Leodes, with his dainty little fingers, never stood a chance. When he failed to string the bow and pronounced it unstringable, except by two men at once, Antinous got angry.
‘Just because you weren’t born to be a bowman doesn’t mean the rest of us are incompetent. But I have a suggestion. This bow hasn’t been used for years, not since it’s owner went off to the war. It’s too dry, see? Let’s give it a good greasing before the next man tries, what do you say?’
Leodes put down the bow and went back to his seat. ‘Believe me, this bow will break the hearts of many strong men. And perhaps it’s better to die than live without the love that lures us all here in vain.’
Antinous exploded. ‘Utter rubbish! Melanthius, get some tallow – we’re going to do as I say and grease it before we go any further!’
Melanthius, eager to please, ran for the tallow, which he heated in front of the fire, and they greased the bow and gave it to the next man. And the next, and the next, and so on, following the way of the wine. It was while this was under way that Eumaeus and Philoetius saw me signalling to them from the doorway. They followed me outside.
‘One question,’ I said, ‘but answer me quietly. If Odysseus were suddenly to turn up here right now and have a go at these lads, which side would you fight on, his or theirs?’
Swineherd and cowman looked at each other and back at me.
‘Are you joking?’ said Philoetius. ‘You know my position already. I’d stand by his side though I knew I’d die for it.’
‘And I’d stand on his other side,’ said Eumaeus.
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘here I am.’
Shock, astonishment, disbelief, belief, laughter, tears. Naturally belief would have been impossible without the disclosure of the scar. And even then, Pallas Athene found it necessary to produce a momentary metamorphosis, revealing the man beneath the rags, before turning me back again into the beggar for the benefit of the suitors and the success of the plan. And then Eumaeus and Philoetius realised that this was godwork. They stood with their mouths open.
‘Better shut them,’ I said, ‘and keep them shut. And now listen carefully. In a moment, I’m going to go back inside. You two follow – not together but separately; leave a minute between you. Not too much movement either. Keep a low profile, nothing to attract attention until we’re ready. I say we on the assumption you meant what you said just now. You’re ready to stand with me and take on that lot?’
‘We meant what we said.’
‘We’re ready.’
‘Right. Now here’s your cue, Eumaeus. I’m going to ask you for a shot at the bow. They’ll tell me to get lost, of course, but bring it to me anyway. Bring it down the hall to the doorway and give it straight into my hands. Telemachus will back you up. Then check that the door to the women’s quarters is definitely bolted. Your job, Philoetius, is to bolt and rope the courtyard gate.’
‘So that none of the bastards can escape?’
‘You’ve got it. This is a death-trap. Make it tight. I’ll see you inside.’
Back in the hall, Eurymachus had just failed to string the bow and was mouthing off.
‘Fuck the thing! Fuck it! Fuck it! Our names will be fucking mud!’
Antinous was offered his turn but was too crafty to accept.
‘Hang on, lads, what are we thinking of? Today’s the public holiday, remember? It’s Apollo’s Day. In honour of the archer god. Hardly a time to be arsing about with archery ourselves, as mere men. It’s an insult to the Immortal Archer. Tell you what, let’s drink a toast to Apollo and give the bow a breather. We’ve all drunk a bucket anyway. We’ll be fresher in the morning, and every man can have another go. I don’t recall Penelope saying anything about the number of attempts per person. By the law of averages, if we keep trying we’re bound to succeed. And we’ll get Melanthius to bring down the pick of the herd and give Apollo his due. Then we’ll go for it again – and may the best bugger win!’
Huge approval, loud cheering and a general return to the tables, cups raised, glory to Apollo! After the libation I spoke from the doorway.
‘Could I try?’
Silence for a moment. They all turned in their seats to look at me.
‘I asked if I might make an attempt at stringing the bow.’
‘What the fuck –’
‘It’s the old shitebag!’
‘Who the fuck does he think he is?’
‘Just because he whacked an even bigger arsehole!’
‘Piss off, ancient arse, before you get hurt!’
That was Melanthius. I addressed him.
‘Bravely spoken, goatherd, but I was addressing these gentlemen, not you, and I’d appreciate the opportunity to show off my own skill.’
‘You what? Your what?’
‘I told you, I’m an old soldier, a veteran. I fought at Troy.’
Laughter.
‘Aye, fought off the flies, you mean, you old maggot!’
Antinous didn’t find it so funny.
‘Listen, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you can forget it, old soldier or no. Nobody here gives a fuck what you did at Troy, if you were ever there, which I doubt. You’re still a pile of pigshit and you’re becoming too fucking familiar around here, let me tell you, worming your way into the household, browsing and sluicing and acting the part of the old salt. Last man I remember behaving like you got his nose and ears sliced off. And if you even think about trying to string that bow, if you even fucking touch it, the same will happen to you. You’ve had too much to drink – that’s your trouble. Now fuck off and leave your betters in peace!’
Telemachus intervened.
‘It’s not up to you, Antinous, to be telling my guests to come and go. You don’t give the orders around here. And I’m sure the old man is not suggesting for one moment that if he were to win the contest he’d have any intention of marrying my mother and taking her home with him.’
