King of Ithaca (16 page)

‘The problem is that a woman as desirable as Helen can afford to pick and choose between suitors,’ Odysseus said thoughtfully. ‘Have you ever been to another palace outside of Alybas?’

‘Of course,’ Eperitus confirmed. ‘Your own.’

Odysseus laughed. ‘Well-travelled indeed, I see. And how does the palace at Ithaca compare to the one in your own city?’

‘They’re about the same. Yours looks older, but has more servants and guards.’

Odysseus nodded sagely. ‘Well, my friend, the nobles that we’ll meet in Sparta come from much grander places than you or I. They have wealth beyond your most fantastic dreams. My beloved Ithaca is little more than a hovel compared to the cities they rule. Wait until you see Tyndareus’s palace – that’ll give you an idea of the power and wealth of the men I’m competing against, and why it’s likely Helen will choose another before me. In truth, the odds are too heavily stacked against me.’

‘You must believe you have a chance, though, or why would you go?’ Eperitus insisted.

‘In the hope of forming alliances, as I said, and perhaps of bringing something back that will make the journey worthwhile. And also for my father’s sake. It’s his command, and a father must be obeyed, don’t you think?’

Eperitus shifted uncomfortably under Odysseus’s searching gaze. ‘That depends upon what your father expects you to do.’

‘Then can a man have more wisdom than his father?’ Odysseus challenged, his voice firm but no less persuasive. ‘Can any son rightfully contest his father’s authority and expect his own children to obey him?’

‘My father tested my loyalties to the extreme,’ Eperitus responded sharply, ‘and I responded in the way that I believed was right. I disobeyed his will, yes, but I’d do it again. The choice he gave me was absolute, and I chose the only option that a man of honour could take. I proved myself better than he.’

Odysseus looked at him seriously. ‘A man doesn’t become great by overthrowing his father, Eperitus. It’s unnatural and opposes the will of the gods.’

Eperitus stared fiercely at his captain. ‘Answer me this, my lord: does Eupeithes have a son?’

‘Yes, an infant named Antinous.’

‘And when Antinous becomes a man, would you expect him to support his father against the king? If you were Antinous, what would you do?’

Odysseus shook his head and sighed. ‘So, at last I understand,’ he told Eperitus, patting his shoulder reassuringly. ‘Ever since we first met, I’ve been wondering why you won’t name your father. He betrayed your king, didn’t he, and you had no choice but to disobey him.’

‘It’s worse than that,’ Eperitus said. His face was ablaze with shame as he recounted the awful events on the night his father had killed King Pandion and seized the throne for himself. It was a story he had not wanted to share: ever since his banishment from Alybas he had wanted his ignominious past to remain unknown. There was something about Odysseus, however, that invited confidence, and Eperitus felt the better for sharing his story.

‘So you see, I won’t let Eupeithes take your rightful place as king,’ he said ardently. ‘Not whilst there’s breath in my body. I hate a usurper before everything else, and my father put a stain of dishonour on our family that only I can remove. If I help you to defeat Eupeithes, then I feel I’ll have done something to restore pride to my family’s name.’

They sat silently for a while, watching the gulls riding on the wind. Then the helmsman called out for a change in the sail. He had spotted a bay that would suffice for the evening, and with the westering sun threatening to leave them with only a failing light he chose to make harbour now. There was a flurry of activity as everyone moved to help, and the frenetic action left Eperitus no time to mull over his revelations to Odysseus.

Eperitus was woken before dawn by Odysseus holding his foot up by the big toe.

‘I’m sending the galley back to Ithaca,’ Odysseus told him. ‘We’re going overland, so I need you to help unload the galley. Halitherses has gone to buy mules from the village above the bay.’

The news brought dismay to the other members of the expedition, who had expected an easy sea voyage around the Peloponnese. Odysseus explained that he and Halitherses had decided that the remaining crew – all young, able-bodied men – should return home and bolster the militia, but it did not make the news any easier. Now the men would be required to walk for several days across unknown terrain to the palace of Tyndareus. In one sense Eperitus was disappointed not to have more time on the galley, but in another he was also pleased at the likely prospect of adventure on the way.

‘Besides which,’ Odysseus added as his men sat before him on the beach, ‘I’ve a mind to visit Athena’s temple in Messene. We need her support in our quest, and we should pay her our respects. Don’t you agree, Eperitus?’

Eperitus remembered their encounter with the goddess at Pythia, and the duty she had charged Odysseus with. Now he realized it had always been the prince’s plan to make landfall on the first day and go overland from there. Even the urgency of their mission could not come before the command of a goddess.

The crew’s complaining was cut short by the braying of mules. As Halitherses led them along the track that fed in from the fields, it did not take long for Odysseus and his companions to realize that they were sorry beasts indeed. All three had great running sores on their backs and flanks and didn’t look strong enough to walk, let alone to carry the bride gifts and supplies, but Halitherses explained they were the best he could find.

After loading the mules and watching their ship head back to Ithaca, the band of warriors began their own journey across the Peloponnese. They were in the southernmost part of a country called Elis, and the going was slow due to the rocky terrain and the poor condition of the animals. They followed the line of the coast south, heading in the general direction of Messene, and cut across the spur of a headland that jutted out into the great expanse of sea. By late afternoon, however, they found themselves stuck on one side of a broad, fast-flowing river that did not appear to be fordable. They trudged further upstream, but found no sign of a possible crossing point.

