The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Odysseus lowered his face and frowned, his eyes moving as the thoughts raced through his brain, piecing together the fragments of information that had been scattered before him. Then, after a few moments silence, he looked up at the goddess. ‘A war against Troy – the city in my dream,’ he said. ‘Agamemnon wanted it ten years ago, and no doubt he still does. But if he couldn’t unite the Greeks then, how will he do it now? And how can any war last for the time it takes a baby to become a man? What could keep a man from his home and family for twenty years?’

  ‘The same things that men have always fought over,’ Athena commented sardonically. ‘But you should not try to foresee the future, Odysseus – prophecy is not one of your gifts. And remember, the words of the oracle are always enigmatic.’

  ‘But the Pythoness only said these things would happen if Odysseus goes to Troy,’ Eperitus added. ‘That means he still has a choice.’

  ‘Choice is an illusion that brings misery,’ Athena replied. ‘You mortals are always regretting your choices, after all. But you’re right, Eperitus – a choice of sorts remains.’

  ‘Then I will not go,’ Odysseus said, firmly. ‘I can’t go! I’m king of these islands, and if there are dark times ahead then my duty is to protect my kingdom and its people.’

  ‘Nobly spoken, Odysseus,’ Athena smiled, though her grey eyes looked sadly at the man over whom they had watched all his short life. ‘But there are things more compelling than kingdoms – sacred duties and binding oaths . . .’

  ‘No!’ Odysseus shouted, turning away and staring into the trees. After a time spent in silence, he turned back to face the goddess. ‘No, my lady. I have a wife who I love more than all the things this sweet life can offer – a woman for whom I gambled everything, and who will soon be the mother of the son I have hoped for for so long. My place is with my family, and nothing Agamemnon can offer or threaten will draw me to war with Troy.’

  ‘And you, Eperitus?’ the goddess asked, turning her unyielding gaze on the captain of the guard. ‘How will you react if the call to war comes? There will be more glory to be had in Ilium than even your courageous heart can long for – will you follow your yearning for battle?’

  She did not move, but Eperitus felt the strength of Athena’s will upon him, tempting him with his desire to seek fame against the armies of Troy and using it to test his loyalty to his friend.

  ‘My place is at the king’s side,’ he insisted, looking from the stern eyes of the goddess to the impassive face of Odysseus. ‘If war is coming, I will wait for it on Ithaca with Odysseus.’

  ‘A friend’s loyalty can be tried in many ways,’ Athena persevered. ‘Have you forgotten the words the priestess spoke to you under Mount Parnassus?’

  Eperitus thought of the oracle’s bitter-sweet promise, of glory mixed with the threat of his own treachery for love’s sake. ‘No, my lady. Her warning has never been far from my mind, and I’ve always been cautious of women because of it.’

  ‘Even a cautious man can be caught off his guard,’ Athena said. ‘A time is coming when a female will tempt you from the path of your true destiny, but that cannot be avoided now. When a man called Calchas finds you, listen to what he says. His words will point you to your greatest desire, and warn of your greatest fear.’

  She turned to Odysseus and looked at him with undisguised affection. ‘Now I must return to Olympus, but before I do I have some parting words for you, Odysseus.’

  ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘I know you were thinking of staying on Samos for a few days and hunting boar,’ the goddess began, glancing across at Polites and Arceisius who were already stirring, ‘but you must forget your plans and return home as quickly as you can. Penelope is already in labour.’

  And with her final words ringing in their ears, the goddess was gone.

  Chapter Six

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  ‘What happened?’ Arceisius asked, rubbing his head as he sat amongst a knot of ferns. ‘I feel like I’ve been asleep for a week.’

  ‘Get up,’ snapped Odysseus, pulling him roughly to his feet. ‘We’re going back to Ithaca, straight away.’

  The others were stirring and looking about themselves in confusion. Antiphus took Eperitus’s hand and, with an exaggerated groan, rose to his feet. He patted the dead leaves from his cloak and looked his captain in the eye.

  ‘What’s going on, Eperitus? Why did we just fall asleep like that? And where’s that old man?’

