Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

The Rhodians had been amongst the very first to arrive and had already been in the city for several days. Their second-in-command was a brash, fierce-looking man called Gyrtias, who quickly became good friends with Halitherses due to the rank they shared.

‘There he is,’ he announced to Halitherses, though loudly enough for all of the Ithacans to hear. He pointed a thick arm that was stiff with muscles at a slight figure seated behind the higher nobles. ‘Prince Tlepolemos of Rhodes. A more handsome and worthier Greek has not yet been born. That is the man who will marry Helen.’

Eperitus looked and saw a baby-faced youth who was struggling to grow a beard and had not yet developed any muscles to speak of. He simpered at the back of the group with his pale brown locks falling in front of his eyes, and Eperitus could only wonder at how out of place the young prince looked amongst such proud men.

Gyrtias went on to name the other kings and princes who had arrived so far. Never before had Eperitus seen such a magnificent assembly of men. It was almost unbelievable, he thought, that in so short a space of time he had risen from being an outcast from his own land to become an attendant to the highest royalty in the Greek-speaking world. Here before him were men whose collective power was beyond belief. When the assembly was complete they would represent almost every nation and dynasty of importance in the whole of Greece. Most had fathers whose fame was legendary, but many were great warriors in their own right. More significantly, they represented the ripening youth of Greek nobility.

Before Gyrtias could finish naming each man and his lineage, a new group of men entered the hall. They were dressed all in black and all eyes turned to watch them as they approached the twin thrones where Tyndareus and Icarius sat.

‘Myrmidons,’ Gyrtias grumbled as Eperitus recognized his friend Peisandros amongst them.

They halted before the grouped kings and bowed, before dispersing into the crowd. This impressed him, as good manners were a sign of honourable men, and so he could not understand the hostility in Gyrtias’s voice. Only one man remained, standing stiff and awkward before the twin thrones. From behind, Eperitus guessed he was the same age as himself, though he was taller and more sinewy, and as he had been at the head of the Myrmidons he also assumed him to be their leader, Patroclus. Tyndareus beckoned him to join the royal gathering and a slave brought a stool for the newcomer, but to Eperitus’s surprise it was placed on the floor before the raised dais upon which the other leaders sat.

‘Why doesn’t he sit with the others?’ Mentor asked, echoing Eperitus’s thoughts.

‘Because he isn’t high-born,’ Gyrtias answered, staring scornfully at the new arrival. ‘He’s just a commoner like you or me, here to represent Achilles. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us though, the arrogant bastard. They’re all arrogant, Myrmidons.’

Patroclus sat and Eperitus saw his face for the first time. He had a large nose and high cheekbones, set in a triangular, cleanshaven face. This was balanced atop a scrawny neck that was dominated by the boulder-like lump in his throat. He had an affected expression of disdain which was made more hateful by his half-lidded, disapproving eyes, though whether he disapproved of the rabble of common soldiers to his right or the elitist kings to his left was not clear.

‘Now there’s a sight for men who’ve marched halfway across the Peloponnese,’ said Damastor.

Eperitus followed his gaze to where a young woman had entered the great hall. Her dark brown hair was long and tied up in a tail that dangled from the back of her head, flicking about gaily with every movement. She was tall, perhaps only a little shorter than himself, and her slim body was hidden by a green dress that fell to her ankles. Her assured self-confidence marked her out as a member of the ruling class, though she lacked the arrogance and disdain common to others of her rank.

‘So that’s Helen?’ he said aloud, to nobody in particular.

‘Helen?’ Gyrtias scoffed. ‘That’s not Helen, lad. That’s Icarius’s daughter, Penelope.’

Odysseus looked up as Penelope approached the dais and his conversation with Agamemnon and Diomedes fell away. He could scarce take his eyes from her as she moved through the press of men, entranced by the beauty of her movement and the perfect, calm symmetry of her face. If this was Helen, he thought, it would have been worth the journey just to set eyes upon her. As she reached the raised platform, he stood and quickly patted the creases from his drab clothing.

‘Tyndareus, your daughter’s reputation is well deserved,’ he began, bowing low but unable to take his eyes from her intelligent, pretty face. ‘No wonder the best men in Greece are flocking to Sparta.’

Penelope put her fists on her hips and tilted her head, frowning at him from beneath her smooth brow.

‘Fortunate, isn’t it, that intelligence isn’t a requirement amongst the best men in Greece,’ she said. Then, having dismissed the newest of Helen’s suitors, she turned to Tyndareus. ‘Uncle, your queen sends her apologies and asks me to tell you that Helen will be here shortly.’

Tyndareus nodded. ‘Can’t she find the right dress again?’

‘Perhaps she has too many, uncle,’ Penelope replied. ‘But I think the dress she has chosen emphasizes her best features.’

‘Good! That’s what my guests are here to see.’

‘You may not be so pleased when she arrives.’ Penelope smiled wryly. ‘But all will be revealed.’

She bowed her head and turned to go.

‘Penelope!’ Icarius said sternly. ‘I didn’t bring you up to be rude to strangers. Perhaps you should be less harsh in future to Prince Odysseus.’

With her back still turned she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ she said, though it was not clear to whom she was apologizing. Then she looked at Odysseus and added sincerely, ‘I hope I didn’t cause offence.’

Odysseus still smarted from the humiliation, which was made worse by his attraction to the woman.

‘It would take more than your low wit to offend me,’ he replied.

Penelope shot him an angry look before turning on her heel and marching off into the crowd of revellers.

‘You were saying about King Priam,’ Odysseus reminded Agamemnon, his eyes following Icarius’s daughter into the mass of slaves and warriors.

Agamemnon, whose own gaze had also been fixed on Penelope, nodded and placed a finger to his lips. ‘Already I can see we share similar views, Odysseus, so I’ll bring you into my confidence. But these things aren’t for all ears. Not yet.’

Together, he and Diomedes explained in hushed voices how Troy was demanding tribute from all merchants passing through the Aegean. Not only was it an affront to all Greeks, they said, it also threatened to become a stranglehold on the trade that the Greek states depended and thrived on.

Odysseus drained his cup. ‘So what do you propose?’

‘Anything necessary to keep the peace here,’ said Diomedes. ‘We’re considering a combined raid on Ilium, the land around Troy, to sack a couple of Priam’s allied cities. Something to give the Greek states a common purpose. But we need to have all the kings on our side, or else who would take their armies across the Aegean if there were enemies still at home? This gathering is an ideal chance to hold a council of war.’

‘I’m all for an alliance between the Greek states,’ Odysseus began. ‘Especially if it keeps peace between us all. But putting this idea into practice is another matter altogether.’