you didn’t do.’
At that point Odysseus reappeared, carrying a struggling goat under his arm.
‘Come on,’ he told them, and marched through the gate at a pace which they struggled to keep up with.
‘He’s keen to see you dead, my friend,’ Peisandros muttered as they dropped behind. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want you changing your mind. But don’t forget who’s carrying the sword now.’
Although his name was now a thing to be despised, Eperitus felt a glimmer of hope that the Myrmidon spearman did not want him dead. How he planned to save his life he did not know, though if it meant Odysseus would be found out he would freely have chosen death again. Either way, if he lived he knew that his time in Sparta was over and the life of an outcast lay once more before him.
They reached the orchard and sought the shade of the apple trees. Here Odysseus passed the restless goat to Peisandros and turned to Eperitus.
‘Come to the river bank,’ he ordered, and led him down to the water. Here he made him kneel and began scooping up handfuls of the cold water, pouring them over his friend’s head to loosen the caked blood. Then he removed his own cloak and, dipping a corner in the gurgling waters, began to gently dab the blood from Eperitus’s skin. If he winced, Odysseus tried again with more care, and did not stop until every bit was gone.
‘You’re a fool,’ he said, shaking his head at the numerous cuts and swollen bruises that decorated Eperitus’s body. ‘But a noble one, and I thank you for your loyalty. I was an idiot to be in Penelope’s room, though it was at her invitation and not my own imposition; but to have openly admitted it would have meant not only my death, it would also have heaped shame on the woman I love and brought an end to our mission! And nothing must stop me from restoring Ithaca to my father’s rule, even if it means allowing the death of my closest friends. Maybe you understand?’
Eperitus looked at the eddies flowing past on the surface of the tributary and wanted to ask Odysseus if that also meant choosing Helen over Penelope. The prince was prepared to let his friend die for his homeland, but would not give up the woman he loved in exchange for all the power he needed to put Laertes back on the throne. Or maybe he was preserving himself for Penelope, after all, and the return to Ithaca had been relegated to a secondary cause.
‘I have no home, my lord,’ Eperitus answered, ‘so I don’t blame you for wanting to regain yours. Even if you are sometimes rash in your actions.’
Odysseus laughed. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I know I love her and can barely pass a moment without thinking of her, but last night it was as if all my feelings for her were tied up in a knot and there was only one way to release them.’
Peisandros joined them.
‘We’re ready,’ Odysseus told him. ‘Now, give me back the sword.’
‘I can’t do that, my lord.’
‘Don’t be a fool, man, and do as I say.’
Peisandros put the goat down, which immediately began gnawing at the tough grass around the trees, and pulled the sword from his belt.
‘You know as well as I that Eperitus didn’t commit this crime. I don’t mean to disrespect your rank, Odysseus, but I won’t allow you to kill an innocent man.’
‘And I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ Odysseus replied. He pointed at the goat. ‘What do you think I brought that thing for? A sacrifice to the gods for letting me murder my friend? Of course not, you buffoon – I’m going to kill the goat and dip Eperitus’s cloak in its blood. Hopefully that and your testimony will convince them.’
‘What?’ Peisandros exclaimed. ‘You gave them your word without having any intention of killing Eperitus?’
‘Just as you told them you’d be a witness to my death,’ Eperitus added, ‘with every intention of seeing me escape.’
The realization brought a broad smile to the Myrmidon’s lips as he handed the sword to Odysseus. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Well, let’s get on with it, and may the gods forgive us.’
At that moment they heard the thudding of hoofs and turned to see Icarius arrive, mounted on a white stallion. He stopped and looked about himself until he caught sight of the warriors amongst the apple trees. With a sharp dig of his heels he drove the horse into the orchard, ducking his head to clear the branches. Odysseus gave the goat a quick kick and sent it running off towards the city walls, whilst shooting Peisandros a look of frustration and despair.
