The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (20 page)

Eperitus, who had remained astern with Omeros, was now joined by Polites and Eurybates.

‘It’s Zacynthos,’ Polites announced, a hint of excitement in his normally deep, slow voice. ‘Come on.’

He hoisted Eperitus up by his arm and dragged him to the prow, followed by Eurybates and Omeros. Odysseus was already there, not even noticing his countrymen as he grasped the bow rail and squinted hard against the squall. They joined him in silence, staring through the sheet-rain at the almost imperceptible horizon rolling from left to right before them. Eperitus saw the line of the Peloponnesian coast on the starboard side of the galley, which Sthenelaus kept them in sight of at all times, but despite his sharp vision he was unable to see the new land that had been spotted. Eventually he caught a brief glimpse of something black and indistinct, but the act of focussing on a static point in a world of constant motion forced his stomach to contract in protest. He vomited again, this time managing to reach the side of the ship before the liquid spilled from his lips, then staggered back to suffer in solitude on the benches. One by one the others sat down until only Odysseus remained, lost in his own thoughts and memories as he stared at the southernmost point of the kingdom he had not seen for ten years.

Slowly, Zacynthos grew from a small blot to something that was visibly a large, if still distant, island. The gale was already dying away and the galley would soon head towards the mainland, to seek the mouth of the River Alpheius. There they would make their final landfall of the voyage and head inland to find Pisa, and hopefully the tomb of Pelops. Knowing this, Eperitus reluctantly extracted himself from the shelter afforded by Polites and Eurybates, and staggered up the middle of the ship to join the lone figure of Odysseus at the prow. Despite his nausea, which was exaggerated by his supernaturally enhanced senses, Eperitus fought down the desire to vomit again.

‘Thinking of home?’ he asked, raising his voice over the roaring wind.

Odysseus nodded.

‘They’re so close,’ he said, just loud enough for Eperitus to hear. ‘It’s strange, but the nearer I am to Penelope, the clearer I can recall her face. Back in Ilium I could barely picture her, but here –’ He reached out with his fingertips. ‘Here it’s as if I can see her before me in the rain. But it’s only a memory, an image of how she used to be, and what makes it worse is the real Penelope is just over there, beyond the storm. If only I could see her as she is now.’

‘I’m sure she’s as beautiful as the day you left her.’

‘Yes,’ Odysseus said. ‘Ten years would barely have added a line to her face. Unlike me. I feel like the past decade has been spent in Hades, surrounded by horrors and forgetful of the beauty of the real world. It’s as if the Odysseus who sailed away from Ithaca has died a thousand times since then, and all that’s left is this.’ He plucked dismissively at his tunic. ‘I doubt she would even recognise me any more. And what would Telemachus make of me? Could he ever come to love a father he’s never known? Why, Mentor and Halitherses will be more like fathers to him than I can ever be.’

‘Uncles, maybe, but you’re his real father, Odysseus. Nothing can replace that. And the sooner we find this bone – ’

‘Agamemnon and Nestor were right, you know. If this had been my own ship I’d be on my way to Ithaca now. Oh, I’d probably tell myself it was just a short visit, a day or two to see my family. But days would become weeks and weeks months, until I’d no longer care about Agamemnon’s war or my oath to Menelaus. The fact Diomedes is in command prevents that, but it hasn’t stopped me thinking the strangest, most desperate things, Eperitus. Before you joined me, I was even considering whether I could leap overboard and swim to Zacynthos –’

‘That’d be madness,’ Eperitus exclaimed.

‘Madness indeed,’ said another voice.

The two men turned to see an Argive sailor standing beside them. He was tall and pale, with large grey eyes and a straight nose that did not dip at the bridge. His chin was clean-shaven, unlike the rest of the crew, and he had long, fair hair that was tied back behind his neck. Even more notable than this rare feature was the fact that his stone-coloured cloak and tunic were dry, as if impervious to the lashing rain.

