King of Ithaca (47 page)

Odysseus stared back down at him, his eyes wide with shock. Then he turned his attention to the gash in Eperitus’s tunic and began probing it with his fingers.

‘It’s gone,’ he declared, disbelief and joy alternating upon his features. ‘The wound’s gone. You’re healed!’

‘He’s more than healed,’ Athena corrected. ‘How do you feel, Eperitus?’

Eperitus placed tentative fingertips upon the place where he had been stabbed. Not even the trace of a scar was left to mark the spot. He attempted to sit up and although his limbs and torso still felt heavy there was absolutely no pain. He raised himself stiffly to his feet, anxiously anticipating a stab of searing pain or a gush of blood from the reopened wound. Yet nothing happened. His wound was healed; he had been restored to life.

Eperitus looked at the goddess, wanting to express his gratitude but stalled by the inhuman form she had assumed. Instead he turned to his friend, whose sacrifice had saved him.

‘I feel wonderful. The pain has gone. I mean, it’s gone entirely.’

‘Anything else?’ Athena asked.

‘Yes. I feel as if I’ve been given a new body. There’s no pain in my chest, or anywhere else either. The throb in my shin where I was hit by a spear on Mount Parnassus has gone; even the ache in my ribs from the beating at Sparta. I feel wonderful!’

‘You’ll soon learn that your hearing has improved too,’ the goddess added, ‘and your eyesight and sense of smell. Your whole body has been rejuvenated.’

Despite the joy of his new body, Eperitus remembered he was in the presence of a goddess and knelt before her. As he did so he placed the soft part of his knee onto a sharp pebble and called out in pain. The statuette laughed with a grating sound that reminded him of stones being rubbed together.

‘You may have a renewed body cured of all past wounds, Eperitus, but you aren’t immune to future hurt. Even we Olympians feel pain when we assume earthly form. But now you must both return to your comrades, who are already looking for you. Tomorrow you will sail for Ithaca, Odysseus, to find your destiny. There you’ll meet the greatest trial of your strength and intelligence so far, especially as you can’t now rely on my help.’

With that the glimmer in the effigy’s eyes died and the darkness in the temple grew deeper. A lonely wind whistled through the branches of the dead tree outside, and they knew that the goddess was gone.

Chapter Twenty-seven

T
HE
R
ETURN

Ships were easy to find when they reached the coast at dawn of the next day, and Odysseus had soon hired two merchantmen and their crews for the return to Ithaca. Eperitus was the last to board, and as he walked up the gangplank onto the unsteady craft there was a murmur of excitement amongst the Ithacans. They were going home at last and their conversation was full of the sights and sounds of their island, mixed cautiously with memories of family and friends. But they had also regained the sense of purpose that had been denied them in Sparta. As guests of Tyndareus they had been a burden, vagrant soldiers given temporary lodgings for the sake of their master. There, only Odysseus was of any importance and only he could influence their collective destiny. Now they were returning to fight for everything they held dear, and each man would be vital in the coming battle. On Ithaca, for better or worse, they would come into their own again as their spears and swords challenged the usurpers for the right to rule.

Neither Eperitus nor Odysseus told them about the supernatural events of the previous night. All they revealed on their return was that Damastor had shown himself to be a traitor by attempting to kill Odysseus, for which he had paid with his life. If Odysseus spoke with Penelope about it he did not tell Eperitus, and for his own part Eperitus did not share with Odysseus the fact that Clytaemnestra had warned him about Damastor.

Even between themselves, they had exchanged few words about the incident. Eperitus had thanked Odysseus in the straightforward manner of a soldier, and Odysseus had accepted his words of gratitude with a simple nod. The fact that he had sacrificed his best hope of regaining his homeland was not mentioned by either man, and they now turned their minds to the challenge that lay ahead. But both men knew that the bond between them had deepened. Each had saved the life of the other, and warriors do not forget such matters, even if they do not talk about them.

Rough seas and heavy rain made the passage difficult. They sailed all day and night, battling high winds and squalls with the Ithacans busy helping the ships’ crews in their struggle against the elements. Eperitus sat in a corner and was ill throughout the whole of the journey, an experience made much worse by the sensibility of his restored body. The only consolation was that the Spartan soldiers shared his agony, gazing emptily out from their own wretched corners of the deck, their faces pale and their half-lidded eyes filled with despair. Not one of them managed any sleep, and when the next morning there were shouts from the Ithacans that their destination was in sight, they were incapable of sharing in their jubilation. Only Penelope seemed unconcerned by the constant buffeting of the waves, and joined her husband at the prow to stare at the low silhouette of her new home.

Thick grey clouds meant they did not see the face of the sun that morning, although they sensed the sunrise in the east. The sea had calmed sufficiently for the merchant ships to anchor by a rocky cove off the south-eastern tip of the island – the only place on that rugged coast where they could disembark their human cargo with any degree of safety. Odysseus knew the spot well and had directed the ships’ captains here deliberately. To have landed anywhere else would have risked their being spotted, and the prince was keen to retain the element of surprise.

As soon as the last group of passengers had been rowed to the small pebble beach, Odysseus paid the remainder of the agreed fare and the ships hauled up their anchor stones once more. The crews waved to them and wished them well before setting sail again and drifting back out to sea.

