by Iliffe, Glyn
‘Father!’ the girl warned, as the other guards formed a new line across the road. They were joined by the two men who had been knocked aside by Eperitus’s first attack, their eyes burning with a desire for revenge.
‘Clytaemnestra,’ Eperitus said, not taking his eyes from the man before him. ‘When I attack, take Iphigenia down the slope and into the town. Find the horses and escape – don’t wait for me.’
Before she could reply, he kicked downward at his opponent’s shin, scraping away the flesh with the edge of his sandal. The man shouted with pain, but was quickly silenced by a swift blow from Eperitus’s fist. The next instant, Eperitus drew his sword and prepared to run at the line of men before him. That he would die on their spear-points was inevitable, but if it gave his daughter a chance to flee he knew the sacrifice would be worthwhile.
‘What is this!’ barked a cold voice.
Eperitus turned to see Agamemnon standing in the gateway. He was tall and fearsome in his red cloak, white tunic and gleaming breastplate, as formidable a sight as the snarling stone lions in the wall above his head. On either side of him were Odysseus and Eurylochus. Eurylochus was grinning broadly, but Odysseus’s face was a mixture of concern, confusion and anger as he looked at the armed men spread across the road.
‘Eperitus,’ he said, sharply, ‘what’s happening here? Eurylochus says you were trying to run away with Agamemnon’s wife and daughter. In the name of Athena, tell me he’s wrong!’
‘I’m not wrong, my lord,’ Eurylochus announced, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at Eperitus. ‘I followed him down to the gardens and heard him and the queen planning to run away to Ithaca. I didn’t catch everything, but I know there’s a man waiting with horses and provisions for a long journey.’
‘You treacherous worm!’ Eperitus sneered, shooting a glance at Eurylochus.
Clytaemnestra stepped forward and looked imploringly at the king of Ithaca. ‘Whatever Eurylochus thinks he heard, Odysseus, he is wrong,’ she answered. ‘Iphigenia’s life is in danger, and I asked Eperitus to help me get her away from Mycenae.’
‘What sort of danger?’ Odysseus demanded.
Eperitus sheathed his sword and looked at his daughter. She stared back at him with fear in her eyes, but also pride at his fierce resistance against the Mycenaean guards. He fought the urge to pull her into the safety of his arms.
‘Calchas has bewitched the King of Men,’ he replied, turning to Odysseus. ‘He convinced Agamemnon that the storm at Aulis will not be lifted unless he sacrifices Iphigenia to Artemis, as retribution for the slaying of the white hart. When Clytaemnestra told me, I agreed to protect her.’
‘A human sacrifice!’ asked Odysseus, staring incredulously at Calchas on top of the slope. ‘That sort of thing is the stuff of legend, not reality!’
‘All wars require sacrifice,’ Agamemnon responded. ‘Didn’t you tell me in the woods that hunting the white hart could cost us dear? Well, if war with Troy requires the death of my own daughter then so be it.’
He stepped out from beneath the shadow of the gate and held out his hand towards Iphigenia. His jaw was set firmly and his blue eyes were as hard as sapphires as he stared at the girl. She responded with a look of hatred and, leaving Clytaemnestra’s side, ran towards Eperitus and threw her arms about him. Eperitus placed the palm of his hand on her head, but could not look at her.
With an expression of contempt on his pale face, Agamemnon signalled to his guards, who seized Eperitus by the arms and pulled him away from his daughter. Another took hold of the queen and dragged her out of the king’s path as he walked down the sloping road towards Iphigenia, followed closely by Odysseus. At that moment Eperitus realized the oath he had sworn to Clytaemnestra – the oath to protect Agamemnon – was not binding until the king killed Iphigenia. But if Eperitus could kill Agamemnon now, though he would lose his own life in the aftermath, he would at least save the girl.
With a huge backward thrust of his arms, he threw off the men who were holding him and drew his sword from its scabbard. It flashed red, catching the light of the sun as it rose above the mountains in the east, but as Eperitus turned his fierce gaze on Agamemnon, Odysseus whipped out his own sword and brought the pommel down on the back of his friend’s head.
