Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

A figure watched them from a shadowy alcove above. Her raven-black hair was covered by the hood of her white robe and her face was hidden behind a thin veil. Only the gleam of her dark eyes was visible in the shadows as she listened to the plans of the men below.

Helen’s heart sank. Tyndareus was not even her real father – Zeus had that honour, though Tyndareus did not know it – and yet he had the audacity to put her up for auction like a slave. As for Agamemnon, he was nothing but a butchering megalomaniac. His mind was a maze of political stratagems and his black heart beat only for the glory of the Greeks. If she were a man she would take a sword down to the courtyard and kill all three of them.

But she was not a man. If she was to stop the king of Mycenae weaving his web about her, she would need subtler weapons than swords or spears. But Helen had learned that the weapons she possessed were more powerful than bronze. She smiled bitterly. From an early age she had been forced to veil her beauty because of the effect it had on the men around her. But as she grew older she had learned how to use that effect to her advantage. Power belonged to men, of course, but men could be manipulated.

Helen looked down at the three kings. Why should she give herself meekly to Menelaus, or any other man they could force on her? She was no brood mare to be traded on the whim of kings. She was a daughter of Zeus and had a right to choose her own lover, one who would take her as far away from the confining walls of Sparta as she could get.

Chapter Five

THE SACRED POOL

‘I’ve come to ask the will of the gods,’ Eperitus said. ‘What is their plan for me, and how do I seek out my destiny?’

The Pythoness ran her tongue along her lips and hissed.

‘Ares’s sword has forged a bond that will lead to Olympus. But the hero should beware love, for if she clouds his desires he will fall into the Abyss.’

Those were her last words to them, as with a final hissing laugh she pulled the hood of her robe over her face and lowered her head.

‘The audience is over,’ Thrasios declared. ‘You must leave now.’

‘And the prophecy?’

The priest gave an arrogant sneer.

‘The gods are already moving in your life. A friendship forged in battle may steer you to glory and a name that survives death. But instead love will lead you astray and you will become nothing.’

He announced the last part with satisfaction, as if this was a fitting end for a soldier.

‘That’s a lie!’ Eperitus responded angrily. ‘I’ll never sacrifice glory for love.’

‘Eperitus!’ Odysseus cautioned him, putting his arm about his shoulders and leading him out in the wake of the priest. ‘The oracle only warned you to beware love. That part of your destiny is still in your own hands. I’ve never heard of a man who wasn’t given a choice by the gods. And besides, did you listen to the first part? Glory and a name that will survive death! What more could a warrior ask for?’

The prince was right, Eperitus thought: his destiny was still his own, and what woman could make him surrender his honour? He looked at Odysseus, who was smiling reassuringly at him; surely their new-found friendship was the one spoken of by the Pythoness. If he was permitted to join the small band of warriors, then his promised destiny would hopefully follow, leading inexorably to fame and glory.

Python was nowhere to be seen in the first cave and they were soon outside again, standing beneath a night sky stuck full of stars. It was good to be away from self-important priests, stinking fumes, the snake-priestess and her vile protector. Eperitus breathed the night air deeply and grinned. Life was just beginning.

As they approached the camp, Odysseus took Eperitus to one side.

‘Eperitus, you heard what the Pythoness called me?’

Eperitus frowned, ‘Odysseus of Ithaca, yes.’

Odysseus let the others go on ahead. When they were out of sight he folded his arms and gave the young soldier a searching look.

‘So what are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘That depends on whether you are Castor of Crete, or Odysseus of Ithaca.’

‘My name is Odysseus,’ he answered. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of me?’

Eperitus shrugged and shook his head apologetically.

‘No matter. Like you, my name is yet to become famous in Greece. I apologize that I was forced to deceive you, though.’ He pointed at the dagger tucked into Eperitus’s belt. ‘That’s a fine weapon. It belonged to my father’s grandfather and I can assure you I didn’t give it lightly, nor as part of a trick. I gave it because I meant what I said, and I want you to keep it as a sign of our continuing friendship.’

‘So why were you forced to deceive me? And how do I know you truly are Odysseus of Ithaca? I don’t even know where Ithaca is.’

Odysseus smiled and for the first time since Eperitus had met him his expression was not guarded. A happy light filled his eyes as for a few moments he forgot the trials of his day.

‘Ithaca is a rocky island off the west coast of Acarnania,’ he began. ‘It isn’t particularly beautiful, but we’re happy there and it’s our home. Its people are the most pigheaded, stupid, idle, yet doughty and lovable folk in the whole of Greece; they live at peace amongst themselves and I would freely give up my life to keep them that way. When I’m away from my island I think of it every moment, and when I’m there I think of nowhere else.’ He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, as if to acknowledge he had failed to do his home justice. ‘One day you will come and see for yourself. Then we can sit around a blazing fire with plenty of wine to hand, and I’ll ask you about Alybas and your own people, eh?’

Eperitus smiled lamely, hoping he would never have to reveal the shame that had led to his exile.

‘As for who I really am,’ Odysseus continued, ‘the Pythoness doesn’t lie. You can be assured of that.’

‘And Castor, son of Hylax, prince of Crete?’ Eperitus asked. ‘Who’s he?’

‘Castor is a disguise, made up when I left the shores of my home. You see, friend, for all its outward appearance of peace and simplicity, Ithaca is torn. Some of its nobles don’t agree with my father’s rule. They’re plotting to rebel, but lack the strength until they can persuade more of the people to choose them over their rightful ruler. As Laertes’s son and heir, they want me out of the way even more: if my father gave me the throne the island would have a young king again, and the nobles are afraid the people of Ithaca would then give their support to me. So when we first met I had to be sure you weren’t another assassin, sent by my father’s enemies to kill me.’

‘But would an enemy have helped save your life?’

‘Maybe not, if he could identify me. But Eupeithes, my father’s chief opponent, employs Taphian mercenaries to do his dirty work. These men aren’t from Ithaca and wouldn’t know me on sight, hence any assassin would have had to find out my name before he could kill me. That’s why I travel under the name of Castor.’

‘It’s difficult to think of you as anybody else now,’ Eperitus said. ‘But I believe you, Odysseus. Perhaps you’ll do me a service in return?’

‘Of course I will. It’s the very least I can do.’

Eperitus pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb, indicating the temple at the top of the slope. ‘The Pythoness said a friendship forged in battle would lead to glory.’

‘I heard her clearly. Then you also think ours is that friendship?’

‘Yes, I do. And I want the glory she spoke of, and a name that will outlive death. Indeed, the name of Eperitus is all I have left. So I want to join your men and sail back with you to Ithaca.’