by Glyn Iliffe
He looked back at the town. The rutted track from the hills had levelled out and they were following it towards the north gate.
‘Go around,’ Odysseus told the slave, pointing to a fork in the road that followed the circuit of the walls.
The Aethiope tapped his stick hard against the flank of one of the oxen and slowly the pair moved to the right. They heard the sounds of the camp long before they saw it: singing; a woman’s scream met by male laughter; the cries of distressed livestock. Odysseus gave Eperitus a concerned look. When eventually the cart edged round the walls, the sight before them was worse than either of them had feared.
‘This is Eurylochus’s work,’ Eperitus said.
Odysseus sat in silence, staring at the shambles before them. Large numbers of Ithacans were staggering about arm in arm, singing and laughing as they shared skins of wine. Others had women in their arms, though whether Trojans or Cicones Eperitus could not tell. Not a few had already passed out from the drink and were lying here and there like dead men, while some had taken women to the edges of the camp and were forcing themselves upon them.
Odysseus shook his head.
‘No, this is my work. I should have known better than to leave them to their own devices.’ He laid a hand on the Aethiope’s shoulder. ‘Take the cart down to that ship at the centre of the beach. You see those men standing guard? Tell them to load everything on board and once they’ve finished go straight back to your master. Do you understand?’
The slave nodded, and as soon as Odysseus and Eperitus had jumped down from the bench he smacked his stick across the oxen’s backs and moved off in the direction Odysseus had ordered.
‘This is dangerous,’ Eperitus said. ‘If we go in and start knocking some heads together there’s some who might not take it so well. I saw it enough times back at Troy, especially in the last months.’
‘True, but they weren’t Ithacans. And there’s still some order here. There must be a hundred men standing guard by the galleys, and I see women on deck. These ones in the camp must be Cicones.’
‘I hope so. If any man has laid a hand on Astynome he’ll pay with his life.’
‘She’s safe. There are good men who would lay down their own lives for her sake – Polites, Antiphus and Eurybates among them.’
‘So, what do you suggest we do?’
‘Find my cousin,’ Odysseus answered. ‘He’ll be at the heart of this mess, like you say, but above all we must keep our tempers. Whatever you do, don’t draw your sword.’
They marched towards the nearest campfire, where a dozen soldiers were singing loudly. Three women sat forlornly on the outer edge of the group, their nakedness barely covered by the cloaks they wore. As the two men approached, the singing stuttered to a halt and the soldiers glanced guiltily at the king.
‘Who gave you permission to drink wine?’ Odysseus asked.
Most looked down at their sandals, but a few dared to hold his gaze.
‘Everyone else was, so why shouldn’t we?’
‘My lord,’ Eperitus hissed.
‘My lord,’ the soldier added.
‘After ten years fighting we’ve earned it,’ said another.
‘Maybe, but not without my permission. Is that clear? There’ll be other towns beyond those hills, neighbours to these women.’ Odysseus pointed to the three Cicones seated behind the Ithacans. ‘They could be mustering their forces right now, ready to avenge their countrymen. Instead of drinking yourselves stupid you should have been loading these women onto the ships and making ready to sail.’
‘So why weren’t you here to give the orders, my lord?’
The speaker was a squat figure with a low forehead and deep-set eyes. Eperitus tore the wineskin from his hands and slammed his fist into his face. The man fell where he had sat and lay there unmoving, blood pumping from his nostrils. Eperitus poured the wine over his face and he sputtered back into consciousness.
‘Clean yourselves up and get back to your galleys,’ he snapped. ‘We’re leaving before nightfall. And find those women some clothes if they’re to join the rest of the slaves on the ships.’
The men nodded sulkily, while two of their number helped their comrade to his feet.
‘That wasn’t what I meant by keeping your temper,’ Odysseus said as they walked away.