Chapter Twenty-six
THE KING AND THE THIEF
Eperitus woke from the depths of a dark dream with his head throbbing and his body feeling as if it were made of stone. He looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, colourfully decorated on one side with scenes of maidens dancing to the music of lyres and flutes, and on the other with naked youths boxing, wrestling and running. He briefly recalled his dream, in which he had been pursuing a silver deer through a dark forest, only to see the creature transformed into Iphigenia as he closed upon her with his spear. Then he heard the scrape of a chair nearby, followed by sandalled feet crossing a stone floor towards him.
‘How’s your head?’ Odysseus asked, looking down at his friend with a mixture of concern and relief. ‘I hit you a bit harder than I intended. You’ve been out cold for most of the day.’
Eperitus sat up, provoking sharp stabbing pains in the back of his head and between his eyes. He winced, but quickly brushed aside the discomfort to focus on Odysseus. ‘Where’s Iphigenia?’ he croaked. ‘What happened?’
He sat up and tried to stand, but Odysseus laid a hand on his shoulder and forced him to remain on the bed.
‘Iphigenia’s with Agamemnon. They’re on their way to Aulis as we speak.’
Eperitus brushed his friend’s hand aside and stood. ‘Then we must go after them, at once!’ he said, urgently looking around the room. Although he still wore his tunic and could see his sandals and cloak nearby, there was no sign of his weapons in the unfamiliar room. ‘He’s going to murder her, Odysseus – you heard him admit it! Surely you’re not going to stand by and allow him to go ahead?’
‘Agamemnon is the elected leader of all the Greeks,’ Odysseus reminded him, gently but firmly. ‘He can do as he pleases, whether you and I like it or not. Besides, he left Mycenae at dawn this morning, with Calchas, Talthybius and a bodyguard of twenty warriors, all on horses. It’s now reaching sunset, and even if we were able to leave this moment and catch them on our little ponies, what chance would six Ithacans stand against so many? If we weren’t massacred there and then, we’d be denounced as traitors for opposing Agamemnon’s will.’
Eperitus slumped back down on the bed, seemingly crushed by the weight of Odysseus’s information. The orange light of the westering sun shone through the small, high window on the lime-plastered walls and Eperitus knew that his daughter would already be a long way from Mycenae – far beyond any chance he would have of preventing her doom. Briefly, he wondered whether Clytaemnestra had told Odysseus the truth about Iphigenia, but there was nothing in the king’s eyes to show this. Should he tell him now, he thought – surely, as a father himself, Odysseus would understand his anguish and help him? But he kept his silence and, shaking his head slowly, looked at his friend with despairing eyes.
‘I can’t just let her be killed in cold blood,’ he said. ‘It’s monstrous, like something from the old legends.’
Odysseus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then sat down beside Eperitus.
‘You did everything you could to save her, but it was hopeless from the start. Even if you’d managed to escape, what chance would you have had with every warrior in Greece hunting for you? As it is, you’re only alive now because of the efforts of Talthybius, Clytaemnestra and myself. Agamemnon was enraged that you tried to help his wife and daughter to escape; he wanted you killed there and then, and it took all my powers of persuasion to stop him. Clytaemnestra helped, saying she had told you their lives were in danger and they had to flee the city. Only when Talthybius confirmed this did Agamemnon believe you were acting in ignorance to save his family.’
‘Then I owe Clytaemnestra and Talthybius my thanks,’ Eperitus said. ‘But if you hadn’t hit me o
ver the head I could still have helped Iphigenia to get away.’
Odysseus laughed ironically. ‘If I hadn’t knocked you out, you would most certainly have been dead,’ he said. Then he reached across and grabbed Eperitus’s arm, a fierce look in his eyes. ‘Do you think I didn’t see what you were about to do? Admit it, Eperitus – you wanted to kill Agamemnon, didn’t you!’
‘Yes!’ Eperitus exclaimed, snatching his arm away and turning to face the window. ‘Yes, and I’d strike him down now if he were here. Iphigenia has become . . . precious to me in these past few days. Agamemnon doesn’t care for her or Clytaemnestra, but I do – and they care for me!’
