The Voyage of Odysseus (The Adventures of Odysseus Book 5)

by Glyn Iliffe

  A female voice calling to the children made him look up, but it was only one of the Trojan women telling them off for some misdemeanour. If Astynome was not back by dusk he would search for her. Odysseus usually returned before dark so it would be a good excuse to avoid any small talk he might try to make. Then he heard footsteps in the sand behind him and turned to see Selagos approaching. Instinctively Eperitus touched the hilt of his dagger, quickly lowering his hand again as soon as he became conscious of it.

  ‘I have a message for you,’ the Taphian said with his customary bluntness. ‘From your wife.’

  ‘Why would she leave a message with you?’

  ‘Because she is not as angry or untrusting as her husband. But if you don’t want to hear it –’

  ‘Wait,’ Eperitus said. ‘Forgive me. Being imprisoned on this island can try a man’s patience. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, we have all become a little impatient with things.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘To tell you that she had gone to the eastern cove where the burnt tree is. You know it? She’s looking for roots to feed the children.’

  ‘And when did she tell you this?’

  ‘When you went to find Omeros, around midday, but other things drove it out of my head. She said she would be back before dusk, and that’s what reminded me.’

  He waved a hand at the twilight that was descending rapidly. Eperitus restrained his anger and gave the Taphian a curt nod.

  ‘In that case I’ll go find her. Thank you, Selagos.’

  He watched the tall warrior return to the group of men with whom he had been playing dice, half expecting to see Eurylochus’s mocking face looking back at him. But he was not there. A quick glance around the rest of the camp told him he was nowhere to be seen. Eperitus’s stomach sank with the feeling that Astynome was in danger. He collected his sword from his shelter and passed out of sight of the camp before breaking into a run.

  Of all the lands they had visited, with the unique horrors that each one held, none seemed so miserable to Astynome as the island of Thrinacie. Though they had suffered regular downpours since their arrival, the only vegetation that seemed to grow there was tough grass and gnarled trees. Everything else was rocks and sand, as if the sun god on his visits to his precious cattle had scorched the earth barren. Even the few flowers that clung to its dry soil looked pallid and drained of colour, unable to brighten the grey landscape. Apart from the wandering herds and flocks, the only creatures that scratched their living in that melancholy place were lizards, snakes and a multitude of creeping insects. These scuttled out from every boulder she overturned in her search for roots, making her flesh creep as they crawled over her fingers and up her wrists before she could brush them off. Had it not been for the few bulbs she found she would have gone back to the camp long ago.

  Naturally she had questioned why Selagos – an ally of Eurylochus, who held no love for her – should tell her where she could find a few roots. He had excused himself by saying it was so she could feed her ever-hungry orphans and give him some peace from their constant wailing for food. Now she realised he had lied to her. But why?

  She dropped the half-filled basket of bulbs and roots on the ground and sat on a rock. Beyond the cliff’s edge and the little cove below it, the sea raged on with unabated anger. Eperitus said the gales were sent by Poseidon in vengeance for blinding the Cyclops who had eaten six of Odysseus’s men. When she had asked if there was a way to appease the gods, he had answered there was not and fell silent. Only later did she remember that Agamemnon had sacrificed Iphigenia, Eperitus’s daughter, to lift a storm sent by Artemis. She laid a hand on her stomach, wondering what sacrifice the immortals would demand this time.

  ‘Here you are.’

  Startled, Astynome turned to see a man approaching over the brow of the hill. Somehow she had the impression he had been there some time.

  ‘What do you want, Eurylochus?’

  ‘No need to take such a tone,’ he replied. ‘I heard you were looking for roots and thought I might be able to help you.’

  His overly friendly tone made her suspicious.

  ‘If I’d been hunting for truffles I might have asked for your help. As I’m not, I’ll thank you for your offer and request you go back to the camp.’

  He ignored the insult and sat down on a boulder. His face was pink and he was breathing heavily.