  Eperitus glanced across at Odysseus, who was helping Polites out of a clump of thick fern. The king caught his eye and, after a moment’s pause, walked over and placed an arm about Antiphus’s shoulder.

  ‘He wasn’t just an old man,’ the king said in a low voice. ‘He – I mean she – was Athena.’

  ‘Athena!’ Arceisius exclaimed loudly, catching the king’s words. ‘The goddess Athena?’

  ‘Of course the goddess,’ said Eperitus irritably, gesturing for his squire to keep his voice down. ‘She appeared to Odysseus and me after she’d put you lot to sleep.’

  ‘But why would an immortal appear to you?’ asked Polites in his deep, ponderous voice. ‘The gods haven’t spoken with men since before our grandfathers were born.’

  ‘You’ve a lot to learn if that’s what you think,’ Antiphus sniffed, looking at the Thessalian with something between dislike and distrust. ‘Athena has shown herself to Odysseus many times before now. The king is her favourite.’

  ‘That’s enough, Antiphus,’ Odysseus ordered. He had told his close friends some years before that the goddess had appeared to him and Eperitus on Mount Parnassus and at her temple in Messene, and the news had quickly become common knowledge throughout Ithaca; but the king still felt uncomfortable whenever people mentioned it. ‘The fact is, she came to tell me that Penelope is in labour and that I should return home as soon as possible.’

  ‘Zeus’s beard!’ Antiphus shouted, causing the rest of the men to look over. ‘But Actoris said the child wouldn’t come for at least three weeks.’

  Odysseus adjusted the shield on his back and picked up his spears. ‘Actoris is only a nursemaid,’ he said. ‘Artemis is the goddess of childbirth and it’s she who decides when and how a child comes into the world. So, with your permission, Antiphus, I’d like to set off for Ithaca at once.’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ Antiphus said quietly, ashamed that he had kept the king waiting with his questions.

  Odysseus smiled and patted him on the shoulder, then set off at a fast run along the woodland track.

  Eurylochus was asleep with his back against the bole of a sycamore tree when Argus, Odysseus’s boarhound, woke him with a bark. He opened his eyes to see the puppy standing by his feet, his ears erect and an expectant look in his eyes.

  ‘Get lost, you stupid beast,’ Eurylochus frowned. ‘Can’t you see I’m sleeping?’

  He closed his eyes and turned his head away, but Argus placed his front paws on his lap and gave another bark, more urgent and much louder this time. Eurylochus’s eyes snapped open and with an angry grunt he shoved the dog into the cold ruin of the campfire, where he gave a yelp and kicked up a cloud of ashes as he scrambled free.

  ‘Damn you, dog!’ Eurylochus shouted, wafting away the fine particles that filled the air and choking as he breathed them down into his lungs. He leapt to his feet and ran towards the puppy, bent on giving the animal a hard kick. Argus was too quick for him, though, and ran off through the trees, where the echoes of his barking could still be heard for some time.

  Eurylochus patted the ash from his clothes and, feeling almost as annoyed as he had after his confrontation with Eperitus earlier that morning, looked around for something to wet his throat. A skin of wine was hanging from a branch at the edge of the camp, so he strolled over and took a mouthful of the cool, refreshing liquid. The camp was on the edge of the wood, overlooking a sloping pasture that led down to the narrow channel between Samos and Ithaca, and after another swallow of wine Eurylochus leaned his shou
lder against a tree and looked out at the view. The bright, early spring sunshine was reflecting back from the choppy waters below and illuminating the white gulls as they wheeled and cried over the waves. Behind them, the rocky bulk of Ithaca loomed up like a black sea-monster basking in the morning’s warmth. To the south of the island, the dark waters of the Ionian Sea spread out towards the mainland of the Peloponnese, a low, grey profile on the horizon.

  Then Eurylochus heard Argus’s bark returning through the woods, accompanied by the sound of crashing undergrowth and the shouts of several men. Fearing danger, Eurylochus ran to grab his shield and spear from the tree where he had leaned them then turned to face whoever was approaching the camp at such speed.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he called, the terror clear in his voice.

