Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus liked Iphitus, but for all the divine origins and powers of the bow he had little faith in the lad’s ability to kill Heracles – especially if Odysseus fulfilled the command of the goddess and took it from him. He watched the prince admiring the weapon in which Iphitus had placed his faith, running his fingers over its smooth surface of crafted horn and admiring the skill that had shaped it. He stood and tried the string, finding that the bow bent to his will as if it had been made especially for him. And Eperitus could tell that he coveted it, that he wanted it with all his heart, as a man would want a woman.

‘Innkeeper!’ Odysseus shouted. ‘Bring more wine in here. My men want to get roaring drunk.’

Another krater was brought in to the cheers of his guards, but Odysseus did not stop to taste it. He announced he was going to check on the mules and, taking the bow with him, went through the door that led to the stables. Iphitus became fidgety without his prized weapon. Unable to let it out of his sight for a moment longer he stood and, excusing himself politely and promising to return, followed the prince. Eperitus waited a short while then followed in his wake.

He reached a doorway onto the courtyard and heard their voices coming from the stables on the other side. Waiting in the shadows, he heard Odysseus explain the real reason for their journey across the Peloponnese.

‘And when will you leave for Sparta?’ asked Iphitus.

‘We won’t delay any longer than we have to,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, if the men’s wounds show signs of healing and they feel fit enough. And what about you, Iphitus? When will you head to Tiryns?’

‘Messene holds no attraction for me,’ he replied. ‘Tomorrow will be as good a time as any. Already the trail is fading, and yet my mission won’t allow me to delay. I have to find Heracles.’

Eperitus crossed the courtyard. It was lit only by the glow of the moon, an eerie light that reflected in the dozens of small puddles on the muddy ground, which was still sodden from the day’s rain. The mules were huddled together in the darkness, where Odysseus was stroking their long noses and ugly, twitching ears. Iphitus was in the corner of the stable, once more in possession of his bow.

‘Hello Eperitus,’ Odysseus greeted him.

‘My lord.’

‘Not interested in getting drunk then?’

‘Not really. I thought I’d join you and see if I could dissuade Iphitus from pursuing Heracles.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said the young archer. ‘I feel honour-bound to find my friend and prove the rumours wrong.’

‘Or right.’

‘At least travel with us, Iphitus,’ Odysseus said. ‘Sparta is on the way to Tiryns. We can share the road together and keep each other company. The men like you.’

‘It’s true,’ Eperitus agreed. ‘Who can forget the way you shot Damastor’s cap off with that arrow? And even he has come to forgive you for it. You should join us.’

As Iphitus shook his head resolutely, Odysseus moved towards the baggage that had been stowed in a corner of the stable, knelt down and untied one of the leather bags.

‘Your decision makes me sad,’ he sighed, standing again. In his hand was his father’s sword, the guest-gift for Tyndareus. He pulled it from its scabbard and the ornately carved blade glinted in the silvery light, each tiny detail pin-pricked by the moon as Odysseus turned it this way and that. Eperitus had never seen a weapon so intricate in its design, so rich in the quality of its workmanship, or so dreadful as it sat poised in Odysseus’s hand. For a moment he feared his friend would strike Iphitus down in cold blood and take the bow from him. Iphitus, too, looked uncertain and took a step back, gripping his bow tighter. But as he did so the prince slid the sword back into its scabbard and offered the hilt towards him.

‘If you won’t accompany us to Sparta, then you must visit me when I’ve restored Ithaca to my father’s line. There I will receive you with fair words, have my slaves bathe and clothe you, and we’ll eat together as old friends. That’s my promise to you, Iphitus, and before Zeus I offer you lifelong friendship, an honourable alliance that will hold for me and my descendants to you and yours for seven generations. And until we meet again in Ithaca I offer you gifts to seal my oath of friendship. I give you this sword of my father’s, which was to be our guest-gift to Tyndareus.’

Iphitus took the weapon and looked closely at the gold filigree on the leather scabbard. He drew the sword and studied the ornamentation on the blade, felt with his thumb the carving on the ivory handle, then held it above his head to watch the moonlight trickle off its glistening edge. Even though he was the son of a king, he had never seen such beauty in a man-made object.

As he admired its workmanship, Odysseus turned to Eperitus and told him to fetch one of his spears. ‘My finest spear, Eperitus. Be quick.’

Eperitus ran to where the others still sat, drinking from a fresh krater of wine. They hailed his arrival and asked where Odysseus was, but he made no reply other than to say the prince needed his spear. Halitherses handed him the great ash shaft and followed him back out into the courtyard, where Odysseus and Iphitus still faced each other.

‘This, too, I give to you,’ Odysseus said as Eperitus arrived, taking the spear from his hand. ‘The spear which Ares gave to my great-grandfather, and which has been passed from father to son since then. Take it, Iphitus, in sign of our friendship.’

Eperitus looked at Halitherses after hearing Odysseus’s extraordinary claims about the ordinary-looking weapon, but the old warrior screwed his lips to one side and gave a slight shake of his head.

‘Your generosity astounds me, Odysseus,’ Iphitus said, taking the spear and feeling its balance in his right hand. ‘Truly you are a great friend and a noble ally, a man of virtue and nobility. And you do me great honour with your words and these gifts.’ He looked again at the things Odysseus had pressed upon him in the ages-old custom of xenia . As a man of royal birth who had already proved himself to be honourable and true, Eperitus knew Iphitus would accept and return Odysseus’s oath. He watched him take the prince’s hand and look him sternly in the eye.

‘Odysseus, I give you an oath of my allegiance, before the all-seeing eyes of Zeus. When our separate missions are completed I’ll visit you in Ithaca to confirm the words we’ve spoken here. And then you shall visit my father’s palace in Oechalia and be our most honoured guest. This is my promise, true for seven generations.’

Then he stopped and withdrew his hand. Iphitus was required to give a gift in return, a token to seal his side of the alliance. And yet he had nothing to give beyond his travel-worn cloak and the plain dagger tucked into his belt. His only other possession was the bow, the one weapon with which he could defeat Heracles.

He looked at Eperitus, who could not return the Oechalian’s gaze. He felt ashamed for his simple part in Odysseus’s trick, even though he had not realized it until the last moment. Then Iphitus looked at the sword again and tucked it into his belt, smiling with what seemed a mixture of pleasure at the richness of the gift, and resignation at the knowledge that he must give the bow to Odysseus. Everything, after all, was the will of the gods, and they clearly favoured the Ithacan prince.

‘This is my gift to you. It’s a great weapon, Odysseus, made by Apollo himself. It’ll respond to you like a lyre in the hand of a skilled bard. You’ll never miss your target with any arrow fired from this bow, and only you or the one you give it to will be able to string it. I give it to you freely and happily in token of our friendship.’