Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Then I should return to Ithaca at once,’ Odysseus said.

The goddess ruffled his red hair affectionately. ‘Not so hasty, please. It’s Zeus’s will that Helen be given to Menelaus – he’s planning something big, but won’t let anyone know about it. You must still go to Sparta, though. A man of your charms will find important friends there, and perhaps something else, too. But I shan’t spoil things for you.’

Odysseus seemed restless. ‘You said there were two things, mistress.’

‘Yes: go to Messene and restock your provisions. There you’ll meet a man fording a stream. He will be carrying a large horn bow, which the god Apollo gave to his father. You must use your wits to get the bow from him, as he won’t be needing it for much longer himself. How you do it is up to you, but you will be ill advised to leave Messene without it. Do you understand me?’

‘What’s the importance of the bow?’ Odysseus asked.

But the goddess was gone, swallowed up by a billow of the fog. The gentle bleating of her sheep faded away and the mist evaporated about them to reveal Mentor and Antiphus, looking around themselves in surprise.

‘Where in Hades did that fog come from?’ Mentor said. ‘And where did those sheep go?’

Antiphus walked over to them. ‘You had a lot to say for yourselves, didn’t you? Chattering away in the mist.’

It was clear neither man had been aware they had been in the presence of an immortal. Odysseus and Eperitus made no answer, but instead headed back upstream to retrieve their shields and spears.

Three Ithacans had died in the battle. Eperitus had expected there to be more casualties, but the islanders were tougher men than they looked. From their outward appearances he had first thought them simple folk with little inclination to fight and no stamina for battle. They seemed to him men who preferred wine and the song of a bard to adventure and hardship. And so they were. But there was something about their island identity that gave them a toughness and spirit excelling anything he had encountered before. Again and again they proved themselves against every test. And only slowly, through listening to them tell stories over the camp fire each night and hearing them grumble on the long marches, did he realize the source of this strength. It came from their love of Ithaca and the simple freedom they had always enjoyed there. They would do whatever was needed of them to regain the idyllic world Eupeithes had stolen.

Eperitus only knew the dead men by sight, though they were obviously sorely missed by their comrades. They buried them together on the hill where they died. The place was marked with a mound of rocks, and when the last stone was laid they shouted three times over the grave of their comrades. After that Eperitus did not hear their names mentioned again for many months.

Damastor had been found still unconscious at the foot of the slope. He suffered a large bruise on his forehead and a headache that did not leave him until the next day, but was more dismayed at having missed the battle. Eperitus tried to reassure him that there was no shame attached, and yet he understood Damastor’s disappointment at missing the glory his comrades now enjoyed.

By good fortune they found the Taphian mules tied up at the foot of the slope, and amongst them their own animals, complete with the rich gifts for Tyndareus. As many of the Ithacans had received injuries that needed tending, Odysseus ordered the fine dresses to be torn up for bandages. The wounded men were ridiculed by their comrades for the pretty yellows and blues, of course, but this soon stopped when Odysseus tied a bright purple bandage around the wound on his forehead. Grateful for the clean material, which was far better than the dirty cloaks and tunics of the dead, they were nonetheless concerned that Odysseus had chosen to use Helen’s bride gifts in such a manner. Eperitus wondered how many other nobles would put the care of their men before their own gain.

They slept that night on the threshold of the temple. At dawn they returned to the hill and dug a large grave for the Taphians they had slain. It took much of the morning to make a pit big enough. Many had been put to death as they lay wounded on the ground after the battle, pleading for mercy from the men whose homes they had taken. But they received none, unless it was to save them from the carrion birds that circled above.

And so it was that by noon they started for Messene, saddened by the deaths of their fellow warriors but lifted by their victory over Polybus. The gods had been with them on the battlefield and they were encouraged by their protection. There were many, though, who pointed at Odysseus as he led the march and said it was he whom the immortals favoured. A handful of Taphians had escaped and would eventually reach Ithaca with the news that the prey had turned on the hunter, but by then Odysseus and his men would be guests at the palace of Tyndareus and safely beyond the reach of Eupeithes.

The chariot of the sun had not travelled far in its course through the dull and cloudy sky before they could detect animal dung and smoke in the air, the familiar smells of a township, and knew that Messene was just beyond the hills ahead of them. Odysseus, standing with Mentor at his side, called Damastor, Antiphus and Eperitus over to join them.

‘I was a fool to march us straight between those hills yesterday, so this time I’m sending you four to scout ahead. If you meet any trouble, send someone back to warn us – we’ll be close behind.’

They had no difficulty in outstripping the rest of the party, who were slowed down by the mules and the wounded men. Soon they reached the hills that separated them from Messene and stood in the road that wound its way between them. The boulder-strewn slopes rose steeply up on either side, providing another easy site for an ambush. With Polybus’s force destroyed and their leader dead it was unlikely they would meet more Taphians, and yet travellers in Greece – even armed warriors – were always at risk from bandits. So Mentor suggested they split into two groups, one to flank the road on the left and the other on the right.

‘Eperitus and I will go left,’ he said. ‘You two go right, but don’t wander from our view.’

With that he began to climb the scree-covered flank of the steeper hill, followed closely by Eperitus. Clambering over the small rocks and struggling through thick bushes quickly brought them out in a fresh sweat, despite the cold of the day and the fine drizzle that had started. This made the stones wet and their progress more treacherous, but eventually they reached level ground again and looked across to see Damastor and Antiphus picking their way along a rough track on the other side of the road.

Larger hills loomed ahead of them now, blocking everything that lay beyond from sight. They continued between outcrops of rock and boulders that had toppled from the peaks above, until before long they could hear the sound of flowing water. It came from a low valley that intersected the road and lay between themselves and the larger range of hills. Mentor ran ahead and was soon calling for Eperitus to catch up with him.

‘A river,’ he said. ‘The road starts again on the other side.’

Eperitus looked down into the valley. The waters were wide and fast, swelled by the recent rains falling in the mountains to the east, but nothing like the obstacle they had encountered a few days before. At least it was shallow enough to ford and would not delay their progress. Then, as his gaze crossed to the opposite side where the road to Messene continued, he noticed a lone figure crawling about amongst the stones. Ducking behind the bole of a weather-beaten olive tree and signalling Mentor to get out of view, he looked across to see if Damastor and Antiphus had seen the man. To his dismay they had not, and were already making their way down to the ford.