King of Ithaca (26 page)

‘I feel helpless, Eperitus,’ he said, kicking out at a pile of dead leaves and scattering them across the path. ‘I may be known for living by my wits, but I prefer to know where I’m going. I’d happily exchange places with you or any of the others. You’re soldiers and your job is to follow orders. If your captain says, “Slay that man,” then that’s what you do. But I have the fate of a whole people on my back. If I fail, Ithaca fails. And
my
captains are the gods – a more heartless and fickle bunch you couldn’t ask for. What matter if their earthly schemes don’t come off? They return to Olympus and forget their sorrows with ambrosia and nectar, whilst mortal corpses lie piled on the ground, their souls shepherded off to eternal misery in the halls of Hades. But what choice do we have but to obey their whims? I tell you in truth, I’d give
anything
to overturn my fate and dictate my own destiny.’

Talking about it put him in an even blacker mood, and when they returned to the camp he placed himself on guard duty and spoke to nobody for the rest of the evening. His silence continued throughout the next morning as they marched over the mountain passes to the Eurotas valley. But as Eperitus looked at his friend now, with the city of Sparta gleaming in the valley below, his stern expression had gone. He looked at the city as if he were sizing up an opponent. Here was the challenge that would require all of his wit and resources, and it was a test that he could not afford to fail. Suddenly his features were transformed by a smile.

‘Halitherses! See that the men are looking their best. We don’t want the Spartans mistaking us for a bunch of brigands, do we?’

Halitherses made himself busy inspecting their armour, making sure it was laced up tightly and sitting properly on their torsos. Then he tugged their shield straps and belts into place, checked that they still wore their little sprigs of chelonion – to remind them of their homes when they were tasting the delights of Sparta – and finally had them take out their whetstones from their pouches and sharpen the blades of their weapons so that they gleamed with a killing edge.

‘When you march through those gold-paved streets,’ he said, manhandling them into a double file, ‘I want you to walk with your chins held high and your eyes straight ahead. No looking at the pretty young Spartan girls, do you understand? Remember who you are, where you’re from and why we’re here.’

When they eventually reached the city, there were no pretty girls to be seen. In fact, other than a number of soldiers in various styles of armour and dress, they saw very few people at all. But the empty streets did not detract from the wonder of Sparta. Every wall was high and well built, each strong door ornately carved, and almost every house possessed a second floor. Empty windows stared down on them from every side as they marched up the steep and winding road towards the palace, and Eperitus marvelled to see such beauty and magnificence.

Eventually they reached the palace gateway. The doors were twice as high and twice as wide as their counterparts in Ithaca and were covered in beaten silver that gleamed dully in the watery afternoon light. As they arrived a soldier in full armour emerged from a large guard hut built against the wall to one side of the entrance. He looked strained and tired.

‘State your name and your business,’ he said, with a voice that sounded weary of dealing with foreign nobles.

‘I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca. I’ve come to pay court to Helen of Sparta, by reputation the most beautiful woman in Greece.’

This last was added by way of a compliment to Sparta as a whole, but the guard captain remained unimpressed.

‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I have orders to permit entrance only to those who have been invited by the king. As I’ve never heard of Ithaca or any of its princes or kings, you’d better turn about and return the way you came.’

When Eperitus heard his words and thought of the hardships they had endured to arrive at these gates, only to be rejected like a pack of mere beggars, he felt the fighting rage come rushing into his veins. By the murmurs of his comrades he could tell they were angered too. One nod from Odysseus and they would happily have killed the guard and stormed the palace gates. But the prince was more patient than his men, and showed no sign of anger as he walked up to the Spartan.

‘I’ve travelled for many days to come here, have fought two battles and lost three men. If you don’t wish to earn your master’s wrath, then I suggest you ask him to come here so he can tell me himself to leave. As I told you, I’ve come to see the daughter of Tyndareus, and see her I will.’