  Suddenly, Odysseus’s heavy, triangular bulk could be seen weaving its way through the trees at a fast run, with Argus barking at his heels. ‘Lower your spear and get the camp packed up,’ he shouted. ‘We need to return to Ithaca at once.’

  ‘But why?’ Eurylochus asked, leaning his spear back against the tree. ‘I thought we were going to stay on Samos for a few days’ hunting.’

  Odysseus leapt over the screen of ferns that edged the camp and came to a halt by the scattered remains of the fire. He rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, his face red with the exertion of running. The others, led by Eperitus and Arceisius, were now visible sprinting through the trees towards the camp.

  ‘We received a message,’ Odysseus gasped, ‘that Penelope is in labour. So we’re going back. Where’s that squire of mine?’

  ‘I sent Eurybates down to the ship to prepare food for the midday meal.’

  ‘Well, if we eat at all, it’ll be back at the palace. I’ll head down to the galley – pack up this stuff and follow on as quickly as you can.’

  ‘Wait for me,’ Eperitus said, almost collapsing with exhaustion as he broke through the screen of ferns and stood wheezing next to Odysseus. ‘Arceisius, gather up my gear and bring it down to the ship. I’ll go with the king.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the squire replied, his usually ruddy face now an even brighter red and shining with sweat.

  Eurylochus gave Eperitus a frosty glare, then turned his back on him and began angrily stuffing bowls and cooking gear into a large sack. The others had all reached the camp by now and were already rolling up their bedding and throwing their belongings into leather bags. Odysseus placed a hand on Eperitus’s shoulder and pulled himself straight.

  ‘Come on then, Eperitus,’ he sighed. ‘This is no time to take a rest.’

  They jogged through the last of the trees and down the slope towards the water’s edge. Argus bounded ahead of them, barking happily in the bright sunshine. Below them was a small cove edged by a thin crescent of sand, where their galley drifted gently at its anchor. Beyond it was the narrow sleeve of dark water that separated Samos from Ithaca, and as they ran they stared at the familiar outline of the smaller island. The southern half – where the majority of its population made their living as fishermen, or from farming the little fertile land that existed – was low, wide and sheer-sided. A tooth-like peak guarded the narrow isthmus that led to the northern half, where the near-vertical walls of Mount Neriton rose up to dominate the island. Beyond the mountain’s mass was the principal town of Ithaca, and at its centre the palace of Odysseus, where Penelope was in the throes of labour. Eperitus caught sight of Odysseus’s face as he looked towards his home, and could see the anxiety in his eyes.

  With the help of Eurybates, a short, round-shouldered man with dark skin and curly hair, they fitted the spar to the mast before the others had reached the ship. Then, once every man was aboard and the oars had been fed out into the calm waters of the bay, they pulled up the anchor stone and unfurled the dolphin-motifed sail.

  Eperitus and Antiphus sat next to each other at the back of the galley, with Arceisius and Polites on the adjacent bench; the rest of the men were spread evenly along the length of the ship, each pair gripping one of the long-handled oars. Odysseus stood in the stern accompanied by Argus, and at his command the crew lowered their oars and began to row, gradually easing the galley over the calm waters of the cove towards the rapid current of the channel beyond. But before they could feel the sweat prickle in their armpits, the wind caught the sail with a ferocious snap and sucked them out into the choppy sea. Each man pulled in his oar and, after helping Antiphus make a correction to the angle of the sail, Eperitus went back to join Odysseus.

  ‘Penelope’ll be fine,’ he assured him, trying to disguise his own anxiety with a smile. ‘She’s a strong woman and the gods have always been with her.’

  Odysseus nodded, his eyes focused on the open sea as he pulled at the twin rudders. ‘I’m sure she will – and my son, too.’

  ‘Actoris says it’s a girl for sure.’

  ‘Actoris also said the baby wasn’t due for at least three weeks!’ Odysseus scoffed. ‘And now that we’ve seen Athena again, I know my dream of the other night was from her. It’ll be a boy, whatever any old maid thinks.’

