King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Then why would a man travel all the way from an island in the Ionian Sea to pay court to a princess in Sparta, whom he had never seen before and had no hope of marrying?’

Surprised that she knew of Ithaca, Odysseus was even more intrigued by her shrewd insinuation that he had not come to Sparta for her. He was suddenly aware that, though young, Helen had an intelligence to match her outstanding looks, and that he must be careful around her. More importantly, he had to be mindful not to fall for the charms of a girl whom Zeus had already decreed should marry another. Whatever her reasons for flirting with him, whether they were born of genuine attraction or of more deceitful motives, he could not allow her to distract him from his mission.

‘My country is humble and distanced from the central powers of Greece,’ he replied. ‘Our life is simple and carefree. But in a land of ease a man must go beyond his home borders to experience the world. When I heard the most beautiful woman in Greece was to be married, I thought I should like to see her for myself. That she could show any interest in an island prince was beyond my expectations, and still is, but it does no harm to worship an earthly divinity.’

‘Your rough looks belie a fine character,’ Helen remarked. ‘I think I should be happy on Ithaca, if it produces such a breed of well-spoken men.’

Odysseus was about to say she would be welcome there, and that her presence would turn every Ithacan into a bard, but as he opened his mouth to speak Clytaemnestra joined them.

‘Always dreaming of running away, sister. Isn’t it a shame you’re a woman, and your destiny is ever in the hands of others.’ She looked about at the seated nobles. ‘Where’s my husband?’

‘Where do you think?’ Helen answered. ‘Snooping after Penelope, as usual.’

Eperitus looked up at Penelope as she stood before the seated soldiers with her hands on her hips and a smile upon her face.

‘Welcome to Sparta, men of Ithaca,’ she greeted them. ‘I am Penelope, daughter of King Icarius. I hope your needs are met, but if not I’ll do what I can to help you feel more at ease in our home.’

‘You can tell us whether Odysseus will win Helen’s hand in marriage,’ Damastor asked, to the cheers and laughter of the others. Gyrtias and his Rhodians jeered mockingly and received a hail of bread and barley cakes in response.

‘Is he the red-haired one with short legs and arms like tree trunks?’ Penelope replied. ‘Then I hope his clumsy charms are more effective on my cousin than they were on me.’

There was another roar of laughter. Warming to the young woman in their drunkenness, the warriors offered her wine and a seat, which she accepted.

‘And what about you, my lady?’ Eperitus asked. ‘Are you married?’

She looked at him and grinned. ‘Are you suggesting I should be?’

‘I am,’ he said, encouraged by the wine.

‘Yes,’ Antiphus added with a laugh. ‘To him!’

‘Are these men bothering you, Penelope?’

‘No, Lord Agamemnon,’ she answered stiffly, as the Mycenaean king appeared beside her.

He slipped his hand about her slim waist, his thumb almost touching her breast. The soldiers fell silent as he stood before them in his immaculate clothes and golden armour (which he wore at all times for fear of assassination). Eperitus felt a strong dislike for him, irked partly by the king’s arrogance and partly by the arm about Penelope’s waist. He noticed her flinch slightly as Agamemnon’s arm encompassed her and felt a surprising urge to defend her from his possessive touch. He could not understand why she did not remove herself from the king’s embrace, though perhaps she knew better than to resist the advances of the most powerful man in Greece, who rumour said would frequently take lovers from slaves and nobility alike.

‘These are Odysseus’s men,’ Penelope explained. ‘I was simply welcoming them and trying to make them feel more comfortable. The palace can be an overawing experience for those who haven’t been here before.’

‘I’ve heard of the fate of your home, and you have my sympathy,’ he said. The men grunted, approving of Agamemnon’s recognition. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

Halitherses stood and took a step forward.

‘I am, my lord. Halitherses, son of Mastor.’

‘Tell me, Halitherses, if Ithaca went to war how many men could it muster? How many ships?’

Agamemnon had already put the same question to Odysseus, but to ask the captain of his guard would let him know whether the prince had been honest or was hiding his real strength. It would also make the men think he cared about their opinion, which would earn their loyalty if they were ever to fight under his command.

‘Nobody really knows, my lord,’ Halitherses answered. ‘We’ve never had to summon every man to war before. But I should estimate that from all our islands we could fill twenty galleys with men able to fight, whilst leaving enough men to defend our homeland in our absence.’

‘Over a thousand warriors,’ Agamemnon said, nodding. ‘And how many men could be sent on a prolonged campaign, keeping sufficient at home to carry on normal life?’

‘Perhaps ten galleys, sir.’

At that moment Penelope saw Clytaemnestra approaching and released herself from the king’s grip in a quick, graceful movement. Agamemnon acknowledged his wife’s presence with a cold nod, but no familiar arm was placed about her hard, thin body.

‘Thank you, Halitherses,’ he continued. ‘You should know I have every respect for Odysseus. He and I are like-minded men. Now, carry on your drinking and find yourselves some willing girls to warm your beds tonight.’

The men cheered his words and there was a riot of speculation amongst them as he led the two women back to their fathers. Eperitus and Halitherses, disquieted by his questions, exchanged concerned looks.

Eperitus was the first of the Ithacans to leave the feast. He sat on the balcony adjacent to his quarters and looked out over the city of Sparta and the plains beyond, where the clear moonlight reflected from the winding course of the Eurotas river. His mind was full of the events of the evening, when from the corner of his eye he saw a young girl approaching and turned to face her. She bowed and asked if he was one of the party of Ithacans.

‘I am with them, though not an Ithacan,’ he replied. ‘Who are you?’

‘My lady sent me – she must speak with you about an urgent matter. Meet her in the temple of Aphrodite tomorrow night, after the evening’s feast has begun. Come alone and tell no one.’

Her errand accomplished, the slave did not stay to be questioned. She ran off into the shadows at the end of the corridor and disappeared down the steps to the second floor.

Chapter Eighteen

SECRET LIAISONS

The streets of Sparta were quiet and dark. The moon had not yet risen, and when it did would remain hidden behind the thick rain clouds that were filling the sky. Several times Eperitus stumbled in the deep wheel-ruts that numerous wagons had carved into the road, and though the palace armourer had given him directions to the temple of Aphrodite he felt sure he was now lost in the eerily empty streets. The only sounds came from the palace at the top of the hill, where the feast he had just left was at its height.

He clutched the hilt of his sword, comforted by its presence. These past two days, since arriving in Sparta, he had felt naked without his weapons. Only his mission outside the palace walls had given him the right to have his sword returned, and now he felt whole again and capable of taking on any enemy who dared confront him. But the safe streets of Sparta posed no threat, beyond the danger of being endlessly trapped within its unlit labyrinth of thoroughfares. The only encounter he expected was in the temple, though he could not guess who would want to speak with one of Odysseus’s men, or why.

He turned a corner and saw a flickering pool of light cast across the road, coming from an open doorway. Bats squeaked over his head as he approached. Soon he was able to see that the building was not a dwelling but a temple. Even if this was not the temple of Aphrodite the attendant priest would point him in the direction of his goal so, loosening the sword in his belt, he went in.

The two wooden doors were wide open. They led into a chamber that was a little smaller than the hall in the palace at Ithaca. Its floor was paved with evenly cut flagstones and a row of painted wooden columns reached from either side of the entrance, forming an aisle that led to a sacrificial altar. This had been plastered with white clay which, in turn, was marked with dark stains that could not be identified in the gloom. Fixed into the wall behind the altar were two torches, the only sources of light in the shadowy temple. These stood on either side of a raised platform, on which stood the clay figurine of a goddess. It was as tall as his sword, with voluptuous curves and large breasts, but as Eperitus stepped closer he could see that the face was grotesque, deliberately distorted into a demonic expression.

He shook off the feeling of unease it put into him and looked about the temple. In one corner were an empty mattress and a heaped blanket where the priestess usually slept. He had brought a few barley cakes with him, taken from the feast to give as an offering to the goddess, so in her absence he slipped these from his pouch and placed them on the altar. When she returned the priestess would keep some for her own needs and see that the rest were offered to the deity.

There were alcoves in the walls that housed smaller but equally ugly figurines, their features leering out into the chamber. The shifting orange light of the torches showed only small details, but he was also able to catch glimpses of the murals that decorated the temple walls. These showed images of men and women copulating in every position imaginable – and some unimaginable – confirming beyond doubt that he had found the temple of Aphrodite, goddess of love. Being inexperienced in love-making, some of the pictures confused him, and the bodies of the lovers needed unravelling before he understood what they were doing. Others he found disturbing, but whether mystifying or sickening all were intriguing.

Some of the murals depicted women being raped by gods, well-known tales from the lost era when mankind and immortals intermingled freely together. Almost without exception the god or their victim would be transformed into some variety of beast, bird or plant, and the different metamorphosis in each mural identified which story was being explicitly recalled. Only one was unknown to him: a painting of a great swan standing over a naked woman, who writhed in ecstasy beneath its broad wingspan.

As he looked, a shape broke free from the shadows below the mural. It moved towards him, causing him to jerk the sword free of his belt and hold it out before the approaching phantom. Sensing danger, he watched the figure emerge into the light. Then he saw the long hair, the curve of her hips and the press of her breasts beneath her cloak. It was Helen.

‘Put down your weapon and explain yourself,’ she commanded. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Even in the shadowy gloom of the temple her beauty was stunning; standing only a sword thrust away from her, it turned Eperitus’s limbs to stone and stole his thoughts. Strangely, in this place dedicated to lust and carnality, the girl looked fresh and young, a vision of purity and innocence. There was no trace of the Helen who had stunned the great hall into silence only the night before. But she remained powerfully enchanting, so much so that he had to force himself to summon a response to her questions.

‘I am Eperitus of Alybas.’ He put his sword back into his belt, aware of how ridiculous he looked pointing it at her. ‘I received a message to meet someone here.’

‘Some common whore, no doubt,’ Helen said, disdainfully. ‘Anyway, she isn’t here so you can go.’

‘I’m going nowhere,’ Eperitus insisted, angered by the girl’s arrogance. Despite her divine beauty, she reminded him of a spoilt child too used to getting her own way.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she spat. ‘Now, leave at once or I’ll have my father throw you out of the city!’

‘Not before I’ve told him you’ve been leaving the safety of the palace. He wouldn’t like that, would he, with all these great warriors around?’ Eperitus caught her hand as it swept towards his cheek. ‘So why don’t you tell me what it is you’re doing here, Helen of Sparta?’

She shook herself free of his grip and glared at him with furious eyes. ‘I’m here to meet one of Odysseus’s men, if you must know.’

‘Then it was you?’

Helen looked at him with equal surprise. ‘You mean to say you’re the one my maid spoke to? Neaera!’

A figure emerged from the shadows behind the open doors of the temple and came to stand at Helen’s shoulder. Eperitus recognized her as the same young girl who had spoken to him the night before. She peered at his face in the wavering torchlight and nodded.

‘It’s him, mistress – the one I gave your message to.’

‘Very well, Neaera,’ Helen said. ‘You can wait outside now – but stay close.’

Once the slave had moved out into the narrow street – where her cloaked form could still be seen in the darkness – Helen returned her gaze to Eperitus, scrutinizing him closely.

‘Why did you say you were from Alybas, not Ithaca?’

‘I was exiled from my homeland,’ Eperitus explained. ‘Odysseus recruited me into his guard. Now perhaps you’ll tell me why you want to speak to a mere soldier?’

‘Why not?’ she answered, playfully raising an eyebrow. ‘I like your prince, and who better than one of his men to know whether he likes me?’

‘Who better?’ the warrior replied, shocked that the most beautiful woman in Greece could find the curious, ungainly bulk of Odysseus attractive. ‘Why not Odysseus himself?’

‘Because he would have been followed,’ Helen answered. ‘Tyn-dareus is paranoid; he likes to keep an eye on all the suitors. But he doesn’t care about soldiers like you. You can roam around with relative freedom.’

‘All the same, I can’t say what Odysseus’s feelings for you are, my lady. But he is here to pay court to you, so that must mean something.’

‘It means nothing. We both know these suitors are here as much for the chance to inherit Tyndareus’s throne as they are to win me. I doubt whether any of them could give me true love, and I certainly couldn’t love any of them. But Odysseus might be different: he comes from the other side of Greece, a poor island with no ambitions about war or trade. Someone like him might love me for who I am, not what I am. Could he love me, Eperitus?’

Her fingers reached out and gripped his arm, as if trying to squeeze an answer from him. Eperitus thought of Athena’s words by the stream and wondered whether the goddess could have been wrong about Menelaus. ‘Would you marry him if he could?’

‘Not in Sparta,’ Helen said. She turned away and walked over to look at the mural of the giant swan and its human lover. There was something familiar about the features of the woman, Eperitus thought, following the princess’s gaze. It was difficult to say in the half-light, but it was as if the artist had tried to make the depiction individual, to stand out from the generic portrayals of the other figures.

‘Tyndareus wants me to marry so that he’ll have a successor. But I have no respect for Tyndareus or his ambitions. Does that shock you?’

‘Not all fathers deserve respect.’

Eperitus looked again at the mural. The swan stood over the naked woman, who lay below it with her knees raised and her legs apart, her head thrown back in profile so that the long hair cascaded onto the floor. The hair was black and streaked with a band of white that sprouted from her temple. It was Leda.

‘To marry in Sparta would be to honour his wishes,’ Helen continued, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘So I want to run away. I want to escape from this palace, all palaces, and live a simple life. If Odysseus took me to Ithaca I would marry him.’

In his amazement Eperitus forgot the mural of Helen’s mother and looked into Helen’s eyes. He also forgot that Ithaca no longer belonged to Odysseus. At that moment he could think only of them stealing away the most beautiful woman in Greece to live on an island in the Ionian Sea.

‘But could you love him?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I would want to, if he took me away from the clutches of powerful, ambitious men. But tell me, are there bays and secret coves on Ithaca, where a woman can swim alone without being followed by a dozen admirers and twice as many slaves?’

‘Lots, I think,’ Eperitus said. ‘I know there are plenty of caves to hide in. And hilltops where you can see people coming from a long way off

She smiled and touched his cheek, and he understood then how a man could willingly die for her. Despite her arrogance and her impenetrable allure, there was a girl beneath it all who would make the perfect queen for Ithaca. Or perhaps she would consider the exiled son of a nobleman, from a place even more remote than Ithaca. Gyrtias had said she would run away with a common warrior, and what Eperitus had heard from her own lips did not discourage the idea. Would she elope with a man who had neither wealth, home nor family? The light in her eyes told him that anything was possible.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Penelope said. She sat on a stone bench in the palace gardens, where it was her habit to come every night before going to her bed. This part of the palace was often deserted in the evenings, especially when a feast was being held, so it was with surprise that she saw the Ithacan prince come strolling across the lawn towards her. ‘The gardens are usually quiet at this time of night.’

Odysseus looked at the princess and felt again the attraction that had struck him the night before. He had regretted his reaction several times since then, and though he still smarted from her insult he was nevertheless pleased to find her alone in the quiet gardens.

‘I’ve come to escape the clamour of the great hall,’ he explained. ‘It’s not what I’m used to. But I’ll be happy to return and leave you to your thoughts, if you wish.’

‘Do as you please, my lord. With feasts every night and guests everywhere it’s been difficult to find time to oneself, but if you insist on staying . . .’

‘Well, if you insist on asking,’ he said, sitting down beside her and looking up at the cloud-filled sky. Penelope moved to the far edge of the bench. ‘Are the feasts always this grand?’

‘Grand? Well, I suppose they look that way to simple folk. They get much bigger when there’s something to celebrate. If you’re invited to Helen’s marriage banquet, you’ll see what I mean.’

Odysseus knew exactly what she meant, but took no offence. Her sharp wit and intelligence were appealing, even when directed at him, and he knew it must be difficult for the young woman when her cousin was the centre of attention all the time.

‘Talking of Helen,’ he said, looking about himself once more. ‘I notice she isn’t at the feast tonight. Do you know where she might be?’

‘No. She only comes to a few, and then not for long. I would imagine she finds all that attention nauseating. Most evenings she remains in her quarters with her slave girls, or with her mother.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘Me?’ Penelope replied, surprised that he should ask. ‘Sometimes I sew. Sometimes I visit Helen’s tutors – she has the finest in the Peloponnese, though she hardly appreciates them. Other times I just sit here and enjoy the quiet.’

‘And the feasts?’

‘Not if I can avoid them,’ she admitted with a reluctant laugh. ‘But I’ll come if new guests have arrived. You princes and kings are always well met, but your men are given nothing more than a cup of wine and a place to sit. That’s why I make it my job to welcome them. It may have been my curse to be born a woman, but where men fail to show true hospitality our sex must do what honour requires. I can say with pride that no man shall leave Sparta feeling they didn’t receive the right words of welcome.’

‘It’s good to honour the traditions of xenia,’ Odysseus agreed. ‘The gods demand it of us. My men . . .’ He paused, wondering whether to make the admission.