The Ithacans spent a few silent moments looking about themselves and listening to the sounds of the breakers hitting the rocks and the wind whistling across the rugged cliff-face before them. Odysseus stamped his feet on the shingle, as if to convince himself it was real, then put his fists on his hips and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the air of his home. The men felt no need for ceremony or pompous words to mark their return, and when Odysseus started up the narrow, ill-defined track that climbed awkwardly to the top of the cliff, they followed.

After considerable difficulty they assembled again on its rocky summit, where great black birds circled and cried into the wind. Penelope stood to one side and looked out at the sombre, white-tipped waves below. Eperitus watched her and wondered in that lonely moment whether she was thinking of the home she had left behind. Perhaps she was already missing Sparta’s sun-baked plains, the security and comforts of its palace, and even the familiar faces of her family. She turned and looked at him, the breeze tearing at her clothes and hair. For a moment he saw doubt in her eyes. Then she smiled and the strength of her character returned. For better or worse, she had committed herself to her husband and his beloved island, and now she was determined to make Ithaca her home too.

‘Thank the gods we’re back,’ Antiphus said, standing at Eperitus’s side. ‘We’ve only been away for half a year, and yet it feels like twenty.’

‘And the hardest part is still to come,’ Eperitus said.

‘Still, it’s better to die here than on foreign soil.’

Halitherses cuffed the archer round the ear. ‘Don’t plan on getting killed just yet, Antiphus. We have a battle to fight before I accept your resignation from the guard, and there’ll be no dying without my say-so. Now stop your daydreaming and come with me. Odysseus wants some of us to do a bit of nosing about before we start chasing Taphians all over the island. You too, Eperitus.’

Intrigued by the prospect of a scouting mission, Eperitus followed the old warrior to where Odysseus was waiting for them with Mentor and Diocles the Spartan.

‘Take off your armour and leave it here with your spears and shields,’ Odysseus ordered. ‘My father has a pig farm just over the crest of that ridge and the herdsmen there are loyal to him. Before we make any plans for recapturing the palace I want to ask them a few questions, but I don’t want to panic them by arriving in full war gear. Keep your swords handy – and you can bring your bow, Antiphus – but nothing more. Mentor, I want you to take charge whilst we’re gone. Set a guard and make sure everybody gets a rest and something to eat. Don’t be afraid to use up the provisions we have, as there’ll be ample food at the farm. And there’s plenty of water at Arethusa’s spring, just north of here.’

‘I know it,’ Mentor said, before running to give orders to the others.

Back out amongst the choppy seas, far away from the eyes of any who might have been watching, one of the merchant ships turned its sail to catch the southerly wind. The canvas flapped noisily as it bellied out and drew the vessel slowly away from its companion, slicing through the waves to claw its way steadily north and into the channel between Ithaca and Samos.

Before they even reached the crest of the ridge Eperitus could hear the grunting and snuffling of pigs, mixed with the occasional shouts of men. He felt a moment of nervous anticipation in the pit of his stomach and then they were on the hill and looking down over fields of mud. Fat hogs and sows wallowed in the filth, honking with satisfaction as their little pink offspring tottered around them in play-filled happiness. Two young men were ankle-deep in the sludge, carrying sacks over their shoulders filled with acorns and cornel berries, with which they were feeding their charges.

They saw the newcomers, but instead of shouting a greeting dropped their sacks and ran back to a large walled enclosure in the middle of the muddy pastures. Moments later they emerged from a stone hut with two companions, all four of them armed with staves and in no mood to welcome strangers. They had a number of dogs with them that began a vicious barking the moment they set eyes upon the party of warriors. One of the youths walked to the wall and shut the gate, as much to keep the dogs in as the unwelcome visitors out.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ he called.

‘Isn’t that Eumaeus?’ said Halitherses, squinting. ‘He always used to be friendly to strangers.’

‘Things have changed on Ithaca since we left,’ Odysseus reminded him. ‘And he won’t be expecting our return.’

He stepped forward and held out the palm of his hand in a sign of peace.

‘Put down your weapons. We come as friends, loyal to the king.’

The men made no sign of lowering their staves, whilst their black dogs barked even more furiously.

‘Which king?’ Eumaeus called back. ‘Polytherses or Laertes?’

The returning soldiers looked at each other in quiet astonishment. The implication that Eupeithes had been overthrown by the infinitely more brutal and ruthless Polytherses did not come as good news.

‘We honour the lord Laertes, true master of these islands. And our swords will speak against any who deny him.’

Eumaeus opened the gate and ordered the dogs back into the farm. ‘Then you’re welcome here, friends,’ he said, as his comrades lowered their weapons. ‘Come and eat with us, so we can learn your names and your purpose here.’

‘You know both already,’ Odysseus replied as he walked down the hill and along the low causeway that led to the farm. Eumaeus gasped and fell to his knees with tears of happiness in his eyes. The others followed his example, murmuring Odysseus’s name to each other in disbelief.

‘You’ve returned, my lord!’ Eumaeus said. ‘May the gods bless this day, and may you forgive us our lack of welcome, but terrible things have happened since you left. Eupeithes took advantage of your absence to overthrow Laertes and put himself on the throne, then Polytherses replaced him and now rules with a fist of bronze. Any show of open disloyalty is punished with death. And we’ve had no news of you, my lord, though we’ve prayed every day for your return.’