King of Ithaca (50 page)

‘I don’t trust the word of a Taphian,’ Mentor replied, sliding his sword out of his belt. He presented the hilt to the Taphian. ‘But if you kill your comrade . . .’

‘No!’ Eperitus protested. ‘That’s barbaric.’

‘It’s the only way to be sure,’ said Odysseus, looking expectantly at Mentes.

The older Taphian shifted uneasily. Then Mentes took the sword and stuck it deep into his guts. He twisted the blade once and pulled it back out, unplugging a stream of dark, glistening blood that sluiced down the man’s groin and legs and onto the road.

He turned from the body and handed Mentor his sword. ‘Is that proof enough for you?’

‘It will do,’ Odysseus answered coldly. ‘Now hide these corpses and listen to what I have in mind.’

The gate guards heard the squealing of the wagon long before it came into sight. The sound carried easily through the silent streets of Ithaca, which had already settled down for the night after an unusually busy day, and brought great joy to the wine-starved hearts of the soldiers gathered in the compound. Although the noise of the burdened vehicle was painful to hear, the Taphian warriors had been eagerly anticipating the shipment for several days and listened to its strained music with suppressed excitement.

The rumour that Odysseus had returned to the island meant nothing to them in comparison with the prospect of getting drunk. There had almost been a riot when Polytherses announced the wine would be kept in storage until further notice. Although the king wanted his warriors to remain sober to meet any attack that might come in the night, faced with the mutiny of his army he was forced to relent. Instead he took a core of volunteers who agreed not to drink in exchange for gold, and kept them garrisoned within the royal quarters.

‘Who’s that with you, Mentes?’ called one of the guards as the wagon screeched to a halt before the gates.

‘Merchants,’ he answered. ‘They want to stay in Ithaca for a while, so I said they could sleep in the palace until they find a house in the town tomorrow.’

‘After our money, I suppose.’

‘Why else would anyone want to come to this rock?’ Odysseus answered.

He smiled at the three guards, who looked back with stony faces. They were tall men wrapped in thick cloaks, each one armed with two long spears and a shield and wearing leather caps on their heads. They looked more than ready for a fight.

‘There speaks a wise man,’ one of them replied. ‘Where are the others?’

Odysseus squeezed closer to Mentes and pressed the point of his dagger against his ribs, the blade concealed beneath the cast of his cloak. On either side of the wagon Mentor and Antiphus prepared to pull their swords from between the jars of wine, where they had been concealed in rolls of matting.

‘Drunk in one of the huts by the harbour,’ Mentes shrugged. ‘They couldn’t wait.’

The guard shook his head resignedly and waved them through the tall wooden portals. Odysseus and Mentes had to duck their heads slightly, and then they were inside the familiar courtyard of the palace.

‘Do you trust me now?’ Mentes whispered as he applied a stick to the backside of one of the oxen.

‘We’ll see,’ Odysseus replied, nudging the point of his dagger against his ribs.

He looked about himself at the two or three score of warriors who were approaching the wagon from every corner of the courtyard. Although it lifted his heart to see again the familiar surroundings of his home, it dismayed him to see this place – his childhood playground – filled with foreign soldiers. He halted the wagon and ordered Mentor and Antiphus to pass down the wine.

The Taphians cheered with delight and eager groups of men gathered at the back of the cart, ready to receive the heavy clay jars and pass them back to their waiting comrades. Others called on servants from the palace to bring food and, more importantly, water to mix with the wine. That was when Odysseus saw his father’s ageing housekeeper come out of the palace at the head of a column of slaves bearing food and water.

As she began directing them in their duties, Odysseus called quietly on Athena to keep the old woman from looking up at the wagon and seeing him. The least sign of recognition from her or any of the slaves would bring a swift doom upon the disguised Ithacans. But Eurynome did not look up from her work, and as soon as enough water had been fetched and the food brought from the kitchens, she and the other servants retreated as far from the unruly Taphians as possible. Not one slave remained in the courtyard as Mentes drove the now empty wagon over to the stables against the eastern wall of the compound.

He prepared to jump down and unyoke the oxen, but was quickly deterred by the press of Odysseus’s dagger against his side. Instead of sitting back down, though, Mentes slowly closed his hand over the blade and, looking the Ithacan in the eye, moved the weapon aside.

‘You cannot stay beside me all night long, Odysseus. I have friends here who will want me to join them, and then what will you say? You have no choice but to trust me.’

Odysseus knew the Taphian was right. The fact they had not been detected thus far showed that the gods were with them, and if they were to succeed he would have to trust much more in them and in Mentes. So he tucked the knife into his belt and nodded.

‘You’re right. But I want you to stay with us, no matter who wants you to join them. And you aren’t to drink anything. Is that understood?’

Mentes smiled, then jumped down and went to unharness the team, leading the beasts individually into the stables. As he did so a handful of Taphians approached, shouting friendly greetings in their rough dialect. Odysseus looked behind himself to make sure their weapons remained well covered, then waited for their enemies to reach them.

‘Welcome to Ithaca, friends,’ one of the men began. He was tall and had a scarred face. ‘Why don’t you join us for a drop of your own merchandise? We’ll be happy to hear news from the mainland.’

Mentes reappeared and met each of the group with a quick embrace, speaking their names in turn.

‘These men have travelled far and are tired,’ he said. ‘Let them keep their own company this evening. I will stay with them and act as host, so that they do not think we Taphians are inhospitable. There’ll be plenty of time in the morning to hear stories from far-off lands.’

‘No,’ Odysseus said, to the surprise of his companions, ‘we aren’t so tired that we can’t share a bit of news with men who want to hear it – and some of what I have to say might be of great worth. If you have a few portions of meat and a cup of wine to spare, we’ll be glad to share with you.’

