King of Ithaca (31 page)

‘Why not?’ she answered, playfully raising an eyebrow. ‘I like your prince, and who better than one of his men to know whether
he
likes
me
?’

‘Who better?’ the warrior replied, shocked that the most beautiful woman in Greece could find the curious, ungainly bulk of Odysseus attractive. ‘Why not Odysseus himself?’

‘Because he would have been followed,’ Helen answered. ‘Tyn-dareus is paranoid; he likes to keep an eye on all the suitors. But he doesn’t care about soldiers like you. You can roam around with relative freedom.’

‘All the same, I can’t say what Odysseus’s feelings for you are, my lady. But he
is
here to pay court to you, so that must mean something.’

‘It means nothing. We both know these suitors are here as much for the chance to inherit Tyndareus’s throne as they are to win me. I doubt whether any of them could give me true love, and I certainly couldn’t love any of
them
. But Odysseus might be different: he comes from the other side of Greece, a poor island with no ambitions about war or trade. Someone like him might love me for who I am, not what I am.
Could
he love me, Eperitus?’

Her fingers reached out and gripped his arm, as if trying to squeeze an answer from him. Eperitus thought of Athena’s words by the stream and wondered whether the goddess could have been wrong about Menelaus. ‘Would you marry him if he could?’

‘Not in Sparta,’ Helen said. She turned away and walked over to look at the mural of the giant swan and its human lover. There was something familiar about the features of the woman, Eperitus thought, following the princess’s gaze. It was difficult to say in the half-light, but it was as if the artist had tried to make the depiction individual, to stand out from the generic portrayals of the other figures.

‘Tyndareus wants me to marry so that he’ll have a successor. But I have no respect for Tyndareus or his ambitions. Does that shock you?’

‘Not all fathers deserve respect.’

Eperitus looked again at the mural. The swan stood over the naked woman, who lay below it with her knees raised and her legs apart, her head thrown back in profile so that the long hair cascaded onto the floor. The hair was black and streaked with a band of white that sprouted from her temple. It was Leda.

‘To marry in Sparta would be to honour his wishes,’ Helen continued, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘So I want to run away. I want to escape from this palace, all palaces, and live a simple life. If Odysseus took me to Ithaca I would marry him.’

In his amazement Eperitus forgot the mural of Helen’s mother and looked into Helen’s eyes. He also forgot that Ithaca no longer belonged to Odysseus. At that moment he could think only of them stealing away the most beautiful woman in Greece to live on an island in the Ionian Sea.

‘But could you love him?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I would want to, if he took me away from the clutches of powerful, ambitious men. But tell me, are there bays and secret coves on Ithaca, where a woman can swim alone without being followed by a dozen admirers and twice as many slaves?’

‘Lots, I think,’ Eperitus said. ‘I know there are plenty of caves to hide in. And hilltops where you can see people coming from a long way off

She smiled and touched his cheek, and he understood then how a man could willingly die for her. Despite her arrogance and her impenetrable allure, there was a girl beneath it all who would make the perfect queen for Ithaca. Or perhaps she would consider the exiled son of a nobleman, from a place even more remote than Ithaca. Gyrtias had said she would run away with a common warrior, and what Eperitus had heard from her own lips did not discourage the idea. Would she elope with a man who had neither wealth, home nor family? The light in her eyes told him that anything was possible.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Penelope said. She sat on a stone bench in the palace gardens, where it was her habit to come every night before going to her bed. This part of the palace was often deserted in the evenings, especially when a feast was being held, so it was with surprise that she saw the Ithacan prince come strolling across the lawn towards her. ‘The gardens are usually quiet at this time of night.’

Odysseus looked at the princess and felt again the attraction that had struck him the night before. He had regretted his reaction several times since then, and though he still smarted from her insult he was nevertheless pleased to find her alone in the quiet gardens.

‘I’ve come to escape the clamour of the great hall,’ he explained. ‘It’s not what I’m used to. But I’ll be happy to return and leave you to your thoughts, if you wish.’

‘Do as you please, my lord. With feasts every night and guests everywhere it’s been difficult to find time to oneself, but if you insist on staying . . .’

‘Well, if you insist on asking,’ he said, sitting down beside her and looking up at the cloud-filled sky. Penelope moved to the far edge of the bench. ‘Are the feasts always this grand?’

‘Grand? Well, I suppose they look that way to simple folk. They get much bigger when there’s something to celebrate. If you’re invited to Helen’s marriage banquet, you’ll see what I mean.’

Odysseus knew exactly what she meant, but took no offence. Her sharp wit and intelligence were appealing, even when directed at him, and he knew it must be difficult for the young woman when her cousin was the centre of attention all the time.

‘Talking of Helen,’ he said, looking about himself once more. ‘I notice she isn’t at the feast tonight. Do you know where she might be?’

‘No. She only comes to a few, and then not for long. I would imagine she finds all that attention nauseating. Most evenings she remains in her quarters with her slave girls, or with her mother.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘Me?’ Penelope replied, surprised that he should ask. ‘Sometimes I sew. Sometimes I visit Helen’s tutors – she has the finest in the Peloponnese, though she hardly appreciates them. Other times I just sit here and enjoy the quiet.’

‘And the feasts?’