Eperitus frowned in confusion, sensing something was wrong. Surely he would have remembered such a man on the long voyage from Troy? Moreover, why weren’t any of the other crew members looking at the striking figure standing in the prow? It was then he saw that many were leaning against each other, their heads lolling on their chests. Others had slumped forward over their knees with their arms hanging limply at their sides. Diomedes and Sthenelaus at the helm were both reclining against the bow rail, propped up by their armpits as their heads rolled back to stare with unseeing eyes at the stormy skies above. Even more strangely, the twin rudders were not swinging freely now that the unconscious Sthenelaus had released them, but were held fast by an unseen force that kept the galley on a straight course. As his mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes were telling him, his other senses were registering that the rain was no longer driving against his skin and the sickness in his stomach had gone entirely.

As ever, Odysseus was the first to recognise her. With one hand still gripping the bow rail, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Eperitus followed his example, finally realising the man before them was no sailor, but the goddess Athena, Odysseus’s immortal patron who had appeared to them several times during their many adventures together.

Athena leaned down and took both men by the hand, sending a wave of warmth through their chilled bodies as she pulled them to their feet.

‘Even a swimmer of your skill and stamina would not reach Zacynthos through these seas, Odysseus,’ she said. ‘You would have thrown your life away for nothing and never seen your family again.’

‘If my mortal body is frail, Mistress,’ he replied, ‘then my mortal heart is even weaker. Why shouldn’t I risk the one when the other is already dying without Penelope and Telemachus?’

Athena looked at him and there was pity in her eyes, softening the cold, hard beauty of her ageless face. There was something else, too, Eperitus thought: a sadness beneath the compassion, as if she knew of an even more terrible fate in Odysseus’s future.

‘You are stronger than you think,’ she said. ‘How else have you managed to stay true to Penelope through all these years, when every other man has taken Trojan concubines or satisfied himself with whores? No, Odysseus, you are unique among the kings of Greece and only you can deliver Troy into their hands.

‘As for you,’ she added, turning to Eperitus, ‘I’m pleased, if surprised, that your brain has finally managed to emerge from its long slumber.’

‘Mistress?’

‘I mean your suggestion of making the voyage in an Argive ship, of course. Agamemnon was right not to have allowed Odysseus to sail in one of his own galleys – the temptation of returning to Ithaca would have been too great. But without Odysseus the mission was doomed to failure and the will of the gods would never have been fulfilled. We are grateful to you, Eperitus.’

Eperitus nodded uncertainly. ‘Thank you, Mistress.’

‘And what is the will of the gods?’ Odysseus asked.

‘To see Troy defeated. The war has almost fulfilled its purpose; Zeus does not want to see it prolonged unnecessarily.’

Eperitus could see Odysseus biting back whatever words had sprung to his quick mind. Instead, the king looked questioningly into the goddess’s clear eyes.

‘And how will an ivory shoulder blade help us defeat Priam and conquer his city, Mistress?’

‘Think of what your qualities are, Odysseus. Ask yourself why this mission will fail without you.’

Odysseus frowned and looked away into the storm. Eperitus followed his gaze and saw for the first time how the raindrops seemed to hit an invisible shield around the ship and disappear in small puffs of steam, leaving the vessel surrounded by a thin layer of fog.

‘It’s a riddle!’ Odysseus answered, turning sharply back to the goddess. ‘There’s something about the shoulder bone, or maybe the tomb itself, that will tell us how to defeat Troy. And you think I’m the one who will decipher it.’

Athena answered with a smile. ‘Whatever the reason for sending you, Odysseus, don’t think the tomb will give up its secrets freely. You already know about the maze.’

‘To keep out the ghost of Myrtilus,’ Eperitus said.

‘Or so Agamemnon believes,’ Athena replied, enigmatically. ‘And maybe that was the story its builders put about. Yet the truth is the maze was not built to keep something out, but to keep something
in
.’

‘Agamemnon said the tomb was cursed –’ Odysseus began.

‘In that he was not wrong,’ Athena said, ‘as some have found out for themselves – robbers, mostly: desperate men who were either ignorant of the curse or too greedy to care. Their bones now litter the dark corridors of the maze. But though you are neither ignorant nor greedy, your need is more desperate than theirs and by the will of the gods you must enter the tomb and face the curse that haunts it. For that reason I am permitted to help you, if only with advice. In a moment I will be gone and the crew will awaken, each of them thinking they were alone in a moment’s lapse of consciousness. The storm will abate and you will be able to anchor your ship by the mouth of the Alpheius. Make camp tonight and in the morning take a small force of warriors with you, while leaving enough men behind to protect the galley in your absence. Follow the banks of the river until you reach a temple of Artemis, within sight of the walls of Pisa. On the opposite side of the water is a low hill. You will know it because it is overgrown with long grass and weeds: no animal would graze on it, even if their herders allowed them to. This is the tomb of Pelops.