  They fell silent for a while, their thoughts turning from the birth of Odysseus’s child to the appearance of the goddess. Eventually, as the galley fell under the shadow of the steep flanks of Mount Neriton, Eperitus could hold his silence no longer. ‘What do you make of it all, Odysseus – Athena’s words, I mean, about war with Troy? And why on earth would you want to spend twenty years away from home?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Odysseus replied, simply. ‘And I won’t – not with a family to care for and a kingdom to rule. Ithaca’s king owes no allegiance to Mycenae, and if Agamemnon still wants war against Priam then he’ll have to do without me. I don’t care for battle and glory – not like you do, Eperitus; my heart is here, in these islands with my family and friends. If the call to war does come, then I’ll find a way out of it. It’s you I’m worried about.’

  Eperitus stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, at the same time feeling like a thief caught in a man’s home.

  ‘I’m not a fool,’ Odysseus said with a short laugh. ‘You’re a warrior, Eperitus, and these islands that I love with all my heart must be like a prison for you. I know that you often climb to the top of Mount Neriton and look out at the mainland, no doubt yearning to go and find adventure on some foreign battlefield. And I saw the way Athena questioned you – she knows where your heart is, too. It’s only your vow to serve me that’s kept you here for so long, and your friendship. And if you weren’t the best friend I have, I would consider releasing you from your oath.’

  Eperitus looked across the bow of the ship to the rapidly approaching harbour, where several fishing vessels were drawn up on the sand and two galleys lay at anchor on the smooth waters. ‘I wouldn’t want to be released,’ he said quietly. ‘As I told the goddess, if war is coming then I’ll face it at your side.’

  ‘Let’s see what the Fates hold for us,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Now, get back to the benches and tell Antiphus to lower the sail – we’ll row the rest of the way into harbour.’

  But Antiphus had already given orders for the sail to be furled and for the oars to be readied. Eperitus took his place beside him, sliding the pine oar between its pegs and fastening the handle with a leather strap. He felt the strain in his arms and shoulders as the blade bit the water, then picked up the rhythm of the rest of the crew as they rowed the galley into the small inlet that nestled at the northern foot of Mount Neriton. The calm waters of the sheltered bay offered little resistance, and soon the splash of the anchor stone was followed by the shouts of men as they lowered a small boat over the side.

  Odysseus told Antiphus and Arceisius to wait for him and Eperitus in the boat, then turned to Polites.

  ‘Come with us, friend. You’ve not seen my home yet, and as you’re now one of the palace guard I want your first experience to be a happy one.’

  Polites bowed his head but said nothing. Leaving their weapons and equipment in the ship, they
climbed down into the waiting boat – which dipped alarmingly as Polites stepped onto it – and rowed to shore. They left Arceisius to take the boat back to the galley, then ran up a narrow road that led to the town above. A group of women, filling clay jars from a spring at the side of the road, looked on in silence as they passed. Eperitus wondered whether they had any news about Penelope, but had no time to ask as the king led them on towards the town. Soon they were passing the first houses, and shortly afterwards had reached the open terrace before the palace walls.

  Large numbers of people were standing around in the midday sun. Most were peasants or slave women, many with baskets of clothes under their arms, jars of water on their shoulders or babies on their hips. Here and there old men conversed with each other in animated tones, their grey beards wagging and their crooked fingers poking emphatically at each other’s chests. Groups of children ran in and out between the knots of adults, shouting and screaming as they chased and caught one another. It annoyed Eperitus to see them gathered there, clamouring like vultures as they awaited news of the royal birth; they seemed not to care that their queen’s fate was in the hands of Artemis, who from time to time saw fit to take the life of a mother or baby.

  Odysseus had stopped and was staring at the open gate in the outer wall of the palace. At the sight of their king, the din of voices gradually grew quiet and soon all eyes were upon him.

  ‘What is it, Odysseus?’ Eperitus said in a low voice, standing next to him and holding his elbow. ‘Do you want me to go in and ask?’

  ‘No,’ Odysseus said, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. ‘No, of course not. I just felt a moment of uncertainty. As if . . .’