‘He doesn’t even have a fucking home!’ yelled Melanthius. ‘He’s a fucking vagrant!’
‘Well, exactly,’ said Telemachus. ‘So any idea of marriage would be preposterous. Out of the question – as my mother would be the first to agree. All he’s proposing is a bit of fun. I mean, you’re not imagining that he’s actually going to succeed, are you, Antinous?’
‘That’s not the point. Or rather, it is the point. Suppose that by some fluke he did manage to string it – we’d never live it down. What, an old toe-ragger trouncing the flower of Ithaca? We’d be a laughing stock.’
‘The laugh’s on you already,’ I said, ‘since you’ve failed to string the bow. And if I do string it, that will be a story for centuries to come. They’ll set you to song and dance – and it won’t half be a funny turn!’
Antinous picked up his stool and hurled it at me. It slammed harmlessly into the wall.
‘Get this fucker out of here! If you don’t, Telemachus, I will! And I mean now!’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, Antinous. I’m in charge of this household and I’ve made my decision. I’m giving the old man a try. He’s going to have his chance like the rest of you. And if he succeeds, I’ll give him a new rig-out, and a spear and sword and a brace of dogs, and enough silver to take him on to wherever he wants to go. That will be his prize. Eumaeus, give him the bow.’
The swineherd picked up the bow and quiver and started walking down the hall towards me. Protests rang out.
‘Hey, where do you think you’re off to, pig-fucker?’
‘Put it back!’
‘Get back here with that fucking bow! Move your arse!’
Eumaeus stopped, apparently cowed. My heart dropped a beat. Was it an act? Would he cave in when I needed him? Was he up to it?
But then he dropped the weapon and everybody laughed. Telemachus put on his own act.
‘Pick up that bow, you fumbling old idiot! You take your orders from me, not from that lot! And if you don’t obey me then I’ll throw you out! Got it? I’m beginni
ng to think these lads are right. I’ve been too easy on you. And on you too, old man,’ he said to me. ‘You’ll string that bow after all your boasting! And if you don’t, I’ll have you flogged!’
Hoots and cheers.
‘Well said, Telemachus!’
‘You’ve just grown up!’
‘At last!’
The distraction had worked. Eumaeus completed his journey down the hall and handed me the bow. Then he went to see to the upstairs door as Philoetius slipped past me. Nobody paid any attention to either of them as I made my way into the hall. All eyes were on me.
I looked at the weapon, twisting and testing it, checking for worm-holes. There were none. I ran my hands along it and brought it up level with my eye. The inspection produced more laughter.
‘What an expert, eh?’
‘A great eye for a bow!’
‘Look at him – you’d think he was a collector!’
‘Just take your time, hot-shot!’
‘The Trojans must have loved him! Slow as shit!’
‘An easy target!’
‘He thinks he’s Apollo!’
As smoothly and easily as a musician strings his lyre, I strung the bow and twanged the string. It sang like a swallow.
‘And who do you think I am?’
Silence in the hall. They sat like statues.
‘I said, who do you think I am?’
Fear on all their faces now. And still they gaped.
‘You should close your mouths, my masters – they make you into first-rate targets. Anybody could send a few arrows in your direction. They’d go right down your throats – and come out at the arse!’
All the colour left their faces.
‘But that’s too easy. Those aren’t the targets, are they? These are!’
The quiver bristled with bronze. I selected an arrow and balanced it against the bridge, drew it back slowly, horribly slowly, slowly, aiming straight ahead – and shot. From the first axe-head to the last, through every one and out at the last, the arrow didn’t miss a single ring. It thudded into the far wall.
‘No, the Trojans didn’t love me for that, I have to say.’
I nodded to Telemachus, who left his seat and sprang to my side. Antinous reached out for a gulp of wine.
‘That’s right, gentlemen, you can open your mouths again and drink up! And toast your own demise, why don’t you? It’s suppertime!’
FIFTY-EIGHT
I jumped back up onto the great threshold. See me on the web, and I am still in my rags. Or see me as I am – it makes no difference now. This scene was only ever going to end one way.
‘Now there’s a better target – a fucking beauty!’
Antinous was still gulping from his golden cup, little dreaming that the draught of courage was his death-drink. His head was tilted back, as I loosed the second shaft, aiming for the white, exposed throat. It struck him just below the Adam’s apple. The point went straight through and reappeared out of the back of the neck. A shot that thrilled me to the balls. I was back at Troy, the throbbing song of the bronze music to my ears. The cup went flying and Antinous keeled over, his last words a few red bubbles on his lips. He tried to stand but lurched over, blood spouting from his nostrils in two thick jets, and his mouth spraying a mixture of blood and wine. His bread and meat were spattered with it, spoiling his place at the table. Theoclymenus had seen right. A messy feeder was Antinous. He fell on his back, half under the table, both feet beating out a brief tattoo on the floor. Then he was still.
They all stood up, cursing and screaming together. Eurymachus shouted louder than the rest.
‘You fucking fool! You’ve only just gone and killed the son of the most powerful fucking family in Ithaca! You’re for the fucking vultures!’