Others had witnessed the scene and the singing and laughter close at hand had faltered into silence. Eperitus noticed men tossing away their wineskins or pointing their women in the direction of the ships, but many more were either too drunk to realise what was happening or had no intention of giving up their revelry. They looked sullenly at Odysseus as he walked by, while some stared with open defiance.
‘Amphion,’ Odysseus addressed one of them, a burly warrior holding a wineskin in each hand. ‘Where is Eurylochus?’
Hearing the king speak his name, the soldier’s insolence seemed to fade and he pointed towards the line of ships.
‘That way, my lord. Making sacrifices on the beach.’
Odysseus’s eyes narrowed, a rare sign of anger, but he checked himself quickly.
‘You’re a good man, Amphion. One of the best. Can I trust you to remind some of these men that they’re warriors and get them back into some kind of order?’
Amphion looked about himself and nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
Odysseus patted his arm and moved on through the crowd of soldiers. A guilty hush descended on the camp as he passed, broken only by the lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep from the beach ahead. As the way cleared before them, Eperitus could see men flaying dead animals or busily butchering the carcasses, while others roasted the meat on spits. Here, where the beach reached up to the grassy plain, the drinking and feasting carried on in ignorance.
‘Odysseus!’ called a voice.
Eurybates pushed his way through a group of men and ran to the king.
‘What’s happened here?’ Odysseus demanded. ‘Why aren’t the ships ready to sail?’
‘I’ve done everything I could in your absence, but it hasn’t been easy. The royal guard were the only ones who kept their heads after the town fell and you disappeared. The rest found whatever wine was to be had and that’s the result.’ Eurybates pointed to the undisciplined mass of men on the beach. ‘It was as much as we could do to collect the plunder into one place. As for the women and children, most of them are under guard inside the town. Though we couldn’t save them all. When we tried, swords were drawn and there was nearly bloodshed. I had to call off the guard.’
‘You did the right thing, Eurybates,’ Odysseus said, forgetting his sternness and taking his squire by the hand. ‘Where have you put the spoils?’
‘On the beach by your ship. We found more than we’d counted on: gold, silver, copper, iron, cloth, livestock. By my reckoning it’s more than our share of what was left in Troy. You were right to attack the town.’
‘And yet I nearly lost it all for the sake of a few more trinkets,’ Odysseus replied wistfully.
‘The cartload brought by the black slave?’ Eurybates asked.
Odysseus nodded. ‘Have that loaded onto my ship. The rest is to be divided up equally between the fleet. Tell the captain of each ship they’re to take a tenth for themselves and share what’s left between their crews.’
‘Is Astynome safe?’ Eperitus asked, unable to hold back any longer.
‘She insisted on leaving the ship and helping with the Cicones we captured. She’s still with them now, but Polites is with her.’
That reassured Eperitus, who for the first time since the volley of arrows had fallen among the slave-packed galleys felt a weight lift from his heart – something even Maron’s wine had not achieved.
‘We lost six men in the fight,’ Eurybates continued. ‘A fair price for all the plunder we took. I’m sorry, my lord, but we didn’t wait for your return to bury them.’
He pointed to a small mound on the western side of the plain, in which six spears had been planted. Eperitus gu
essed the much larger mound beside it was for the Cicones.
‘Unless we get these ships ready to sail tonight I fear there’ll be a lot more to bury by morning.’
‘Look about you, my lord,’ Eurybates said. ‘The army’s in no fit state to do anything. Some may have come to their senses since your return, but there’s plenty more who’ve already taken up their wineskins again. You won’t get them back in the ships tonight.’
‘Eurybates is right, Odysseus,’ Eperitus said. ‘Zeus himself couldn’t get the fleet back to sea by nightfall.’
Odysseus scratched at his beard for a moment and then turned to his squire.
‘Have you posted lookouts on the hilltops?’
‘One on each of those peaks,’ he said, pointing at the two tallest summits behind the town. ‘They’ll see anything coming from the other side, as long as there’s light to see by. And tonight the moon will be near to full.’