‘Yes?’

‘My men have spoken highly of you today.’

They looked away from each other, Penelope smiling with pleasure while Odysseus frowned with embarrassment. He turned back a moment later, but could think of nothing to say. In the face of Penelope’s prickly attitude he wanted to offset his compliment with a barbed comment or, at worst, a thinly disguised insult, but the words would not come. Instead he found himself looking at the back of her head, its long brown hair tied up in a tail on top. The skin of her neck and arms was unfashionably tanned and he could see the fine hairs bleached a light colour by the sun. Her clothes were plain, as was her face, though in a pleasant, faultless and undemanding way. No, the insult that excused his earlier praise of the woman would not come.

‘So you won’t join the feast tonight?’

‘No.’ She turned back to him and, pulling a disapproving face, shook her head so that the tail of hair frisked about behind her.

‘Afraid of the attentions of all those men?’

‘Pah! They’re not here to see me. It’s Helen or nobody for them.’

Odysseus wondered at the stupidity of men. While Penelope might not possess the untouchable beauty of her cousin, she was warm where Helen was aloof, quick and clever where Helen was selfish and irritable; it was like comparing the glacial beauty of winter with the freshness of an autumn day.

‘Are you disappointed?’ he asked with curiosity.

A large spot of rain slapped onto the stretch of stone bench that separated them, causing them both to look up at the swollen sky above.

‘Of course not,’ she said, defensively. ‘I don’t rue her the attentions of that pack of oafs.’

‘Oafs?’ Odysseus scoffed. He put a large hand down onto the bench, narrowing the distance she had put between them. More spots fell onto the flagstones at their feet, whilst others bounced off the leaves in the shrubs and bushes of the garden. ‘Surely a princess like you must see good qualities in some of them. And there’ll be a whole host of disappointed princes when Helen is married.’

Penelope conceded him a nod. ‘Maybe I was a bit harsh. Menelaus is kind-hearted, but . . . But not for me.’

‘Idomeneus is wealthy,’ Odysseus suggested.

‘And what would I want with wealth? No, if I had to choose, I think I would like Diomedes.’

Odysseus removed his hand with a frown. ‘Diomedes, eh? Yes, a good choice. He’s a fine man. Just as Helen is a fine-looking woman. Of all the women I’ve seen in Sparta, I would choose her every time.’

Now it was Penelope’s turn to withdraw. Her cheeks flushed red.

‘Well, Odysseus of Ithaca, I doubt very much she’d be interested in you.’

‘Do you?’ he replied tartly. ‘Then why was I the only suitor she spoke to last night?’

‘Perhaps she finds your peasant wit amusing.’

Odysseus scowled. ‘Maybe if your tongue weren’t so sharp you’d have your own suitors, instead of having to disparage Helen’s. It sounds to me like jealousy!’

Penelope stood and glowered at him. ‘How dare you, you . . .’

Unable to finish her sentence, Penelope stormed back into the palace. Odysseus watched her go, feeling the impact of the raindrops increasing on his skin and hearing the growing hiss as they fell into the foliage about him. After a while he stood and left the lonely gardens, stirred by a blend of anger and regret.

The days passed with a feast each night. The Ithacans were quickly drawn into a routine of idleness during the day and drinking themselves senseless in the evening. Whereas they would normally wake at dawn to go about their daily chores, in Sparta they were waited on by the hundreds of slaves at the palace and had little to do for themselves. So they awoke later each day, and if the previous night’s feasting had been particularly heavy then they would not rise until after noon.

Then Halitherses, who was concerned for their fitness and battle-readiness, began to order weapon practice, rousing them at first light and taking them into the courtyard with wooden sticks to rehearse a number of drills he had thought up. It kept them busy. At first the other warriors would come and watch them, standing about in groups or leaning out of the many windows that overlooked the compound. They would cheer and jeer, shout useful advice and suggestions or mock them.

But soon the numerous captains from across the mainland and islands of Greece began following Halitherses’s example. They would drill their men along the lines the Ithacans had adopted, adding or leaving out various moves as befitted their own weaponry, armour and style of warfare. Eventually they practised against each other, until every day the courtyard was filled with men fighting mock battles with lengths of wood.

At other times Halitherses would take his men on marches through the Eurotas valley. They would climb hills or follow small ravines into the mountains, returning each time just before sunset. At first they would rush to have the slaves bathe them before going down to the evening’s feast, where they would meet with Gyrtias and his men, and the others with whom they became familiar during their shared drills. Eperitus would often have a drink with Peisandros, who introduced him to the other Myrmidons so that they became fast friends over the days and weeks. But as Halitherses’s drills and marches became a daily ritual and they struggled to be fit enough for the physical demands they made of them, Odysseus’s men began curtailing their eating and drinking and would usually leave the great hall by the middle of the night to be ready for the following dawn.

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

AJAX OF SALAMIS

‘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.

‘Don’t look to Odysseus for salvation,’ Agamemnon said, noticing his glance. ‘We know Helen plans to run away, and Odysseus is just as keen as we are to prevent her. Tell me honestly, has she asked you to help her? Was that why she arranged to meet you?’

Relieved that they did not yet know everything, Eperitus told them Helen had not asked him to help her escape from Sparta, which was the truth. Menelaus seemed happy to accept his word and looked at him with all the earnestness he could muster in his honest heart.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘But if you won’t reveal why she meets with you, then we want you to do something else for us.’ It was clear he loved the princess deeply and it made Eperitus glad that he would be chosen to marry her. ‘Watch over her for us, Eperitus. I don’t ask you to betray her confidence, just keep her from leaving Sparta.’

He offered him his hand. Diomedes, whose affections for Helen were no less than those of Menelaus, looked at him and nodded that he should accept the role that was being forced upon him. Eperitus took the proffered hand.

At that point there was a loud bang and the doors of the great hall burst open, sweeping broad arcs through the crowded revellers. He was unable from where he stood to see who or what had hurled the massive portals open with such force, and his view was further obscured as a press of guests and slaves stood to see what was happening. Then Diomedes and Menelaus cleared a passage through the throng and Eperitus followed Agamemnon in their wake.

Three men stood in the aisle that led to the twin thrones of Sparta. On the left stood a skinny youth with a hooked nose and a twitch. To the right was a short man with an evil look to him; about his shoulders, much to Eperitus’s disgust, was draped an enormous brown snake. This alone would have been enough to cause a stir amongst the crowd, but instead all eyes were fixed on the third man.

Eperitus had never before seen anyone as tall or as broad as he was. He stood head and shoulders above everybody else in the room and looked about himself with long, slow sweeps of his head, shrivelling people with fear as his eyes fell upon each of them in turn. That he was a handsome man who wore a smile behind his black beard was no comfort, for his looks were hard and the smile was a mocking one, completely without fear. It came from an overwhelming confidence in his own prowess – a knowledge that nobody in the room could match him: few of them reached higher than his chest, and even Odysseus’s massive build was dwarfed by the titanic muscles on the man. Although he carried no weapons and wore no armour, everybody felt vulnerable before him.

‘I am Ajax, son of Telamon,’ he boomed. ‘I have come to marry Helen of Sparta and take her back with me to my kingdom of Salamis. When I want something I get it and not even the gods can stop me, so the rest of you fools may as well go home. Now, which of you is Tyndareus?’

‘I am,’ Tyndareus admitted, cautiously. Despite his own fierce looks, the king was clearly nervous in the presence of the bearded giant who had burst into the heart of his palace like a thunderbolt. ‘Welcome, Ajax. We have been awaiting your arrival for some time.’

‘We expected you to wait,’ said the short man, stepping in front of his companions. All three men carried the dust of the road on their clothes but, unlike the other suitors, there was no sign of an escort or retinue with them. ‘I am Ajax of Locris, son of Oileus.’

‘As nasty a brute as you’ll ever meet,’ Diomedes confided to Eperitus in a whisper, all his previous hostility forgotten. ‘They call him Little Ajax to distinguish him from his colossal friend, though some call him Ai for short.’

Ai was an exclamation of woe, and looking at the man Eperitus could guess why he had been given the nickname. He stared about at the watching crowd with insolence in his dark, closely set eyes, and though he was hardly much older than Eperitus his look of fearless arrogance warned of trouble to come. His features matched his fearsome manner: a single eyebrow ran in an unbroken line across his forehead, his nose was squashed flat from fighting and his thick black beard could not hide the scars on his disease-ravaged cheeks.

‘This is Teucer, youngest son of Telamon and half-brother of my namesake,’ he continued, pointing at the third member of the party, who fidgeted nervously and lifted his head as if sniffing the air, then looked back down at his feet so as not to meet the eyes of the onlookers. ‘We’ve come to support Ajax’s claim to the princess Helen.’

‘Then step forward, all of you, and refresh yourselves after your travels.’ Tyndareus walked down to meet them, while a flurry of slaves brought food, wine and chairs to the dais for the latest of Helen’s suitors. But the men remained where they stood.

‘Where is Helen?’ demanded the greater of the Ajaxes.

‘Sleeping,’ Tyndareus answered. ‘There will be time to see her tomorrow, but for now you should eat and drink and tell us the tale of your journey here.’

But Ajax was impatient, as if he expected the girl to marry him before the night was out. ‘Then wake her. Should I be kept waiting for the sake of a woman’s sleep?’

‘Her beauty will not diminish overnight, Ajax,’ Agamemnon said, leaving the crowd to join the newcomers. ‘Take your seats and join the feast.’

Little Ajax’s snake flicked out its tongue and hissed as he approached, but the king of Mycenae had a commanding presence that seemed to silence even the irrepressible Ajax. The three men allowed him to shepherd them to the places set out by the slaves.

But if Agamemnon was pleased to receive the latest suitor, happy that his planned council of war could now go ahead, there were others among the noble guests who were not so pleased at the giant’s words or the insolent presence of his lesser namesake. Palamedes and King Menestheus stood as the trio stepped up to the dais and walked to the opposite side. Patroclus, who sat on a chair at the foot of the dais, also stood and walked away. Seeing this, Little Ajax draped his pet snake over the twitching Teucer and followed the Myrmidon.

‘You!’ he said.

Patroclus turned and sneered down at the Locrian prince, who now stood threateningly before him.

‘You’ve no royal blood in you. Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Patroclus wrinkled his pinched nose at the stench of the man’s breath. ‘My name is Patroclus, representative of Achilles.’

‘Achilles?’ Little Ajax scoffed. ‘Do you hear that, lads? He says he’s here to represent Achilles! But everybody knows Achilles is just a boy. He is just a boy isn’t he?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Patroclus replied, testily.

They were the two most disliked, arrogant and mean-looking men in all of Sparta, and it surprised nobody to see them already at loggerheads.

‘Then he must be,’ Little Ajax persisted, like a boarhound on a scent, ‘because I’m sure you’d know if he had hair on his balls yet.’

Suddenly Patroclus dropped his natural reserve and seized him by the throat. He was not a well-built man but his sinewy muscles were deceptively strong. He also had the reactions of a cobra – Peisandros had boasted that his captain was the most accomplished fighter amongst the Myrmidons – and Little Ajax could do little more than try to pull the strong, long-fingered hands from his neck.

An instant later Ajax himself leapt down from the dais and with one blow from his massive fist knocked Patroclus halfway across the hall, where he landed at the feet of his own men. They took one look at their leader, unconscious and bleeding, and with a great shout of anger rushed as one towards the giant.

Peisandros was the first to reach him. He slipped inside Ajax’s guard and punched him in the stomach. It was as hard a blow as he could give, but his fist rebounded as if he had slammed it into an ox-hide shield. Ajax roared with joy and hurled Peisandros into the crowd of onlookers. An instant later he threw himself into the rest of the Myrmidons, tossing them about the great hall like dolls. He was joined by Little Ajax, who was always looking for the opportunity to fight. But unlike his companion, who simply enjoyed beating his opponents, the smaller man was driven by a constantly simmering hatred for all mankind. He went for the tallest warrior he could see and jumped up to hit him full on the jaw. The man fell back and took no further part in the fight.

Despite being knocked this way and that, the Myrmidons were proud fighting men and would not give up the fight until the last man was beaten. They launched themselves in numbers at Ajax, though with no more effect than the sea crashing against a great rock. But the more badly mauled amongst them now saw an opportunity for revenge against Little Ajax, and Peisandros and two of his comrades crowded about him and began to give him a severe beating.

Eperitus, Diomedes and Menelaus had stood by in the crowd, enjoying the spectacle of Ajax fighting off a dozen men whilst his colleague took a much-deserved battering. Agamemnon and Odysseus seemed to be watching the spectacle with equal satisfaction from the royal dais, whilst beside them Tyndareus looked on aghast, imagining similar scenes when he eventually chose a husband for his daughter. But as Eperitus watched Little Ajax reel away from his attackers with a punch to the side of his head, he saw him snatch a knife from one of the meat stewards and immediately go running back into the fray, straight at Peisandros. Instinctively Eperitus stepped forward and called out to the Myrmidon, who turned to see the Locrian running towards him, a sneer of hatred on his battered lips. In the same moment Teucer stood up on the dais and called out frenetically to his half-brother.

Ajax was still fending off the other Myrmidons, but turned as he heard Teucer’s voice and saw the blade glinting in Little Ajax’s hand. In a moment he had bounded across the floor and smashed his fist down upon the head of his companion, crumpling him in a heap. The knife skittered across the flagstones and came to a spinning rest at Peisandros’s feet.

The Myrmidon signalled for his comrades to stop the fight. Immediately he walked up to Ajax and offered his hand in thanks for saving his life. Ajax enclosed it in his own and nodded curtly. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

Neaera stood at the entrance to the temple of Aphrodite and glanced shamefacedly at Eperitus as he arrived. The interior was lit by a solitary torch and he could see Helen waiting for him by the whitewashed altar.

She looked even more beautiful than usual tonight. Her hair was worn loose to frame her face and emphasize the features that the warrior had come to know so well during their many meetings here. He had often thought of how he could be happy spending hours just looking at her, absorbing the gentle lines of her face and the full curves of her body. A man could die for that pleasure, he thought, but would he ever be happy? The suitor who finally won Helen would never be able to possess such beauty and would spend his whole life jealously guarding her from the attentions of other men. He felt sorry for her – her delicate femininity and spellbinding looks were as much a curse as a blessing.

As he shook the late winter rain from his cloak, she came up to him and kissed his cheek. Up until that point she had barely touched him in all of their secret liaisons, which was a painful irony in view of the news he had to bring her. And yet the touch of her soft lips on his stubbly cheek, with the faint hint of perfume in her hair, was exquisite.

‘What’s wrong, Eperitus? Are you shocked that I should kiss you? Well, you shouldn’t be. If I wasn’t the plaything of the powerful, who knows that I wouldn’t be happy to spend my life with a handsome warrior like yourself?’

‘You’re kind, my lady,’ he replied despondently. He knew she wanted to repay him for being her one friend during the long weeks of her courtship by so many men, but he could not bring himself to match her cheerfulness, weighed down by the guilt of what he had to reveal to her. ‘But you truly are the plaything of the powerful, to use your own words. I’m afraid you will always be a prisoner of Tyndareus and Agamemnon.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll be free when you convince Odysseus to take me away from here.’

‘You don’t understand me, my lady. Helen. I’m trying to tell you that they know.’

She froze and the playful smile fell from her lips. ‘Know what?’

Eperitus could not bring himself to say it in full, but Helen knew anyway. She closed her eyes and seemed to crumple under the realization. Tears collected beneath her long, dark eyelashes and began to roll down her cheeks to fall in large, fast drops to the floor. He watched her as she stood there, silent and unmoving, the tears shining on her proud face, and he wanted to touch her but could not. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen and it was like a sword through his heart to see the sadness of despair hurt her so deeply. Then he gathered all his courage and stepped up to her, daring even to hold her and let her fall against his chest, where the warm dampness of her tears seeped into his rough woollen tunic.

She put her arms about him and held him tight. Her face was buried into his neck, hidden beneath her dense black hair, and he looked down at the top of her head. Something told him to kiss her, a sudden, unexpected urge that threatened to take control of him. But the urge became a voice, the mocking voice of Gyrtias, and the beautiful, daring thought was soured and fell away. Then she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

‘How do they know?’

Eperitus thought of the frightened young maid confronted by the most powerful men in Greece and could not blame Neaera for her betrayal. ‘Agamemnon didn’t tell me.’

‘Oh, what does it matter any more?’ Helen said bitterly, her wet cheeks shining in the torchlight. ‘They’ll be watching me now. Everywhere I go and everything I do. There’ll even be somebody in the street now, hiding in the shadows and waiting for me to leave. Oh, it’s terrible.’

This pained him even more, knowing he had agreed to be their watcher for them. Surely he could do something for her? Was he so weak that he could not help a girl in need? Then she looked at him again and a new light of desperate determination was in her eyes.

