Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

The other youths immediately spread out in a crescent about the beach, putting themselves at a good distance from the blundering pair at the water’s edge. Eumaeus, Halitherses and Eperitus stood to one side and watched Ctymene shout directions to her brother as he chased her companions about the beach. Their efforts were fruitless, even though their targets were not allowed to run, but Odysseus persisted without showing signs of tiring. Gradually the pair edged closer to the little group at the water’s edge, and Eperitus noticed Ctymene snatching frequent glances at him. Then, suddenly, she instructed her brother to turn right and go straight, and a moment later his large hands were upon Eperitus’s shoulders.

‘You’ve found the sun, Orion,’ she announced, removing her hands from his eyes. Odysseus blinked at Eperitus and smiled.

‘By the rules of the game it’s your turn to be Orion,’ he said. ‘But my sister isn’t as light as she used to be, and I doubt it would be the most appropriate form of introduction.’

Ctymene stared down at her captive with a shameless look in her eyes.

‘Who’s this?’ she asked.

‘Eperitus of Alybas,’ Odysseus answered, unconscious of his sister’s staring. ‘He killed five men the other morning, so be careful not to make him angry.’

‘Five men!’ she cooed with sudden interest, clambering down from her brother’s shoulders and threading her arm through Eperitus’s elbow. ‘Really? Five men?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, tensing at the feel of her warm flesh against his. He was unused to the close attentions of a female and did not know how to react to Ctymene’s immature flirting, especially in front of Odysseus. The fact she was attractive was undeniable, with her soft skin and the aroma of flowers that hung about her, but he was also hotly aware of his recent resolve to maintain an entirely formal relationship with the girl.

The rest of the crew were ashore by now and were ready to make their way to the palace.

‘Ctymene,’ Eumaeus said, noticing Eperitus’s discomfort with amusement.

‘Yes,’ she replied, without taking her eyes from Eperitus, who looked nervously back at her. She gave him a mischievous smile.

‘Didn’t you say that the king wanted to see Odysseus?’

‘Does he? Oh yes! Odysseus, Father wants to see you the moment you arrive. He’s convening the Kerosia and wants you and Halitherses to go there. Right now, I think.’

Odysseus took a bag from Antiphus and slung it over his shoulder. There was a sudden sense of urgency about him.

‘You’ll have to feast without me,’ he shouted to his men, waving them up the beach. ‘Mentor, see they don’t get too drunk. Come on, Halitherses, we’re required elsewhere. You too, Eperitus. And as for you, sister, if you had a mind for anything other than dancing and boys you might remember that the king’s messages are a matter of urgency.’

With that he headed towards a wooded ridge that spanned the gap between the two mountains. Here a track led him into the trees, and Eperitus followed behind Halitherses, with Ctymene still on his arm.

The great hall was windowless and sombre, lit only by a fire in the central hearth. Smoke twisted up towards the high ceiling, where shadowy images of sun, moon and stars were all that remained of its once vivid murals. Four tall pillars stood like sentinels about the fire, half bathed in the light of the flames and half consumed by the encircling darkness. Barely distinguishable about their smooth circumferences were the faded outlines of birds, trees and flowers.

On every side the gloomy walls were hung with shields and spears, mostly of an antique style and in a state of disrepair, their bronze tarnished black by the smoke of many years. By the wavering firelight Eperitus tried to discern the spectral scenes of animal and marine life depicted on the flaking plaster, but these were several generations old and had diminished along with the glory of what was now an ageing and functional palace. Only the two painted lions flanking the unadorned granite throne, which stood against the east wall, retained any semblance of their former life and colour.

He sat on one of the seven wooden chairs around the burning hearth, set facing the vacant throne and an empty stool that had been placed beside it. Odysseus was next to him and Halitherses sat on the other side of the prince, both men staring thoughtfully into the fire. Eperitus’s own eyes were upon the silent members of the Kerosia who occupied the other chairs. These were the king’s most trusted advisers, men of seniority who would counsel him in times of need. Most were old or middle-aged, their features illuminated by the flickering flames, deep shadows etched into the creases and contours.

As he studied them through the distorting flames, the door behind him opened and the members of the Kerosia stood as one. A man and woman entered the hall side by side, without ceremony, and sat at the two vacant places. A pair of armed guards came with them and took up station by the door. They were followed by slaves carrying platters of drinks, which they served to each member of the Kerosia in turn.

‘Remember you’re the youngest here, Eperitus,’ Odysseus said, leaning across and whispering in his ear, ‘and that you’re a stranger. Speak only if you are spoken to; otherwise follow my lead in everything.’

Eperitus lowered the silver goblet from his thirsty lips and watched the others, whose drinks remained in their hands. Despite the simple, unannounced entrance, Eperitus could tell by the continued silence that they were waiting for the newcomers to speak.

The man held a twisted staff of dark wood, almost as tall as himself, which would be given to each speaker in turn as the debate began – a sign of their right to speak without interruption. But if this was Laertes, king of Ithaca, Eperitus could hardly have imagined a man more unlike Odysseus. His grey hair, watery eyes and thin, drooping lips made him look old beyond his years. His body was wasted and bent and his thin, bandy legs were forced to support an oversized belly. The pallor of his skin suggested a life spent mostly indoors, and by the way he squinted across his hooked nose at the members of the Kerosia, Eperitus guessed that his eyesight was deteriorating.

In contrast, Anticleia, Laertes’s wife, bore a strong blood-resemblance to Odysseus. She had the same green eyes, red hair and straight nose that her son possessed, with broad shoulders that echoed his physical presence. She looked much younger than Laertes and all eyes rested upon her as the royal couple sat before the council.

Laertes took his cup and sprinkled a few fingertips of wine into the flames – a libation in honour of the gods – before sitting down again to drink. The rest of the Kerosia stood and copied his brief gesture. Eperitus was notably the last to do this and caught the king’s liquid eye as he retreated to his place, his glance lingering just long enough not to become a stare. Then he broke the silence by slapping his palm repeatedly on the stone arm of the throne.

‘Now then, you all know each other, so let’s do away with the formalities and start the work of the day. Halitherses, my friend, I’m glad to see you’ve brought my son safely back from the oracle. What news from the Pythoness, Odysseus?’

Odysseus stood and took the staff from his father. Their eyes met in silence: on one side the reigning king, small and frail, his head and nose raised slightly as if listening, his teeth resting on his lower lip in an unconscious sneer; opposite him, the future king, hugely strong, wearing the confidence of his youth like a rich, impenetrable cloak.