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

‘And if I refused?’ she asked, tartly. ‘If I decided never to remarry, regardless of whether my husband is assumed to have perished or not?’

‘Then I cannot be answerable for the consequences. If that meant civil war and the shedding of innocent blood, then you would only have yourself to blame.’

Penelope sat down and stared at Eupeithes, but his face was so full of false concern that she could not bear to look at him any longer and turned her eyes to the open doors of the great hall, through which she could see the bright sunlight filling the courtyard. She thought of Odysseus, far away in Troy. She wondered what he would think of the way she had allowed the Kerosia to slip from her control, and of her decision to send Telemachus into virtual exile in Sparta. One thing she could be sure of, though, was that he would expect her not to give up. Things were darker now than they had been in all the years since her husband’s departure, but she still had the upper hand. The people of Ithaca supported Odysseus, and sooner or later the king would return. Until then, it was her duty to buy time and delay Eupeithes’s sudden push for power. And at all costs, she had to avoid forcing the old traitor into resorting to arms. If he knew the consequences of usurping power, there were plenty around him who did not . They would demand a show of strength if Eupeithes could not promise them a clear route to the throne. And she was the only one who could offer him that.

‘You leave me no choice, Eupeithes. I agree to your proposal.’

A wide smile spread across the merchant’s face, while behind him Antinous, Polyctor and Oenops congratulated each other openly with handshakes and pats on the back. Mentor kept his silence out of respect for the queen, though his frown spoke of his disapproval. Laertes simply shook his head.

‘This is folly, Daughter. I’m not so old and bitter that I don’t know what you’re thinking. I was king myself not so long ago, and I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to have the threat of civil war hanging over my people. But to just give in to these pretenders? There are better ways to prevent bloodshed.’

‘But you didn’t find them when you were king, did you Father. And as long as I am queen, I will not sit by and watch Ithaca fall back into division and war.’

‘Then I hope you know what you’re doing, Penelope,’ he said

‘I hope so too.’

‘More wine,’ Eupeithes commanded the servants waiting in the shadows beyond the circle of chairs. ‘We must seal your agreement with an oath before it is announced to the people.’

The members of the Kerosia raised their cups to be refilled. As one of the maids poured wine into Antinous’s krater, Penelope saw their eyes meet and the flicker of a smile cross the young girl’s lips. Melantho was only recently married – to Arceisius, Eperitus’s squire, before his return to Troy – and yet the queen knew in an instant she was sleeping with Eupeithes’s son. The thought made her sad for Arceisius, and even angrier with the war that had brought so evil a legacy upon Greece.

After her own cup had been refilled, she watched Eupeithes pour a libation into the flames and lift his krater into the air. Oenops, Polyctor and Antinous did the same and were reluctantly followed by Mentor and Laertes. Penelope remained in her chair, holding her krater firmly in her lap.

‘If I’m to agree to marry another man,’ she said, ‘it can only be on one condition.’

‘It’s too late for that now,’ Eupeithes said.

‘Not until this wine touches my lips.’

‘Then what is it?’ he snapped. ‘What condition must I agree to to obtain your promise?’

‘You suggest we should presume Odysseus is dead after two years. That’s too vague. I say we consult the oracle at Mount Parnassus, to ask the Pythoness when my husband will return. If he has not returned by the predicted date, then I will willingly remarry.’

‘And if the oracle says he will never return?’

‘Then I will choose a new husband within the year.’

Antinous stood up angrily.

‘I protest. She’s trying to delay –’

‘Shut up and sit down,’ his father ordered.

Penelope saw the doubt in Eupeithes’s eyes and held out her hands imploringly towards him.

‘Think about what I’m saying. If any new king is to hold power, he must have unassailable legitimacy. If I remarry in two years’ time, the people might accept my husband for a while, but won’t their eyes always be gazing towards the distant horizon, wondering when the true king will return? But if we consult the Pythoness and she says Odysseus will never return, or if he doesn’t come back by the prophesied date, then everyone will know the new king has the approval of the gods. They’ll accept Odysseus is never coming home and will welcome my new husband openly.’

Eupeithes’s eyes narrowed as he pondered Penelope’s words, but he did not have to think for long.

‘You speak wisely, my queen, and I accept your condition. Antinous and Mentor will go to Mount Parnassus, escorted by an armed guard. That way, there will be plenty of witnesses to the oracle and no-one can change the Pythoness’s prophetic words to suit their own ends. Agreed?’

Penelope nodded and sat down again, hoping her gamble would pay off.

Chapter Twenty-five

P RISONER OF A PHEIDAS

Eperitus woke slowly, drawn out of his dream by the mingled aromas of woodsmoke and the scent of flowers. He heard the crackle and spit of a fire and beneath it the whisper of soft voices. His eyelids were heavy – too heavy yet to open – and he could detect little or no light through the thin layers of skin. There was a throbbing ache inside his head that seemed to be faintly echoed by every muscle in his body, and as he felt the warm furs across his naked chest and the pliant mattress beneath him he wondered whether he was back in his hut in the Greek camp. But as his confused mind began to read and order the signals his senses were feeding it, a deeper instinct informed him that he was not in his hut or anywhere else he recognised. Then the lazy fumbling of his senses was trumped by the recollection of his father’s face, charging at him with his sword drawn. His eyes flashed open and he tried to sit up.

It was as if a strong man was holding each of his limbs, pinning them to the table and defeating every effort he made to rise. As he fought his weakness for a second time, the figure of a woman appeared above him. She laid a gentle hand upon his chest, easing him back down to the mattress, and with her other hand placed a damp cloth on his temple.

‘Be still,’ she said firmly in accented Greek. ‘Your wounds have weakened you. There is no point in fighting them.’

Her face was old and soft, though lined with concern, and her grey hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head. She was kneeling beside him and high above her he could see a shadowy ceiling, where faded murals of the moon and stars were barely visible through a fine haze of smoke. He could also see the tops of the four wooden pillars that supported the roof, as well as the upper reaches of plastered walls where paintings of tall, indistinct figures twitched in the firelight. It was a hall of some kind, confirming to him that he was not back in the Greek camp. The woman’s accent, he noted, was Trojan, but that meant little when almost all the slaves owned by the Greeks were from Ilium.

‘Where am I?’

‘You are in Troy, in the house of my master.’

Troy. The word had a crushing effect on his spirit. Somehow, he had been captured and taken back to the city of his enemies. For all he knew, the battle could have ended in a Trojan victory and his countrymen might all be slain, prisoners like himself, or sailing back across the Aegean to Greece in defeat. If that was the case, he hoped that Odysseus and the rest of the Ithacans had been able to slip away in time.