‘Then come and join us by the main fire over there,’ the scarred man said, pleased at the prospect of a tale or two to go with the new abundance of wine. ‘We will go and see that spaces are made for you, and food and wine set aside.’

‘Are you insane?’ Mentor hissed as the Taphians returned to the fire. ‘You’ll get us all killed, and for what?’

‘Have some faith in your old friend. All you need to do is remember you’re a wine merchant. And don’t reveal your true name, of course – there’ll be a time for that tomorrow.’

Soon they were seated in the midst of their enemies, the very men who had stolen their homes from them and imposed a brutal regime upon their families and countrymen. Unless their identities were revealed, by dawn of the next day they would be fighting to kill each other with all semblance of friendship forgotten; but for now they could do little else but eat the food placed before them and sip at their wine.

Then the scar-faced man asked Odysseus his name and lineage, and on being told he was called Castor, son of Hylax (this time of Athens), demanded to hear what was happening on the mainland of Greece. Others echoed the call – all Greeks love a story – and Odysseus began without delay. He told them of the affairs of state back in Athens, which were true events told to Odysseus by Menestheus when they had courted Helen together. Though they were mundane issues, he was able to embroider them to make each event lively and interesting. Eventually he mentioned the departure of their king to Sparta, which, as Odysseus had intended, brought immediate demands for news of the now famous gathering. What did he know? they asked him, and when he admitted to knowing very little they begged him to tell them whatever information he could spare.

At the time of their leaving Athens, he said, King Menestheus had not returned from Sparta, though there was rumour that a suitor had been chosen. This caused a stir amongst the Taphians, who had been made excitable by the amount of wine already consumed, and inevitably one amongst them asked the question they had all wanted to ask – what had he heard about Odysseus of Ithaca?

Odysseus wetted his lips with the wine in his cup and looked about at the wall of faces, bathed orange by the firelight. From what he knew, he said, the Ithacan prince was highly regarded amongst his fellow suitors. He was supposedly a great warrior – the equal of Ajax or Diomedes – who carried a horn bow given to him by the god Apollo. He had already defeated a much larger force of bandits on his way to Sparta (at this, the Taphians muttered energetically with each other), and shortly afterwards had single-handedly saved the goddess Athena from a gigantic, man-eating serpent (at this, Mentor coughed loudly and shot Odysseus a stern glance).

The prince continued undeterred. What was more, Odysseus was reputed to be a man of irresistible charm. Not only had the great Helen of Sparta chosen him for her husband, he had also gained the sympathy and support of the other suitors. It was even rumoured that a combined force of Spartans, Mycenaeans, Argives, Myrmidons and others were gathering from all over Greece, preparing to liberate Ithaca. On hearing this there was a great uproar amongst the Taphians, at which Odysseus stood and held up his hands for silence. He stressed it was nothing more than a bit of hearsay he had picked up from another merchant, which he himself did not believe. However, the truth of the rumour would be easy to prove: if such a gathering really was taking place, then it was also said that a small vanguard of Spartans were to be sent to Ithaca to prepare a camp and scout out the rebels’ defences.

Again the crowd of Taphians erupted. Fear and panic seemed to seize the courtyard as scores of voices were lifted in debate about Odysseus’s return, and whether he was really bringing an army with him. The Ithacans took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

‘You’ve got guts,’ Mentor told his friend as they settled down on the soft ground beneath their wagon. His voice was even, but seethed with disciplined anger. ‘And yet I can’t understand why you took such a risk, just to give them a fright. It’ll only put them more on their guard.’

‘Or make them throw down their arms in surrender as soon as our attack begins,’ Antiphus added.

‘They are uneasy,’ said Mentes, who had returned with them. ‘That is understandable, when you live each day wondering whether the true heir to the kingdom will return to take his revenge. But I could have told you that without the need to risk your lives and mine.’

Odysseus covered himself with his cloak and lay down, looking up at the stars and listening to the riotous noise of the Taphians. He caught snatches of arguments, voices raised in drunken dispute. Then he heard female voices, servant girls who had been forced – or came willingly – to entertain the warriors. He instantly thought of his sister, Ctymene, but did not stir as the cold stars sparkled overhead.

‘I didn’t go just to see their fear at the sound of my name. No. I wanted to see the faces of the men who have invaded our homeland. I wanted to know what sort of people they are, how different they are to us, or how similar. I wanted to know who I’ll be killing in the morning. Now get some rest and I’ll wake you before first light.’

It was still dark when he shook them from their sleep. The fire in the middle of the enclosure had died to leave a pile of glowing embers, and the revelry of the Taphians was long since over, leaving only the faint harmony of their snores. Mentor and Antiphus were quickly awake and drawing out their weapons from beneath the matting in the back of the wagon. Last of all, Odysseus woke Mentes.

‘I’ll not ask you to accompany us in what we must do now,’ he said. ‘But you haven’t betrayed us, despite being given every chance, and so I’ll entrust you with one more task. You told us last night there were a number of Spartan prisoners held in one of the storerooms. Release them and wait until the fighting is over. If I’m still alive I will free you from your oath.’

Mentes nodded and, pulling his cloak about his shoulders to keep off the early morning cold, crept off towards the palace. Odysseus turned to Mentor and Antiphus. They stood close by, two black figures with only the dull gleam of their naked swords to distinguish them in the darkness.

‘It’s time,’ he announced. ‘We’ve thought about this moment for over half a year, but now it’s here. It’ll be bloody work, but this is no time for mercy. As you hold your daggers to their swinish throats, think of what they’ve done to your homeland and how long your families have had to endure their yoke. And remember that Ithaca’s freedom depends on us opening those gates.’