‘I’m not too late, then,’ Icarius sneered, looking down at them and noting with satisfaction that Eperitus was kneeling and Odysseus stood over him, sword in hand. ‘I was half expecting you to have let him go, Odysseus.’
‘You should have more trust in a man when he gives his word,’ the Ithacan retorted.
‘Trust you? Why do you think I’m here? Now, let’s get on with it.’
Eperitus spat blood into the dirt where his horse stood, but Odysseus laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
‘Peace now, my friend; at least try to die with honour,’ he said as he stepped in front of Eperitus, turning his back towards Icarius. Then his voice sank to a whisper. ‘You always said you were a good horseman – now’s your chance to show me. Do you understand?’
Eperitus nodded and lowered his head. He heard the stallion shifting as Icarius tried to get a better view, and his mind raced to plan his next move. He raised one knee, ready to spring. Then Odysseus drew himself up to his full height and lifted the sword over his head.
An instant later, Eperitus thrust himself upwards and barged him aside with his shoulder. The prince tumbled deliberately into Peisandros and the pair of them fell into a heap. Icarius’s eyes widened as Eperitus sprinted towards him, but his reactions were too slow and as he tried to turn the horse around Eperitus caught his heel and pushed upwards with all his strength. The king fell to the damp ground with his arms and legs flailing, and Eperitus leapt skilfully onto the animal’s back. It continued to turn, snorting loudly in confusion, but its new rider quickly took the reins and calmed it with a hand on its neck.
For a moment he was tempted to drive the horse over the prostrate form before him, but the temptation quickly faded as he saw the terror in Icarius’s eyes. Instead, he turned the stallion towards the bridge and the road that led to the Taygetus Mountains.
‘Farewell, Odysseus,’ he said. ‘I’ll look for you again after Helen is married. Until then, make sure you choose the right daughter of Lacedaemon to keep the thieves from your house.’
With that he spurred the horse out of the orchard and onto the road, then drove it at a gallop towards the mountains. He knew that his place was at Odysseus’s side, and so he would hide out in the foothills until the time came for the Ithacans to return home.
The news of Eperitus’s escape was greeted with anger amongst the suitors and their retinues, though the Ithacans and a few others were relieved that the cruel sentence had not been carried out. Several mounted soldiers had been sent to hunt for the fugitive, but none had been able to locate him and – against Icarius’s wishes – the search was soon abandoned. The feast that evening was subdued, the atmosphere soured by the events of the day. Eventually, Tyndareus could stand no more of the sombre mood in the great hall, and asked Odysseus to walk with him in the gardens.
�
��This may not be the ideal time, Odysseus,’ he said, placing a broad arm about his shoulder and leading him to the very bench the prince had shared with Penelope weeks before, ‘but I need to know your answer to the little matter that remains unresolved between us. My daughter awaits your reply.’
‘Tyndareus, for these past months you’ve been like a father to me,’ Odysseus responded. ‘Indeed, to all of us suitors. You’ve given us the best of your food and drink, provided us with beds and kept us safe under your roof. No host could be kinder, and nothing would please me more than to become your son-in-law.’
His words pleased the king, who had been rather bemused by his daughter’s interest in the Ithacan. He wanted to make her happy, though, and was prepared to break his agreement with Agamemnon for her sake. The king of Mycenae would be disappointed and perhaps angry that Menelaus would no longer be chosen for Helen, especially as the council of war had been such a disaster; but Tyndareus was tired of his power stratagems and wanted an end to the constant – and expensive – feasting.
‘However,’ Odysseus added, ‘the events of last night and today have changed matters. I can no longer marry Helen.’
‘But why?’ Tyndareus said, clearly shocked and offended.
‘It’s my duty to marry Penelope.’
‘You’d turn down the greatest prize in all Greece for . . . for my niece?’
Odysseus shrugged, as if the comparison between the women was of no consequence. ‘She was dishonoured by an Ithacan and I feel responsible for that. That’s why, in fulfilment of your debt to me, I want you to persuade Icarius to let me marry Penelope.’
