King of Ithaca (32 page)

Whether it had been part of Halitherses’s plan or not, Eperitus watched with amazement as the band of amateur soldiers became a close-knit unit. Odysseus was always with them during drill and the marches – though he spent the evenings in the separate company of his peers – and he soon became a leader to whom they responded naturally and without question. The authority of Halitherses and Mentor also became more firmly established as the guardsmen learned to react to their orders. Even Eperitus, who had earned the respect of the Ithacans through the battles and hardships they had shared, began to discover his own aptitude for leadership and took on various responsibilities in the training of the men.

It was a role the young soldier enjoyed, a role that was reinforced by the unique confidence Odysseus had placed in him. Not only was he the one man amongst the troop that the prince had not known since childhood – and hence he retained a certain neutrality on any issues concerning Ithaca – he was also the only one of Odysseus’s companions whom Athena had allowed to know her plans. Because of this the two men would often walk together in the evenings, through the garden and sometimes out into the streets of the city to share the dilemmas that faced the prince. At these times Eperitus would listen as Odysseus confided in him about the intrigues, plans and petty squabbles that were an everyday part of the life of the Greek elite. Odysseus would give him his opinions of each man, telling him their backgrounds and their strengths and weaknesses, as he perceived them, and ask for Eperitus’s own observations and what he had heard from the soldiers. One evening he even revealed the secret plans that Agamemnon and Diomedes had for a council of war, which only awaited the arrival of one particular prince, Ajax of Salamis. He was a ferocious giant of a man who, Odysseus said, had been covered with Heracles’s charmed lion-skin as a baby, making him invulnerable to all weapons.

Eperitus was fascinated to hear of this indestructible warrior and plagued Odysseus with questions that he could not answer. But there were other things the prince told him of, personal revelations about his feelings for a woman in the palace. He would not share her identity, and Eperitus did not ask, but as he often spoke of Helen by name it became clear that the woman he loved was not Tyndareus’s matchless daughter. The only thing he would say about her, in a tone that wavered between frustration and despair, was that she disliked him; indeed, she would not even honour him with the briefest glance or a single word beyond the formal requirements of palace life. From these few clues, Eperitus eventually guessed that he was talking about Penelope. He remembered how the cool and intelligent princess had spoken harshly about Odysseus on the Ithacans’ first evening at Sparta, and since then he had noticed how she made a point of avoiding him at the nightly feasts. Eperitus had also seen the prince’s eyes seek her out amongst the crowds. Indeed, he would have felt pity for his friend had he not also noticed how Penelope’s gaze would occasionally linger on Odysseus when he was not looking.

But Odysseus’s was not the only confidence Eperitus shared.

Helen would often arrange to meet with him in the temple of Aphrodite, where she came disguised in Clytaemnestra’s black cloak with the hood pulled over her face. Careful of her mistress’s reputation, Neaera would always accompany her and remain just beyond the temple doors as they spoke. Although Eperitus knew his life was at risk if he were to be found in such a situation, he could no more resist Helen’s pleas to meet than he could stop the sun from rising. At first her intoxicating beauty drew him, but it did not take him long to see past her physical attraction to the young, frustrated woman beneath.

Amid the shadows cast by the torchlight, Helen would ply him for news of Odysseus, talk with him about the Ithaca he hardly knew and share with him her dreams of fleeing Sparta. Then she would press him to tell Odysseus that she would marry him, if he would help her to escape.

This forced Eperitus into an ever-narrowing corner. Knowing the gods had decreed she be given to another – and that Odysseus was falling in love with Penelope – he was forced to rely on the excuse that Odysseus could not return to Ithaca whilst it remained in the hands of Eupeithes. But he also realized that to run away with Helen would estrange her from her family and lose Odysseus the power he needed to win back his homeland. As the prince was already forming strong friendships, especially with Agamemnon and Diomedes, Eperitus was not prepared to make him choose between the unrivalled temptation of Helen and the possibility of an alliance with one or more of the other nobles.

His only hope was for Ajax to arrive so that the planned council could take place, after which Helen’s husband would be chosen. What would happen then was in the hands of the gods, and beyond the influence of lowly warriors like himself. Just how Tyndareus and Agamemnon had planned for that day he could not guess, though he hoped the friendships that had formed between the nobles and warriors alike would prevent a quarrel in the palace. Despite this, many of the common soldiers were already predicting a split amongst the suitors, and that war between the Greek states would surely follow. All for Helen’s sake.