Odysseus stared at his friend for a time, his expression dark and stern. Eventually, he broke the silence that had fallen in the room. ‘You wanted war, Eperitus, and as Agamemnon said, war requires sacrifice. When Helen left Sparta, whether by force or of her own free will, she had to give up all but one of her children. How do you think she feels now? And what about Menelaus, who lost everything he lived for in Helen? Achilles has given up a wife and child to go to his doom against Troy, and unless the words of the oracle can be broken, then I’m condemned not to see Penelope or Telemachus for twenty years. It’s the same story, one way or another, for every man waiting at Aulis, whether spearman or king. Even Agamemnon, the great King of Men, will be sacrificing his own humanity when he takes Iphigenia’s life – a fitting price for his ambitions, perhaps. But you should count yourself blessed, Eperitus: at least you have no family to sacrifice to the flames of this war.’
‘Blessed, am I?’ Eperitus scoffed, pacing the room in his bare feet. ‘By all the gods on Olympus, Odysseus, don’t you realize who Iphigenia is? She’s my daughter.’
Odysseus opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. It was the first time Eperitus had ever seen a look of anything like stupidity on the face of his astute, sharp-minded friend, and as Odysseus closed his mouth again and narrowed his eyes in thought Eperitus suddenly felt like laughing.
‘But how?’ the king asked.
‘Clytaemnestra and I became lovers ten years ago, when I was hiding in the Taygetus Mountains. I never knew before we came here that I’d fathered a child – how could I? – but Clytaemnestra says Iphigenia is mine, and my every instinct tells me it’s true. And now, perhaps, you can truly understand why I did what I did.’
‘Of course, but . . .’
‘There’s no but about the matter,’ Eperitus snapped, turning to his friend with a sudden look of intense determination on his face. ‘Your message is clear, Odysseus – the gods are cruel and demanding, but no man can deny them their due. Have you given up on Penelope and Telemachus so quickly? Well, I’m not prepared to simply lie down and accept that Iphigenia is lost. I won’t allow her to slip from my fingers, to be murdered by an insane king at the insistence of an unloving god; and if you will help me, then I know there’s still hope.’
‘Think about what you’re asking, Eperitus,’ Odysseus responded. ‘They’re a whole day’s ride ahead of us, and even if we could catch up with them they outnumber us three to one.’
‘No, you think about it!’ Eperitus shouted. ‘You’re the most intelligent man I know, and yet you haven’t seen what this means yet! If you help me save my daughter, then the words of the oracle can be broken. When Agamemnon can’t appease Artemis with Iphigenia’s life, the fleet won’t be able to sail for Troy. Before long the expedition will be forced to disband, and even if you have to walk there you’ll be able to return home to Ithaca – to your family. If we work together, Odysseus, we can save Iphigenia and stop the war. I know we can!’
Odysseus’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened as he realized the insane possibility of what Eperitus was suggesting. His face broke into a grin and, grabbing Eperitus by the arms, he stared at his friend with a new intensity.
‘By the gods, Eperitus, you’re right! Why didn’t I realize it at the Lion Gate? I could go home to my wife and son, and if Iphigenia came back with us you’d have every reason to stay on Ithaca and forget your lust for glory. Come on, man, get your sandals and cloak on – we haven’t a moment to waste. I told the others to be ready to leave as soon as you were awake, so they should be waiting for us.’
‘What will you do?’ Eperitus asked, already crouching down and tying on his sandals.
‘I don’t know yet, but I’m going to take your advice and think about it. Obviously, we can’t use force – it’ll need subtlety and cunning – but unless all the gods are against us then we’ll take whatever opportunities arise.’
They left the room – a small guest-chamber in the royal quarters – and passed through several narrow corridors to a flight of stairs, which took them down to the threshold of the palace. Here they could see the city below them, where the shadows lay long and dark, and beyond its walls a landscape of green hills in a fertile plain. As they paused to take in the view, Eurylochus passed through the pillared gateway and came running towards them.
‘Odysseus!’ he called. ‘Everything’s ready. Clytaemnestra has provided horses instead of the ponies we came on, so . . .’