‘I know a secret way out of here, Eperitus. We could leave together without being seen. You could take me away over the mountains to your homeland. I could marry you and we could live a simple life together. If you take me away now, I promise myself to you. Please, Eperitus.’

As she uttered these words to him the feasting hall on top of the hill was filled with warriors from almost every kingdom in Greece. The kings and princes of its nations and islands were gathered together in honour of this girl, the greatest assembly in Greek history. Each man was high-born. They were the sons of heroes, the leaders of their people, and each had the right to believe they could win the hand of Helen. Yet she had offered herself to him.

For a brief, wild moment Eperitus thought his heart would smash itself free of his ribcage, so fast did it beat. Helen had offered him everything he could ever want, and his head was dizzy with the thought of her, of having her for himself. All he needed to do was take her by the hand and slip out of the darkened streets of Sparta into the Eurotas valley. Men would come after them, following every conceivable route of escape, but he felt sure they could evade any pursuit.

But he knew it could not be. The oracle had warned him of the dangers of love, but worse still he would be abandoning Odysseus and Ithaca, whom he had sworn to protect. He had also given Menelaus his hand and obliged himself for the sake of his honour to see that Helen did not escape from Sparta.

The blood began to cool in his veins. Besides, where would they go? Where could they go that news of their arrival would not reach the ears of Tyndareus and Agamemnon? There was nowhere that Helen’s beauty could escape notice. They would remain wanderers, roaming from place to place to escape the far-reaching wrath of Sparta and Mycenae. What sort of life would that give them, and how long before Helen despaired of a nomadic existence and returned to her father? No, he was a fool even to imagine such a thing.

He looked at Helen and she knew his answer.

‘Of course not,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘They made me swear to watch over you,’ he admitted. ‘They told me to see that you did not escape. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I know you won’t break your word, and one day that will make you into a great man.’ She released herself from his arms and stood tall once again before him. ‘I think better of you for your decision, my friend, not worse. But now I must face up to the destiny the gods have chosen for me.’

It was a destiny about which Eperitus knew more than he could say. But despite Athena’s words he dared to believe there could be a different course, an alternative that might suit Helen and Odysseus both.

‘Maybe there’s another way.’

‘Is there? I don’t think so now,’ she said.

‘You could compromise. Although you hate being a piece in the power games of your father and Agamemnon, perhaps you could consent to marry a man of your own choice. Since we’ve been meeting here, your talk has always been of running away with Odysseus and living a simple life on Ithaca. Well, why not talk to Tyndareus about it? If you marry Odysseus at least you’ll be able to leave Sparta and live out a quiet existence away from all this. And that way, Tyndareus can lend Odysseus all the soldiers he needs to win back his kingdom. Even Agamemnon will have had his council of war, which you say was the whole point of inviting the Greek nobility to Sparta. Everybody will be happy, except for the other suitors, of course. What do you say?’

‘I say you’re an optimistic fool, Eperitus. Don’t you know my future husband will have been carefully selected before the first heralds were sent out to invite all these suitors?’

‘But you’ve such charm, my lady. And I’ve seen the way your father looks at you. He’s not such a puppet of Agamemnon that he can’t have his mind changed by the most beautiful woman in all Greece, is he?’

She smiled warmly and gave Eperitus a look he would never forget. There was a magic about Helen that could drive men insane, and though he liked Menelaus he felt he could happily kill the Mycenaean prince to release her from her divinely decreed fate.

‘You’re thinking of my charm as a woman. It’s different between daughters and fathers – but perhaps it can be more effective. A few tears, the odd sigh here and there. I’ll see what I can do, and for your sake I won’t give up yet. Even though you only care about soldiers for Ithaca rather than what happens to me.’

Eperitus tutted at her suggestion. ‘All I want is you to be queen of Ithaca, my lady.’

Odysseus and Tyndareus walked through the gardens in the light of the early morning. The discordant clacking of wooden sticks could be heard from the courtyard where the warriors of the different states practised their battle drill.

‘They’re becoming very good soldiers,’ Odysseus commented. ‘All this practice has given my men a new edge, though I wonder how it will translate to swords of bronze instead of wood.’

‘That’s my worry,’ Tyndareus said. He picked a pink flower and crammed it under his nose, inhaling its sweet aroma.

Odysseus guessed his meaning, having thought on the situation much himself. ‘You’re concerned about what will happen when Helen’s husband is announced.’

‘Exactly. You saw them the other day, brawling like commoners,’ Tyndareus said glumly. ‘And with so many warriors here, can you imagine what’ll happen if there’s a dispute about the choice? I must be getting old, Odysseus, because I’m losing sleep about the thought of a battle.’ The Spartan king looked about himself and plucked another flower for Odysseus. ‘Smell this. Wonderful, isn’t it? Only grows here in Sparta.’

Odysseus’s sense of smell had been weak ever since boxing lessons as a boy and he was barely able to appreciate the aroma from the tiny petals.

‘Why don’t you stick it in your belt,’ Tyndareus suggested, ‘and get rid of that dried-up husk you’ve been wearing since you got here.’

Odysseus patted the chelonion gently. ‘I couldn’t do that. My sister gave me this as a memento of Ithaca while I’m away. I keep it to remind myself that my people are suffering under a false king, and I must one day return to free them. All my men wear a sprig as a reminder of home.’

‘You’ve been here for some time now. You must worry constantly about your homeland.’

Odysseus frowned. ‘Constantly, but it’s the burden of nobility, Tyndareus. What about your problem: have you thought of a solution yet?’

The king laughed. ‘Solution? Only one springs to mind, but dividing Helen into thirty pieces would be a waste of a beautiful daughter.’

‘Maybe I can help,’ Odysseus offered nonchalantly, trying once more to detect an aroma from the flower.

‘You’ve hinted as much on several occasions, my friend. But for all your cleverness I don’t see how you can prevent them from slaughtering each other. They’re all proud, and with Ajax and his vicious little friend amongst them I fear the worst.’

Odysseus cocked an eyebrow at Tyndareus. ‘What will you offer me if I can give you a practical answer?’

‘What’s the price of peace to an old man?’ Tyndareus replied. ‘I’ll give you anything that it’s in my power to give.’

‘Anything?’

‘Yes: gold; women for you and your men; even land if you want it. But only if I agree to your idea, and it works.’

Odysseus offered him his hand, which Tyndareus took. ‘That’s settled then. I shall take your offer of anything I wish, but first I’ll honour my half of the bargain. Agamemnon’s council of war will take place in two days’ time, when he expects your guests to support his raid against Troy. It won’t work of course, but that’s another matter altogether.

‘When the suitors are gathered together, and before any disagreement can begin, you must demand that they take an oath. As you said, they’re proud men and therefore you can be sure an oath will bind them. And to ensure they consent to the oath, tell them you won’t consider any man as a husband for Helen unless he agrees.’

‘But what oath?’

‘Simple,’ Odysseus smiled. ‘You must make them swear to protect Helen and her husband against anyone who would come between them. That’s the only way you can ensure they don’t fight each other for her, now or in the years to come. And if anyone breaks the oath, the others will be compelled to protect your daughter and the winning suitor. It’ll need to be accompanied by the most compelling sacrifice that your priests can devise, of course, but you shouldn’t have any problems after that.’

‘Yes,’ Tyndareus agreed as the easy brilliance of Odysseus’s suggestion grew on him. ‘Yes, that should do it. Even Ajax will obey an oath, for all his brute strength and his confidence about Helen. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. You’re cleverer than you look, Odysseus.’

Odysseus smiled benignly. ‘Thank you, my lord. But what about my price?’

Tyndareus gave him a cautious look. ‘Well, I’m an honourable man, what do you want? You’ve sorted my problem out, so let me sort yours. Is it the land you want – you’ll be welcome to settle in Sparta.’

‘No,’ Odysseus said. The thought of not returning ultimately to Ithaca had never crossed his mind. ‘My price is a woman in your palace.’

‘Any woman?’

‘No. A princess.’

‘I thought you might say that,’ Tyndareus sighed, realizing he had been outmanoeuvred. ‘Well, you might be surprised to know she’s attracted to you, too.’

‘I am!’

‘No offence, my son, but so am I. Apparently she’s been thinking about you since she first saw you. Wants a simple life on Ithaca, she tells me. My only problem is how to explain it to Agamemnon. We had an agreement, you see.’

Odysseus had no idea why Tyndareus and Agamemnon should have an agreement about Penelope, but he was more surprised to learn she reciprocated his own feelings. After they had fallen out in this very same garden she had shown him nothing but hostility, even contempt, and he expected to have to drag her kicking and screaming from Sparta. He had long ago struck on the idea of an oath to keep the peace between the suitors, and soon after had thought of using it to employ Tyndareus’s influence in winning Penelope. But he had also lost sleep over the thought of marrying her against her will. It was customary that women were given away by their parents, to men they either did not know or did not have any passion for. For the most part they came to accept their lot and got on with their lives, and in the majority of cases familiarity bred love. But Penelope was different. She had an independent character that, he guessed, would not easily be tamed to love. So the news that she already loved him was a revelation and a wonderful blessing.

He smiled broadly. ‘And what about Icarius? What does he say?’

‘Icarius? What in Hades does he have to do with it? Helen’s my daughter, and if she wants to marry you, Odysseus, then you should thank the gods and take her.’

Chapter Twenty

THE GREAT OATH

The Ithacans were training as usual when Odysseus came striding across the broad courtyard, shouting for Halitherses. Eperitus glanced across whilst fending off blows from Damastor’s mock wooden sword and received a painful blow in the ribs for his lapse of concentration.

‘Never drop your guard, Eperitus,’ Damastor admonished him, before stepping back to prepare for another attack. But before he could renew their contest Halitherses called a halt to the drill. The two lines of sweating soldiers lowered their sticks and sat down in the well-trodden dirt.

‘Mentor, Eperitus, I want you too,’ Odysseus said, waving them over. He appeared unusually concerned. ‘The gods have shown me their favour, at last, but I need your counsel.’

Halitherses put Antiphus in charge and went to join the huddle about Odysseus. The prince folded his arms and gave them a sober look.

‘I needn’t remind you that we came here for Helen,’ he began.

‘We came here to win friends and make alliances,’ Mentor corrected. ‘We all know the prince of a small kingdom doesn’t stand a chance of winning Helen, not against men like Menelaus, Ajax and Diomedes.’

‘Maybe so, but things have changed. Tyndareus has offered me Helen for my wife.’

They looked at him in disbelief and for a moment nobody knew what to say. Then Halitherses cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes at the prince.

‘Is this another of your tricks?’

Odysseus smiled. ‘I can understand your disbelief, old friend, but I’m telling you the truth. Ever since the Ajaxes arrived Tyndareus has been worried. He thinks a fight will break out between Helen’s suitors when he announces her husband.’

‘Oh, I see now,’ Mentor said. ‘He’ll announce you as her husband so the rest of the suitors can kill you first.’

‘I’m serious, you idiot. He came to me for advice; he’s at a loss about how to stop them killing each other, and in return for a solution he offered me anything it was in his power to give. The answer was an easy one, of course – I simply told him to make the suitors swear to protect Helen and her husband from anybody who would come between them.’

Halitherses nodded. ‘An oath? That’s clever. No man of honour will break his sworn promise, however deeply hurt his pride may be.’

‘And you chose Helen as your payment?’ Mentor asked. ‘I’ll wager a gold piece he wasn’t happy to hear you say that.’

‘That’s what’s so strange,’ Odysseus protested. ‘Even I wouldn’t be so bold as to ask for Helen’s hand in marriage. He offered her to me! And the most ridiculous thing about it is that she told him she wanted me.’

‘By the gods,’ Eperitus exclaimed. The blood turned cold in his veins as he realized Helen had acted on his suggestion and somehow convinced Tyndareus to choose Odysseus as her husband. The others looked at him expectantly. ‘What Odysseus says is true,’ he explained. ‘She told me she wanted to run away with him and live on Ithaca, so I said she should speak to her father about it.’

Odysseus, Mentor and Halitherses stared at him with incredulity. Behind them another round of sword practice had begun, but as Damastor no longer had a partner he had left the group and was sitting nearby. Eperitus thought of moving out of earshot, but Halitherses interrupted his thoughts.

‘And why would the most prized woman in Greece discuss her marriage with a soldier? Are you dreaming, Eperitus, or just drunk?’

‘I swear it by the gods,’ he answered sternly. He explained to them the circumstances of their meetings. ‘It’s nothing physical, don’t fear. She just wants a friend to talk to, someone from outside her normal life.’

‘So she does want to marry me,’ Odysseus mused. ‘But why?’

Eperitus shared with them the things Helen had said to him, how she hated palace life and longed for a less complicated existence. He felt like a traitor as he revealed the secrets of her heart to his friends, but was consoled by the knowledge that his words brought satisfaction to Odysseus, whose previous doubts were now washed away by understanding. However, he remained unusually solemn.

‘I’ve told Tyndareus I need a short time to think it over,’ he announced.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Mentor laughed. ‘Marry her! That’s why we came here.’

‘What’s to think about?’ Eperitus agreed, smiling along with Halitherses and Mentor. ‘Accept the offer and ask Tyndareus for a Spartan army to escort you back to Ithaca. Eupeithes and his Taphians will die of fright before we can put a foot on shore. And if anyone ever tries to take your rightful place again, you’ll have the word of every lord in Greece to come to your protection.’

Halitherses shook his grey head. ‘I never thought there’d be an end to all this feasting. And I never, ever thought the final feast would be in your honour, Odysseus. Do you realize this means we can actually go home? I was starting to believe we’d never see our own hearths again, but now we can do it. Zeus’s beard, I still can’t believe it.’

Odysseus sighed. ‘The problem is, I don’t love Helen.’

Mentor rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Since when were you a follower of Aphrodite? I remember you used to despise the Cyprian and all her arts. But if love is a condition of your marrying Helen, I’m certain one evening with her will satisfy you of that. That girl could overcome any man’s shyness.’

‘What I mean, Mentor, is that I don’t love Helen because I love another.’

The smiles fell from the faces of Mentor and Halitherses. Even Eperitus, who already knew of Odysseus’s other love, was surprised the prince seemed ready to abandon his mission for her sake.

‘Who?’ Mentor said, a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘No, don’t tell me. Just answer me this: can marrying this girl give us an army, or friends enough to win back Ithaca? Can it? Or are you prepared to sacrifice your home – our home – for the sake of a woman? Be reasonable, Odysseus. I don’t think Helen is a bad second best. Do you?’

‘It’s Penelope, isn’t it?’ Eperitus said.

Odysseus smiled wryly. ‘Yes, Eperitus, it’s Penelope.’

‘Penelope?’ Mentor echoed. ‘But she’s . . . She’s hardly Helen, is she? Odysseus, my friend, I implore you in the name of the people of Ithaca to accept the generous offer of Tyndareus. Penelope is a fine woman, but Helen is like a goddess.’

‘I don’t even know whether Penelope would have me,’ Odysseus replied, annoyed by Mentor’s reaction. ‘Up until now she’s been as cold as a mountain stream, so perhaps I don’t have a choice in the matter anyway.’

‘Then marry Helen so we can go home to Ithaca,’ Mentor said.

‘Ithaca?’ Odysseus scoffed. ‘I haven’t heard any of you mention Ithaca for weeks now. You were all so busy eating Tyndareus’s food and drinking his wine that I thought you’d forgotten about our home. And yet I’ve wrung my heart out over that island every moment of each day since we left her shores. Don’t any of you speak to me of home when you’ve already pushed it out of your own hearts.’

Mentor’s face darkened with anger, though he did not refute the indictment. ‘I can bear your accusation, Odysseus, because you’re my friend and will one day be my king. And there’s truth in your words, which no Ithacan can deny. But here’s another truth: your choice is not between Helen and Penelope, but between home and love. We act only to fulfil the destiny set out for us by the gods, but as long as that remains a secret I advise you not to decide too hastily.’

With that he turned and crossed the courtyard to the palace. Halitherses patted Odysseus’s arm, then went to rejoin the men, calling Damastor back to his feet on the way. Eperitus made to follow him, but Odysseus put a large hand on his shoulder.

‘Stay a moment, Eperitus.’

‘What is it, my lord?’

‘You stayed quiet whilst Mentor did all the talking, but I want to know what you think. Would I be mad to turn Helen down?’

Eperitus looked across the courtyard as Halitherses barked a series of orders. The Ithacans threw their wooden swords into a pile and formed a double line behind their captain, before following him out of the palace gates at a gentle run. Part of him wanted to be with them, to enjoy the simple pleasures of physical exercise and escape the burdens that weighed on him. But he also sensed Odysseus’s internal struggle, and had to earn the trust the prince had placed in him.

‘If you marry Helen, your fame will spread across Greece,’ he began. ‘You’ll have powerful allies and the means to win back your homeland.’

‘But if I choose Penelope,’ Odysseus picked up, ‘and can persuade her to marry me, then our ability to win back Ithaca will be limited to whatever power Icarius holds. Even assuming it’s enough, I’ll return to being an obscure prince, eventually to rule over a small kingdom of poor islands. Not much of a choice, is it?’

