King of Ithaca (12 page)

In contrast, Anticleia, Laertes’s wife, bore a strong blood-resemblance to Odysseus. She had the same green eyes, red hair and straight nose that her son possessed, with broad shoulders that echoed his physical presence. She looked much younger than Laertes and all eyes rested upon her as the royal couple sat before the council.

Laertes took his cup and sprinkled a few fingertips of wine into the flames – a libation in honour of the gods – before sitting down again to drink. The rest of the Kerosia stood and copied his brief gesture. Eperitus was notably the last to do this and caught the king’s liquid eye as he retreated to his place, his glance lingering just long enough not to become a stare. Then he broke the silence by slapping his palm repeatedly on the stone arm of the throne.

‘Now then, you all know each other, so let’s do away with the formalities and start the work of the day. Halitherses, my friend, I’m glad to see you’ve brought my son safely back from the oracle. What news from the Pythoness, Odysseus?’

Odysseus stood and took the staff from his father. Their eyes met in silence: on one side the reigning king, small and frail, his head and nose raised slightly as if listening, his teeth resting on his lower lip in an unconscious sneer; opposite him, the future king, hugely strong, wearing the confidence of his youth like a rich, impenetrable cloak.

He recounted the events that had happened whilst he had been away, avoiding a repetition of the Pythoness’s prophecy but emphasizing the role Eperitus had played in the fight against the deserters.

‘In recognition of his courage,’ he concluded, ‘I’ve asked Eperitus to join the royal guard.’

‘The king chooses his guard,’ Laertes replied sternly, without looking at his son’s guest. ‘Both you and Halitherses know that.’

‘His appointment is subject to your approval, Father, I grant you. But ask yourself if you can turn away a willing warrior who killed five men in his first combat.’

There was a stiffness in Odysseus’s response that betrayed the silent contest between son and father, prince and king. Laertes bit back with the speed of a striking snake.

‘Ask yourself if the king’s life can be trusted to a stranger! Have you tested him?’

‘More than enough, Father. He’s fit to serve the king, and the Pythoness herself has promised him great things.’

‘The oracle never promises anything, Odysseus,’ Laertes retorted. ‘You’ll do well to remember that. Why did you aid my son and his men?’

It took Eperitus a moment to realize that Laertes was speaking to him. He looked at the king in surprise, suddenly at a loss for what to do or say. Then he noticed Odysseus beside him, discreetly tapping his knee. Eperitus knelt at once, and bowed his head.

‘My lord, I saw brave men outnumbered and surrounded. It was easy to decide who needed my help most.’

‘And if my son’s men had been in the majority?’

Eperitus raised his head and met Laertes’s gaze. ‘In that case, my lord, I might have slain five Ithacans instead.’

The king smiled at his reply, but it was not a smile that brought any sense of warmth or relief.

‘You are on probation, Eperitus of Alybas,’ he told him. ‘But I’ll watch you.’

This time he fixed the young warrior with a stare that he would not release. Eperitus met his eye, but as he did so he felt the keen gaze stripping away the fragile barriers that concealed his innermost thoughts. Quickly he lowered his eyes for fear that the old man would follow the passages of his mind into areas he had not even dared to explore himself.

‘Yes, I’ll watch you like a hawk,’ Laertes repeated, before turning to the others. ‘Now, where are you, Koronos? Stand up so my old man’s eyes can see you. I’ve called you all here because Koronos has news for us from Eupeithes’s camp. Stand up, man, and take the speaker’s staff.’

A middle-aged noble with pitch-black hair raised himself from the chair closest to the king and took the staff from Odysseus. Eperitus could see that he was wealthy by the quality of his clothes and his well-kept, well-fed appearance. From his confidence before the Kerosia he also guessed he was a man of position, used to deference from others.

‘My lords, your ladyship, King Laertes is fortunate in having me as his close and faithful ally, for I bring news which those of us loyal to his rule must act upon immediately. Sometime ago a god put it into my mind to bribe one of Eupeithes’s slaves into my service. This man has become my eyes and ears in the traitor’s household, and there’s little of that man’s scheming that I don’t know about.