Frustrated, Odysseus ordered his men to make camp whilst he and Halitherses went looking for a ford or bridge. Before long they returned with news of a ferry not far downstream. There was no sign of a ferryman and the craft was in poor repair, but it could float and would be able to take them a few at a time across the broad river. However, with twilight already upon them it was decided to wait until daylight before making the crossing.

Eperitus found a patch of comfortable ground by the bole of an old tree. Shortly afterwards he was joined by Damastor and Halitherses. For a while they discussed the river and the crossing of it, then turned to their impressions of the country itself. It seemed to be sparsely populated, despite being a pleasant land with plenty of streams and meadows for keeping livestock, as well as good soil for growing crops. It would be a place worth settling, were it not for the strange tales they had all heard about Elis and the larger region called Arcadia, of which it was but the northwestern part. Even in faraway Alybas there were stories about the wolfmen of Arcadia, prowling the hills and pastureland at night in search of victims. Under the light of the sun or the moon they could not be told apart from another wolf, except that they hunted alone and were not afraid of anything. But in the twilight of early evening or the dusky period before dawn they regained human form, at which times they would seek out human company to ease the suffering of their loneliness. Yet the host of such a beast would become its victim once the sun or moon was in the sky again.

It was said they were descendants of an ancient king who had practised human sacrifice. When he tried to offer one of his own sons to Zeus, in his anger and disgust the father of the gods had turned the king into a wolf. The curse had been passed to the sons of the king as well, and the only way they could ever return to their original form was to abstain from human flesh altogether. That being impossible for a wolf, they were doomed to wander the earth in a state lost between man and beast.

After they had finished sharing their tales, the three men agreed that the mules should be kept closer to their camp for the night, rather than leaving them tied to a tree far from the safety of the fire. They also discussed the wisdom of setting a guard in this strange, underpopulated country, and to Eperitus’s relief Halitherses split the watch between two of his men.

Eventually, they pulled their blankets over themselves and lay down to sleep. There were no clouds or moon in the sky above, but the stars were like the grains of sand on a beach and their pale light made everything about the men clear. The cold air carried every sound clearly: the rush of the river over the rocks that were scattered along its banks, the snorting and stamping of their mules, even the cry of owls hunting in the darkness. Eperitus fell asleep listening to the noises of the night and thinking about the wolfmen of Arcadia. He dreamed he was in the great hall in Alybas, where a giant wolf was crouched over the dead body of King Pandion. The king’s blood dripped from its jaws, and as it looked at Eperitus it seemed to grin.

They stood in a circle about the raft. Eperitus could not imagine how it was supposed to carry them across the foaming waters that separated them from the next stage of their journey. The wood was rotten, broken in places and bound together by leather ropes that were cracked and splitting. Although the rectangular deck would fit six men and a mule, he doubted whether it would take their combined weight. Another problem was the strong current. The raft must usually have been pulled from one side of the river to the other along a rope, and though the stumps were still there the rope itself had gone. Because of this it would take two or three men using poles to get the raft across safely.

Despite these problems, Odysseus wasted no time in sending Antiphus out to trap a wild animal for sacrifice, whilst ordering others of the party to repair the ropes that held the raft together. The islanders were skilled seamen and, using a combination of axes and some rusty tools from the deserted ferryman’s shack, were soon busy replacing the worst of the wood. Before joining them in their work, Odysseus sent Eperitus on a chore of his own, to find and cut lengths of wood to act as staves in punting the raft across the river.

By the time he returned with four long poles the work on the raft was finished. Replacement wood had been taken from the contents and walls of the shack to repair the worst of the damage, whilst the ropes that lashed it together were the original cords reinforced with strips of cloth, leather or the intertwined branches and stems of plants.

Last of all, Antiphus arrived carrying a squealing goat over his shoulder. He handed the struggling animal to Odysseus, who carried it under his arm to a large rock by the river. Close by, a fire had been lit using the oddments of wood that had been discarded in repairing the raft. Odysseus took a dagger from his belt, whisked off a tuft of hair from the goat’s head and threw it into the flames. Then, offering prayers for safe passage to the god of the river, he picked up a stone and gave the animal a swift blow to the forehead, killing it at once. Quickly laying it on the flat-topped rock, he slit the animal’s throat and let the blood gush out onto the earth. A couple of the men stepped forward to help him dismember the carcass with easy and practised movements. The meat from the thighs – favourite of the gods – was cut out and covered in a layer of glistening fat before being thrown on the fire as an offering. The remainder of the beast was dissected with speedy efficiency and was soon being roasted on spits over the flames.

Odysseus left his men to finish the bloody work and went to wash his hands in the cool, clear water of the river. His men made quick work of the sacrificial meat, downing the scraps with a few pieces of bread and the water from the skins they carried. By that time it was already late morning, so without further delay they shoved the raft into the fast-flowing river and Odysseus led the first party across. Keeping the mule still proved the most difficult task, unused as it was to floating on water, but after the prince threw his cloak over its head and assigned two of the guards to hold the animal steady they were able to cross without mishap.