‘The entrance is not obvious. It’s on the northern flank, below the trunk of a dead olive tree, and is covered by brambles and a layer of earth. You will have to dig your way into it and knock down the wall you find beneath. Once you’ve done this you will find yourselves in the antechamber to the maze.’

‘And how will we find the tomb?’ Odysseus asked.

‘That I cannot tell you. All mazes are designed to confuse, but this one will dull your senses and have you losing all track of time and place. If you succeed, it’ll most likely be by chance, although you might be able to deduce a way through if you apply your intelligence, Odysseus.’

‘What do you know about the curse, Mistress?’ Eperitus questioned. ‘How can we protect ourselves from it?’

‘Protect yourselves?’ she queried. ‘There’s no protection from what lies within the tomb – not for mortal flesh, at least. But this much I can say, and I say it to you in particular, Eperitus. The only way to overcome the curse of Pelops’s tomb is for Ares’s gift to complete its purpose.’

‘I don’t understand!’

‘You will, when the time comes,’ she answered.

And then she was gone, dissolving into the air as a dense spray of seawater dashed over the side of the galley, dousing Odysseus and Eperitus and waking the crew from their induced slumber.

P
ELOP’S
T
OMB

E
upeithes looked up at the stars glinting and glittering above the broad roof of his house. They were a fierce white, like particles of daylight burning holes in the night, and as he traced the outlines of the constellations he wondered what a man would have to do to have his own image set among them. Then he smiled and shook his head gently: a ridiculous ambition, he mocked himself, for an overweight merchant who was neither king nor warrior.

 Antinous, his son, returned from the bushes at the edge of the expansive garden, where he had emptied his bladder. He dropped heavily onto the seat between Polyctor and Oenops and stared across at his father. Eupeithes had ordered chairs to be carried out to the lawn where it was less likely that eavesdropping slaves could overhear their treasonous talk and report it back to Penelope or her supporters.

‘What’s the point in having control of the Kerosia if you’re not going to do anything with it?’ Antinous asked, picking up the argument he had walked away from in anger only a few moments before. ‘Once Odysseus returns he’ll reappoint a new council and leave us back where we started – if he doesn’t execute us all first. I didn’t throw old Phronius to his death for that to happen. We have to act while we still can: appoint a new king then form an army, ready for Odysseus’s return –’

‘The Kerosia can’t just
appoint
a king,’ Oenops protested, shaking his white head firmly. ‘We haven’t the right or the power, not while the true king still lives.’

Polyctor, a black-haired man with soft grey eyes and a scanty beard, leaned across and patted Antinous on the back.

‘You’ve grown up in a kingdom without a king, used to the idea the Kerosia makes all the decisions. It doesn’t, Antinous. We’re only a council, subordinate in everything to the power of the throne. The only time we get to make any decisions is when the king is absent.’

‘Well, he’s absent now –’

Eupeithes raised his long, feminine hands for silence. There was no light in the garden and his mole-speckled skin looked grey and waxy as he smiled at the others.

‘You’re all correct, of course. Though we control the Kerosia, we remain but a council of advisers with limited authority – and certainly not enough to elect a new king. As Oenops implies, we can only do that if the king dies and leaves no successor. What power we do have will only last until the return of Odysseus. We therefore have to be realistic: if he comes back within the next few weeks or months, accompanied by a veteran army of loyal Ithacans, there is nothing we can do.’

Antinous threw his hands up to the heavens in a despairing gesture.

‘Then why go to such lengths to take control of the Kerosia? Why did we try to have Telemachus murdered? We’ve risked all we have for nothing.’

‘Maybe,’ his father replied, ‘but I don’t think so. I made my wealth as a merchant, not a gambler, by relying on shrewdness rather than luck. This is no different. But before I outline the solutions, let me first delineate the problems. There are three: Odysseus’s return; Telemachus, his heir; and the loyalty of the Ithacan people.’