They still didn’t get it, the morons. They thought it had been an accident. Or that I’d taken some sort of mad turn. There was no way of letting them down gently, the stupid bastards. I needed to tell them.
‘The most powerful in Ithaca, did you say? Well, you got that wrong for a start. The highest in the land is right here. Take a good gander, goose-brains! Do you get it now? Surely you can’t all be as stupid as you look – it’s not fucking possible!’
Yes, they’d been afraid, but they thought they were afraid of the impossible. Now they knew it was real, and the green fear showed in their faces. And in their flickering eyes, as each man looked around for an escape route. But there was none.
‘That’s right, you cunts! You’ve got it at last! You didn’t think I was ever coming back, did you? So you thought you could feed on a dead man, you flock of vultures, eat up my estate, insult my son, go after my wife, rape the maids and turn them into your whores, you immoral bastards! And you thought you could do it all for free and still get away with it afterwards. Well, I reckon that, unlike you lot, I’m a long way from being dead. And I’ve come back to tell you all that this is the last act. And the last act is always bloody, so it’s time to litter the stage with corpses. Are you ready to die? Last man standing gets to speak the epilogue. Agreed?’
Now at last they moved. Or tried to. But there was still nowhere for them to go. And when they looked about them frantically for weapons, there were none. Some of them were wearing short swords, but otherwise they were defenceless. That other look came back onto their faces, the look I’d seen often enough at Troy on the face of a soldier looking for a funk-hole, a crapper, any sanctuary from sudden fucking death, the unavoidable terrible end of life.
And again, there was none – except of course for the old sanctuary of excuse, shifting the blame, whining for life. It was Eurymachus who tried that line, speaking for the spineless.
‘Odysseus, if it’s you – and I can see that it must be, that it is – everything you are accusing us of is true, and there’s no excuse for it. But the man mainly responsible for it lies dead. He led us on, and we went along with him. We were wrong. He even planned to murder your son, the bastard. And I, for one, didn’t agree with it. None of us did. He was the one, he was power-mad. Now you’ve punished him, let it rest there, and we’ll stand with you against his family when they come after you, as they surely will. I know I’m speaking for every man here – and also when I say that we’ll compensate you for all your losses, until you’re satisfied. We’ll carry on paying for the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes.’
‘Eurymachus.’
I said it quietly.
‘Sadly that’s not going to be long enough. Your lives will be too short, you see. They’re ending now. You won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.’
‘Wait, Odysseus! Twenty oxen each, and bronze and gold from all of us. And we’ll see to it that Antinous contributes, even though the bastard’s dead. His family encouraged him. They wanted to take over the island – they’re the ones to blame!’
How can you feel sorry for a shit? Antinous was a cunt. Or had been. But this Eurymachus was the slimiest of the lot. I looked at him the way you look at what’s been left in the crapper.
‘You. You forget I’ve watched you and heard you. You thought you were first in line for my throne and my bed. You were no different from him, just a better hypocrite. As for atonement, all of your estates wouldn’t save your skins now, not if you made them over to me. And how will you pay for my wife’s shame? How will you pay for the whoredoms you’ve committed here? Can you give the maids back their virginities? Can you unfuck the sluts? If you can’t, then you’d better start running!’
They were about to scatter, but Eurymachus stopped them.
‘Right lads, you’ve heard him – he’s merciless. He’ll stand there and shoot until he’s killed us all or run out of ammunition. Are you going to go like sheep? I’m not. Let’s make a go of it, fight our way out of it if we can. We’ve got nothing to lose. Up with the tables – we can use them as shields and advance in a body. All we need is for one of us to get past him. One man through that door and into the town for help, and he’s finished. Get the tables up, and I�
��ll rush him!’
He came at me fast with his sword. I had to admit he showed some spunk. I whanged an arrow at him, and it stopped him before he’d even taken a couple of steps. He got it near the nipple and must have felt it in his liver. He screamed, dropped the sword, tottered, swayed over the table, crumpled up, clutching at the arrow, then went tumbling, table and all, sending the wine cups clanging to the ground. His forehead hit the floor, his feet drummed in agony. I aimed another arrow at his ear. It pierced the skull, and the feet stopped drumming.
‘In one ear, out the other. He never listened, did he?’
They stared at me, shocked, and back at Eurymachus, his head like a spiked apple. Then they ran from him.
Amphinomous came next, sword out, hoping to force me from the door. Telemachus took him out from behind – he’d run back to get Eurymachus’s sword. The spear hit Amphinomous between the shoulder blades and came out through the chest, ending the brief charge. He dropped the sword, both arms spread out, mouth opening soundlessly like a fish – an actor who’d forgotten his lines. His eyes gaped sightlessly and he crashed forwards, dead before he hit the ground, dead before he could feel his forehead splitting open. The dark pool spread out around his head. This was a good start.
Telemachus ran to recover his spear. I shouted him back. ‘No – you’re exposed! Get up here again beside me – quick!’
When he rejoined me, I hissed into his ear. ‘Storeroom – now! Bring spears, helmets, shields, more arrows, anything you can! Fetch weapons for the other two as well – and be quick! I won’t be able to hold them off for long!’
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