‘Not if I can avoid them,’ she admitted with a reluctant laugh. ‘But I’ll come if new guests have arrived. You princes and kings are always well met, but your men are given nothing more than a cup of wine and a place to sit. That’s why I make it my job to welcome them. It may have been my curse to be born a woman, but where men fail to show true hospitality our sex must do what honour requires. I can say with pride that no man shall leave Sparta feeling they didn’t receive the right words of welcome.’

‘It’s good to honour the traditions of
xenia
,’ Odysseus agreed. ‘The gods demand it of us. My men . . .’ He paused, wondering whether to make the admission.

‘Yes?’

‘My men have spoken highly of you today.’

They looked away from each other, Penelope smiling with pleasure while Odysseus frowned with embarrassment. He turned back a moment later, but could think of nothing to say. In the face of Penelope’s prickly attitude he wanted to offset his compliment with a barbed comment or, at worst, a thinly disguised insult, but the words would not come. Instead he found himself looking at the back of her head, its long brown hair tied up in a tail on top. The skin of her neck and arms was unfashionably tanned and he could see the fine hairs bleached a light colour by the sun. Her clothes were plain, as was her face, though in a pleasant, faultless and undemanding way. No, the insult that excused his earlier praise of the woman would not come.

‘So you won’t join the feast tonight?’

‘No.’ She turned back to him and, pulling a disapproving face, shook her head so that the tail of hair frisked about behind her.

‘Afraid of the attentions of all those men?’

‘Pah! They’re not here to see
me
. It’s Helen or nobody for them.’

Odysseus wondered at the stupidity of men. While Penelope might not possess the untouchable beauty of her cousin, she was warm where Helen was aloof, quick and clever where Helen was selfish and irritable; it was like comparing the glacial beauty of winter with the freshness of an autumn day.

‘Are you disappointed?’ he asked with curiosity.

A large spot of rain slapped onto the stretch of stone bench that separated them, causing them both to look up at the swollen sky above.

‘Of course not,’ she said, defensively. ‘I don’t rue her the attentions of that pack of oafs.’

‘Oafs?’ Odysseus scoffed. He put a large hand down onto the bench, narrowing the distance she had put between them. More spots fell onto the flagstones at their feet, whilst others bounced off the leaves in the shrubs and bushes of the garden. ‘Surely a princess like you must see good qualities in some of them. And there’ll be a whole host of disappointed princes when Helen is married.’

Penelope conceded him a nod. ‘Maybe I was a bit harsh. Menelaus is kind-hearted, but . . . But not for me.’

‘Idomeneus is wealthy,’ Odysseus suggested.

‘And what would I want with wealth? No, if I had to choose, I think I would like Diomedes.’

Odysseus removed his hand with a frown. ‘Diomedes, eh? Yes, a good choice. He’s a fine man. Just as Helen is a fine-looking woman. Of all the women I’ve seen in Sparta, I would choose her every time.’

Now it was Penelope’s turn to withdraw. Her cheeks flushed red.

‘Well, Odysseus of Ithaca, I doubt very much she’d be interested
in you
.’

‘Do you?’ he replied tartly. ‘Then why was I the only suitor she spoke to last night?’

‘Perhaps she finds your peasant wit amusing.’

Odysseus scowled. ‘Maybe if your tongue weren’t so sharp you’d have your own suitors, instead of having to disparage Helen’s. It sounds to me like jealousy!’

Penelope stood and glowered at him. ‘How dare you, you . . .’

Unable to finish her sentence, Penelope stormed back into the palace. Odysseus watched her go, feeling the impact of the raindrops increasing on his skin and hearing the growing hiss as they fell into the foliage about him. After a while he stood and left the lonely gardens, stirred by a blend of anger and regret.

The days passed with a feast each night. The Ithacans were quickly drawn into a routine of idleness during the day and drinking themselves senseless in the evening. Whereas they would normally wake at dawn to go about their daily chores, in Sparta they were waited on by the hundreds of slaves at the palace and had little to do for themselves. So they awoke later each day, and if the previous night’s feasting had been particularly heavy then they would not rise until after noon.

Then Halitherses, who was concerned for their fitness and battle-readiness, began to order weapon practice, rousing them at first light and taking them into the courtyard with wooden sticks to rehearse a number of drills he had thought up. It kept them busy. At first the other warriors would come and watch them, standing about in groups or leaning out of the many windows that overlooked the compound. They would cheer and jeer, shout useful advice and suggestions or mock them.

But soon the numerous captains from across the mainland and islands of Greece began following Halitherses’s example. They would drill their men along the lines the Ithacans had adopted, adding or leaving out various moves as befitted their own weaponry, armour and style of warfare. Eventually they practised against each other, until every day the courtyard was filled with men fighting mock battles with lengths of wood.

At other times Halitherses would take his men on marches through the Eurotas valley. They would climb hills or follow small ravines into the mountains, returning each time just before sunset. At first they would rush to have the slaves bathe them before going down to the evening’s feast, where they would meet with Gyrtias and his men, and the others with whom they became familiar during their shared drills. Eperitus would often have a drink with Peisandros, who introduced him to the other Myrmidons so that they became fast friends over the days and weeks. But as Halitherses’s drills and marches became a daily ritual and they struggled to be fit enough for the physical demands they made of them, Odysseus’s men began curtailing their eating and drinking and would usually leave the great hall by the middle of the night to be ready for the following dawn.