‘She’d make a wonderful wife though,’ Eperitus said.

He liked Penelope, who had always made a point of talking to him whenever they met, whether it was in the palace grounds or at the nightly feasts. At first she had been polite and somewhat formal, but that was just the veneer she applied in public and it soon wore off as their conversations became more frequent. Underneath he had the pleasure of discovering a woman full of active emotions and animated thought processes, constantly observing and digesting her surroundings. She was also witty and clever, even to the extent of being cunning. Eperitus had watched with pleasure how, on several occasions, she had skilfully repulsed the attentions of Little Ajax, who had developed a liking for her. She would frustrate his advances with tricks and deceptions that would always allow her to escape from his odious clutches – a characteristic that was suited to Odysseus’s quick mind.

‘And didn’t the oracle say you should marry a Spartan woman to chase the thieves from your house?’ he continued. ‘Penelope is a Spartan, too, though you might have to equip her with a shield and a spear if marrying her is to free Ithaca from Eupeithes.’

Odysseus smiled. ‘That’s why I place so much trust in you, Eperitus. You say the things I want to hear. But you forget Athena said Helen would marry Menelaus.’

‘Then all the more reason to choose Penelope. If Tyndareus is prepared to offer Helen to you, I’m certain you could ask his help to marry Penelope instead.’

‘That isn’t my point. Don’t you see, Eperitus: I have the power to break my own destiny. The goddess says I’ll not marry Helen, and that Zeus himself has decided she will be given to Menelaus. And yet Tyndareus offers his daughter to me, and Helen is willing! What if I accepted his offer?’

The thought hit Eperitus like a bolt of lightning. It made his flesh creep and the hair on his neck stand up because the consequences were too frightening to contemplate. He looked at Odysseus and found his intense eyes staring straight back at him.

‘You do understand then?’ he said. ‘Imagine it: I could do what I wanted. No oracle or prophecy of any kind would ever restrict me again. Take the words of the Pythoness: she said that if I go to Troy I wouldn’t return for twenty years, and even then I’d come back destitute and without friends. But that would have no hold on me any more. If Agamemnon persuades the Greeks to sail against Troy, I could sail with them and have no concern about returning in my own time and with all my companions beside me.’

‘But if you marry Helen you’ll have defied the will of Zeus himself,’ Eperitus warned. ‘Are you so great that you should dare challenge the father of the gods?’

‘But if the will of Zeus is defeated, what power does he hold? It’s within my mortal grasp to lead my own life, be free to make my own choices without pre-ordained consequences. Why should I throw that chance away?’

‘And have you ever thought this might be a test?’ Eperitus responded. ‘Until Helen stands beside you on your wedding day and is declared your wife, then, as I see it, Zeus’s will is still firmly in place. If you accept Tyndareus’s offer you set yourself in open opposition to the greatest of the Olympians. Do you think you’ll win glory fighting the gods? You won’t; it can only lead to oblivion.’

‘The only power Ajax acknowledges is his own,’ Odysseus protested. Then he ran his hands over his face and looked down at the floor. ‘But he’s a fool, and who knows what sort of end he’ll come to? Perhaps you’re right, Eperitus – perhaps I want too much. Maybe I’m like Ajax, wanting all the honour and renown for myself, without acknowledging that it’s only by the will of the gods I come out alive after a battle.’

‘It’s because you’re an intelligent man, my lord,’ Eperitus said. ‘I don’t have that problem: I trust my heart before my head. But a clever brain can deceive its master, and that’s when a man needs the counsel of his friends. So I say you should fear Zeus and submit to his will, and then you’ll have as much honour and glory as you could wish for.’

‘And a wife I can love,’ Odysseus added. He put an arm about Eperitus’s shoulder and led him towards the palace. ‘I only wish I knew why Penelope dislikes me so much.’

‘She either thinks you’re an oaf or she’s hiding her true feelings for you.’ Eperitus grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘If you ask me, I’d say she thinks you’re an oaf

Damastor lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Neaera lay in his arms with her head resting upon his hairy chest.

‘Penelope can be very stubborn,’ the slave girl said. ‘You can’t force her to like Odysseus.’

‘Doesn’t she find anything attractive about him?’

‘Not that I’ve ever heard. I know her maid, Actoris, but she never reveals anything about her mistress. Besides, I’ve never known Penelope to take much interest in men. She’s too busy with other things. But I think it’s nice you want to help him.’

Damastor gave a silent sneer and continued to look up at the ceiling. The only help he wanted to give Odysseus was a dagger in the back. Ever since Eupeithes had bought his loyalty with gold and a promise of rank amongst the new nobility of Ithaca, his mission to kill Odysseus had been beset by failure. Although he had helped Polybus and his Taphians to find the prince – with the fire and the dagger beside the road – the badly planned ambush had ended in defeat. Since then Odysseus had barely been alone for a moment: at the feasts he was always with the other suitors; at night he slept in the same room as his men; and in the day he spent most of his time with Mentor, Halitherses or the foreigner, Eperitus. It was far too dangerous to risk an attempt on his life, especially as Damastor had no intention of getting caught, so he had been forced to bide his time.

But now, against all expectation, he had overheard the prince say that Helen had been offered to him. Even if Damastor could not kill him, he must at least prevent him marrying Tyndareus’s daughter. If that happened, his dreams of wealth and nobility were over, so his only hope was to encourage Penelope to return Odysseus’s affections.

‘I suppose you could always ask Clytaemnestra to help you,’ Neaera said, nonchalantly.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, they say she’s a witch.’

‘A witch indeed!’ Damastor scoffed. ‘So what will she do? Scare Penelope into marrying Odysseus?’

Neaera propped herself up on one elbow, her large breasts hanging down across her rib cage. They lay upon a straw mattress in one of the palace’s dozen or so armouries, surrounded by bundles of spears and rows of shields, stacked one upon another. A thick woollen blanket covered them, keeping the chill of the night air from their naked flesh. Her face was a blur in the darkness.

‘I would never cross her. Her maids say she has an ancient knowledge that gives her terrible powers. She can make a mother’s milk sour in her breasts or ruin a man’s crops for a whole year. Some say she can kill animals by cursing them – even small children, too. And if she chooses to, she can make a woman love a man against her will.’

Damastor put a hand upon her waist and squeezed her soft flesh.

‘And do you think Clytaemnestra will perform her magic so that Penelope falls in love with Odysseus?’

‘If I can convince her it’s for the good of her cousin,’ Neaera said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’ll visit her after breakfast tomorrow.’

Agamemnon had called his council of war. The kings and princes came as invited, bringing only their senior captains and advisers with them. Eperitus, Halitherses and Mentor accompanied Odysseus, and each felt the privilege of being there among so many great names. These were the elite of Greece, the pride of its young nobility, and in them burned the hope for its future.

No slaves were in attendance, as the meal that evening had been a frugal one, so with only a handful present from each suitor’s entourage the great hall was almost empty. Now, in the echo of their footsteps as they entered, they were able to appreciate the full size of the place. Without the distractions of food, wine or women the guests began to notice the splendid murals that decorated the walls, columns and ceiling, telling in vivid colour and larger-than-life imagery the rich mythology of Sparta’s past.

The air buzzed with their hushed voices as rumour spread her evils amongst the gathered warriors. They were excited by the prospect of war, though they did not yet know who or where the threat was from. But the thought of taking up their arms again in anger, after several years of relative peace on the mainland, excited everyone.

Foremost among them was Ajax, standing an imperious and awe-inspiring head and shoulders above everyone else, his eyes alight with the prospect of bloodshed. He was accompanied by his twitching half-brother, who had a habit of hiding slightly to one side of his giant sibling and peering out from behind his elbow. There also was Little Ajax, wearing his snake about his shoulders. His eyes were blackened and puffed up from the fight of the other day, but this did not prevent him from staring about himself with aggressive malice.

Diomedes saw the Ithacans enter and came over to greet them.

‘Magnificent, isn’t he?’ he said, indicating Ajax. ‘Can you imagine him in battle? Even the gods would fear such a man.’

‘That’s what he claims himself,’ Halitherses replied. ‘I’ve heard him bragging that he could defeat Ares and Athena put together, with his bare hands if he chose. That sort of talk will only bring trouble.’

Diomedes nodded. ‘It’s true he’s no respecter of the gods, but he’s still a man of honour and someone I’d be happy to count as a friend and ally. Agamemnon and I have spoken to him about the coming war and he’s taken the idea to heart. We didn’t give details – that’s for the council to reveal – but he’d go today if he could. He lives to fight and is totally without fear; if he’s afraid of death at all, it’s because he’ll no longer be able to fight and win glory for himself.’

‘There isn’t a man here like him,’ Eperitus said. ‘But his pride is dangerous. I hear he came without an escort because he resents the idea of needing protection. Apart from those two creatures that hang about with him, he fights alone. I even heard him say the rest of the suitors were little more than worried slave women, bringing so many soldiers with them. But I tell you truthfully, that kind of fearless independence makes a man unreliable and dangerous.’

‘Maybe so, Eperitus; but he’s also our greatest weapon. If you can believe it, they say his skin can’t be penetrated by any weapon, ever since Heracles’s lion-skin was laid over him as a baby. It’s also said that Heracles is the only man he respects. Can you imagine if those two ever came to blows? It’d be the war of the gods and the Titans all over again.’

Diomedes was clearly obsessed with the martial prowess of the king of Salamis. Having seen Ajax swatting aside the Myrmidons like ants, Eperitus shared his admiration of the man. However, he had always been taught to fight as part of a unit and remained naturally suspicious of anyone who fought alone.

They were joined by Menelaus, who greeted them in a friendly manner and said that things would begin shortly. Then, as he glanced about at the gathering, mentally counting off each of the suitors, something caught his attention.

‘Who’s that wearing the sheepskin vest?’

He pointed to a young man lingering in the shadows at the back of the hall. He was handsome but clearly of low birth; he had the appearance of a shepherd by trade, except that in place of a staff he carried a gigantic bow. It was even larger than the bow Iphitus had given to Odysseus, and Eperitus was relieved to see that the lad did not carry any arrows.

Suddenly there was a loud rapping as Agamemnon, carrying a long wooden staff, struck the stone floor and called for silence. A pause followed in which every eye was fixed upon the king of Mycenae, dressed in his immaculate white tunic, golden breastplate and red cloak. He looked back at them as the co-kings of Sparta took their seats beside him, waiting patiently for everybody to follow their lead. Then, when all were settled in the chairs provided, he spoke.

‘Nobles of Greece! Suitors to the princess Helen! I have called you to this council to discuss matters of war, but first it is right to weigh upon you the exalted company you are in this day. You are the pride of Greece; its highest-born. Some of you are the sons of gods; others accompanied Jason on his voyage to Colchis, or have fathers who were Argonauts; a few have recently returned from the siege of Thebes. And except for that unfortunate city and a handful of lesser states, every nation in Greece is represented here. Never before has such a wealth of rank and glory been brought together under one roof, and for that you should be proud.

‘Men will speak of this assembly for generations to come. But it’s not because of who we are that our children’s children will preserve the memory of this day. No, I tell you truthfully that we shall be remembered for our own deeds, for today we can forge an alliance of nations that will endure for ever. If you will accept my counsel you have the opportunity to bring peace to our homeland, and unify the Greek-speaking peoples in arms against the growing influence of the perverse East!’

They cheered his words until the rafters of the hall were filled with their shouts. Even though Agamemnon lifted his staff for silence they still cheered, standing up and raising their fists at the promise of war. Then, as the last echo of their approval finally died, he looked at each of the suitors in turn and spoke their names, some resounding with fame and greatness, others yet to earn the trappings of glory and honour.

At the mention of his own name, Ajax stood and held up his hand. Eperitus saw the anger flicker across Agamemnon’s brow, but in a moment he had controlled it and signalled for the man to speak.

‘You talk of war,’ he said, his great voice booming around the hall, ‘and you declare that these men are the greatest in the land, but you are wrong. How can you say this is an assembly of the finest warriors of Greece when its greatest hero has not even been invited? Where is Heracles?’

Murmurs of agreement came from the gathered warriors. At this, Tyndareus stood and moved to the front of the dais.

‘I wouldn’t want that wife-killer paying court to my daughter! His outrages have made him unwelcome wherever he goes, and if he came here I would send him back beyond the borders of my country.’

Ajax laughed. ‘You’d presume to send Heracles away from the gates of Sparta? Tyndareus, your words stand tall in his absence, but Heracles could take your daughter by force if he chose to. He may be old, but there’s no man here beside myself who could hope to match him.’

As he spoke there was a jostling in the crowd of warriors beside him and the shepherd boy stepped into the open space before the hearth. He stood there and looked about at the staring faces, yet said nothing.

‘Who in Hades are you?’ boomed Tyndareus, his anger at Ajax’s words venting itself upon the newcomer.

Though there were tears in his eyes the boy displayed no fear. Instead he lifted the gigantic bow above his head and showed it to the assembly.

‘This is the bow of Heracles,’ he said. ‘He gave it to me before he died.’

Suddenly there was a pause, a silent, collective intake of breath; then the hall exploded in uproar. As if with one voice, the guests let out a great cry and filled the room with their shouts of dismay. Ajax took two strides towards the boy and picked him up by the throat, shaking him like a toy and cursing him for a liar. Odysseus and Mentor rushed to rescue the stranger from the clutches of the giant. Behind them Agamemnon slammed the butt of his staff upon the dais and shouted for order, but it was not until Ajax controlled his anger and in his roaring voice commanded silence that peace was restored.

With a look in his eyes that threatened instant death, he leaned over the boy and ordered him to speak. But despite being strangled almost to death, the boy returned Ajax’s gaze without fear.

‘Heracles is dead,’ he confirmed. ‘His wife gave him a tunic rubbed with a poisonous ointment. It gave him so much pain that he built a funeral pyre for himself and ordered me to light it. I was tending sheep on the hills nearby and, as nobody else dared put a flame to the stack, he offered me this to put him out of his misery.’

The shepherd held up the bow again and everybody knew that he spoke the truth. It was of such a monstrous size that even Ajax would have difficulty in handling it, and in the boy’s grip it looked comically large.

‘I recognize it,’ the giant warrior said, putting a hand on the weapon. ‘Many times in my youth I saw Heracles using this bow. They say the arrows are charmed and cannot miss their target. It’s a great gift, boy; you must guard it well. What’s your name?’

‘I am called Philoctetes, sir. My father is Poeas of Malia.’

Ajax put a hand on the boy’s head and thumbed his scruffy, badly shorn hair. Then, taken by an overwhelming sadness at the news of Heracles’s death, he lowered his eyes to the flames that jigged happily in the hearth and fell into a deep silence. The rest of them turned to face the royal dais, still shocked to hear that the most renowned hero of their age had died. Most had thought it was not possible, but from that day on nobody ever saw or heard of the great man again, and so Philoctetes’s report became more widely accepted. But for those of them present the bow itself was proof enough, as they knew no man could forcibly take the weapon from such an owner.

Agamemnon handed the staff to Tyndareus and retired to his seat, where he also slumped into contemplative silence. The king of Sparta, however, stood before the assembly with a look of defiance on his face. He rapped the staff once to demand their attention, then declared in a loud voice, ‘Helen is my daughter. Any man who wishes to marry her will first obey me, as his host and as the girl’s father. The time is coming soon – very soon – when I will make my choice. But before I do so I have one demand of all present. This demand is made of suitors first and foremost, but also of those men of power and influence who have come here as advisers, escorts or representatives. Any man who refuses to obey my wish is welcome to do so, and will not earn my enmity, but he must agree to leave Sparta this very day and not return without my permission. He can take with him any gift that he brought and go back to his home with my blessing.

‘To those of you who choose to stay I say this: when my decision is made almost all of you will be disappointed. Some of you may even be angry and might resent the good fortune of the chosen suitor. But know this also, that I will not tolerate argument or bloodshed in Sparta. Therefore my demand is that you take an oath, a sacred promise amongst you all to defend Helen and her husband against any who would threaten their happiness. Only when each one of you has given his word will I be satisfied; only then will I announce my choice.’

Tyndareus left a long pause but nobody spoke. They were proud men who knew the power of an oath, and they considered the king’s words in stern silence.

‘Is there any man here who refuses the oath?’

Again silence.

‘Then if you are sure in your minds and hearts that you will make this promise and honour it, stand up.’

There was a loud shuffling and scraping of chairs as the assembly rose to its feet. In the same moment the massive portals of the hall swung open, revealing the stars in the black sky above the courtyard. The night air came rushing in, filling their nostrils with its smell and prickling the skin on their arms and legs. The flames of the hearth leapt momentarily, then subsided again.