  ‘Not had much success, I see,’ he said, picking up a thin, pointy root from her basket. ‘I’m sure two pairs of hands would be better than one.’

  She pushed herself to her feet. ‘I was about to return to the camp.’

  ‘Then I’ll escort you back,’ he said, standing.

  ‘Escort me? Do you think I’ve forgotten Lyrnessus or what you tried to do on the galley, or on the island of the Cyclopes?’

  He crossed the gap between them and took her wrist in his sweaty hand, pulling her down beside him on the rock where she had been sitting.

  ‘But that’s why I’m offering you my help, to make peace between us.’ His breath stank and there was a dark hunger in his eyes. ‘If we’re to be neighbours on Ithaca then we should be friends and put the past behind us. I can be a useful ally to you – and Eperitus, of course. Better an ally than an enemy, don’t you think?’

  She saw the growing bulge in the crotch of his tunic and knew the danger she was in. Her heart was beating fast in her chest now. All she could think of was the safety of her unborn child.

  ‘Take your hands off me, please.’

  She tried to stand, but his hold on her wrist was horribly strong.

  ‘What’s the matter, Astynome? I’m just trying to be your friend.’

  He placed his other hand on her thigh, pinning her to the boulder.

  ‘I don’t want your friendship.’

  ‘Oh yes you do.’

  Her fear turned to anger, strengthening her as she thought of her husband and of their child.

  ‘I’ll scream,’ she warned him. ‘Touch me once and I’ll scream.’

  ‘But who will hear you?’

  ‘Omeros and the others are just over that hill there.’

  ‘Funny, I can’t hear the sheep or the cattle.’

  His hand shot down to the hem of her chiton, pulling it up over her knees. At the same time he pushed his face against hers, his lips smearing wetness across her cheek as she turned her head away. They fell to the stony floor, his heavy weight upon her and the hardness of his erection pressing against her thigh. She threw her head back and screamed. Immediately his hot hand closed over her mouth, stifling the sound.

  ‘Quiet!’ he commanded.

  He slipped his hand from her mouth down to her breast, squeezing it clumsily and painfully. She screamed again, and this time he slapped her so hard that for a moment she was stunned. As she blinked up at the grey sky she was aware his weight had lifted from her and his grip on her wrist had been released. For a moment she dared to think he had lost his nerve. Then she saw him, tugging his tunic over his head to reveal his naked body and the upward curve of his penis against his hairy, expansive stomach.

  ‘Stop it, Eurylochus. Stop this now and I’ll not say a word to Eperitus.’

  She propped herself up onto her elbows and tried to pull herself away. He was on her in a moment, one hand on her forearm, the other fumbling at the sash that kept her chiton closed about her.

  ‘You know you won’t say anything anyway,’ he grunted. ‘Remember, if Eperitus attacks me it’ll spark the rebellion that’s been waiting to happen since the moment we left Troy. Is that what you want?’

  The sash fell away and she felt the cold air on her bare skin. Then Eurylochus’s body descended on hers, hot and clammy with his hardness trapped between his stomach and hers. She screamed again, this time with fury as she felt his bulk pressing down on the baby inside her. New strength rushed into her limbs and she punched him hard in the face, stunning him momentarily so that she was able to push him away with her hands and
knees. Her fingernails tore at flesh and he shouted with pain, falling backwards on the ground like an upended pig. Long red claw marks were etched into his chest. Turning, she pulled herself across the stony floor, seized hold of a boulder and got to her feet. But before she could run up the hill, westward towards the camp where Eperitus would be waiting for her, a hand took hold of her ankle and pulled her to her knees. Another snatched her hair and with irresistible strength pulled her onto her back.

  ‘I’m not afraid of your rebellion any more,’ she hissed. ‘And how long do you think you’ll last once I tell my husband?’

  She spat in his face. He slapped her hard, bringing tears of pain and frustration to her eyes.