Before he could say another word, Eperitus launched himself forward and seized him by the throat with both hands. Eurylochus’s legs buckled beneath the attack and the two men collapsed on the flagstoned floor, punching and kicking ferociously at each other. Eperitus, his lower lip already bleeding, quickly forced Eurylochus onto his back and pushed his thumbs into his fleshy neck, throwing all his weight into the stranglehold as Eurylochus fought back with surprising strength, kicking out with his fat legs as he struggled to throw off his attacker.
‘You treacherous swine,’ Eperitus cursed through gritted teeth, staring into Eurylochus’s beady eyes. ‘If Iphigenia dies because of you . . .’
‘I didn’t know you were . . .’ Eurylochus gagged, but the force of Eperitus’s fingers crushed the words in his throat and he could only gasp for more air as his oxygen-starved brain began to fall into the unconsciousness that preceded death.
Then Odysseus locked his arms about Eperitus’s chest and dragged him away with irresistible force. Eurylochus rolled over onto his knees and coughed violently, before vomiting over the flagstones. Eperitus continued to struggle against Odysseus’s fierce grip for a few moments, then gave up and let the tension drain from his muscles. As soon as Eurylochus had risen groggily to his feet and taken a few steps back, carefully massaging the marks on his bulging neck, Odysseus released his hold and Eperitus stepped free.
‘Eurylochus didn’t know anything about Agamemnon’s plans,’ the king explained angrily. ‘I’ve already questioned him on the matter, and he says he only overheard you and Clytaemnestra planning to run away with Iphigenia.’
‘I did what I thought was right,’ Eurylochus croaked, shooting a fierce glance at his attacker.
‘Liar,’ Eperitus spat, stepping towards Eurylochus. ‘You’ve hated me ever since Odysseus made me captain of the guard. And because of your petty jealousy a young girl is going to die!’
Odysseus placed a restraining hand on Eperitus’s shoulder. ‘Stop this,’ he commanded. ‘Both of you! If we’re to have any chance of catching Agamemnon, we must leave before it gets dark and ride late into the night. That means we haven’t got time to waste on your differences.’
After a warning glance at both men, he strode off towards the portico that led down to the lower levels of the city. Eperitus and Eurylochus scowled briefly at each other, then followed in his wake. The sun had already gone down by the time they reached the city walls, leaving behind an azure sky streaked with avenues of thin cloud. A line of six horses were waiting on the road beyond the Lion Gate, where Arceisius, Polites and Antiphus were talking quietly. Antiphus playfully admonished the newcomers for their lateness, before pointing each man to his horse. Eperitus walked over to the tall mare that had been assigned to him and stroked her neck. She was entirely black but for a white diamond on her nose, and her coat shone with a blue gleam in the failin
g light. Though he had liked Melite, the pony that had brought him to Mycenae, he could feel the strength and speed in the horse before him and knew she would make a much more suitable mount for the pursuit of Agamemnon.
‘We’ve packed your things for you,’ Antiphus said, glancing briefly at the blood on Eperitus’s lip and the marks about Eurylochus’s bulbous neck. ‘There’s a few days’ supply of food and a couple of skins of water for each of us. And we’ve brought your weapons down, too.’
Eperitus thanked him and looked across at the shield, sword and spears stacked ready at the side of the road. But as he turned, he noticed a figure standing beneath the shadows of the gateway. It was Clytaemnestra.
‘Give the queen our thanks for her hospitality,’ Odysseus said. ‘And especially for the gift of the horses.’
He caught Eperitus’s eye and smiled knowingly, before turning away and adjusting the blanket on his horse’s back. Eperitus walked back to the gate, where Clytaemnestra was leaning against the smooth wall with her arms behind her back and her red hair loose over her shoulders. Her pale face seemed to have lost its harshness, and was soft and appealing in the twilight, but he could also see the redness in her eyes and the despair in her crushed expression. The promise of happiness had been cruelly snatched away from her before it could be realized, and now she was condemned to remain the queen of Mycenae – cold, beautiful and lonely. Agamemnon had not punished her rebellion, but not out of kindness: without Iphigenia he knew her life would be even more empty than before, and in time her loneliness would consume her. Soon all she would have would be her hatred for her husband, gnawing at her with a greater and more bitter intensity than it had ever done before.