At first, Neaera would tell him when to meet the princess, but one day it was Clytaemnestra who sought him out.

‘Where’s Neaera?’ he asked, suspicious of the sudden change in messenger.

‘Don’t be concerned,’ Clytaemnestra replied, guessing his fears. ‘I know all about Helen’s foolish desire to run away with Odysseus. Do you think she’d be using my cloak as a disguise if I hadn’t allowed her to?’

Eperitus looked at her coldly. ‘I hadn’t given it any consideration,’ he said. ‘But you still haven’t answered my question.’

‘If you must know, I volunteered to take Neaera’s place. Does that surprise you?’

‘It surprises me that Agamemnon’s wife is acting as a go-between for Helen’s private affairs,’ Eperitus responded. ‘I know your husband intends to hold a council of war, and it wouldn’t help his plans if the bait disappeared before all the fish had been caught.’

Clytaemnestra’s nostrils flared briefly, but she was quick to control the flush of anger she felt at Eperitus’s suggestion. ‘Then you presume to know too much, soldier,’ she said. ‘If you think I would dream of spying for Agamemnon, you’re gravely wrong. Do you know that he murdered my first husband and our child, just so that he could make me his own? I find the man detestable, and if I can spite his plans by helping my sister to run away, then so much the better.’

The Mycenaean queen’s features grew hard and cold as stone and it seemed as if she no longer looked at Eperitus, but through him. Then she saw the muted shock on Eperitus’s face and her icy expression was thawed by a warm smile.

‘But do you want to know the real reason why I’m here today? Curiosity! To see you, Eperitus.’

‘Me?’ he replied, surprised by the admission. ‘Why would you want to see me?’

‘Why not?’ Clytaemnestra laughed. ‘Helen speaks almost as highly of you as she does of Odysseus. I wanted to see what sort of a man would risk his life just to entertain a girl’s fantasies of escape and freedom.’

She had a knowing look in her eyes that made Eperitus think of her reputation as a witch – did her ancient gods give her an inner knowledge of things? he wondered.

‘And what do you think, now that you’ve seen me?’ he asked.

But she simply smiled again, then turned and walked away.

Clytaemnestra continued to bring her sister’s messages to him over the ensuing days and weeks, and their brief parleys evolved into longer and ever more personal conversations. She was always friendly and polite, but Eperitus quickly realized that, like her sister, she was lonely. Little by little her hatred of Agamemnon revealed itself more openly, until eventually the passion of her frustrated emotions flooded out. She despised his mighty plans and ambitions for Greece, and derided his pathetic affections for her; she hated him for killing her first husband and their child; she wished him dead, over and over again, making Eperitus recoil at the thought of living with her wrath. But beneath the anger he could sense her feeling of helplessness, trapped in a marriage to a man she loathed. Once, as they spoke in the solitude of the gardens, she had flung her arms about his neck and buried her face into his chest to hide the tears. He had tried to comfort her then, though he did not know how to soothe such torment.

Whilst besieged by the concerns of others, Eperitus was also worried to see the Ithacan soldiers becoming at ease in Sparta. On their journey to the great city their talk had always been about their families and homes, but now Ithaca was mentioned only occasionally and in the guise of a distant memory. As the feasts continued and some of them formed relationships with Spartan slaves, and as they no longer needed to provide for themselves, so their homeland seemed to fade from their minds. The thought of returning to their little island and fighting the Taphians was far off, and in time even Halitherses and Mentor stopped planning how they would retake Ithaca.

Eperitus thought of mentioning his observations to Odysseus. He also considered telling Helen that Odysseus loved another. He even wondered whether to tell the Ithacans that the gods had forbidden their prince to marry Helen. But, for good or ill, he did none of these things. He was the linchpin between them all, holding secrets that none of the others were party to, and yet he was bound by oaths and loyalties that did not permit him to share his knowledge. It was a difficult time, in which his only guides were his sense of honour and his loyalty to Odysseus.

Then, when his burdens were becoming too much to bear, Ajax arrived.