Odysseus looked unconvinced and Eperitus shared his doubts. A bank of purple cloud was gathering to the south. If it rolled in overnight there would be no moon to see by and the lookouts would have to rely upon their hearing alone.
‘I’d have sent more, but I needed every man I could spare here,’ Eurybates said, sensing the king’s scepticism. ‘They both have mounts and orders to ride back the moment they see anything.’
‘Are there any more horses?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Then send two riders to the temple on the hill,’ Odysseus ordered, ‘where that trace of smoke is rising up between the trees. The priest there gave me those gifts, but he’ll send inland for help if there’s any to be had. Have the riders count his slaves: two men, including the Aethiope, and four women. If any are missing tell them to come back immediately; if not, they’re to keep watch over the household until dawn, when they’re to come straight back here if they don’t want to be left behind.’
Eurybates nodded and ran off to carry out his instructions. Odysseus glanced at Eperitus.
‘Time to speak with my cousin.’
Selagos spotted them first. He raised himself to his full height and watched warily as Odysseus and Eperitus pushed their way through the crowd surrounding the large fire. Eurylochus was beside him with a bloody knife in his hand. He wore a black robe, thrown back over his shoulders to expose a red-stained tunic. His eyes were tightly closed and his thick lips were moving in prayer. At a kick from Selagos his mutterings ceased and he stared in momentary shock at his cousin.
Odysseus refused to meet his frightened gaze, turning his eyes instead on the calf that stood between Eurylochus and the blazing fire. Its horns had been wrapped with beaten gold and were held fast by two Taphians, while Elpenor knelt before it with a bowl to catch the sacrificial blood. The sandy grass where the plain met the beach was already stained black with the blood of earlier sacrifices. On every side men were butchering carcasses or sprinkling the meat with ritual salt and roasting it over the fire. At the king’s arrival they forgot their tasks and waited to see what would happen next.
Eperitus was tense with anger. By leading the sacrifices, Eurylochus had taken on the role of king, an act of rebellion deserving of death. But he was not such an imbecile that he would affront Odysseus without being certain of his own support first. Things must have grown serious in their absence, Eperitus realised, and that Eurybates had managed to avoid a confrontation up to now was greatly to his credit. Or perhaps Eurylochus had waited for Odysseus’s return before striking his blow. Not that Eperitus considered him capable of planning a coup, but Selagos was. He looked at the Taphian and saw the cold intelligence in his eyes, an intelligence that knew how to hide all emotion and thought. It was what Selagos would do, not Eurylochus, that worried Eperitus.
Without a word Odysseus stepped forward. Eurylochus stood his ground, holding his knife purposefully before him. Eperitus’s hand fell to the pommel of his sword and he noticed Selagos do the same. Then, as quick as a viper, Odysseus seized his cousin’s wrist and prised the blade from his grip. The circle of Ithacans tensed, as if ready to spring to the aid of one man or the other. Taking the knife, Odysseus grabbed Eurylochus by the chest, and for a moment Eperitus thought he would plunge it into his cousin’s bulging stomach. Instead, he pushed him into Selagos’s arms and turned to face the calf.
‘Has it drunk?’ he asked one of the men holding the horns, pointing to a wooden bowl on the ground.
The man nodded, confirming the beast had bowed its head in consent to the sacrifice. With practised skill, Odysseus snicked off a tuft of hair from its head and tossed it into the nearby flames. Signalling for Elpenor to come closer, he placed the blade under the calf’s throat and opened the flesh with a quick jerk of his arm. A stream of dark blood gushed out over Elpenor’s hands and into the bowl. The animal twitched its head and then staggered sideward, where a handful of men rushed forward to prevent it falling.
Odysseus stepped away and turned to Eurylochus.
‘You are not king yet, cousin,’ he said, pushing the gore-spattered knife into his hand. ‘Until you are, sacrifices are my prerogative and mine alone. Do you understand?’
Eurylochus nodded dumbly.
