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

She had come here to be alone and think over the news of the evening before. Whenever she felt her emotions threatening to expose her inner weaknesses, she would climb the steep flanks of Mount Neriton and dismiss the elderly lookout; and when she had conquered herself and could once more put on the calm, controlled mask of a queen, she would go back down to the palace to face whatever her duties required of her that day, whether they be as simple as buying food in the marketplace or as daunting as facing Eupeithes in the Kerosia. This morning, though, the lookout must have seen the thick fog and decided to wait before climbing up to his post, and his absence made the place seem lonelier than ever. It was as if every living soul had been taken from the world and she was the only person left.

She walked to the edge of the flat, grassy space where the lookout post was sited. Far below her, through the white, churning vapours, she could hear the waves of the Ionian Sea crashing against the rocky skirts of Ithaca, carrying on the war that had been fought since the beginning of time. She looked down at what was visible of the stony slope before it was swallowed by the fog, and tried to picture the invisible cliffs below and the green sea as it frothed about the tumble of jagged boulders. Ten more years would pass, the Pythoness had confirmed, before Ithaca’s king would find his way home. Mentor, Antinous and the twenty warriors who had sailed with them to Mount Parnassus had returned the evening before, repeating the priestess’s cryptic verses and the interpretation given by her attendant. Mentor had announced the oracle before the Kerosia, while Antinous had sulked in his seat and looks of shocked dismay settled on the faces of Eupeithes, Oenops and Polyctor. Penelope had felt an initial burst of relief, as if tight bonds had suddenly been released from about her chest, but what small joy she felt was brief. Eupeithes’s rise to power had been cut short, and though he remained dangerous Penelope knew he would rather sit out the ten years than risk civil war against the royal guard – who were firmly loyal to their king and queen – and the people of Ithaca. But if she had gained time, what, ultimately, did that matter if the oracle was true? What did anything matter if another ten years had to pass before Odysseus came home again?

She wedged the toe of her sandal beneath a small rock and flicked it into the milky haze below. Her whole body seemed to ache with desire for her husband. She wanted nothing more than for him to return and lift the weight of the kingdom from her slender shoulders, and then to take her to their bed and make love to her. Ten years had been almost insufferable without his touch; ten more would be impossible. Her breathing became suddenly thicker and she laid a hand on her chest, trying to calm the panic that was taking hold of her. Odysseus had said a man could overcome his fate, she reminded herself, and she had to have faith in him for that. That would be the hope that carried her through – that and Telemachus. For even if the Pythoness’s vision came true, Penelope was still the mother of Odysseus’s son. For his sake she would carry on as Ithaca’s implacable queen, fighting for the kingdom that one day he would inherit – unless, of course, Odysseus never returned and she was forced to honour her agreement with Eupeithes. Then she would have to choose a new husband to become king ahead of Telemachus.

She hated herself for taking such a risk, but knew it had been the only way to placate Eupeithes’s ambitions. Now his insistence on a new king had been checked and he was in no position to stir up rebellion. Their agreement had also allowed Penelope to send a messenger to Sparta, telling Halitherses to bring Telemachus back home as her son was no longer under serious threat. All the same, after the Kerosia she had confronted the fat merchant beneath the portico of the great hall and told him that if anything did happen to Telemachus, she would hold him responsible. What was more, Odysseus would too when he eventually returned. Something in Eupeithes’s expression had made her think he did not believe Odysseus would return, but he said nothing and Penelope knew he had understood her message.

She wiped away a tear, angrily crushing it out of existence. Her son was returning, she reminded herself. Telemachus’s presence would be enough to keep her going. And yet, if she had to endure a further decade without Odysseus, where would she get the strength from? His long absence had already drained away Anticleia’s will to live; his mother had been ailing for a long time now, and Laertes believed the news from the oracle would be the death of her. Penelope snuffed out another tear and glared down at the cloying mists that fenced her in on the lonely hilltop.

‘Good morning, Mistress.’

She turned, in surprise, to see the grey head and long grey beard of the lookout a few paces away. Conscious of her tears, she looked away again.

‘Good morning.’

‘If you want I should go back down for a while, then just you say so.’

‘No, no. I was just going anyway.’

The old man ventured a little closer.

‘The fog’s clearing, my lady. It’s often thickest just before the dawn, but it doesn’t last forever. Look south and you can already see the sun on the waves.’

Penelope followed the line of the old man’s outstretched arm and saw the glint of golden light riding the Ionian Sea around the island of Zacynthos, the southernmost point of Odysseus’s kingdom. The sight of a sail made her catch her breath, but in the same excited instant she had already realised it was nothing more than a fishing vessel. But she knew the lookout was right: the fog would not last forever, and one day the sail on the water would belong to the galley that brought her husband home again.

The clouds remained, threatening rain yet refusing to weep for the destruction of Troy. Like the stone lid of a sarcophagus, they continued to press down claustrophobically over the whole of Ilium and to the far horizon of the Aegean. The bright light of morning was stifled to a dull gloom, and the Greeks emerging from the insanity of the night were left reflecting on their crimes and debauched excesses.

When a summons arrived calling for Odysseus to attend the Council of Kings at the Scaean Gate, Eperitus asked, and was given, leave to return to the ships and check on Astynome’s welfare. He passed the heaped booty being stacked in orderly piles on the plain between the walls and the bay, for later distribution among the victorious army, and looked for the familiar, blue-beaked galleys of the small Ithacan fleet. With a thousand vessels beached or anchored in the hoof-shaped harbour it took him a while, but eventually he was greeted by the calls of a skeleton crew as he approached the gangplanks that had been angled down onto the sand. To his surprise, every man was clean-shaven, making them hard to recognise without the beards they had worn for so many years.

‘The oath’s been fulfilled,’ Eurybates explained, seeing Eperitus’s curious look as he helped him up the last part of the gangplank and onto the deck. He stroked his jaw uncertainly, unfamiliar with its smoothness. ‘Troy’s in ruins and Helen’s back with Menelaus, so we’re free to shave and cut our hair again.’

‘I suppose we are,’ Eperitus replied. ‘But all of you? Most of you had beards before the war, and I thought Polites was born with one.’

‘I wanted a change,’ Polites defended himself.

‘Have you seen Odysseus?’ asked Antiphus, approaching from the stern with Omeros at his side.

Antiphus’s hairless face was gaunt and bony, but Omeros’s baby cheeks looked much more natural without the desperate, downy growth that had covered them for the past few months.