Tyndareus sighed, resigned to Odysseus’s inexplicable sense of honour. ‘I may hold sway over my brother in many things, Odysseus, but he’s very sensitive about his daughter.’
‘I’ve seen that already, though I’m also told he has little love for her. Perhaps he’ll be glad of a chance to see her married off.’
‘No king has much use for female offspring; they’re more trouble than they’re worth, as I will gladly swear by any god you care to name. But he relies on Penelope far more than he knows, and might think twice when someone asks to marry her. Especially if that person is you, Odysseus. He never liked you.’
‘And today hasn’t improved his opinion,’ Odysseus said, thinking aloud. ‘But nevertheless, you’ll persuade him for me?’
‘I honour my debts,’ the king reassured him. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
Chapter Twenty-three
THE FOOT RACE
The palace gates yawned wide to allow Icarius’s speeding chariot into the courtyard. Its wheels spewed up plumes of dust as they traced great arcs across the enclosure, following the circuit of the walls twice round before the king leaned back on the leather reins and brought the vehicle to a sliding halt. The four horses stood hock-high in a brown mist from the dirt they had ploughed up, stamping and snorting impatiently as their master spoke calming words from the chariot behind them.
Half a dozen attendants rushed out of the stables as Icarius stepped down. Beating the dust from his cloak, he watched three of the men unharness the team of horses and take them away to be fed on corn and white barley. The others dragged the chariot over to the stable and tilted it against the wall with its pole pointing up at the sky, before covering the body of the vehicle with a large tarpaulin.
Grudgingly satisfied with their efforts, Icarius turned on his heel and crossed the courtyard towards the main entrance of the palace. His work had given him an appetite and he was just beginning to look forward to a good meal when Tyndareus appeared, blocking the doorway with his well-fed bulk.
‘Welcome back, brother. Did you find anything?’
‘No. The overnight rain has washed away all hoof-prints, so I assume he has escaped through the mountain passes by now. Though I get a feeling that’s not the last I’ll see of him. But right now I have a voracious appetite to satisfy. Do you want to join me?’
Tyndareus stepped aside to let his brother pass. ‘I’m ahead of you,’ he said. ‘There’s food waiting for us in the hall. You see, I’ve a little request to make of you.’
Icarius did not wait to ask, but made his way at once to the great hall where two slaves were waiting to serve him. Tyndareus sat and watched him satisfy his hunger, wondering how his brother would react to the notion of Odysseus as a son-in-law, or how best to cajole him into accepting.
‘I’ve some news for you. Good news, I think you’ll agree.’
‘Oh yes?’ Icarius mumbled through a mouthful of pork. ‘The best news would be that you’ve finally chosen a husband for Helen and the palace will soon be free of suitors. They’re starting to show signs of restlessness, you know.’
‘Not yet. But it’s good news, nonetheless, and involves your daughter.’
Icarius carried on eating as if nothing had been said, but Tyndareus refused to play his brother’s games. He knew he had caught his interest, whether Icarius acknowledged it or not, so he determined to keep his silence until he received a reply. Eventually, after another mouthful of food, Icarius spoke.
‘Which one?’
‘Penelope, of course. Odysseus feels ashamed that one of his men was responsible for the offence against her. He wants to restore her honour by marrying her.’
Suddenly whatever Icarius was swallowing lodged in his throat and brought on a fit of choking. One of the attendant slaves stepped up and irreverently thumped him between the shoulder blades, sending a half-chewed blob of meat flying from the king’s mouth into the fire, where it fizzed into destruction. ‘That pauper,’ he rasped, still struggling for breath. ‘I’d rather see Penelope die than marry a trumped-up commoner.’
Concealing the pleasure he took from his brother’s discomfort, Tyndareus offered him a cup of wine. ‘You should be more generous in your opinions. Odysseus may not be a powerful man, but he has a fine mind and a strong character. He’d make a good son and, besides, I have an inkling Penelope likes him.’