Two priests entered, leading a horse behind them. It was a beautiful beast, as tall as Ajax and blacker than Hades. Its coat shone blue as it stood in the doorway, washed clean by the light of the moon, but changed quickly to a fiery orange as it was walked into the great hall and up to the central hearth. Like a shadow plucked from the deepest hollow of the night, there was not a blemish of any other colour upon the animal. It stopped and tossed its head, snorting at the crowd of great men and confident of its own noble presence amongst them.

‘Lord Zeus,’ Tyndareus thundered, breaking the spell the magnificent beast had cast over them. ‘Father of the gods, great ruler of the heavens and the earth, bear solemn witness to the oath we now take.’

He nodded to the priests. One of them eased the animal’s head back, careful not to startle it, whilst the other slashed open its throat. The strong smell of horse was suddenly blotted out by the stench of fresh blood. Bright gore pumped from the open wound and onto the stone floor, splashing back up onto the watching suitors. An instant later the animal’s lifeless body collapsed into the pool of its own blood.

The priests knelt to joint the corpse with deft movements, tossing parts of the body to each of the surrounding warriors and ordering them to place a foot upon the joints. Soon there was little left of the horse but its head and hide. This looked curiously shrunken and matt-coloured as it lay between the priests. Finally they rose from their labours and raised their arms to the heavens in prayer. Eperitus placed his left foot on the broken rib bone that they had thrown towards him and watched Tyndareus come to the front of the dais again. This time he was accompanied by Agamemnon.

Eperitus glanced across at Odysseus. The spectacle of the bloody sacrifice had awed the young warrior and the muscles of his face were strained with tension, but Odysseus simply grinned back at him and winked. Eperitus was taken aback by his cool, slightly amused indifference, but before he could react further Tyndareus spoke.

As he held the staff before him, he asked them whether they promised to protect the husband of Helen against anybody who should wish Helen for himself. The words were not elaborate or extensive, as a Greek warrior will always obey the spirit of an oath, even those like Odysseus who could twist words like blades of grass. Every voice answered in agreement and thus the fateful oath was sworn.

A moment later one of the priests clapped his hands and a host of servants rushed in, carrying vessels of water to wash clean the floor of the hall. More servants brought bowls for the oath-takers to cleanse the blood from their skin, and soon they were seated again with food and drink set before them. Then Agamemnon stood and received the staff once more from Tyndareus.

The council of war had begun.

Chapter Twenty-one

ODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE

Fearing her cousin was already overripe for marriage – and would remain as little more than a maid to her demanding father if she did not force her hand – Clytaemnestra agreed to Damastor’s plan and immediately made an ointment for the purpose. She gave it to Neaera with instructions to rub it on the clothing of both Odysseus and Penelope and arrange for them to meet shortly afterwards. As long as they were together when the ointment began to take effect, she assured her, they would be unable to resist each other.

When Neaera asked how she was to apply the ointment to the princess’s clothing, Clytaemnestra handed her a vial filled with a pleasant-smelling liquid.

‘Give this to Penelope’s body slave, Actoris,’ she instructed. ‘It’s a mild poison. Put it into her drink and she’ll be paralysed with illness for a few days. Then you can volunteer to take her place, and after that you’ll have every opportunity to rub the ointment into Penelope’s clothing before dressing her.’

And so Neaera was able to prepare one of the plain woollen dresses that Penelope favoured and spread it out over the princess’s bed while she bathed in an antechamber. Satisfied that the first part of her task was done, she picked up a soft brush and went to scrub her mistress, who lay stretched out in the heated water with only a few wisps of steam to cover her nakedness. Her breasts and stomach had retained their natural pink hue, but the rest of her flesh was burned almost to the colour of a common slave’s, causing Neaera to frown disapprovingly. Helen, by whose standards Neaera measured everybody, kept out of the sun to preserve her pure white complexion; her cousin hardly seemed to care.

‘Not so rough with that brush,’ Penelope chided her. She stepped from the bath to drip on the stone floor, where Neaera at once began to dry her off. ‘Are you this brutal with Helen? She told me you had a delicate touch.’

The truth was that Neaera was nervous. First Clytaemnestra, then Damastor, had instilled in her the vital importance of getting Penelope to the feast at the same time as Odysseus. Damastor would apply the charmed ointment to his master’s tunic and ensure he was by the double doors of the great hall just before the food was brought in to the guests; Neaera was to do the same with Penelope, or risk Odysseus reacting to the first female he saw. But unless she could persuade Penelope to be a little quicker, they were going to be woefully late.

‘Give me that, you clumsy girl,’ Penelope said, taking the towel and drying herself. ‘Bring me my best robe – the purple one. I feel like a change tonight.’

‘But my lady . . .’ Neaera stuttered.

‘Stop flapping, Neaera. It’s in the basket by the wall. Hurry up and fetch it for me.’

Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to be fussy about what she wore? The slave girl ran past the dress she had prepared and began looking through the large woven basket by the wall, all the time thinking about what she should do. There was not enough ointment left and no time to apply it anyway. Then, as she found the neatly folded dress in the basket, she heard Penelope pad barefoot into the room behind her.

‘Come on, then. I’m dry,’ she said, holding out her arms for Neaera to slip the dress over her naked body.

Neaera stood up, clutching the dress to her chest, but as she did so she felt it snag on the weave of the basket and tear.

‘Oh, my lady! I’m so sorry,’ she said, tears rimming her eyes. She was too shocked to realize that her clumsiness had solved her dilemma.

Penelope sighed at the sight of the rip.

‘Never mind, Neaera. Don’t cry, now: I can mend it after the feast. I suppose I’ll have to wear this old thing you’ve laid out on the bed for me instead.’

Suddenly, as if Penelope might change her mind, Neaera ran over to the bed and held the large oblong of cloth before her. ‘This is just fine,’ she said, turning the simple garment this way and that as if it were an item of great beauty. ‘You’ll look wonderful in it, my lady.’

‘Of course I won’t, and you know it. And just for once I wanted to look attractive.’

Neaera sensed something in Penelope’s tone and enquired whether she wanted to catch the eye of anyone in particular.

‘Perhaps,’ Penelope answered. ‘But it doesn’t matter. Like most men here, he’s much too besotted with Helen to look at any other woman. Now, put that dress on me before I catch cold, and then you can put my hair up. Assuming you can do that without mishap?’

Neaera was embarrassed but managed to return the princess’s well-meant smile. She took the dress, folded it once and wrapped it about Penelope’s body. With the deft skill of one who had dressed women all her life, she pinched the upper corners of the cloth over her mistress’s left shoulder and fastened them together with a golden brooch. She then used a second clasp to secure the garment over the other shoulder. This left the left side of Penelope’s body exposed, but the slave girl quickly fastened the two open halves of the dress with a cord about the waist. Then, remembering the ointment, she drew the woven material closer together so that it rubbed against Penelope’s skin, ensuring that Clytaemnestra’s potion was brought into contact with it. The adjustment also left less flesh exposed so, keen for Penelope to look as alluring as possible for Odysseus, Neaera arranged the material to fall open about one of her long, smooth legs, exposing it almost to the buttock.

Pleased with the effect of this, she proceeded to bunch Penelope’s hair above her head with all possible haste, conscious that the feast would already be starting in the great hall below them. Despite this, Neaera risked precious time to make the princess look as attractive as she could. For someone who was used to the obsessive demands of Helen, the task was an easy one to execute. As a final touch, Neaera applied a little fine soot to darken her eyebrows and the transformation was complete. Penelope no longer looked like the plain and simple daughter of Icarius, whom only the most discerning men ever noticed for her natural beauty; now every feature of her femininity had been emphasized for all to see. Penelope asked Neaera how she looked, and was told she could not fail to catch the eye of every man in the hall.

‘Hmmm,’ Penelope purred. ‘I feel good, too. Despite your hasty manner, Neaera, I think you’ve worked wonders with those clumsy fingers of yours. For the first time in ages I actually feel attractive. It’s like I’ve had too much wine, but instead of going to my head it’s worked its way under my skin. I’m tingling all over.’ She looked down at herself and ran her hands over her stomach and thighs. ‘You’ve done me up a little tight, though,’ she added, and proceeded to loosen the cord about her waist so that her bare ribs and the swell of her left breast fell open to view. ‘That’s better. Now, let’s go to the feast.’

As usual, the great hall was filled with suitors, warriors and slaves. Some of the guests were seated about a bard who sang a song on a lyre, recalling the feats of ancient heroes. Others were filling themselves with food or sharing wine with the friends they had made during the seemingly endless weeks spent at the palace. But as Penelope arrived their heads began to turn, in ones and twos at first until, eventually, every man was looking at her. She returned their lascivious stares, delighting in the feel of the air fanning across her bared flesh. She felt drunk with her own sensuality, and as her skin crawled with peculiar sensations she looked about the crowds of revellers, seeking one man in particular.

Neaera felt awkward beside her adopted mistress. They were only slightly later than the appointed time, but Damastor and Odysseus were nowhere in sight. This made her nervous, as she did not know what to do if one of the warriors should approach Penelope. Clytaemnestra had warned that Penelope’s intensified affections could easily be directed to any man, and unwanted attention could prove fatal to her lover’s plans. Then her fear became a reality as one of the men left his seat and walked over to them.

‘You look even more magnificent than usual tonight, Penelope,’ Little Ajax said, his small, closely-set eyes roaming up and down her body. He licked his thin lips and the snake about his shoulders did the same. ‘Maybe you’d like to join me for a little wine?’

Neaera looked at the man with distaste, repulsed by his broken nose and pockmarked cheeks. The snake about his shoulders had more charm than its owner, and so the slave girl was terrified to see Penelope look down at the man with something akin to desire in her expression.

‘If this man’s bothering you, mistress, I can fetch your father. He’s only over there.’

The warrior laughed. ‘As if a mere serving girl would dare approach the royal dais. Besides,’ he added, placing a hand on Penelope’s exposed thigh, ‘your mistress doesn’t appear to be complaining.’

‘Yes, Neaera,’ Penelope agreed, ‘there’s no harm in spending time with such a strong, good-looking man, is there? Why don’t you go back to my room and see if you can mend that dress.’ She turned back and ran a hand along the neck of Ajax’s snake. ‘Go on now.’

Everything was falling down around Neaera’s ears. This was not how things were supposed to have happened, but what could she do? She was only a slave, and not a very intelligent one at that. Feeling the panic growing inside her she glanced around the hall again. And there, finally, was Damastor.

‘Here, my lord, put this on. It’s a gift from the lady Helen.’

Damastor handed the tunic to Odysseus as he was about to throw on his usual clothes after bathing.

‘Her maid gave it me. She feels your old clothes are becoming a bit threadbare.’

And so they were, after so long away from home. Odysseus took the proffered gift and tossed his usual faded and repaired garment into a corner of the room. He had been so involved with Agamemnon’s plans during the past few days that he had almost forgotten Helen wanted him as her husband. She must be confident of his acceptance though, he thought, to be sending him gifts before he had confirmed his decision to Tyndareus.

He pulled the tunic over his head and felt it settle against his skin. Already he could hear the noise of the banquet on the ground floor of the palace and began mentally preparing himself for the questions that Agamemnon would push at him. The council of war had been a disastrous failure, as Odysseus had expected. Some openly accused Agamemnon of wanting to weaken their strength at home, thus making them vulnerable to Mycenaean armies. Beset by such paranoia, it had not taken long for the council of war to slip into chaotic farce, with its members shouting at each other or walking out. Now the Mycenaean king was desperately trying to restore the situation. Impressed by Odysseus’s suggestion of the oath, he had asked him to come up with a similarly shrewd idea for unifying the Greeks against Troy.

Despite the honour, Odysseus’s heart was not in it. Much though he admired Agamemnon’s character and shared his aspirations, his thoughts were focused on returning to his homeland and saving his people from Eupeithes’s reign. He missed the sight of the sea every morning, the smell of the salt water in the air and the cry of the gulls on the wind. He longed to see his father and mother and their faithful servants again. More than anything, he wanted to leave this world of political intrigue and power games and go back to the simple life he had always known.

Had he dared to, he could have returned months ago and used the clay owl Athena had given him. Breaking the tablet would have summoned the goddess, and with her beside him few could have withstood his vengeful fury. But his doubts had prevented him. What if he had broken the clay tablet and Athena had not come? What if it was just another trick of the gods? His lack of faith made him seek out more certain methods of recovering his father’s kingdom, and as a consequence he now faced the dilemma of choosing between Helen and Penelope. Between home and love. But whatever force he came away with from Sparta, be it the might of Tyndareus’s army or the reluctant loan of Icarius’s personal guard, and whatever strategy he devised for retaking Ithaca, in his heart he wondered whether he could achieve anything without the help of his patron goddess.

‘My lord?’ Damastor said, standing by the door. ‘Shall we go? The men have already descended to the feast.’

Odysseus tied the straps of his sandals and followed Damastor out into the empty corridor. There was a curious new sensation in his flesh as he anticipated the night’s banquet, lifting his spirits and sending his mind racing towards Penelope. He pictured her tall, slim body in his mind’s eye and could hardly believe the feelings of physical desire that were coursing through him. His imagination was filled with her, recalling every detail of her physique from her long feet and shapely legs to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her brown shoulders. Would she be there tonight? He hoped so. Though he still feared her rejection, which would compel him to accept Tyndareus’s offer of Helen, he drew renewed courage from the thought of being in her presence. Boldness won battles, not timidity, and tonight he knew he had to approach her or lay all hope of her aside. Just the thought of her made his skin tingle with anticipation, and suddenly he was grateful for the new tunic Damastor had given him.

‘Perhaps Penelope will be there,’ Damastor said, as if reading Odysseus’s mind. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, my lord, you seem to have an eye for her.’

Odysseus nodded. ‘She’s a real beauty, Damastor, and she’s got a quick mind, too. I intend to make her mine.’

Damastor smiled with secret satisfaction, hardly noticing the young slave girl who passed them by on the steps. Odysseus, however, stared after her with a grin on his face.

‘Or any girl, for that matter.’

Damastor put a hand on the prince’s shoulder and led him quickly away from alternative temptations, down into the maelstrom of the great hall. Almost at once, through the crowds of warriors and attendant slaves, he saw Neaera. Her eyes met his with helpless pleading.

Only then did he notice Little Ajax conversing with Penelope, and to his dismay he saw that the princess’s attitude was not one of coldness. Suddenly he saw his plans slipping out of his grasp in the most unexpected of manners.

‘My lord,’ he said, grabbing Odysseus’s elbow and pointing urgently at the group. ‘If you want to speak to Penelope, you’ve got to do something quickly. That Locrian troublemaker is talking to her.’

Odysseus looked over at the woman he loved. For many evenings he had watched her at the nightly feasts, a distant figure who had dismissed him contemptuously from her company, which was in contrast freely given to others. But never had she looked as alluring as she did tonight. The tail in her hair had gone and the long, dark strands were tied up in a loose coil above her head, baring her exquisite ears and neck to the hungry eyes of the men around her. It set Odysseus’s flesh alight to look at her, creating a vacuum that only his other senses could fill: the sound of her voice; the smell of her clean, feminine aroma; the feel of her smooth skin; the often imagined taste of her lips. The pricking in his flesh that had been stirring in him ever since he left his quarters became a frenzy of desire, aggravated further by Little Ajax’s interfering presence. Instinctively he clutched at his belt, where his sword would normally hang. Recalling its absence, he clenched his massive fists and walked towards the Locrian.

Little Ajax seemed to sense his approach and turned. The flatterer’s smile fell from his tight lips to be quickly replaced by the usual sneer of hatred, rucking up the side of his face as he stared at Odysseus.

‘What do you want? Can’t you see we’re talking?’

Odysseus smiled coldly. ‘So can everyone else. Penelope’s a valuable prize, and some people here have an interest in who talks with her.’

The princess looked at him. Her usual hostility was strangely absent, making the desire in his flesh burn more fiercely.

‘Go tell them to find another woman,’ Little Ajax responded. His pet snake hissed, flicking its tongue menacingly at the intruder. ‘There are plenty of slaves about, so stop wasting my time.’

‘Icarius doesn’t concern himself with slaves, but he does want to know what your interest in his daughter is. He sent me to tell you as much. If you’re wise you’ll go to him now, or it’s my guess you’ll be observing Penelope from the other side of the palace walls.’

The Locrian swore and spat onto the stone flags. Even he could not refuse the summons of a king or delay the matter for longer than Icarius’s patience would last. Reluctantly he turned to go, nodding tersely to Penelope and promising to return as soon as he could. He shot Odysseus a suspicious glance and shouldered past him into the crowd.

Odysseus seized Penelope’s arm and pushed her ahead of him to a corner of the great hall, out of the sight of Neaera, Damastor and the lustful eyes of the men who glanced at the princess.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Am I forbidden to speak with noble-born men? And besides, my father wouldn’t care who showed an interest in me.’

She shook his hand loose but her feeble anger could not disguise the deeper, more compelling feeling beneath. It showed in her dilated pupils and the colour in her cheeks. Her breathing became slightly heavier through her nostrils, so that she had to slightly open her mouth to steady its rhythm. Her nipples stood up beneath the woven material of her dress.