Chapter Nineteen

A
JAX OF
S
ALAMIS

‘Odysseus has told you about the planned council, then.’

Agamemnon looked at Eperitus with his passionless blue eyes, hiding all thoughts and emotions behind their impervious gaze. He stood before him in the feasting hall, having descended with Diomedes and Menelaus from the dais where the nobles ate and ordered him to one side, away from his comrades. Eperitus saw Odysseus with the other suitors, talking with Clytaemnestra, and he felt abandoned and vulnerable before the awesome presence of the three men.

Sensing his uncertainty Menelaus placed a hand upon his shoulder. ‘It’s all right. Odysseus has already told us you are in his confidence, so if he has faith in your discretion then so do we.’

‘Yes, I know about the council,’ Eperitus admitted, reluctantly. ‘You want to unite the Greeks against Troy.’

‘And what’s your opinion on the matter?’ Diomedes asked. ‘As a soldier, I mean.’

The Argive prince looked him straight in the eye, with neither the coldness of Agamemnon nor the friendly charm of Menelaus. But for all his apparent interest in his thoughts, Eperitus was not fool enough to believe that he or the Atreides brothers were really concerned about the opinions of a lowly spearman. Again he looked over to Odysseus, who by now had spied them at the shadowy edges of the hall and was watching them keenly. Did the prince know why he was being singled out by his high-born friends? Eperitus wondered. He appeared suspicious and for a moment it looked as if he might join them, but any intentions he had of this were checked by Clytaemnestra, who held him fast in conversation. Eperitus returned his gaze to Diomedes.

‘All I know about Troy is that it lies on the other side of the world. But I’m a fighting man, and what warrior doesn’t yearn for the chance to test himself in battle? If you go to kill Trojans, then my spear will be right beside yours.’

Though little more than twenty-five years old, Diomedes was already a seasoned warrior, and Eperitus could see by the slight arching of his eyebrows that his answer had earned his approval. Agamemnon, however, was not so easily won. Unlike most men in the warrior classes of Greece he did not lust after the physical and emotional joys of war, or even the attainment of honour. His focus was ever on the greater issues and he rarely stooped to the urbanity of human feelings. He reminded Eperitus of a mortal Zeus, watching over all things whilst the lesser gods squabbled about trivialities.

‘Why? For glory?’ Agamemnon said, disdainfully.

‘Yes, for glory. And for Odysseus.’

‘Your devotion is commendable,’ Menelaus complimented him. ‘I can see why Odysseus speaks so highly of you. In time your loyalty will find its rewards.’

‘Yes, if you aren’t undone by your own treachery first,’ Agamemnon said, fixing him with a determined stare. ‘We know you’ve been meeting with Helen.’

Eperitus’s instincts had warned him he was being manoeuvred into a trap, and now he was caught. Someone had told them about Helen, and he did not possess a devious enough character to wriggle free of the predicament. Odysseus would have escaped the ambush with ease, but he could only choose between the truth and silence. He chose the latter.

‘You don’t have to protect her, Eperitus,’ Agamemnon continued. ‘No harm will come to the princess, after all, but
you’re
a different matter. Did you know the punishment for sleeping with an unmarried Spartan woman is death?’

The king’s words were not meant as an idle threat.

‘I haven’t so much as touched her, my lord,’ Eperitus told him with dignity. ‘And by accusing me of such behaviour you also accuse the princess, though neither of us deserves such suspicion. Ask Helen’s maid; she was with us every time we met.’

‘We know,’ Diomedes said. ‘The girl has a loose tongue amongst her friends, and when news of these meetings worked its way up to us that was the first thing we made sure of.’

‘But Tyndareus needs only to suspect and he’ll kill you, Eperitus,’ Menelaus interjected. ‘There’s too much at stake here. On the other hand, if you can explain to us why you’ve been meeting with Helen then it’s unlikely this matter will go any further.’

Eperitus wondered how much Neaera had already revealed, though it was clear the three men did not yet know everything. It was likely she had told them of her mistress’s wish to escape Sparta and avoid the marriage that was being imposed on her, but had Helen even told the girl about her desire to flee to Ithaca? He looked across at Odysseus, but the prince was still talking to Clytaemnestra.