King of Ithaca (23 page)

In an instant he had placed himself between the beast and Odysseus. Dropping his shield, he slammed the butt of his spear into the ground by the prince so that the point faced directly up into the path of the monster’s head. Hardly noticing the newcomer in its rage and pain, it launched its full weight against Odysseus. The force drove Mentor’s spear point up into its brain and out through the top of its skull, killing it instantly.

Eperitus fell from the back of the slain beast and crawled to where Odysseus and Mentor lay flattened by the weight of the fallen creature. With Antiphus still unconscious, it took all of Eperitus’s remaining strength to lever the heavy head from the two men and topple it over to one side.

Fortunately neither man was badly hurt, and for all the violence Odysseus had suffered his only wound was a slight cut above his eyebrow, which was bleeding freely. They found Antiphus returning to consciousness, but he too had not suffered beyond a few bruises and cuts.

‘Where do you think Polybus is?’ he asked, looking at the dead monster.

‘There,’ Eperitus answered, pointing at the pregnant bump in the animal’s stomach.

Antiphus walked over to it and drew a dagger from his belt. While they watched him he punched it into the soft underbelly and, using all his strength, forced open a great tear in the stomach. Suddenly a huge volume of liquid burst across the temple floor, spattering Antiphus with gore and almost knocking his legs from beneath him. In the midst was a slimy parcel of meat, spilling out like offal from a sacrificed heifer. Fascinated, Eperitus took a step forward, but instantly leapt back in horror as a great horde of lesser snakes came rushing out of the rent in their mother and squirmed their way to freedom in the shadows of the temple.

The sight turned his muscles to water and he had to close his eyes and fight down nausea. He wanted to run as he felt scores of them sliding in cold masses across his feet, but the fear of dishonour was greater and he stood his ground. Only when the sound of them had disappeared did he dare open his eyes again. The larger object was Polybus and Antiphus had hold of his right hand. Using the blood-stained dagger, he sawed off the dead man’s bow-fingers, first one and then the other. When he was done, he dropped the limb back into the mess of gore and stowed his trophies in his pouch. He had a right to those fingers, Eperitus thought, and nobody questioned him.

Their task had been completed and Odysseus’s promise to the goddess fulfilled, so they recovered their weapons and walked out into the twilight of the winter evening. The heaviness had lifted from the temple and Eperitus, breathing the clean air, was suddenly overcome by a sensation of relief, even joy, at being alive. He realized that the worry of facing the serpent had made him tense for days, but from now on he would be able to enjoy the prospect of Sparta, where they would be feted in luxury by one of the richest kings in Greece.

Then a sound behind him made him turn, and he saw Polybus staggering down the steps towards him, dripping with the serpent’s bile and reaching out his maimed hand in a plea for help. The others turned also, as shocked as Eperitus to see the hideous ghoul who had somehow survived being devoured by the monster. Gone were his arrogant sneer and his self-confidence. Now his eyes were wide with terror, his mind lost for ever.

As he came closer Eperitus could see him mouthing something, one word over and over again. At first he could not hear him, then suddenly his ranting grew more audible.

‘Fingers. Fingers,’ he groaned as he reached the young warrior. Then with a scream of loathing: ‘Give me my fingers!’

At the last moment, he snatched the dagger from Eperitus’s belt and thrust it at his stomach. Eperitus instinctively caught Polybus’s wrist with his left hand and turned the blade aside, then swung his right fist into his jaw, toppling him backwards into the dust. Odysseus stepped forward and brought his sword down upon Polybus’s neck, severing his head with a single blow.

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE
B
OW OF
I
PHITUS

Eperitus reached down to retrieve his dagger from Polybus’s death grip and, without a word being spoken, they walked free of the courtyard. The day’s fighting had left each of them spattered with gore, so they headed back downhill to the stream, where they stripped off and washed themselves in the cold, refreshing water. Mentor informed them that the last of the Taphians had been slain quickly, but as Halitherses had sent him to find Odysseus he did not know the full tally of their own casualties. The only thing he knew for certain, he said, was that he was hungry and wished there was something to eat.

As he spoke, a fat sheep appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, its fleece shining like silver in the twilight.

‘Well, if that isn’t an answer to prayer,’ Mentor said, drawing his dagger from his belt and wading into the stream.

‘Leave it alone,’ Odysseus cautioned. ‘I don’t think we should touch it.’

They heard bleating from further along the path. More silvery shapes were picking their way over the fallen rocks and through the scrub on either bank of the gurgling waters. A creeping, impenetrable mist followed them, its foremost fronds curling between their fat bodies and reaching towards the four men. Soon it was all about them, so that the only thing Eperitus could see was Odysseus sitting next to him on a rock. They heard the bleats of the sheep and saw their shadows in the fog, but their companions were lost from view.

Then a voice spoke out of the haze. ‘Very wise of you to keep your friend from my sheep. I wouldn’t have wanted to kill him after he spiked that serpent for me.’

They looked up and saw a young man standing before them. He was tall and carried a silver sheepskin draped across one forearm, whilst in his free hand he held a long crook. He had golden hair and huge grey eyes that looked at them sternly and expectantly. Odysseus was quick to recognize Athena and slumped to his knees before her; Eperitus followed his example and bowed his head so as not to look at the goddess.

‘Mistress,’ Odysseus said. ‘The beast is dead and the temple clean.’

‘I would hardly say clean,’ Athena complained. ‘But just to show you that the gods reward those who obey their commands, I’m going to tell you two things in return for ridding my temple of Hera’s pet.’ She put a smooth white hand under each of their arms and lifted them to their feet. ‘First thing, Odysseus: Tyndareus has already decided that Helen will marry Menelaus.’