‘Now, have those campfires near the trees on either side brought closer into the beach and set up a picket line,’ Odysseus ordered. ‘If the gods are with us, we’ll get through the night unmolested and can sail away safely in the morning. If not, I hope you’re the first to die.’
Selagos lay beneath his blanket, listening to the crack and spit of the fire and the drunken snores of his comrades. As he waited, a bank of fog rolled in from the sea to blot out the stars and shroud everything in grey vapour. If any god had ever noticed the few sacrifices he had made in his life, they were repaying him now.
He pulled the blanket aside, strapped on his sword and crawled away on his hands and knees so as not to be silhouetted by the flames when he stood. He had deliberately picked the fire furthest from the beach and closest to the town gates, and had personally selected the men who were to guard that part of the perimeter. The mist covered his approach to the town and, as he expected, the two guards were propped up against the walls either side of the gates, sleeping off the wine he had sent them. With a final glance over his shoulder, he passed between the open portals.
The street was empty, but Selagos slipped into the shadows and waited. When he was certain there were no footsteps on the battlements above or signs of life from the surrounding buildings, he broke cover and set off through the dark streets, moving from alley to alley until he found the main square. Even in the fog he could see the chaos of broken jars and sticks of furniture that the Ithacans had tossed out of the houses in their hunt for wine. The outline of the temple where the townswomen were being held was visible directly opposite, but rather than risk treading on a shard of pottery and giving himself away to the guards, he decided to skirt round and approach from the side.
Moving from one doorway to the next, he made his way carefully to the other side of the square. Through the shifting fog he glimpsed a lone soldier standing before the doors of the temple. Unlike the guards Selagos had set, this man had been chosen by Eurybates. He carried a shield on his arm and a spear in his hand, and was sober and wakeful. Silently, Selagos drew the dagger from his belt and crept to the nearest corner of the temple, looking around for other guards in the fog. There were none.
The Ithacan seemed to sense Selagos’s presence a moment before his large hand closed over his mouth and the point of his dagger sliced open his throat. The man struggled briefly and then slumped heavily into Selagos’s arms. The Taphian dragged his body into the shadows and hid it beneath an overturned cart, then ran back to the temple. Before he could push open the doors, they swung back and an armed soldier stared out at him. The Taphian was first to react, seizing the man’s cloak at the shoulder and pulling him out into the street. The wool tore and the guard staggered free of Selagos’s grip, drawing his sword as he regained his footing.
‘Telep
hus! Telephus! Where are you, man?’ he shouted.
‘He’s dead,’ Selagos answered, tossing away the ripped cloak and freeing his own sword.
‘Selagos?’ the Ithacan said, squinting at him through the fog. ‘What’s all this about?’
Selagos did not answer. Adjusting the grip on his sword, he stepped forward and swung at his chest. The man had been half expecting the blow and stepped back out of range. He raised his sword but did not counter-attack, still reluctant to fight a man who that morning had been his comrade.
‘Put away the sword, Selagos! We’re both Ithacans.’
‘I’m a Taphian.’
Selagos skipped forward, knocked his opponent’s sword aside and thrust at him with the point of his blade. The Ithacan pulled nimbly aside and fell back.
‘If it’s gold you’re after, or wine, then you’re in the wrong place. There’re only slaves in there.’
Selagos attacked again. Their swords met with a ring of metal, sparking in the darkness. This time the Ithacan did not retreat but forced Selagos back against one of the stone pillars, grimacing as he matched his strength against the Taphian’s. Then Selagos plucked the dagger from his belt and sank it into the man’s stomach. He fell backwards, choking blood. Selagos finished him with his sword.
‘What is this?’ a woman’s voice asked.
One of the Cicones was standing in the open doorway. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen years, but she was clearly used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Other female faces skulked in the shadows behind her.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, stepping out onto the portico.
Selagos stooped to pick up the discarded cloak from the dirt and proceeded to wipe the blood from his sword.
‘Are there more of your people nearby?’ he said.
