King of Ithaca (39 page)

Penelope fell back onto the bed, clutching a blanket to herself. By the window, where the thin light of the moon infiltrated the shadows, they saw a naked man. He took one look at them, then plucked up his clothes from the floor and dashed to the window. They were after him in a heartbeat, but to their shock he leapt out into the night air, heedless of the drop two floors to the ground.

‘Help me!’ Penelope called behind them.

Turning they saw her kneeling naked on the bed, the blanket in a pile at her knees. For a moment all thoughts of the intruder were forgotten.

‘He attacked me,’ she pleaded. Having stolen their attention away from the escape of her lover, she pulled the cover back over herself again. ‘He was here when I returned from the feast.’

‘Did he . . . touch you?’ asked the officer.

‘Do you know him, my lady?’ added the other guard in the face of her silence.

‘No. It was dark and . . . and he covered my face with this blanket so that I couldn’t see him.’

There would be trouble from this, the soldiers knew, but for now they had to see that Penelope was safe. The officer went to the window and looked down. Nothing. Then he looked at the tree and an explanation dawned on him.

Suddenly there were more voices in the corridor outside and a moment later Icarius burst in with three guards at his heels. He took one look at his daughter and with a sinking heart knew that what he had been told was true. Seizing a torch from one of the soldiers, he held it before her as she hid her nudity behind the flimsy covering.

‘Who?’ he demanded.

When she did not answer the officer repeated what she had told him. ‘Shall I send the men out and call for a slave, my lord?’

‘No! Let her squirm in her own infamy. Did you see the man?’

‘We saw him, but it was dark and before we could do anything he leapt out of the window and escaped.’

‘What do you mean, you idiot? How could anyone jump out of the window and run off? He’d break his legs, if he didn’t break his neck first.’

‘He must have got in by climbing up the tree, father,’ Penelope offered, still kneeling on the bed. The lascivious urgings had faded and she tried harder to conceal her nudity behind the blanket.

Icarius ignored her and went to the window. After thrusting his head out and assessing the means of entry and exit he turned back to the knot of guards in the centre of the room. They were trying desperately not to look at the naked princess or her incensed father.

‘Have you looked to see if he left anything behind? A sandal or a piece of clothing? Anything?’

They shook their heads, but as they did so Icarius suddenly shot out an arm and pointed at the floor.

‘There!’ he exclaimed, and leaned down to pick something small and delicate from the bare slabs at the feet of his soldiers. He held it up like a prize, turning its delicate form before their eyes. It was a dried sprig of chelonion, the badge of the men from Ithaca.

The feast was stopped immediately and every man – noble or commoner – ordered back to their quarters. Eperitus and Peisandros had already quit the festivities for the night, preferring instead to walk through the gardens and swap stories of the battles they had been through. Eperitus was recounting the fight with the serpent when armed guards approached and escorted them back to their rooms. He found Odysseus already there, looking breathless and dishevelled with scratches on his arms and legs. As the prince offered no explanation for his condition, or his absence from the feast, Eperitus knew better than to interrogate him about it.

They remained under strict guard until first light, when a herald visited each suitor and his men with a summons to assemble in the courtyard. There was a great press on the stairs as the Ithacans descended, swapping keen gossip with the friends they had made amongst the warriors of other Greek nations. Speculation was rife. Some said Helen’s husband would be announced, whilst others declared it would be war with Troy. But nobody suspected that the true reason for the summons would prove much more sensational.

In the meantime Odysseus was curiously withdrawn from the excitement that gripped his men. His absence had been noticed from the banquet the night before, but when the men questioned Damastor about it, knowing he had remained with the prince until after they had gone down for the feast, he dismissed them with impatient gestures. Instead, he preferred to spend his time looking about the courtyard in a distracted manner.

So as they waited, watching slaves cut down an old olive tree close to the palace walls, they remained in ignorance of the reason for the muster. Then Agamemnon, Tyndareus and Icarius appeared and walked across the compound towards them. That they were escorted by two dozen heavily armed guards brought new questions to the minds of the waiting men and made them shift uneasily, conscious that their own weapons were locked in the palace armoury.

Agamemnon stepped forward, glowering at the assembly with a ferocity none of them had ever witnessed in him before. ‘Whilst most of us were feasting in the great hall last night,’ he began, ‘someone entered the women’s quarters and assaulted the princess Penelope. It’s beyond any doubt in my mind that a man here, be he king, prince or soldier, has violated the trust of his hosts. Such an act is a vile abuse of the customs of
xenia
. That Icarius is angry is his right; and both Tyndareus and I support his demand for justice under Spartan law.’ Agamemnon left a pause, in which Icarius stood erect and cast his glance across the silent files of men, his eyes lingering meaningfully on Odysseus. ‘You all understand the Spartan punishment for any man who sleeps with an unmarried noblewoman?’

Death was the punishment, and every man knew it. They stood more stiffly now, staring directly ahead without turning to look at the faces of their colleagues. The news left a bitter taste in Eperitus’s mouth, not only because of what had happened to Penelope but also because their period of happiness had ended in such a dishonourable way. He sensed the three men already knew who had committed the offence, or why else would they have ordered them to the courtyard? It could only be to make a public show of the culprit, and the prospect turned his stomach. He dared to glance sideways at Odysseus and noticed that his friend’s head hung down and his eyes were closed.

Tyndareus now stepped forward, his grim face dark with emotion.

‘Shame has been brought not only upon this house, but upon every man here. I intend to see the perpetrator found and punished, not only with death, which is the law, but also with disgrace. His name will be cast down into ignominy where it belongs; a name to be despised, hated, and then forgotten; a punishment befitting a true coward, a man without honour or glory. And don’t think we are in ignorance of who did this, for the man who invaded the privacy of the women’s quarters last night left a clue to his identity. Odysseus!’