‘Do you indeed? And where does her opinion come into this matter? She’ll marry who I tell her to, and I have no intention of giving any daughter of mine to an upstart prince without a kingdom to his name. Why should Helen have the greatest suitors in Greece flocking to her, when Penelope has to make do with beggars and peasants?’
‘Because she’s my daughter, of course!’ Tyndareus snapped. ‘I’m the eldest of us, Icarius, and whoever marries Helen will inherit the throne of Sparta. They won’t get that from taking Penelope to wife, will they? That and the fact that Helen is the most beautiful woman in Greece, if not the world.’
Icarius shrank into his chair, withdrawing under Tyndareus’s vocalization of his own superiority. But his proud spitefulness forced him to bite back.
‘She certainly has the looks of a god,’ he retorted.
Tyndareus stood, his eyes blazing at the accusation. ‘Watch your wayward tongue, brother,’ he warned. ‘Now let’s say I’m telling you Odysseus would be a good choice for Penelope. Don’t you always say the girl gets under your feet? More than once you’ve said how you’d love to be rid of her. Well, now is your opportunity.’
‘Damn you, Tyndareus,’ Icarius squirmed. ‘Maybe I would allow it, if you insisted, but the truth is I can’t.’
‘Can’t?’
‘No. Someone has already asked to marry her. One of your guests.’
‘That’s ridiculous. They came here for Helen, not Penelope.’
‘Not this one, I think. He came here with Ajax.’
‘Zeus’s beard, Icarius. You don’t mean Little Ajax, do you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Icarius confirmed with a nervous nod. ‘He asked me after the assembly this morning. He’s besotted with her, in a way I’ve never noticed anyone to be interested in Penelope before.’
‘Perhaps you should pay more attention to what goes on around your daughter, then. But I wish it had been anyone other than that Locrian hothead. There’ll be trouble if he gets refused for Odysseus’s sake. They hardly s
ee eye to eye as it is.’
‘That’s good,’ Icarius said. ‘For all of Little Ajax’s anger, I’d much rather have Penelope married to a real prince than a scheming mendicant like Odysseus.’
Tyndareus was in a dilemma. He wanted to honour his promise to Odysseus, who had helped ensure there would be no disagreement when Helen’s husband was chosen. Equally he did not want Little Ajax’s temper to threaten the hard-won peace that still existed within the palace walls. Especially not over a minor princess such as Penelope. Then an idea came to him.
‘Perhaps you’ll let them decide the matter between themselves.’
‘There’s nothing to decide, is there?’ Icarius replied. ‘I intend to allow Little Ajax to marry Penelope. Odysseus can go to Hades for all I care.’
‘I don’t think you should make any rash judgements, brother, especially as I’ve given Odysseus my word that I’ll get a reasonable answer from you. Why don’t we let them compete for her? A javelin-throwing contest, perhaps. Better still – a boxing match. A woman loves nothing more than to see two men spill each other’s blood for her sake.’
Icarius knew better than to cross his older brother once he had made up his mind about something, but long years of being the inferior sibling had taught him how to manoeuvre around Tyndareus.
‘I can see you’re determined about this. Well, as Penelope’s my daughter, perhaps you’ll condescend to allow me to choose the nature of the competition?’
Tyndareus had already decided to offer Little Ajax a substantial bribe to under-perform in whatever sport was chosen, so happily nodded his agreement. As an ally he believed Odysseus would prove to be worth the expense.
‘Then I suggest a foot race,’ Icarius said, hardly able to suppress a smile. ‘Three days from today. I’ll agree to give Penelope to whoever wins.’
Odysseus groaned. ‘A foot race?’
‘Are you concerned?’ Tyndareus asked. They walked alone through the corridors of the palace on their way to the night’s feast. ‘I’ve watched you during the morning exercises and you look fit and strong. What are you afraid of?’