‘Eupeithes is an Ithacan and familiar to us all. But allow me to enlarge on what we know of this man, if only for the sake of our guest.’ Koronos bowed briefly to Eperitus. ‘Though he is a noble, a wealthy merchant, a powerful orator and a man of political ambition, he has never before sought to bring violence to these islands. For some time now we’ve been subjected to his speeches in the marketplaces, so we know he claims to be a patriot . . .’

‘Patriot!’ snorted one of the Kerosia, a man bent with age who could barely straighten his back to vent his disgust. ‘He’s a fat, pampered coward with no mind for anything other than increasing his own wealth! Who can forget how he sided with the Taphians when they raided our allies, the Thesprotians? Can a man who attacks his country’s friends call himself a patriot?’ The old man stopped to draw breath and, in honour of his age, nobody dared interrupt him. Not even Koronos, who held the speaker’s staff. ‘I was among the crowd of islanders who wanted to kill him for his treason. We chased him from his farm on the north coast all the way to the palace – you’d never have thought such a fat man could move so quickly.’ He took breath again, wheezing in his excitement. ‘Only Laertes had compassion on the man, and gave him sanctuary in this very house. He and the boy’, he pointed his stick at Odysseus, ‘held the gates, forbidding us entry and persuading us to return to our homes. And this is the family he wants to overthrow!’

After a respectful pause, Koronos continued. ‘Thank you, Phronius. If we all bore grudges as tenaciously as you, perhaps Eupeithes wouldn’t have wormed his way back into the hearts of the people. But, nevertheless, he claims himself a patriot and a respecter of the gods, and he spreads his lies amongst those who’ll listen to him. He claims Laertes is an idle king, an incompetent ruler who wants to keep Ithaca in stasis, never growing or rising to fulfil her potential. He tells us that, if he were monarch, he’d make our small knot of islands into a kingdom to be reckoned with. And the people are listening to him! They believe Eupeithes when he tells them he’ll bring new wealth to their towns and farmsteads, when he promises to build a palace to rival Mycenae, and that he’ll make powerful alliances with other states. And I’ll tell you what’s even more dangerous: he has the ear of many of the nobles of these islands.’

Koronos looked round at each member of the council, sliding his gaze from one set of eyes to the next, pushing home to them the prospect that Laertes was losing his grip on the populace.

‘But for all his influence, for all his patience in stirring up the people, he doesn’t have the majority of support. Perhaps a quarter of the people and nobles are for him.’

‘Nonsense!’ shouted Phronius. ‘A tenth at the most.’

‘Another quarter is sympathetic,’ Koronos continued, ‘but undecided. The remainder are loyal to the rule of Laertes and will never support a usurper, even if some of them agree with Eupeithes. Because he knows this, the traitor has changed his plans. And that is what brings me here.’

At this point Koronos signalled to one of the slaves, who came over and refilled his cup. He took a mouthful and looked around again.

‘Eupeithes, for all his treachery, doesn’t want to kill our great king. He still feels a debt of honour for the time that you shielded him from the mob, my lord. But he’s also a politician, and fears your death would win him more enemies than friends. Therefore he’d rather see you retired with the agreement of the nobles than murdered like a dog. And yet he has gathered about him men who are not so discerning. These men, most notably the twins Polybus and Polytherses, are tired of waiting for public opinion to turn in their favour. They’re pushing for action now, and they mean to have their way.

‘Until recently, I’ve been content for my spy to report the daily goings-on: the name of any new nobleman won over to Eupeithes’s cause; the travelling plans of the traitor; any new schemes he has dreamed up to oppose the rule of our king. These are the things that have been reported to me for months, but a few nights ago Eupeithes was visited by the twins and they spoke together long into the night. My man served them throughout and has relayed every word to me. These men don’t care for their country – they want only wealth and power. They’re also young and don’t share their leader’s patience in sowing dissent for a popular and peaceful removal of the king. They’ve spent the winter recruiting hard and raising funds, intent on recruiting a force of mercenaries. They even mentioned the Taphians, who their master still has secret connections with, and Eupeithes has agreed a plan to attack at the end of spring and take the throne by force. My lords, the time of political strife is passing. We must sharpen our swords for war.’