‘Why do you avoid me?’ he asked her, urgently.

‘I don’t know what you mean. You don’t have exclusive access to my company, Odysseus of Ithaca. And what does it matter whether I talk to you or not?’

Odysseus looked at her and knew that, for all his wit and guile, he could not lie to her – and would never want to.

‘Because I love you.’

Penelope looked at him with wide eyes, shocked by his admission. She continued to look at him, and as if for the first time took in the details of his face, his hair, his awkward, muscular body. The crazed tensions that had been crawling through her flesh since dressing became more fluid, running throughout her body with a wild abandon that loosened every nerve and made her horribly, frighteningly weak before him. The noises of the room were stilled by his heavy breathing, the light of the many torches dimmed by his green eyes as they searched into hers. She had wanted him before, but now it was as if she no longer had control of her truest desires. Her emotions had taken command of her body, foremost amongst them the dominant, all-consuming compulsion to be with him and to give to him everything that had been her own for so long.

‘Isn’t that why you’ve rejected me?’ Odysseus persisted.

He placed his hands on her sides, a presumption that she did not resist. The palm and fingers of his right hand parted the split in her dress and shaped themselves to the curve between her hip bone and lower ribs. His touch made her almost frenzied with the need of him.

‘Because you’re afraid of your own love for me, aren’t you? Tell me, Penelope. Say it.’

‘I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I want you.’

As the words forced themselves free from her lips she heard a voice calling her name. It was harsh and driven with anger; Little Ajax had discovered Odysseus’s trick and was forcing his way back across the great hall at that very moment. His shouts urged her to desperation.

‘I must go. Come to my room tonight – soon! There’s an olive tree opposite my window where you can enter without being seen by the guards. I’ll be waiting for you.’

Suddenly Damastor found them.

‘Little Ajax knows he’s been fooled, my lord. The runt is looking for a fight.’

‘I haven’t got time to give him that satisfaction tonight,’ Odysseus answered as he watched Penelope disappear into the throng. ‘She wants me. Quickly, Damastor, do you know an olive tree opposite the women’s quarters?’

A hazy sliver of moon slumbered beneath a thin veil of cloud, its half-lidded eye illuminating each swirl and eddy of the dark vapours as they were fanned across the night sky. By its dim light Odysseus picked his way up the twisted bole of the old tree, slipping dangerously in his haste to be with the woman he loved. His mind whirled with the excitement of knowing she returned his love and would very soon be his. Helen, the beacon that had drawn him to Sparta and the prize that would give him back his homeland, was forgotten.

He crawled out to the end of a long branch that pointed with forlorn rigidity towards a window in the palace wall. Leaning across, he seized the lip of the window and hauled himself over the ledge to land in a heap on the bedroom floor. He lay on his back and looked up at the plain but spacious room. Its high ceiling loomed above him, whilst by his head was the foot of a large bed. As he looked, Penelope’s face appeared over the edge and peered down at him.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I think so. Isn’t there an easier way to reach you?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she answered, watching him rise to his feet and stand before her. She sat up and the split in her dress fell open over her thigh. ‘Unless you want to fight your way through the guards.’

‘You’d be worth it.’

She tossed her head back and untied her hair so that it streamed down across her back. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling again the desire for Odysseus that had gripped her in the great hall. A spasm of sheer lust ran from her groin up into her breasts and down again to her stomach, flowing out into the very tips of her toes and fingers. Nervously, her hand wandered to the cord about her waist, fumbled with the knot and released it. The clinging dress drifted free of her arched back and buttocks, letting in the cool air of the moonlit room to play freely over her flesh.

She sensed the man watching her every move and, enjoying his attention, lifted her hand to the brooch at her shoulder. Her eyes remained closed as she undid the two pins, allowing the dress to slip down over her smooth skin to reveal her nakedness. For the first time in her life she had exposed her natural state to a man, and yet nerves and inexperience could not subdue the lust within her. Opening her eyes, she lay back on the bed and held out a hand to him.

‘Come here, Odysseus.’

In the corridors below them Damastor approached an officer of the guard, who barred his way with a spear.

‘No men beyond this point. Women only.’

‘But there’s an intruder in the women’s quarters. One of the slave women has just told me.’

The soldier looked at him puzzled. ‘That’s impossible, or I’d have seen him myself.’

‘Well, he’s up there. In Penelope’s room. Do you want to risk the wrath of her father?’

The guard did not seem frightened by the threat, but knew the duties laid upon him. ‘All right then, we’ll have a look. And you’d better return to the feast.’

Damastor headed back to the great hall, smiling to himself. The moment he realized Odysseus was intending to climb up to Penelope’s room, he had remembered that the punishment for entering the women’s quarters was death and seized his opportunity. At last, it seemed, the gods were on his side.

Behind him, the guard officer turned and called back along the corridor. Two men emerged with spears in their hands and came running towards him. One of them was directed to fetch King Icarius, whilst the other accompanied the officer up the steps that led to the next floor. They rushed along the torch-lit corridor that linked the many rooms of the women’s quarters, shouting the princess’s name as they ran. Turning a corner they were suddenly at the door to her room, where they paused momentarily to listen for any suspicious sound beyond the thick wood. Then they heard voices, hushed and urgent. The door burst open with one kick and they ran into the darkened room.

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

THE EXECUTION

‘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.’

Icarius laughed at the suggestion. ‘No. He raped my daughter, and I’ll be the one to put him to the sword. The right of revenge is mine.’

‘He’s my friend and, what’s more, he’s an Ithacan warrior. If a man is to die, let it be by the hand of one of his own countrymen.’

Tyndareus sighed loudly. Taking a sword from one of the guards, he handed it to Odysseus. ‘Be quick,’ he said. ‘I’m already sick of this whole affair.’

Odysseus took the weapon, but made no move to carry out the king’s request.

‘Not before the eyes of all these onlookers,’ he announced. ‘Let me take him down to the orchard by the bridge and carry out the sentence there, privately and with respect for the service he has given me. I give you my word Penelope’s attacker will receive his just rewards.’

‘No – do it here,’ Icarius demanded. ‘Where there are witnesses to the act.’

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. They had already come to regard Odysseus as too clever for the absolute truth, and though they respected him few trusted him. But at that moment Peisandros stepped from the ranks of the Myrmidons and joined Odysseus.

‘I’ll see that it’s done. Permit Odysseus to take this man to the orchard he talks of, the one by the tributary that runs into the Eurotas. I will be your witness. This is an evil business and, by the gods, I want to see it over.’

‘I agree,’ Menelaus said, his face full of disgust at the proceedings and Icarius’s lust for revenge. ‘Let Odysseus kill his friend and let Peisandros act as witness. He’s of noble birth and we can trust what he says.’

The early spring sky had filled with grey clouds and a wind was blowing across the courtyard now. Agamemnon and Tyndareus exchanged hushed words then quickly nodded their approval. Odysseus and Peisandros bowed low before them, then, as the first dollops of rain began to sink pits into the dust, they led Eperitus across the courtyard and through the gates.

For a while they walked in silence through the town, Odysseus on one side of Eperitus and Peisandros on the other, looking in every respect the escort that they were. The rain shower had been brief and as the townsfolk emerged from the shelter of homes and doorways they stared at them because of the prisoner’s beaten and bloodied state. A few children dared follow in their wake to throw sticks and stones at his back – instinctively identifying him as some form of criminal – but were chased angrily away by Peisandros.

Before long they reached the city walls and could see the bridge and the orchard only a short walk further on through the arched gateway.

‘Wait here and keep watch, Peisandros,’ Odysseus commanded, handing him the sword. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

With that he sprinted back up the hill at a speed that belied his heavy bulk. They watched him out of sight, wondering what had brought about his sudden desertion, and then Peisandros turned to the young soldier.

‘What’s all this about, Eperitus? I was with you last night before they sent everybody back to their quarters, so I know you couldn’t have been in Penelope’s room. You’re covering for someone, aren’t you?’

Eperitus remained silent.

‘Was it Odysseus? You can trust me not to say anything. If you’re standing in for the prince then I honour you for your sacrifice, but I’ll not see you murdered for something you didn’t do.’

At that point Odysseus reappeared, carrying a struggling goat under his arm.

‘Come on,’ he told them, and marched through the gate at a pace which they struggled to keep up with.

‘He’s keen to see you dead, my friend,’ Peisandros muttered as they dropped behind. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want you changing your mind. But don’t forget who’s carrying the sword now.’

Although his name was now a thing to be despised, Eperitus felt a glimmer of hope that the Myrmidon spearman did not want him dead. How he planned to save his life he did not know, though if it meant Odysseus would be found out he would freely have chosen death again. Either way, if he lived he knew that his time in Sparta was over and the life of an outcast lay once more before him.

They reached the orchard and sought the shade of the apple trees. Here Odysseus passed the restless goat to Peisandros and turned to Eperitus.

‘Come to the river bank,’ he ordered, and led him down to the water. Here he made him kneel and began scooping up handfuls of the cold water, pouring them over his friend’s head to loosen the caked blood. Then he removed his own cloak and, dipping a corner in the gurgling waters, began to gently dab the blood from Eperitus’s skin. If he winced, Odysseus tried again with more care, and did not stop until every bit was gone.

‘You’re a fool,’ he said, shaking his head at the numerous cuts and swollen bruises that decorated Eperitus’s body. ‘But a noble one, and I thank you for your loyalty. I was an idiot to be in Penelope’s room, though it was at her invitation and not my own imposition; but to have openly admitted it would have meant not only my death, it would also have heaped shame on the woman I love and brought an end to our mission! And nothing must stop me from restoring Ithaca to my father’s rule, even if it means allowing the death of my closest friends. Maybe you understand?’

Eperitus looked at the eddies flowing past on the surface of the tributary and wanted to ask Odysseus if that also meant choosing Helen over Penelope. The prince was prepared to let his friend die for his homeland, but would not give up the woman he loved in exchange for all the power he needed to put Laertes back on the throne. Or maybe he was preserving himself for Penelope, after all, and the return to Ithaca had been relegated to a secondary cause.

‘I have no home, my lord,’ Eperitus answered, ‘so I don’t blame you for wanting to regain yours. Even if you are sometimes rash in your actions.’

Odysseus laughed. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I know I love her and can barely pass a moment without thinking of her, but last night it was as if all my feelings for her were tied up in a knot and there was only one way to release them.’

Peisandros joined them.

‘We’re ready,’ Odysseus told him. ‘Now, give me back the sword.’

‘I can’t do that, my lord.’

‘Don’t be a fool, man, and do as I say.’

Peisandros put the goat down, which immediately began gnawing at the tough grass around the trees, and pulled the sword from his belt.

‘You know as well as I that Eperitus didn’t commit this crime. I don’t mean to disrespect your rank, Odysseus, but I won’t allow you to kill an innocent man.’

‘And I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ Odysseus replied. He pointed at the goat. ‘What do you think I brought that thing for? A sacrifice to the gods for letting me murder my friend? Of course not, you buffoon – I’m going to kill the goat and dip Eperitus’s cloak in its blood. Hopefully that and your testimony will convince them.’

‘What?’ Peisandros exclaimed. ‘You gave them your word without having any intention of killing Eperitus?’

‘Just as you told them you’d be a witness to my death,’ Eperitus added, ‘with every intention of seeing me escape.’

The realization brought a broad smile to the Myrmidon’s lips as he handed the sword to Odysseus. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Well, let’s get on with it, and may the gods forgive us.’

At that moment they heard the thudding of hoofs and turned to see Icarius arrive, mounted on a white stallion. He stopped and looked about himself until he caught sight of the warriors amongst the apple trees. With a sharp dig of his heels he drove the horse into the orchard, ducking his head to clear the branches. Odysseus gave the goat a quick kick and sent it running off towards the city walls, whilst shooting Peisandros a look of frustration and despair.

‘I’m not too late, then,’ Icarius sneered, looking down at them and noting with satisfaction that Eperitus was kneeling and Odysseus stood over him, sword in hand. ‘I was half expecting you to have let him go, Odysseus.’

‘You should have more trust in a man when he gives his word,’ the Ithacan retorted.

‘Trust you? Why do you think I’m here? Now, let’s get on with it.’

Eperitus spat blood into the dirt where his horse stood, but Odysseus laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

‘Peace now, my friend; at least try to die with honour,’ he said as he stepped in front of Eperitus, turning his back towards Icarius. Then his voice sank to a whisper. ‘You always said you were a good horseman – now’s your chance to show me. Do you understand?’

Eperitus nodded and lowered his head. He heard the stallion shifting as Icarius tried to get a better view, and his mind raced to plan his next move. He raised one knee, ready to spring. Then Odysseus drew himself up to his full height and lifted the sword over his head.

An instant later, Eperitus thrust himself upwards and barged him aside with his shoulder. The prince tumbled deliberately into Peisandros and the pair of them fell into a heap. Icarius’s eyes widened as Eperitus sprinted towards him, but his reactions were too slow and as he tried to turn the horse around Eperitus caught his heel and pushed upwards with all his strength. The king fell to the damp ground with his arms and legs flailing, and Eperitus leapt skilfully onto the animal’s back. It continued to turn, snorting loudly in confusion, but its new rider quickly took the reins and calmed it with a hand on its neck.

For a moment he was tempted to drive the horse over the prostrate form before him, but the temptation quickly faded as he saw the terror in Icarius’s eyes. Instead, he turned the stallion towards the bridge and the road that led to the Taygetus Mountains.

‘Farewell, Odysseus,’ he said. ‘I’ll look for you again after Helen is married. Until then, make sure you choose the right daughter of Lacedaemon to keep the thieves from your house.’

With that he spurred the horse out of the orchard and onto the road, then drove it at a gallop towards the mountains. He knew that his place was at Odysseus’s side, and so he would hide out in the foothills until the time came for the Ithacans to return home.

The news of Eperitus’s escape was greeted with anger amongst the suitors and their retinues, though the Ithacans and a few others were relieved that the cruel sentence had not been carried out. Several mounted soldiers had been sent to hunt for the fugitive, but none had been able to locate him and – against Icarius’s wishes – the search was soon abandoned. The feast that evening was subdued, the atmosphere soured by the events of the day. Eventually, Tyndareus could stand no more of the sombre mood in the great hall, and asked Odysseus to walk with him in the gardens.

‘This may not be the ideal time, Odysseus,’ he said, placing a broad arm about his shoulder and leading him to the very bench the prince had shared with Penelope weeks before, ‘but I need to know your answer to the little matter that remains unresolved between us. My daughter awaits your reply.’

‘Tyndareus, for these past months you’ve been like a father to me,’ Odysseus responded. ‘Indeed, to all of us suitors. You’ve given us the best of your food and drink, provided us with beds and kept us safe under your roof. No host could be kinder, and nothing would please me more than to become your son-in-law.’

His words pleased the king, who had been rather bemused by his daughter’s interest in the Ithacan. He wanted to make her happy, though, and was prepared to break his agreement with Agamemnon for her sake. The king of Mycenae would be disappointed and perhaps angry that Menelaus would no longer be chosen for Helen, especially as the council of war had been such a disaster; but Tyndareus was tired of his power stratagems and wanted an end to the constant – and expensive – feasting.

‘However,’ Odysseus added, ‘the events of last night and today have changed matters. I can no longer marry Helen.’

‘But why?’ Tyndareus said, clearly shocked and offended.

‘It’s my duty to marry Penelope.’

‘You’d turn down the greatest prize in all Greece for . . . for my niece?’

Odysseus shrugged, as if the comparison between the women was of no consequence. ‘She was dishonoured by an Ithacan and I feel responsible for that. That’s why, in fulfilment of your debt to me, I want you to persuade Icarius to let me marry Penelope.’

Tyndareus sighed, resigned to Odysseus’s inexplicable sense of honour. ‘I may hold sway over my brother in many things, Odysseus, but he’s very sensitive about his daughter.’

‘I’ve seen that already, though I’m also told he has little love for her. Perhaps he’ll be glad of a chance to see her married off.’

‘No king has much use for female offspring; they’re more trouble than they’re worth, as I will gladly swear by any god you care to name. But he relies on Penelope far more than he knows, and might think twice when someone asks to marry her. Especially if that person is you, Odysseus. He never liked you.’

‘And today hasn’t improved his opinion,’ Odysseus said, thinking aloud. ‘But nevertheless, you’ll persuade him for me?’

‘I honour my debts,’ the king reassured him. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

Chapter Twenty-three

THE FOOT RACE

The palace gates yawned wide to allow Icarius’s speeding chariot into the courtyard. Its wheels spewed up plumes of dust as they traced great arcs across the enclosure, following the circuit of the walls twice round before the king leaned back on the leather reins and brought the vehicle to a sliding halt. The four horses stood hock-high in a brown mist from the dirt they had ploughed up, stamping and snorting impatiently as their master spoke calming words from the chariot behind them.