‘Then I should return to Ithaca at once,’ Odysseus said.

The goddess ruffled his red hair affectionately. ‘Not so hasty, please. It’s Zeus’s will that Helen be given to Menelaus – he’s planning something big, but won’t let anyone know about it. You must still go to Sparta, though. A man of your charms will find important friends there, and perhaps something else, too. But I shan’t spoil things for you.’

Odysseus seemed restless. ‘You said there were two things, mistress.’

‘Yes: go to Messene and restock your provisions. There you’ll meet a man fording a stream. He will be carrying a large horn bow, which the god Apollo gave to his father. You must use your wits to get the bow from him, as he won’t be needing it for much longer himself. How you do it is up to you, but you will be ill advised to leave Messene without it. Do you understand me?’

‘What’s the importance of the bow?’ Odysseus asked.

But the goddess was gone, swallowed up by a billow of the fog. The gentle bleating of her sheep faded away and the mist evaporated about them to reveal Mentor and Antiphus, looking around themselves in surprise.

‘Where in Hades did that fog come from?’ Mentor said. ‘And where did those sheep go?’

Antiphus walked over to them. ‘You had a lot to say for yourselves, didn’t you? Chattering away in the mist.’

It was clear neither man had been aware they had been in the presence of an immortal. Odysseus and Eperitus made no answer, but instead headed back upstream to retrieve their shields and spears.

Three Ithacans had died in the battle. Eperitus had expected there to be more casualties, but the islanders were tougher men than they looked. From their outward appearances he had first thought them simple folk with little inclination to fight and no stamina for battle. They seemed to him men who preferred wine and the song of a bard to adventure and hardship. And so they were. But there was something about their island identity that gave them a toughness and spirit excelling anything he had encountered before. Again and again they proved themselves against every test. And only slowly, through listening to them tell stories over the camp fire each night and hearing them grumble on the long marches, did he realize the source of this strength. It came from their love of Ithaca and the simple freedom they had always enjoyed there. They would do whatever was needed of them to regain the idyllic world Eupeithes had stolen.

Eperitus only knew the dead men by sight, though they were obviously sorely missed by their comrades. They buried them together on the hill where they died. The place was marked with a mound of rocks, and when the last stone was laid they shouted three times over the grave of their comrades. After that Eperitus did not hear their names mentioned again for many months.

Damastor had been found still unconscious at the foot of the slope. He suffered a large bruise on his forehead and a headache that did not leave him until the next day, but was more dismayed at having missed the battle. Eperitus tried to reassure him that there was no shame attached, and yet he understood Damastor’s disappointment at missing the glory his comrades now enjoyed.

By good fortune they found the Taphian mules tied up at the foot of the slope, and amongst them their own animals, complete with the rich gifts for Tyndareus. As many of the Ithacans had received injuries that needed tending, Odysseus ordered the fine dresses to be torn up for bandages. The wounded men were ridiculed by their comrades for the pretty yellows and blues, of course, but this soon stopped when Odysseus tied a bright purple bandage around the wound on his forehead. Grateful for the clean material, which was far better than the dirty cloaks and tunics of the dead, they were nonetheless concerned that Odysseus had chosen to use Helen’s bride gifts in such a manner. Eperitus wondered how many other nobles would put the care of their men before their own gain.

They slept that night on the threshold of the temple. At dawn they returned to the hill and dug a large grave for the Taphians they had slain. It took much of the morning to make a pit big enough. Many had been put to death as they lay wounded on the ground after the battle, pleading for mercy from the men whose homes they had taken. But they received none, unless it was to save them from the carrion birds that circled above.

And so it was that by noon they started for Messene, saddened by the deaths of their fellow warriors but lifted by their victory over Polybus. The gods had been with them on the battlefield and they were encouraged by their protection. There were many, though, who pointed at Odysseus as he led the march and said it was he whom the immortals favoured. A handful of Taphians had escaped and would eventually reach Ithaca with the news that the prey had turned on the hunter, but by then Odysseus and his men would be guests at the palace of Tyndareus and safely beyond the reach of Eupeithes.

The chariot of the sun had not travelled far in its course through the dull and cloudy sky before they could detect animal dung and smoke in the air, the familiar smells of a township, and knew that Messene was just beyond the hills ahead of them. Odysseus, standing with Mentor at his side, called Damastor, Antiphus and Eperitus over to join them.

‘I was a fool to march us straight between those hills yesterday, so this time I’m sending you four to scout ahead. If you meet any trouble, send someone back to warn us – we’ll be close behind.’

They had no difficulty in outstripping the rest of the party, who were slowed down by the mules and the wounded men. Soon they reached the hills that separated them from Messene and stood in the road that wound its way between them. The boulder-strewn slopes rose steeply up on either side, providing another easy site for an ambush. With Polybus’s force destroyed and their leader dead it was unlikely they would meet more Taphians, and yet travellers in Greece – even armed warriors – were always at risk from bandits. So Mentor suggested they split into two groups, one to flank the road on the left and the other on the right.

‘Eperitus and I will go left,’ he said. ‘You two go right, but don’t wander from our view.’

With that he began to climb the scree-covered flank of the steeper hill, followed closely by Eperitus. Clambering over the small rocks and struggling through thick bushes quickly brought them out in a fresh sweat, despite the cold of the day and the fine drizzle that had started. This made the stones wet and their progress more treacherous, but eventually they reached level ground again and looked across to see Damastor and Antiphus picking their way along a rough track on the other side of the road.