Glyn Iliffe - The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

She turned and received a small white bundle from her body slave, Actoris, who stood in the deeper shadows behind her. Then she stepped forward into the sunlight and, with a smile, held the silent baby at arm’s length towards her husband.

‘It’s a boy,’ she said, as Odysseus mounted the threshold and took the child in his arms.

The king looked down at his son and there were tears in his eyes. The people who had been criss-crossing the courtyard now stopped and stared at their king and queen, while at the gates the crowd pressed so close that many were forced over the porch. The hubbub of voices from beyond the palace walls fell silent, and in that moment of blissful peace Odysseus pulled Penelope to him and kissed her with a fierce passion. Then he stepped forward and, raising his son above his head, showed him to all who could see.

‘A son!’ he boomed proudly, the tears now flowing down his cheeks into his beard.

A great cheer erupted from the crowd of onlookers, and as the noise swept back through the town Odysseus took the sleeping child back into his arms and whispered something in Penelope’s ear. Then he turned and beckoned Eperitus to join them.

Despite the continued cheering and his father’s handling of him, the baby was still asleep as Eperitus looked down at him. He had a red face with little features that were screwed up as if with concentration; his tiny fists were pulled up to his cheeks, and his head was covered in shiny black hair that curled in every direction.

‘What will you call him?’ he asked, looking at Odysseus and Penelope. The king was still staring down at the child, studying the miniature details of his son, but Penelope met Eperitus’s eyes and smiled.

‘It’s the father’s duty to name his son,’ she said.

‘Telemachus. His name is Telemachus,’ Odysseus answered. He gave Eperitus a wide grin. ‘And when he’s old enough to walk, you can teach him to use a sword and throw a spear.’

‘And I’ll teach him how to use a bow,’ Antiphus added, stepping onto the raised threshold. He was followed by Polites, whose brutal face was softened with wonder as he stared down at the baby. Then Actoris appeared and reminded Penelope that the child should not be exposed too long to the sun.

Eperitus slipped into the crowd that had formed before the threshold. As he made for the gate, an old woman stopped him.

‘Is it true what they’re saying, sir?’ she asked eagerly. ‘A son?’

‘Yes, a healthy looking lad,’ he replied, forcing a smile.

‘Praise Zeus and Artemis and all the gods!’ she exulted, holding both hands in the air and spinning round with glee.

But Eperitus was already starting to run, wanting to be as far away from the cheering crowds as his legs could take him. He forced his way through the press of bodies until he was beyond the town and climbing the twisting path that led up the flanks of Mount Neriton. When he reached the top he relieved the lookout of his duties and sat down beneath the thatched awning that provided the only shelter from sun, rain or wind, and looked out at the blue mass of the Peloponnese. He watched the merchant ships drift gently up and down the coast until the setting of the sun forced them to find ports or inlets for the night. The eastern sky was beginning to pale and the rocks all around him had turned a gentle shade of pink, reflecting the crimson fire in the sky behind Eperitus as the sun sank below the western edge of the world. Then he heard the sound of loosened gravel and saw Arceisius approach from the direction of the town.

‘I saw Thestor wandering around the palace,’ he said as he approached the awning, ‘when I knew he should have been up here, so I guessed this was where I might find you.’

‘Did you bring any wine?’ Eperitus replied. ‘I’m as thirsty as a hunted deer.’

‘I’ve some water,’ Arceisius said, slipping a leather bag from his shoulder and tossing it towards his master. ‘You were missed down there. Odysseus was asking everyone if they’d seen you.’

‘I thought he needed some time with his new family.’

‘Is that all, sir?’ Arceisius asked. Though young, he was not blind to his master’s anguish.

Eperitus stood and looked down at the wine-dark sea, washing the jagged skirts of the mountain far below with its ceaseless rocking.

‘No, Arceisius. No, it’s not. I’m thinking of leaving Ithaca.’

‘But Ithaca’s your home.’

‘Ithaca’s my prison,’ Eperitus retorted, instantly regretting his sharp tone. ‘I’m sorry, Arceisius. It’s just that, suddenly, everything’s changing, as if I’m being reminded that my destiny lies beyond Ithaca. I’ve been thinking of my father for some time, wanting to wipe away the shame of what he did. Then there was the fight this morning. It was the first time I’ve killed a man in ten years, and I enjoyed it – not the killing, as such, but the thrill of danger and the pride of victory. It woke something inside me, a yearning for glory that’s been dormant for too long, and a need to prove myself.’

‘But you have proved yourself,’ Arceisius protested. ‘If it wasn’t for you Ithaca would be ruled by Taphians.’

Eperitus shook his head. ‘I’m still a warrior, Arceisius – Odysseus reminded me of that on the ship, and it was he who said Ithaca is a prison to me. But do you know what it was that made me decide to leave? The sight of that baby in Odysseus’s arms. After all, a man needs a sense of his own eternity, something that will carry his memory beyond death. Telemachus will give that to Odysseus. But it made me realize that I’m slipping into obscurity. I need to get back out into the world and make a name for myself in battle – that’s all I ever dreamed of when I was your age.’

The wind, which had been constant since Eperitus had reached the top of Mount Neriton, whipped at their cloaks and hair, bringing to them the sounds of the sea crashing against the rocks far below. The chariot of the sun had disappeared and in the cool of the evening they saw the first stars shining in the deep blue skies above.

‘And now there’s talk of war in the east,’ Eperitus continued. ‘A great war between Troy and the whole of Greece. Odysseus knows about it and is determined not to be drawn in. But for the likes of me – and you, if you’re willing, Arceisius – it’s an opportunity to become what we were always meant to be: warriors, killing and dying for the sake of glory.’

The squire took the skin from his master’s hand and swallowed a mouthful of water. For a long time they watched the Peloponnese fade and the sea grow darker, then Arceisius broke the thought-filled silence.

‘Let’s go back, while we can still find our footing.’

‘I’m leaving for the mainland,’ Eperitus said. ‘Once Telemachus has been dedicated to the gods I intend to ask Odysseus to release me from my oath. If he does, I will go to Mycenae and join the army of King Agamemnon.’

Then I’ll come with you, sir,’ Arceisius replied. ‘It felt strange killing that man this morning, but I know now it was only because I’d crossed a threshold into a new world. I’m a warrior now, and I don’t think I’ll ever find happiness on Ithaca again.’

Menelaus sat on his raised throne and eyed the Trojan prince with stern formality.

‘Well, Paris, son of Priam, I’m told you want to see me as a matter of urgency. What is it you wish to discuss?’

A broad column of light plunged like a waterfall from a vent in the high ceiling of the great hall, illuminating the Spartan king as he waited for a response. Paris stood stiffly before him, with Apheidas and Aeneas on either side. The low flames of the hearth crackled behind them and they felt its warmth in the smalls of their backs, coaxing the sweat from their armpits and increasing their discomfort.