Glyn Iliffe - The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Penelope looked over her shoulder at the ring of chairs around the hearth. They were still draped with furs for the members of the Kerosia who had met that morning to discuss the allegation against Nisus. As the accused, Nisus was unable to take his own seat, and with Halitherses travelling to Sparta with Telemachus that had given the majority to Eupeithes. The verdict was almost a formality: Nisus was guilty of treason and had been sentenced to be executed the next day. What was more, Eupeithes had used the absence of Halitherses to have his own son, Antinous, voted on to the Kerosia as Nisus’s replacement. At a stroke, the Kerosia was now in Eupeithes’s hands and there was nothing Penelope could do about it.

The doors creaked open and a splash of weak moonlight cut a wedge across the dark floor. A cloaked figure paused in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before slipping into the hall. A second, shorter man followed him.

‘Who’s that?’ Penelope called, anxiously.

‘Penelope, it’s me.’

The tension eased from her muscles as she recognised Mentor’s voice.

‘You were longer than I expected,’ she said, moving from the shadows into the warm firelight. ‘Were you delayed?’

‘A little. The guard on the gates is one of the new men that replaced the reinforcements sent to Troy. I don’t know I can trust him, so Eumaeus and I found a way in over the palace wall.’

Mentor crossed the great hall and kissed Penelope on both cheeks. He was handsome with a neatly trimmed beard and hard, confident eyes. The stump where his right hand had been severed by a sword was cased in leather, and though the wound had prevented him from going to war at Odysseus’s side it had at least ensured Penelope his friendship and support in trying to preserve her husband’s kingdom at home. Beside him was a man with a red-brown face and a head of thick, curly hair. Eumaeus was a slave, but as loyal to Odysseus as anyone on the island.

‘What about Nisus’s guard?’ Mentor asked.

Penelope shook her head. ‘A Taphian.’

Eupeithes had a long association with the Taphians, old enemies of Ithaca, and had insisted a troop of the tall, ruthless spearmen be added to the palace guard.

‘Then we have to kill him,’ Mentor said, throwing his cloak aside to reveal the sword tucked into his belt. ‘We’ll take the body with us and dump it into the sea – at least then we can claim Nisus bought his loyalty and helped him to escape.’

‘Eupeithes will never believe that.’

‘It’ll seem the most likely explanation, and until he can disprove it he won’t be able to accuse anyone else. Are you still willing to draw the guard away from his post?’

Penelope nodded and crossed to a small door at the back of the great hall. The two men followed.

‘Wait either side of the door,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll make him follow me into the hall and then you can … do whatever is necessary.’

She pulled open the door and stepped into the long narrow passageway that skirted the great hall. It was dark but for two dying torches that hung at intervals along the walls. To her right was a corner that fed round to the rear of the palace and the stairs that led up to the sleeping quarters; to the right, the corridor stretched away into murky shadows, with several doorways on the right-hand wall that opened into storerooms. Nisus was locked in a room at the far end, where Penelope could just make out the figure of a spearman slumped against the wall. The sound of the door roused him from his slumber and he straightened up, watching Penelope as she approached.

‘Come with me,’ she ordered. ‘I have a task for you.’

The Taphian looked at her dumbly, then slowly shook his head.

‘I’ve given you a command,’ she said, more sternly this time. ‘If you wish to keep your position in the guard you will do as your queen tells you. Is that clear?’

The man simply stared at her, refusing to move. He even had the audacity to let his eyes fall to her breasts. She turned away indignantly, pulling her cloak about her, and fumed as she tried to think of how to get the brute away from the door.

‘The gods are mocking me,’ she hissed to herself. ‘A woman’s pride is her downfall, as Clytaemnestra used to say. And yet, what choice do I have?’

With a sigh, she loosened the sash about her waist so that her chiton fell open to expose her long, soft thigh. Biting her lip, she loosened it more so that the slit spread up to her naked hip. Then, forcing a smile, she pulled her cloak aside and turned to face the Taphian once more.

‘When the queen asks for a man’s help, she expects him to obey. Now, are you going to come with me or do I need to find someone else?’

The soldier’s eyes widened a little as they regarded the bare flesh of her leg. Then, as she turned and began to walk slowly away from him, he placed his spear against the wall and followed. Penelope sensed him getting closer and quickened her pace, at the same time trying to pull her dress together so as not to expose herself to Mentor and Eumaeus. The Taphian grunted something in his crude dialect, his voice sounding as if he was directly behind her. Quickly, she slipped through the open door into the great hall, but before Mentor and Eumaeus could emerge from the shadows the man’s arms slid beneath hers and his hands closed over her breasts. She gave a half scream, then Eumaeus appeared to her left holding a sack. He tried to throw it over the Taphian’s head, but the man spotted him and lashed out instinctively, catching the slave in the jaw and sending him flying back into the shadows. Mentor had rushed out in the same moment, sword in hand, but had fallen back as he saw the Taphian’s arm still wrapped about Penelope.

‘Kill him!’ she spat.

The Taphian turned to face Mentor, using Penelope as a shield. He fumbled for the dagger in his belt. Sensing what he was doing, the queen tried to grab his hand, but he was too strong for her and almost broke her wrist as he wrenched it away. Then Eumaeus appeared again, throwing the bag over the soldier’s head and drawing it down to his shoulders. The man shouted and Penelope was able to pull away as he seized hold of the bag and snatched it off again. Seeing his chance, Mentor leapt forward and pushed the sword into the man’s chest, forcing it through the ribs with all his strength until the point emerged out of his back. His arms ceased thrashing and his large body went limp, falling back against Eumaeus and then to the floor.

‘By all the gods,’ Eumaeus exclaimed. ‘Why don’t Taphians ever die easily?’

‘Do you think anyone heard?’ Penelope asked, rubbing her bruised wrist and wincing at the pain.

Mentor paused and cocked an ear, but after a moment of listening to the silence that had returned to the palace, he shook his head.

‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll free Nisus.’

‘The farthest storeroom, down to the left,’ Penelope told him as he disappeared through the doorway.

He came back moments later, followed by a grey-haired man whose rich clothes were now torn and shabby looking. One eye was black and swollen and there was blood in his nostrils and on his beard. Nisus looked down at the body of the Taphian, then at Penelope.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said. ‘Mentor has told me the risks you’ve taken to save me.’

‘A small repayment for the loyalty you’ve shown me over the years, Nisus. It’s too dangerous for you to remain on Ithaca, though; you must leave at once and not return until you hear my husband has come back. Go to Sparta and help Halitherses to protect Telemachus until I send for him.’

Nisus nodded. Eumaeus handed him the Taphian’s cloak, then bent down to heave the corpse onto his shoulder.