  ‘How do you think he’ll react when you tell him you’ve been with me? He’ll reject you, Astynome. I don’t mean divorce – he wouldn’t do anything as dishonourable as that. But do you think he’ll be able to love you again? You’d be lucky if he even looked at you!’

  ‘You’re wrong!’ she protested, struggling against his iron-like grip and the pressure of his great bulk against her. ‘Eperitus isn’t like that.’

  But something inside her knew he was.

  The waves crashed violently against the rocks below, sending up tall spumes of water that sprinkled Odysseus as he stood on the clifftop. He had finished his prayer with a promise of dozens of cattle, rams, black ewes and goats on his return to Ithaca, if only the storms would stop and permit him to set sail again. But Poseidon’s rage seemed neither to lessen nor increase. The wind continued to howl and the seas to rage, as if he had not spoken a word.

  He had never felt the rejection of the gods as much as he did then. Since boyhood he had known Athena’s presence at his side, protecting and guiding him. But he had defied her and she had deserted him as punishment. All that existed now was Poseidon’s implacable wrath shackling him to that cursed island. Were he to offer the lifeblood of every creature on Ithaca it would make no difference. Only the sacrifice of Hyperion’s cattle would suffice, and with it would come the condemnation of all the gods. It was a riddle even Odysseus could not solve. Every way he looked at it he saw death.

  He slumped forward onto his knees and lowered his forehead against the cold stone of the altar. He had built it in the first week on Thrinacie, though all he had been able to offer on it were vain promises and wishful thinking.

  ‘Put aside your anger, Athena, if only for a day,’ he whispered. ‘You tested me and I failed. How can I deny it? But I’m just a man; one man lost in a world of monsters and gods. All I ask is to see my home again. Are my offences so great you’ll deny me the chance to see my family one more time before I die? Has your love for me turned to such hatred?’

  He pounded his fist on the rough stone and screwed his eyes shut against the tears of frustration. Then in the heat of his anger he heard a voice, quiet and calming as if it had come from the rock itself.

  Look up, Odysseus. Look up now.

  Suddenly he knew he was not alone. Raising his head he saw a tall silhouette striding towards him, the last of the sun glinting from its upraised sword. Odysseus threw himself aside, just as the blade came ringing down upon the altar where his head had been an instant before. Without hesitation, the figure raised its weapon again and leapt towards him. Odysseus rolled back onto his shoulders, lifted back his legs and kicked out with all his force. He caught his attacker full in the stomach and sent him crashing to the ground. Both men regained their feet at the same moment. Odysseus slipped the pathetically short dagger from his belt while his attacker slashed a cross in the air with his sword.

  ‘What are you doing Selagos?’

  ‘Killing you.’

  He lunged at Odysseus’s stomach, forcing him back towards the cliff’s edge. The king felt the ground give beneath his ankle and heard the clatter of small stones falling down the rock face behind him. The terror of the sudden drop propelled him forward, lowering his head at Selagos’s body as he raised his sword for the killing blow. He caught the Taphian full in the stomach and drove him back against the altar. It collapsed beneath their weight and the two men fell together in a heap among the stones. Odysseus brought his head up into Selagos’s jaw and at the same time fumbled for his sword hand, grabbing his wrist and pinning it back against the ground. Gripping his dagger as hard as he could, he punched the blade into Selagos’s ribs, only to feel it scrape over the hardened leather of his cuirass and into the soft earth below. With a fighter’s instincts, Selagos rolled aside, trapping the knife and Odysseus’s hand beneath his armoured body. As Odysseus tried to pull his hand free, the Taphian rammed his forehead hard into his face. Odysseus’s nose broke and he felt the hot blood streaming out over his lips. Selagos pulled his wrist free and brought the pommel of his sword down into the side of his head. Everything went black. Odysseus was falling, his senses muffled as if he was underwater. It was strangely comforting, a transitory illusion as his consciousness retreated from the pain. Then his ears opened again to the crash of the waves below. He could see Selagos’s brutal face close to his own, smell fresh sweat, leather and damp earth. The intense pain of the blow so filled his brain that it threatened to push out beyond the confines of his skull. And he knew he could submit to it then, if he chose; lay down the burdens he had carried for so long and let Selagos finish him. In Hades’s kingdom he would be free from the anguish and frustration of the half-life he had led since leaving Ithaca. Then he remembered the last words of Achilles’s ghost: Cling on to life, Odysseus. Dig your fingers into it and never let go, for it’s all you have.