Half a dozen attendants rushed out of the stables as Icarius stepped down. Beating the dust from his cloak, he watched three of the men unharness the team of horses and take them away to be fed on corn and white barley. The others dragged the chariot over to the stable and tilted it against the wall with its pole pointing up at the sky, before covering the body of the vehicle with a large tarpaulin.

Grudgingly satisfied with their efforts, Icarius turned on his heel and crossed the courtyard towards the main entrance of the palace. His work had given him an appetite and he was just beginning to look forward to a good meal when Tyndareus appeared, blocking the doorway with his well-fed bulk.

‘Welcome back, brother. Did you find anything?’

‘No. The overnight rain has washed away all hoof-prints, so I assume he has escaped through the mountain passes by now. Though I get a feeling that’s not the last I’ll see of him. But right now I have a voracious appetite to satisfy. Do you want to join me?’

Tyndareus stepped aside to let his brother pass. ‘I’m ahead of you,’ he said. ‘There’s food waiting for us in the hall. You see, I’ve a little request to make of you.’

Icarius did not wait to ask, but made his way at once to the great hall where two slaves were waiting to serve him. Tyndareus sat and watched him satisfy his hunger, wondering how his brother would react to the notion of Odysseus as a son-in-law, or how best to cajole him into accepting.

‘I’ve some news for you. Good news, I think you’ll agree.’

‘Oh yes?’ Icarius mumbled through a mouthful of pork. ‘The best news would be that you’ve finally chosen a husband for Helen and the palace will soon be free of suitors. They’re starting to show signs of restlessness, you know.’

‘Not yet. But it’s good news, nonetheless, and involves your daughter.’

Icarius carried on eating as if nothing had been said, but Tyndareus refused to play his brother’s games. He knew he had caught his interest, whether Icarius acknowledged it or not, so he determined to keep his silence until he received a reply. Eventually, after another mouthful of food, Icarius spoke.

‘Which one?’

‘Penelope, of course. Odysseus feels ashamed that one of his men was responsible for the offence against her. He wants to restore her honour by marrying her.’

Suddenly whatever Icarius was swallowing lodged in his throat and brought on a fit of choking. One of the attendant slaves stepped up and irreverently thumped him between the shoulder blades, sending a half-chewed blob of meat flying from the king’s mouth into the fire, where it fizzed into destruction. ‘That pauper,’ he rasped, still struggling for breath. ‘I’d rather see Penelope die than marry a trumped-up commoner.’

Concealing the pleasure he took from his brother’s discomfort, Tyndareus offered him a cup of wine. ‘You should be more generous in your opinions. Odysseus may not be a powerful man, but he has a fine mind and a strong character. He’d make a good son and, besides, I have an inkling Penelope likes him.’

‘Do you indeed? And where does her opinion come into this matter? She’ll marry who I tell her to, and I have no intention of giving any daughter of mine to an upstart prince without a kingdom to his name. Why should Helen have the greatest suitors in Greece flocking to her, when Penelope has to make do with beggars and peasants?’

‘Because she’s my daughter, of course!’ Tyndareus snapped. ‘I’m the eldest of us, Icarius, and whoever marries Helen will inherit the throne of Sparta. They won’t get that from taking Penelope to wife, will they? That and the fact that Helen is the most beautiful woman in Greece, if not the world.’

Icarius shrank into his chair, withdrawing under Tyndareus’s vocalization of his own superiority. But his proud spitefulness forced him to bite back.

‘She certainly has the looks of a god,’ he retorted.

Tyndareus stood, his eyes blazing at the accusation. ‘Watch your wayward tongue, brother,’ he warned. ‘Now let’s say I’m telling you Odysseus would be a good choice for Penelope. Don’t you always say the girl gets under your feet? More than once you’ve said how you’d love to be rid of her. Well, now is your opportunity.’

‘Damn you, Tyndareus,’ Icarius squirmed. ‘Maybe I would allow it, if you insisted, but the truth is I can’t.’

‘Can’t?’

‘No. Someone has already asked to marry her. One of your guests.’

‘That’s ridiculous. They came here for Helen, not Penelope.’

‘Not this one, I think. He came here with Ajax.’

‘Zeus’s beard, Icarius. You don’t mean Little Ajax, do you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Icarius confirmed with a nervous nod. ‘He asked me after the assembly this morning. He’s besotted with her, in a way I’ve never noticed anyone to be interested in Penelope before.’

‘Perhaps you should pay more attention to what goes on around your daughter, then. But I wish it had been anyone other than that Locrian hothead. There’ll be trouble if he gets refused for Odysseus’s sake. They hardly see eye to eye as it is.’

‘That’s good,’ Icarius said. ‘For all of Little Ajax’s anger, I’d much rather have Penelope married to a real prince than a scheming mendicant like Odysseus.’

Tyndareus was in a dilemma. He wanted to honour his promise to Odysseus, who had helped ensure there would be no disagreement when Helen’s husband was chosen. Equally he did not want Little Ajax’s temper to threaten the hard-won peace that still existed within the palace walls. Especially not over a minor princess such as Penelope. Then an idea came to him.

‘Perhaps you’ll let them decide the matter between themselves.’

‘There’s nothing to decide, is there?’ Icarius replied. ‘I intend to allow Little Ajax to marry Penelope. Odysseus can go to Hades for all I care.’

‘I don’t think you should make any rash judgements, brother, especially as I’ve given Odysseus my word that I’ll get a reasonable answer from you. Why don’t we let them compete for her? A javelin-throwing contest, perhaps. Better still – a boxing match. A woman loves nothing more than to see two men spill each other’s blood for her sake.’

Icarius knew better than to cross his older brother once he had made up his mind about something, but long years of being the inferior sibling had taught him how to manoeuvre around Tyndareus.

‘I can see you’re determined about this. Well, as Penelope’s my daughter, perhaps you’ll condescend to allow me to choose the nature of the competition?’

Tyndareus had already decided to offer Little Ajax a substantial bribe to under-perform in whatever sport was chosen, so happily nodded his agreement. As an ally he believed Odysseus would prove to be worth the expense.

‘Then I suggest a foot race,’ Icarius said, hardly able to suppress a smile. ‘Three days from today. I’ll agree to give Penelope to whoever wins.’

Odysseus groaned. ‘A foot race?’

‘Are you concerned?’ Tyndareus asked. They walked alone through the corridors of the palace on their way to the night’s feast. ‘I’ve watched you during the morning exercises and you look fit and strong. What are you afraid of?’

‘Little Ajax is the fastest runner in all of Greece, my lord. He may not look quick, but I’ve heard he can outrun any man alive and could even match Olympian Hermes in his winged sandals. Icarius has fooled you, I think.’

Tyndareus scoffed at the notion. ‘Maybe. But perhaps I’m not as stupid as my brother thinks: I’ve offered your rival a bribe to run slower than you – without making it look too obvious of course – and he has accepted. So much for love, eh?’

Odysseus was not convinced, though he did not say as much to the king. They reached the tall wooden doors of the great hall and walked up to the dais, where the other kings and princes awaited them. Little Ajax was there and nodded to them both in a surprisingly civil manner, which naturally made Odysseus suspicious. They took their usual seats and began the business of eating the food the servants brought to them and dousing their beards with the wine they poured into their cups. But after a while Odysseus rose from his seat and asked to be excused. To the surprise of the other high nobility he walked over to his own men, who were in their usual corner of the great hall next to the men of Rhodes.

As he looked about at their familiar, comforting faces and shared their jokes and laughter, his thoughts were firmly fixed upon the race. Though Odysseus was also a fast runner, he knew that if he was to rely upon his legs alone he would never win Penelope for his wife. Tyndareus’s bribe might prove enough to persuade the Locrian to lose, but Odysseus remained unpersuaded. Little Ajax hated to lose in anything to anybody; he competed not so much for the glory as for the delight of seeing others defeated. Odysseus knew he could not afford to take even the slightest risk.

‘Where are Halitherses and Damastor?’ he asked, suddenly noticing their absence.

‘Damastor has skulked off with that slave girl again,’ Antiphus answered.

‘And Halitherses?’

‘Ill. He ate some bad food and now he’s too sick to do anything but lie on his mattress and hold his stomach.’

Odysseus’s eyes gleamed and he sat up straight. ‘Antiphus, you’re an inspiration,’ he said. ‘Now give me some of that wine and let’s drink to the old man’s recovery. And our homes.’

They lifted their cups and murmured their approval – especially, Odysseus was pleased to note, at the notion of Ithaca. He drank and the troubles of the day became suddenly more bearable, thanks to the idea that had struck him. Then he saw Penelope enter the great hall, tall and elegant like a flower set amongst dull weeds. The heads of the guests and slaves observed her in silence, broken only by the occasional whisper that followed in her wake. He saw her glance at the royal dais and noticed with pleasure the disappointment on her face: he knew she had come in the hope of seeing him, and that her heart sank to observe him missing from his usual place.

He could not bear to be apart from her now that she was here. Before, when she had visited the nightly feasts, she had forced him to keep his distance. Believing that she hated him, he had reluctantly left her to her arrogant isolation. Now, though, he found the temptation of being with her irresistible. The thought that she would greet him with a similar strength of longing was a pleasure he could not wait to taste. He rose from his seat and she turned instinctively towards him. There was a fire in her eyes that burned only for him, oblivious to the watching crowd who knew of her shame. Her nostrils fanned open briefly as she saw him, and then without even the glimmer of an acknowledgement she turned and left the hall.

Odysseus snatched a glance at the royal dais. Icarius sat next to the empty chair that Little Ajax had occupied only moments before, watching his daughter as she retreated from the great hall. But Odysseus had no concern for the king or any of the other nobles who looked at Penelope with accusing eyes. That they suspected her of inviting men to her room, as palace rumour now suggested, did not concern him; that Little Ajax must be moving through the crowd in pursuit of her did.

He slipped out of the great hall, unnoticed by the throng of people who were already discussing the departed princess. Outside in the moonlit inner courtyard priests were sacrificing oxen to the ever-watchful gods. They burned thighbones wrapped in glistening fat, the twisting smoke from the fires mingling with their verbose and wailing prayers, while their attendants cut up the animals’ flesh to supply the feast.

Odysseus saw his rival amongst them and ducked quickly out of sight behind one of the pillars that supported the roof of the gallery that circumvented the inner courtyard. From here he watched the attendants shake their heads and shrug their shoulders in response to Little Ajax’s urgent enquiries about Penelope. Then Odysseus heard his name whispered behind him and turned to see the princess, hiding behind another of the pillars. She beckoned to him as she disappeared through a side-door back into the palace.

Odysseus followed her into a corridor that, he guessed by the smell of food, led to the kitchens. She turned and in an instant they were in each other’s arms, kissing and abandoning themselves to their need for each other. The brief but intense flirtation of the night before had left them unfulfilled and tense with frustrated desire, and only the appearance of a slave returning to the kitchens tempered their passion. Penelope grabbed Odysseus by the hand and led him by a complex route through the darkened corridors and eventually to a room stacked with dust-covered clay tablets.

Odysseus looked about at the room. It was unlit and without windows, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. From what he saw he doubted the place had been used for years, except perhaps for secret liaisons between the people who lived and worked in the palace. ‘You know I’m to compete for you against Little Ajax?’ he said.

‘Yes. Tyndareus told me,’ she replied, smiling at him. Her teeth were white in the darkness of the room. ‘He says he offered Little Ajax a bribe to lose, and that he accepted. I can’t wait to be yours. I love you, Odysseus.’

He kissed her lightly and stroked her hair, and in response she put her arms about his neck and pulled his face to hers. Moments later she withdrew and looked into his green eyes.

‘You would have been my first, Odysseus, if we hadn’t been disturbed. I’ve preserved myself for so long knowing one day I’d meet the man I love, and now you’re here and I’m consumed with the need of you. Don’t keep me waiting any longer, I beg you, not even for a day.’ Then it occurred to her she might have misjudged his feelings. Perhaps the need was all hers, and Odysseus bore no attraction for her. ‘Or maybe the other night had no meaning for you?’

Odysseus dismissed her doubts with a shake of his head. ‘I swear by Athena, Penelope, I love you more than anything else. You mean more to me than my home and my family, and I’d gladly die for either of those. If I never restore Ithaca to my father’s rule, but have you, then I’ll be content and count myself blessed by the gods. You’re my new homeland. Wherever you are, that is where my heart lies also. But you aren’t mine yet. Little Ajax has no intention of accepting Tyndareus’s bribe, I’m certain of it, so unless I can find a way of beating him nothing I can do will stop you from being his.’

‘But why shouldn’t he accept the bribe?’ Penelope protested. ‘He told Tyndareus he would.’

‘And perhaps he means it. But if he can fool me into believing I’ll be given an easy victory then his task will be even easier. He intends to marry you, I’m sure of it, and no amount of Tyndareus’s gold will turn his mind from taking you back to Locris with him. No, I have to find another way to defeat him.’

‘Everybody says he’s too fast for you, though. You’ll never beat him.’ Her chin sank onto her chest. ‘Perhaps it’s my fate to marry him and spend the rest of my days on Locris. Though I’d rather kill myself first.’

‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘I can’t think of anything worse than not being with you, Odysseus. At least if we were lovers I’d have that memory to take with me to Locris.’

‘No,’ he insisted. ‘Your love will be the inspiration that takes me to victory. Only when I’ve defeated Little Ajax will I take the prize. And I already have an idea of how to ensure victory.’

‘How?’

‘I’m not certain yet, but if I can put something in his food the night before the race, something guaranteed to make him ill, then he won’t be able to run and Icarius will be forced to concede. It might not be the way others would approve of, but my wits are my gift from the gods, just as Little Ajax’s is his great speed. The only problem is that I’ve no idea of herb lore and don’t know what I could use to poison him. Even if I could, I wouldn’t know how to administer it without the risk of others being made ill too.’

Penelope took Odysseus’s hand and held it. ‘You may have the method, my darling, but I have the means. Clytaemnestra knows the properties of every herb in the Eurotas valley, as well as how to use them. She’ll give me something to put in Little Ajax’s drink at tonight’s feast. I know the wine stewards, and they’ll do whatever I ask of them.’

Odysseus returned her grin. ‘You aren’t only beautiful and desirable, Penelope, you’re also very cunning. The gods could have made us for each other. And one day you’ll make the most wonderful queen Ithaca has ever had.’

It was the morning of the race, a fine spring morning with washed blue skies and a strong breeze blowing in from the Taygetus Mountains. Odysseus stood with Agamemnon, Tyndareus and Icarius under the shade of the apple orchard, waiting for Little Ajax to arrive. It was almost half a year since he had come to Sparta, and with spring approaching the prince felt more keenly than ever the urge to return home. Something in his blood told him matters were getting worse back on Ithaca, and that his people were crying out for him.

‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ Tyndareus announced.

‘Then the competition is void,’ Icarius declared. ‘Penelope doesn’t go to either suitor.’

‘Odysseus wins by default,’ Agamemnon corrected.

Icarius noticed a faint smile of triumph pass across Odysseus’s face and had to bite his lip. ‘He’ll come. Perhaps he drank too much last night.’

As they spoke, Little Ajax appeared at the entrance to the city walls. He was accompanied by Teucer, who twitched repeatedly at his friend’s shoulder as they approached. Odysseus, though frustrated to see his challenger had mustered enough strength to show up for the race, noted the fragility with which he walked. Little Ajax’s face was bloodless beneath his tan and there was not a man amongst them who did not notice the weakened state of the warrior. Suddenly he paused, put a hand on his stomach and ran behind the stone wall that encircled the orchard. Moments later loud noises declared unceremoniously the cause of his distraction.

Despite the chill wind that blew down from the mountains, Odysseus threw off his cloak and stood naked on the dirt road, ready to begin the race back up to the palace. When he finally re-emerged, Little Ajax quickly shed his own clothing and took up his place beside his opponent.

‘You bastard,’ he growled beneath his breath. ‘You did this to me, didn’t you?’

‘I’ve evened things up,’ Odysseus admitted. ‘And now I’m going to beat you.’

Little Ajax’s innards groaned in response, sending a spasm of pain through him like a punch to the midriff. He seized his stomach with both hands and bit back a grunt of agony.

‘Don’t be so confident, you Ithacan swine. I know it was you in Penelope’s room, though you’re too cowardly to admit it. But even blaming one of your own men won’t save her for you. I’m still the fastest man in Greece.’

At that, and without waiting for the signal, he sprang off. Odysseus looked in disbelief as the short, muscular man sprinted away from him. Within moments he was already back up to the city walls.

‘Go on then!’ Tyndareus bellowed.

An instant later Odysseus was in pursuit, running as fast as his legs would propel him. He was a strong runner, confident of his ability to compete with anyone, and he had the endurance for longer races such as this one through the streets of Sparta. He was also exhilarated by the challenge and felt a new release of energy flooding his arteries; the muscles in his legs bore his awkward, heavy frame with ease, and as he used his arms to balance himself and build up a rhythm he could sense his pace quickening. Despite Little Ajax’s head start, the race was on.