Tyndareus pointed directly at the Ithacans, sending Eperitus’s heart beating hard against his chest. Odysseus lifted his head and looked back, but said nothing.

‘Odysseus,’ the Spartan king repeated, his voice trembling with rage. He held up a small, fragile flower in his great fist for everyone to see. ‘You once told me your men wear these flowers as a reminder of their homeland. This one was found on the floor of Penelope’s room!’

Suddenly there was uproar amongst the gathered soldiers. The warriors on either side of the Ithacans stepped back as if they were diseased. They looked at them with anger in their eyes, and some shouted abuse at them for bringing dishonour on every man there. The crime itself was nothing compared to the shadow of shame that had touched upon them all.

Meanwhile, Odysseus’s men frantically checked their clothing for the dried flower that each wore as a badge. Upon finding them still attached – to their relief – they glanced about at their companions to see whose was missing. Eperitus was comforted to see his own sprig of chelonion secured in his belt. Then a sense of foreboding made him look at Odysseus, who remained staring at Tyndareus. He did not move, though Eperitus saw his vast bulk wavering in a strange manner, as if he were about to step forward but a greater will restrained him. Then his fears were confirmed: the flower that the prince usually wore with such pride was gone.

Eperitus’s first reaction was one of shock and sickened horror. He could not believe Odysseus was the man who had assaulted Penelope, though his eyes and heart told him it was true. Even then he trusted him not to have stooped to rape and knew he would not have hurt the princess. But that would not save him from public execution for his crime. Worse than death, though, was the dishonour that would destroy his name. To a warrior such a punishment was unthinkable, and Eperitus was repulsed by the thought.

Then he remembered his duty of honour to Odysseus. The prince was a great warrior and the best man he had ever known, someone whom he had come to love. He knew he could neither see him shamed nor killed.

So, as Odysseus took a step towards Tyndareus, he caught one of his large hands and pressed his own sprig of chelonion into his palm, then walked out to accept his friend’s punishment.

Chapter Twenty-two

T
HE
E
XECUTION

‘I’m the man you’re looking for,’ Eperitus said. He opened his cloak so they could see he no longer wore the badge of Ithaca. ‘It was I who dropped the flower in Penelope’s room last night.’

Shouts of abuse erupted from the crowd of warriors. Agamemnon and Tyndareus looked at him with disdain, and even his comrades took a step back as Icarius came purposefully towards him. Eperitus knew he would have to accept the king’s hatred without complaint, along with public execution and the dishonour that would accompany it. These were the consequences of his sacrifice. Not that death scared him, but the shame that would attach to his name was worse than a hundred deaths. And yet as the son of a traitor, he thought, he should have known the gods would not choose him for glory. The Pythoness had lied; his father’s curse had been passed down to him.

Icarius stepped up to him and spat in his face. Eperitus felt the spittle running down his cheek, and then Penelope’s father punched him with all his strength. It was not a hard blow, because Icarius was not a strong man, but he felt his nose break and tasted the blood running onto his lips and into the back of his throat. For a moment he was glad for the king that he had drawn blood, as it might slake some of his thirst for revenge. But then he sensed the crowd of warriors gathering around him and knew that public humiliation and execution were not enough for them, who believed he had brought dishonour on them all.

The first soldier hit him and sent him spinning backwards, where he was caught by one of the other men in the circle closing around him. Then he received the full force of their collective anger. Fists came at him from all sides. They hit him in the stomach, kidneys, face and head so that within moments he was on the ground, consciousness slipping away from him as he impulsively curled up in a ball to resist their blows. Blood ran into his eyes and mouth and he was barely able to see as his senses folded in upon him. As blackness tunnelled his vision, he looked up and recognized Little Ajax amongst the snarling faces.

Then the blows and kicks receded. Through his throbbing ears he heard the voice of Odysseus. He blinked the blood from one of his eyes and saw the prince dragging his assailants off him, helped by Menelaus, Halitherses and Gyrtias the Rhodian. Somebody pulled him to his feet and he recognized Mentor’s voice whispering encouraging words in his ear. He supported Eperitus until he regained enough strength to stand unaided, then withdrew to leave him alone with Odysseus before the kings of Sparta and Mycenae.

Odysseus looked long at Tyndareus before speaking.

‘This man is no criminal,’ he began. The sound of his voice was smooth and calming, countering the rage that was all about him. ‘Though he confesses to the crime, he doesn’t deserve death. In my company he has always proved himself a man of honour; a warrior whose bravery is second to none, and whose skill with the spear has laid many of my enemies in the dust. Were it not for his courage and self-sacrifice I might not be standing before you now, pleading for his life. So I beg your mercy, and Icarius’s, whose daughter’s honour has been offended by the rash act of a foolish man. The shame of dishonour is enough for any warrior: let that be sufficient.’

‘There’s nothing I can do,’ Tyndareus replied. ‘The decision is not mine to make.’

‘I’ve helped you ensure peace will be kept in your palace, and for that you promised me anything it was in your power to give. I ask you for the life of Eperitus.’

Tyndareus was surprised that Odysseus should be prepared to exchange Helen for the life of a mere soldier, but he kept his wonderment to himself. ‘Only Icarius can make that choice, Odysseus. You must ask him.’

‘My answer is the same,’ Icarius said, coldly. ‘The man must die.’

‘Then if you won’t give me Eperitus’s life, at least offer me his death. Allow me to be the executioner.’