Chapter Seven

O
DYSSEUS’S
C
HALLENGE

Tyndareus paced the floor of the great hall. Fired by his idea for gathering together the best of the Greeks, Agamemnon had sent mounted messengers to spread the word that Helen was to be married and her father was inviting suit from the greatest kings and warriors in all Greece. Perhaps fearing that the Spartan king would change his mind, he had dispatched the heralds that same evening. By now news would have reached every corner of the Peloponnese, whilst merchant ships would already be carrying messages out to the islands. Some horsemen might even have reached northern Greece, especially as this was a time of relative peace and the only trouble on the roads was the occasional brigand.

The king sighed. He might have a few days or even weeks of grace as Greece’s greatest men made preparations to come, but he also knew how much these men hated each other and would not want their rivals to steal a march on them. Though they would want to come with a full retinue, they would also be keen not to waste time in getting to Sparta: each would want to stake a claim on Helen before some other suitor could work his way too deeply into Tyndareus’s favour. He imagined that within a month the cold, echoing walls of the great hall would be filled with the clamour of many mighty voices.

He sighed again and tugged desperately at his beard. Though he admired his son-in-law, he was also frequently vexed by Agamemnon’s ability to persuade him into doing things that he did not want to do. Helen was a good age for marriage, but he had not wanted her given to another man just yet. In truth, he had hardly put his mind to the matter before now, probably because he was too happy having her about his palace. No doubt she was a moody girl and not as disciplined as a daughter should be, but Tyndareus knew he was clay in her hands. She only had to bat her long-lashed eyelids or pout her full lips and he was helpless. Hence the thought of actually losing her, now that he had milled it through his mind for a couple of days, made him very unhappy.

If Agamemnon had not headed home at first light yesterday, to tell his brother Menelaus to make ready, Tyndareus would have confronted him on the matter. Losing his beloved daughter was one reason for concern; feeding the most ravenous appetites in Greece was entirely another. Sparta was a rich state, but he resented having to give one copper piece of its wealth for the sake of Agamemnon’s grandiose strategies. For that reason he intended to make a full inventory of everything in the palace, from each head of livestock and bushel of corn right down to the smallest clay drinking krater.

‘Tyndareus, are you in here?’ asked a female voice.

‘Yes, Leda,’ Tyndareus answered, turning to greet his wife as she entered.

Helen was with her and together they crossed the floor to join the king. Leda was a tall and attractive woman, beautifully dressed and wearing her long black hair over her shoulders. The only sign of age, other than the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, was the two thick streaks of grey hair that sprouted from her temples. She kissed her husband and took his big hands in her slender fingers.

‘Are you busy?’ she asked. ‘Helen and I would like to spend some time with you before retiring.’

Tyndareus shook his head. ‘I’ll be grateful of your company, my dear.’ He looked at Helen. ‘Why the frown, daughter?’

‘I’m saving my smiles for the best men in Greece,’ she told him sharply.

‘Then you’re still unhappy,’ he sighed. ‘How can you be sad when kings and princes from every city in the land will be coming to pay homage to you?’

The king looked at his daughter as she stood before the hearth. As usual she was dressed in white, and with the light behind her he could clearly distinguish her naked silhouette through the gossamer material. He shook his head, silently wondering how any man could ever hope to resist her. Agamemnon might not have considered it in his great plan, but Tyndareus knew there would be bloodshed as soon as a husband was picked, if not before. All those proud warriors! Did his son-in-law really expect them to form an alliance under his leadership, when any fool could see they would be at each other’s throats within days?

‘Father,’ Helen said angrily, ‘you intend to parade me like a prize cow before a pack of over-preened simpletons, and expect me to be pleased at the prospect?’

She forced a tear into each eye, which was easy to do considering the frustration she felt about the situation, and looked away from her foster-father.

Tyndareus was a great king and a formidable fighter, and as such he knew how to read most men. But about women he knew nothing. Although the rumour was well known amongst all ranks at the palace, never once in all the years since the birth of Helen and her twin brothers had he believed the children were not his own. Similarly, in his doting love for Helen he did not suspect that she considered him an old, dim-witted fool, or that she had very little genuine affection for him.