The air rushed over Odysseus’s face and through his thick red hair, increasing the sensation of speed as new bursts of vigour fed his muscles and drove him on still faster, his lungs pumping the air in and out of his body, his heart pushing the blood through his straining chest and limbs. And yet he saw Little Ajax disappearing through the city gates ahead of him and knew his opponent was intent on losing him. He had felt nothing but confidence since seeing Penelope hand a small vial to a wine steward the night before; his sense of certainty had diminished only slightly when, to his surprise, Little Ajax had defied Clytaemnestra’s poison to show up for the race; but now it was draining rapidly away as he realized the truly unbelievable speed and power of his rival. The man’s reputation was well deserved.

For an instant Odysseus tasted fear. The bitter gall of imminent defeat now replaced the expectation of victory that had accompanied his dreams the night before. Though visibly weakened, Little Ajax had somehow found the strength not only to run fast, but to outstrip Odysseus and keep stretching the distance between them. Dispirited, Odysseus pressed on in his wake, through the city gates that loomed up large before him and past the lone guard in full armour. As he sprinted fiercely to catch up with the Locrian, his thoughts turned despairingly to Penelope and, with a stab of terror, he realized he was about to lose her for ever.

He gasped a prayer to Athena and focused his thoughts on Penelope, trying to forget the exhaustion in his limbs and remember all the things that he loved about her. All he could think of was the way she had humiliated him when they first met, but it was enough. Suddenly a surge of energy filled his muscles. Like a giant hand at his back, it pushed him on to meet the sharp slope of the main street of Sparta, up which he must pursue Little Ajax if he was to win the woman he loved. It wound its serpentine way up the hill on which the city was built, doubling back on itself several times until it reached the palace gates where Menelaus and Diomedes were waiting to greet the victor. The broad route had been cleared of townsfolk for the purpose of the race, so Odysseus knew that the figure disappearing around the bend ahead of him could be none other than Little Ajax.

Encouraged to see his opponent still within his grasp, Odysseus sensed his limbs held yet more in reserve and threw himself into the pursuit. He took the bend, his bare feet finding footholds in the rutted, sun-baked mud, and saw his quarry ahead of him, struggling now against the steepness of the hill. The sweat poured from Odysseus’s naked body as he lengthened his stride to close the gap further, but he doubted he was suffering to the same degree as his rival, whose rasping breath he could now hear just ahead of him.

The road bent back again to the left then suddenly gave way to a gentler angle. Both men found a new surge of speed and ran as fast as their flagging muscles would allow, their arms pumping desperately as they sought advantage over each other. They raced on through the winding streets, their hearts thumping horribly inside the stifling confines of their chests, and slowly Odysseus began to close the distance between them. Soon they were barely a sword’s length apart, and in desperation Little Ajax threw a punch with the side of his fist. It caught his pursuer in the ribs, but the blow lacked the strength to throw him off his tail. He repeated the tactic, this time moving nearer to the house-fronts on the right-hand side of the street, trapping his opponent before aiming a higher punch at his face. Odysseus, unable to distance himself without falling back, received the blow in his left eye. He lost his balance and crashed into the wall of a house, before stumbling to his knees in a cloud of dust.

He was up again in an instant, but his rival had already disappeared around the final bend in the road. Odysseus heard the cheering of the warriors who lined the last stretch of the race to the palace gates, and for a dark moment he sensed defeat.

Then, as his heart sank, a new resolve stirred within him. The thought of losing Penelope was something he could not accept, or even contemplate. It clanged against the solid core of his character and insisted the race was not yet over. A shock of anger erupted through him, pouring every last drop of remaining strength into his legs. He began to draw fresh speed from his tired limbs. The muscles tensed agonizingly, but with each thrust of his legs he sensed the burden of his body weight decrease. Suddenly they launched him around the final bend and back into the race.

A new roar greeted his appearance. He saw the Locrian turn in surprise, the panic filling his eyes as he knew Odysseus could still rob him of victory. Further on the gates of the palace were open, guarded on either side by Diomedes and Menelaus, waiting to announce the winner. The volume of spectators’ shouts was enormous, driving him on relentlessly until he was at his Little Ajax’s shoulder once more.

He threw the final reserves of his strength into a last push to be first to the gates. But whatever force had kept his legs moving at such speed and for so long suddenly drained away beneath him. He willed himself on, desperately, but felt only a faint impulse in response. It was barely enough. He fell sprawling into the mouth of the palace gateway, not knowing whether it had been sufficient for victory. The last thing he saw as his mind collapsed into darkness was Diomedes and Menelaus leaping in the air like madmen, to the sound of endless cheering from the warriors of every state in Greece.

Chapter Twenty-four

EPERITUS AND CLYTAEMNESTRA

Eperitus rode to a village below the foothills of the Taygetus Mountains, where he exchanged Icarius’s stallion for a blanket, a dagger, and a few days’ supply of bread and meat. It was a sorry trade, but he desperately needed food and a weapon. Besides, he excused himself, the horse would only be a burden if he was to hide out amongst the frowning ridges and inhospitable peaks above. Swinging the bag of food onto his shoulder, he started up the crumbling road that struggled into the coppery-brown mountains.

After a while he found what he was searching for: the lip of a rock shelf overlooking the fertile plains of Sparta and the road through the mountains. He made his way carefully and slowly up the loose, scree-covered slopes until, shortly, he was standing in the centre of a shallow bowl that was an ideal place for a camp. It had an overhanging crest of rock to provide shelter from wind and rain, whilst its natural concavity would keep him out of sight from anyone below. And if he needed to make a defence, the only approaches were up steep gradients from the valley or the mountain road.

The westering sun was on his back as he saw out the last of the daylight, dangling his legs over the rim of his hiding place. Soon the brown light of dusk choked the colour and detail from the valley and his mind turned naturally to thoughts of warmth and food. He decided to risk a fire and wandered the slopes collecting dead bushes and branches from the few stunted trees that grew there, before sitting down to make tinder and kindling with his dagger. He shaped a nest of dried grass and put the tinder inside, then sharpened a stick and began vigorously rubbing a groove into a piece of wood. After a few moments he tipped a small coal into the tinder nest and blew on it until a puff of flame appeared. Carefully shielding it from the night breeze, he transferred it to the pile of kindling and soon a crackling blaze was bathing the rocky shelf in orange light.

The rest of the night was lonely and thought-filled. As Eperitus lay in his thick blanket and listened to the spit and pop of the fire, he looked up at the white moon that flitted between the ragged fronds above and thought of the future. Meeting Odysseus had been a blessing from the gods: at the prince’s side he had fought men and monsters and brought glory to his name; he had spent months in the company of Greece’s finest men, and had even spoken with one of the immortals. But now the fickle gods had forsaken him again, taking back what little honour he had won for himself and leaving him once more destitute and without hope. Unless he could somehow rejoin Odysseus and help him win back Ithaca, he would never redeem himself from the shame of what his father had done. Tortured by the memory, his descent into sleep was slow and fitful.

The next day was spent watching the gleaming walls of Sparta. The courtship of Helen would soon be over, and once a husband had been named the suitors would quickly begin to leave. Odysseus and his men might return the way they had come, but it was more likely they would head south to the coast and hire a ship to take them home, so he kept a watchful eye on both routes.

By the time dusk had fallen, he had seen nothing more than farmers’ carts, a few horsemen and the usual traffic of villagers and merchants entering or leaving the city gates, and was relieved to be able to leave his post and search the hillsides for firewood. He also looked for edible plants, conscious that his food supply would not last for long, but came back empty-handed. That evening his stomach rumbled in protest at the measly crust of bread and the strip of beef he allowed himself. After months of feasting on the best food and wine in all Greece, it was difficult to adjust to a harsher diet of restricted rations.

As he lay down to sleep, the howl of a wolf broke the stillness of the night. It was near at hand and its lonely cry rolled emptily off the slopes and cliff faces around him, leaving behind an ominous silence. He drew the dagger from his belt and placed a fresh log on the fire, to act as a brand should the animal or any of its pack have the courage to investigate his camp. Then the moon broke free of the wall of cloud that had contained it for some time. It shook off the last clinging tatters of vapour and threw its unhindered light down across the valley and the mountains. Only then did he notice the tall black figure standing at the edge of his camp.

He seized the flaming brand from the fire and held it above his head, the dagger gleaming in his other hand. He felt exposed and vulnerable without his weapons, and to his dismay saw that the figure was armed with a tall shield and two spears.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘A friend,’ the figure replied, and Eperitus was shocked to hear a female voice. She moved into the circle of orange light cast by the fire, which threw aside the shadows that had veiled her identity.

‘Clytaemnestra!’

‘I’ve brought your weapons,’ she announced, throwing his grandfather’s shield onto the pile of brushwood he had collected to supply the fire. His spears were dropped on top of it with a clatter, followed shortly after by his bronze sword, gleaming fiercely in the firelight. Last of all was the dagger Odysseus had given him, but this she offered across the flames. ‘After all, Eperitus, a warrior is nothing without his arms.’

He dropped the brand back into the fire and eagerly took the dagger from her outstretched hands. For the first time since his weapons had been handed in to the palace armourer at Sparta he felt complete again, conscious once more of his own independence, his power to defend himself and impose his will on others by force of arms. He was a man again, able to do and say whatever he pleased, a freedom that was bounded only by the will of the gods and his own sense of honour. He thanked her and put the dagger into his belt, tossing the other over the lip of the slope.

‘I’ve brought food, too,’ she said, handing him a small woollen sack.

She turned to warm herself by the fire and Eperitus joined her.

‘Thank you again,’ he said.

‘It’s the least I could do. You’ve been a good friend to me these past months, letting me burden you with my problems.’

‘But how did you know where to find me?’

‘I have an insight that few possess,’ she answered, staring hard at the flames. ‘There are gods older than the Olympians, Eperitus, and they can give their followers powers the rest of the world has forgotten. They told me you were hiding here.’

Eperitus wondered whether those same mysterious powers had helped her to slip out of the city unseen, and without a horse or a wagon had enabled her to carry the heavy and awkward bulk of his weaponry up here to this shelf of rock. But something inside him was weary of probing further, perhaps for fear of receiving a straight answer. Looking at Clytaemnestra’s drawn and prematurely wise face, there were some things in the world he preferred to remain in ignorance of.

‘I also know you were with Peisandros the Myrmidon two nights ago, so could not have been Penelope’s guest.’

‘If that’s the case,’ Eperitus asked, ‘has this insight revealed to you who was with Penelope?’

‘No. The gift is a double-edged sword. It reveals many things and gives powerful knowledge, but it omits things, too. However, I don’t need second sight to know who was with Penelope that night.’

‘Perhaps it was Agamemnon?’ Eperitus said, clumsily trying to divert Clytaemnestra’s suspicions – the fewer people who knew the truth, the safer Odysseus would be. ‘You’ve told me he’s often unfaithful.’

Clytaemnestra gave a short laugh. ‘Agamemnon is sleeping with my mother. He enters her each evening whilst Tyndareus presides over the banqueting, then returns again before anyone can become suspicious. Besides, I know it was Odysseus – I brewed the love potion that brought him and Penelope together. And why else would you take the blame for a crime you did not commit?’ She switched her glance from the flames to Eperitus. ‘I must go now, but I’ll return soon with more food. And don’t worry about watching the road – Odysseus won’t be leaving for a few days yet.’

She came back three nights later, startling him as she moved noiselessly into the ring of light from the fire and sat down beside him.

‘Here,’ she said, handing him a sack of provisions. ‘Fresh from the night’s banquet.’

She held her hands up to the flames and in that dancing light, as her breath blew feathers of vapour into the cold night air, Eperitus noticed how beautiful she was. There was nothing of Helen’s powerful attraction in her features, but she had a mysteriousness about her that he found quietly appealing. Her large, sad eyes seemed almost bottomless as they reflected the flickering light; as if the knowledge of all human experience was imprisoned within them, threatening to burst free and flood the world with its misery.

He opened the bag and took out a haunch of brown meat, still shiny with grease, and bit into it in an effort to turn his thoughts from the woman beside him. His stomach craved the taste of real food again, unaccustomed as it was to the mould-scraped bread and leathery strips of beef he had been living off since his retreat to the mountains. Clytaemnestra watched him with an undecipherable look.

‘Help yourself,’ he offered.

‘I’ve eaten my fill,’ she replied. ‘It came from the table of your master’s wedding feast.’

Eperitus choked, coughing violently until Clytaemnestra had to thump him hard on his back to dislodge the piece of meat. He spat it into the fire.

‘Odysseus and Little Ajax both wanted to marry Penelope,’ she continued, ‘so Icarius suggested they race for her. Odysseus won and they were married this afternoon. All very straightforward and simple; a quick ceremony with Penelope’s close family, Odysseus’s men and the suitors as guests. No need to plan a wedding feast, just rearrange the seating for the usual evening banquet. You seem surprised, Eperitus.’

‘I am,’ he answered. ‘I knew of his attraction to her, of course, but he always said she treated him with contempt. That’s why I couldn’t understand why he would be in her bedchamber.’

‘I helped with that,’ Clytaemnestra admitted. ‘Not that Penelope really needed my help. She just needed to have her eyes opened to what her heart really wanted.’

But Eperitus was not listening. He sat staring into the flames until his eyes watered, thinking about the news Clytaemnestra had brought. His emotions were a confusion of jealousy, frustration and anger that he did not understand. Was he annoyed that Odysseus had abandoned his greatest chance of saving Ithaca for the sake of a woman? Or was he simply jealous that his friend had achieved his heart’s desire, whilst he was left forgotten on a mountainside with little hope for the future?

Clytaemnestra sensed Eperitus’s sadness and put a hand cautiously upon his shoulder. She began stroking him with awkward movements, her long fingers running towards his neck and rubbing against the knuckles of his upper spine. They lingered there and his thoughts, for a moment, were no longer directed against Odysseus and Penelope but dwelt upon her. He thought of what it would be like to return her touch, to hold her slender body in his arms. Women had rarely featured in his martial lifestyle, but he would have given anything to be with her there and then. But the moment slipped away. She withdrew her hand, tucking it into a fold of her clothing as if burnt. She stood.

‘Soon my father will announce Helen’s husband. I’ll return to you then so you’ll know when to expect Odysseus’s departure – he won’t leave before the marriage ceremony. That’s assuming you still wish to serve him.’

The question of not serving Odysseus had never crossed Eperitus’s mind. Despite his moment of jealousy, he was bound to the prince by an oath and would not go back on his word. His only hope of finding a home lay in the liberation of Ithaca, and he would do everything in his power to help Odysseus win back his homeland.

‘I do,’ he said.

Without a word, Clytaemnestra disappeared back into the night, leaving him to wonder once more how she would return to Sparta through the perils of the dark. Shortly afterwards he heard the cry of a lone wolf on the valley plain below, calling out into the emptiness of the night.

Despite the news of Odysseus’s marriage to Penelope, Eperitus spent most of the next day thinking of Clytaemnestra. As he watched Sparta for signs of any activity, he found himself looking forward to the evening and the possibility of her return. She had a strength and hardness he both admired and pitied. The cruelties she had suffered over the years had made her as tough as any warrior he knew, but beneath her flint-like exterior was a softness that was deep and consuming. He had seen glimpses of the real Clytaemnestra during the months at Sparta – brief, heartfelt smiles or moments of tenderness when the natural beauty of her face shone through – and it saddened him that she was the prisoner of a forced, loveless marriage.

As the sun threw the shadows of the mountains across the Eurotas valley, turning the landscape from sallow ochre to a dun brown, he felt keenly the lack of human company. He missed the closeness he had felt in belonging to Odysseus’s men, and it was hard not knowing what was going on at the palace. He wondered how Ajax had reacted to the choice of Menelaus to marry Helen, as Athena had said would happen. And what of Diomedes, the proud warrior who was deeply in love with the princess? How had Little Ajax fared with the loss of Penelope to Odysseus? And what of Helen? With all her hopes of freedom dashed, how would she cope with marriage to a man she did not love? He felt for her most of all, and pitied the girl whose youthful hopes never had a chance of being realized.

These thoughts buzzed around his head long into the night, until the moon was overhead and he knew Clytaemnestra would not appear. Even then sleep was slow in coming, but finally the pressure on his eyelids became too much and he slept until the light of the sun on his face woke him.

There were no signs that he had been visited in the night and so he went about his usual tasks of gathering wood and looking for food. The rest of the day passed in much the same way as the one before, followed by an equally restless and, ultimately, disappointing evening. The next morning he was woken not by sunlight forcing its way through his eyelids, but by splashes of rain on his face. He looked up, blinking against the heavy droplets, to see a ceiling of grey cloud covering the valley and mountains. Quickly he carried his supplies of food and wood into a niche in the rock face and spent the rest of the day hidden beneath the protection of its broken roof as the rain came down.