‘Then you’ve found her,’ said a voice from behind them. They turned to see a tall woman dressed all in black, escorted by four slave girls and two guards. She was tall, handsome and elegant, and had a commanding femininity about her, but Eperitus could not help but feel disappointed. He sensed the same reaction from Odysseus, whose eyes lingered briefly on the woman’s harsh and reproving mouth and the ears that stuck out like the handles on an amphora.

Recovering from his surprise, the prince stepped up to her and bowed. ‘Your reputation does not do you justice, Helen of Sparta.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘And your reputation does not exist, Odysseus of Ithaca. But let’s not get muddled about identities. For one thing,
I
am Clytaemnestra, daughter of Tyndareus and wife of Agamemnon. Helen – my sister – is within the palace, so if you’re here to join the general rabble you’d better follow me.’

At her command the massive gates were swung inward by invisible hands to reveal a spacious yet crowded courtyard within. They followed Clytaemnestra into the compound, which was surrounded by the magnificent stonework, high walls and countless windows and doorways of the palace. There were stables filled with scores of splendid horses, a dozen or more ornate chariots propped up against the palace walls, a host of richly armoured guards, and countless slaves rushing to and fro on untold errands. They had entered a city within a city, a place that teemed with people and yet was perfectly ordered.

‘Things are usually busier,’ Clytaemnestra commented. ‘Especially since the other suitors have been arriving. But today the mighty warriors are all out hunting boar. Things have been getting a little . . . shall we say strained? . . . in the palace of late, with all those former enemies living together under one roof. I’m sure that, as men, you’ll understand. So Tyndareus has taken them out into the hills for the day.’

She turned about and placed her hands on her hips, staring at them one after the other and assessing the state of their shabby clothes and battered armaments.

‘I apologize for the guard,’ she said, a hint of genuine kindness entering her voice for a brief moment. ‘He probably thought you were brigands. He
does
have orders to keep out the more general riff-raff, but he isn’t very bright in distinguishing between a commoner and a well-travelled nobleman. But the invitation was a general one and, if you truly are a prince, Odysseus of Ithaca, then you are welcome here. I’m also sorry you have to endure the welcome of a mere woman in my father’s absence, but you can rest assured that both he and my husband will want an audience with you this evening. There’ll be a banquet, of course, to feast on the boars they kill today, and you will all be guests of honour. But until then I’ll do what I can to see you are well housed.

‘The chief steward will take your guest-gifts, or you can wait to give them to Tyndareus in person if you prefer. Most do, though it makes little difference to him. He has so many swords, spears, daggers, tripods and the like that he doesn’t know what to do with them any more. And nobody ever brings anything for Helen herself, poor sister. I suppose you’re the same?’

‘I regret to say we haven’t brought any gifts at all,’ Odysseus answered, his tone even and pleasant.

‘Not even for the king?’ Clytaemnestra asked, momentarily shocked. Then her growing look of impertinent boredom was swept away and she stared at Odysseus with a new-found interest. ‘Well, that’s certainly different. What strange customs you must have in your part of Greece.’

Odysseus shrugged complacently. ‘We had many adventures on our journey here and, regrettably, our gifts were lost on the way. So we come empty-handed in the hope that your father will accept, in place of gifts, our services and lasting friendship.’

‘We’ll see,’ she replied. ‘But you interest me, at least, and I think Helen might find some of your qualities more than interesting.’ Her eyes shot a glance at one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard, but an instant later she looked back at Odysseus as if her gaze had never left him. ‘I wouldn’t call you handsome, but what’s one more fine figure amongst a host of fine figures? Now, I’ll arrange for you and your men to receive baths and new clothes, as well as something to eat. Then you’ll be taken to your rooms.’

‘You still have rooms left?’ Eperitus asked.

‘You’re not in Ithaca now.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is Sparta, and you’re in the palace of its king. Tyndareus could house an army of suitors before he worried about having enough rooms, as you will see.’

And so, like a pack of obedient hounds, they followed the princess across the busy courtyard. The servants and soldiers barely noticed them as they entered the stream of activity, a mere ripple in the already choppy waters of palace life. But, despite their indifference, Eperitus felt that he and his comrades had crossed the threshold of a world much wider and deeper than anything any of them had experienced before, and from which none of them would emerge the same again.

