Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘You’re not likely to find much glory there.’ Odysseus laughed.

‘I trust in the priestess.’

‘Then can I rely on you to defend my father’s throne?’

‘I’ve sworn to fight for you and your causes,’ Eperitus reminded him. ‘And I’m no lover of usurpers.’

‘That’s settled then,’ Odysseus said, taking his hand to seal the agreement. ‘We’ll leave at dawn and you can join the palace guard. Return to camp and inform Halitherses – he’ll tell you your duties. I’ll join you later.’

‘Later? Where are you going at this time of night?’

‘To the camp, to see if anybody has any meat to sell. I haven’t eaten properly in a week.’ With that Odysseus turned about and retreated up the hill towards the dying glow of the fires.

Eperitus was about to go back and rejoin the others when he suddenly remembered the tall priest, Elatos. Had he not told Odysseus to meet him by the spring? So was the prince off to find the old priest, and had his story about buying food been just another deception? Eperitus realized then that honesty was not something that came easily to his perfidious new friend. But he was also interested in finding out what secrets the priest was keeping for Odysseus’s ears only, and planned to find out for himself.

In order to maintain his deception Odysseus had to go back up to the plateau and then work his way around to the grove that surrounded the sacred pool, so Eperitus was at the meeting place long before him and was able to conceal himself behind a screen of bushes on the edge of the clearing. Odysseus appeared some time later, alone, and sat down at the edge of the pool to await Elatos. He did not have long to wait.

The priest emerged from the trees like a ghost in his flowing white robes, dominating the space with his great height and presence. He planted the unusually long staff in the dust and spat into the sacred pool.

‘Well, Odysseus, do you know me yet?’

Odysseus stood and looked about the clearing to be certain they were alone. Eperitus remained still, hidden by the bushes and yet able to observe their meeting through a gap between the leaves.

‘Yes,’ the prince replied formally, crossing his arms and staring hard at the old man. ‘You are Elatos, high priest of Gaea.’

Elatos laughed and walked towards the Ithacan prince. He reached out a hand to touch Odysseus’s ear, but Odysseus stepped back out of his long reach, a warning look furrowing his brow.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ the priest told him. ‘You aren’t the only one who can put on a convincing disguise. The real Elatos is asleep with his mistress. He is lying in a hut in the village, where he has been since sunset.’

‘Then who are you? And what do you want with me?’

Eperitus placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, wary that the man might be an agent of Eupeithes. But if he was, he appeared to be in no hurry to make an attempt on Odysseus’s life. Instead, he eyed the shorter man in motionless silence, allowing his question to hang unanswered in the air between them.

As Eperitus looked on he noticed that the clearing had taken on a strange luminescence. It was not moonlight, for the moon had long since disappeared behind the hills, and it was not starlight, as the stars were hidden by a thin screen of cloud which was creeping across the night sky. Whatever the source, it appeared to be captured within the folds of Elatos’s robe, from where it was filtered out to the whole clearing.

‘Do you remember when you were a boy, Odysseus,’ the man suddenly asked, ‘pretending to be asleep when your nurse, Eurycleia, came to check on you? And when she was gone The Lady would come and visit you. Do you remember The Lady, how tall and beautiful she seemed to you? The way she would come out of the darkest corner of your room and sit at the end of your bed, her weight drawing the blankets tight across your legs?’

Odysseus looked astounded.

‘How can you know these things?’ he demanded. ‘Who told you this, when I’ve never mentioned it myself to another living soul?’

The old man smiled and the light grew stronger. ‘Let me ask you something else, son of Laertes: when you were attacked by that boar on these very slopes so many years ago, do you recall how strong your arm felt when it thrust that spear into the animal’s neck? How sure the aim was? Can you still remember the shadow that appeared at your side, scaring the animal so that it missed tearing out your intestines and gored you in the leg instead? And have you forgotten that The Lady visited you again in your dreams as you lay wounded, that she gave you strength to fight the darkness of approaching death?’

Odysseus fell to his knees and lowered his head to the dirt. His cracked voice was barely audible as he confessed that he could remember it all. In that very moment Eperitus looked from his friend to the face of the priest. A piercing light was coming from Elatos’s mouth, then from his nostrils, spilling out to fill the whole of the space between the circle of trees. Suddenly a white fire burst from his eyes and his arms flipped back in the throes of a metamorphosis too terrifying to watch. Eperitus threw his head into his hands in fear for his life, and twisted away from the brilliant radiance.

An instant later the light was gone and comparative darkness had descended on the quiet grove. He dared eventually to open his eyes and raise his head just enough to look through the gap in the leaves. Odysseus lay cowering on the floor, but it was no old man who stood before him now.

Eperitus had heard many tales about the gods appearing to men and women. The legends spoke of a time beyond the memories of the elders, when mortals and immortals walked the earth together, eating, drinking and even sleeping with each other. There were people he had spoken to, mostly travellers exchanging stories for food, who claimed to have met gods, and it was not uncommon for a woman in Alybas to explain an illegitimate child as the product of a god’s attentions. But in the age of separation from the immortals such tales were doubted, if not mocked, and those who claimed such experiences were regarded as liars or madmen.

So who would have believed him if he had said he saw a goddess that evening? Tall as a young tree, strong-limbed with skin as white as marble, she shone with an inner light that he sensed was only a glimpse of a deeper brilliance. Her young face was lovely and yet stern, set with large grey eyes that were dark with the knowledge of many things. On her golden-haired head she wore a helmet fashioned of bronze, and in her right hand she carried a spear which, by its size and weight, Eperitus doubted any mortal could hope to throw. Over her shoulders and left arm she carried an animal’s hide bedecked with a hundred golden tassels that danced as she moved. In the centre of the hide was a face, as repulsive as the goddess herself was awe-inspiring – the face of a gorgon.

She bent down and stroked Odysseus’s hair for a moment, before seizing his arm and pulling him to his feet.

‘Stop grovelling and stand up, Odysseus. If I was an assassin from Eupeithes you’d be dead by now.’

Odysseus dared to look at the goddess, briefly, before lowering his eyes again.

‘Is this how you greet your favourite goddess? I have protected you for the whole of your short life and all you can do is look away in fear.’

Eperitus could hardly take his eyes off her, and yet even in the presence of Athena, the virgin daughter of Zeus, he found himself thinking about Odysseus. Why should a lowly island prince be honoured by one of the Olympians? Who was Odysseus that a goddess such as Athena would choose him above so many others?