  Grimacing against the pain, he brought his thigh up hard into his attacker’s testicles and punched him in the side of the head. Selagos rolled aside with a moan and Odysseus dragged himself free, struggling to his feet and staggering away from the cliff’s edge. He turned and saw Selagos pull himself up, breathing heavily and uncertain on his legs, but with his sword still in his hand. Glancing down at his feet, the Taphian snatched up Odysseus’s dagger and tossed it over the cliff.

  ‘You’re going to die now, Odysseus,’ he said. ‘But not before I’ve told you why.’

  ‘Murdering me won’t make Eurylochus king. Even if he finds his way back to Ithaca, does he think the people will follow a fool like him?’

  ‘They follow you, don’t they? A poor king tied to an oath of his own making, leading away an army of six hundred and coming back with less than sixty. But if you think I’m stupid enough to follow the orders of any Ithacan – either you or that oaf cousin of yours – then that shows just how naïve you really are.’

  Selagos moved towards Odysseus. The king backed away, keeping as much distance between them as he could. He could outpace Selagos, but there was a steep hill behind him and the ground was too stony and treacherous for him to flee with any hope of escape. And there were no weapons to hand other than the rocks. His only option was to keep Selagos talking until an opportunity presented itself.

  ‘Every killer has a motive, Selagos: love, wealth, power, self-preservation… and as you attacked me, I know it’s not the latter. I can’t imagine it’s over a woman either, or power: no Taphian thinks beyond the next whore or skin of wine. So is it wealth? Perhaps you think you can kill me and sail the galley and all the plunder back to Taphos.’

  ‘You disappoint me, Odysseus. Where’s this intelligence you’ve always boasted of? A clever man should be able to work out why someone wants to kill him, shouldn’t he? I could tell you, of course, but I’m enjoying watching you squirm.’

  ‘Every Taphian who came out with the replacements was a proxy, paid to take the place of some rich coward who wasn’t ready to shed his blood for his homeland. Whose place did you take, Selagos?’

  Selagos smiled.

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’

  ‘Eupeithes sent you to Troy instead of Antinous. And just like Elpenor, he gave you instructions to make sure I didn’t come back.’

  ‘He sent the boy too?’ Selagos asked. ‘So it was no accident he fell from
Circe’s roof.’

  ‘Eupeithes must have offered to pay you well for such a dangerous mission,’ Odysseus said, retreating to a boulder and sitting down. ‘Whatever he promised, I can pay more. Much more. All you need do is put away your sword and I give you my oath you’ll be safe until you get back to Taphos.’

  ‘But I refused Eupeithes’s gold, Odysseus. So why should I accept yours?’

  ‘Refused?’

  A wave crashed on the rocks below, sending a fine rain splashing over the clifftop.

  ‘We Taphians may love to rut with whores and drink ourselves senseless, but we still have a sense of honour. Brutish and crude compared to yours, no doubt, but no less binding. And you forgot one of the greatest motivations for any killer: revenge. You see, Odysseus, Eupeithes told me my father’s throat was cut while he slept in the courtyard of your palace. He said you killed him, that you didn’t even give him the chance to die with his sword in his hand. But his sword is in my hand now, and with it I’ll see that his honour is satisfied.’

  Odysseus thought back to the night on Ithaca over twenty years before. He had tricked his way into the Taphian camp and ruthlessly set about slitting the throats of his enemies as they slept. Now the son of one of those men had followed him to the far edge of the world, fuelled by lust to avenge the blood of a dimly remembered father.