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE
G
REAT
H
ALL

Odysseus did not tell the others that he was fated to fail in his mission. Athena’s words were not for their ears, he told Eperitus, and it would only demoralize them to know that Menelaus had already been chosen as Helen’s husband. What would they care for alliances with other princes and kings, when they believed that Ithaca’s only salvation lay in his marrying Tynda-reus’s daughter?

They were walking the clean, well-built corridors of the uppermost level of the palace, where the Ithacans had been assigned two rooms between them and a thick straw mattress for each man. People were everywhere, even on the upper floors – mostly household slaves or soldiers from various Greek states. The former went about their duties with vigour and concentration, owing to the large number of duties that had been imposed on them with the coming of the suitors. The latter idled about singly or in pairs, admiring the palace, stopping the overworked servants with requests for food or drink, or trying to find female slaves with time on their hands and a mind for some private relaxation. Nobody carried weapons. It was a rule of the king that all arms were to be handed in at the armoury and stored there whilst their owners remained in the palace. The chief armourer, a man of many words, told them of the near-fatal arguments this had caused, so attached were the many warriors to their weapons. But compared with the bloodshed that would have occurred in the palace had Tyndareus not ordered this precaution, the price was a small one.

Eperitus sat with Odysseus on the wall of one of the third-floor balconies and looked down at the city of Sparta. They were joined by a warrior who introduced himself as Peisandros, son of Maimalos of Trachis. He was a spearman in the army of the Myrmidons, a name which he explained meant ants and was given to them for their hard-working nature. His captain was Patroclus, who had come to Sparta as the representative of Achilles.

‘Why doesn’t Achilles come himself?’ Eperitus asked.

Peisandros laughed heartily at his question. He was a barrel-chested man with a huge beard and a roaring guffaw that shook the air.

‘Why doesn’t he come? Because he’s still a child, that’s why.’

‘A child!’ Odysseus exclaimed. ‘But I’ve heard he has the respect of kings and fame that extends throughout Greece. How can a
child
exceed his elders in glory?’

‘He has a great lineage,’ Peisandros explained. ‘His father is Pelops, whom these lands are named after, and his mother is Thetis, a sea-nymph. It’s said she took him as an infant to the river Styx that flows from Hades itself, and dipped him in its waters to make him immortal. No arrow’s point or sword’s blade can harm him, no spear pierce him or axe slice his flesh. His tutors were Phoenix, the wise king of the Dolopes, and Chiron the centaur, so he has education beyond his years. They also taught him to fight and, my friends, if you could see him wield a spear and shield, child though he is, you would never again scoff at his age.’

‘But how can a child expect to marry Helen? Why would the most beautiful woman in Greece choose him over grown men?’ Eperitus asked.

Peisandros slapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Since when has marriage between royalty been for anything other than power? Achilles could still be in his mother’s womb for all they care; it’s his parentage and his prospects that count for them. And there are all sorts of prophecies about his future greatness. At least when we lesser nobles marry there’s something more than alliances and wealth involved. Take my wife for example.’ Here he paused and ordered a girl carrying a basket of barley cakes to come over. He helped himself to a handful, gave Odysseus and Eperitus a few, then sent the slave on her way with a pat on the backside. Peisandros stuffed one of the wafers into his mouth and continued. ‘Now, my wife can cook, which is the most important thing, but she’s a handsome lass too. She isn’t a Helen, of course, but . . .’

‘Tell us about Helen,’ Odysseus interrupted, biting into one of the cakes. ‘You must have seen her by now. Is she as beautiful as they say?’

Peisandros thought for a while in silence, looking across the valley to Mount Taygetus. ‘No, she’s not as beautiful as they say, because they can’t describe her kind of beauty. Helen’s got the best of everything a man could want, of course, and rumour has it that her real father is Zeus himself. But there’s a spirit in the girl that can’t be captured by words. She’s too . . .
free
, I would say, though that falls short too. Even the poets tear their beards out in frustration when they see her. New words would need to be thought up, and even they would only have any meaning to those who’d actually seen her.’