Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘This is Teucer, youngest son of Telamon and half-brother of my namesake,’ he continued, pointing at the third member of the party, who fidgeted nervously and lifted his head as if sniffing the air, then looked back down at his feet so as not to meet the eyes of the onlookers. ‘We’ve come to support Ajax’s claim to the princess Helen.’

‘Then step forward, all of you, and refresh yourselves after your travels.’ Tyndareus walked down to meet them, while a flurry of slaves brought food, wine and chairs to the dais for the latest of Helen’s suitors. But the men remained where they stood.

‘Where is Helen?’ demanded the greater of the Ajaxes.

‘Sleeping,’ Tyndareus answered. ‘There will be time to see her tomorrow, but for now you should eat and drink and tell us the tale of your journey here.’

But Ajax was impatient, as if he expected the girl to marry him before the night was out. ‘Then wake her. Should I be kept waiting for the sake of a woman’s sleep?’

‘Her beauty will not diminish overnight, Ajax,’ Agamemnon said, leaving the crowd to join the newcomers. ‘Take your seats and join the feast.’

Little Ajax’s snake flicked out its tongue and hissed as he approached, but the king of Mycenae had a commanding presence that seemed to silence even the irrepressible Ajax. The three men allowed him to shepherd them to the places set out by the slaves.

But if Agamemnon was pleased to receive the latest suitor, happy that his planned council of war could now go ahead, there were others among the noble guests who were not so pleased at the giant’s words or the insolent presence of his lesser namesake. Palamedes and King Menestheus stood as the trio stepped up to the dais and walked to the opposite side. Patroclus, who sat on a chair at the foot of the dais, also stood and walked away. Seeing this, Little Ajax draped his pet snake over the twitching Teucer and followed the Myrmidon.

‘You!’ he said.

Patroclus turned and sneered down at the Locrian prince, who now stood threateningly before him.

‘You’ve no royal blood in you. Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Patroclus wrinkled his pinched nose at the stench of the man’s breath. ‘My name is Patroclus, representative of Achilles.’

‘Achilles?’ Little Ajax scoffed. ‘Do you hear that, lads? He says he’s here to represent Achilles! But everybody knows Achilles is just a boy. He is just a boy isn’t he?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Patroclus replied, testily.

They were the two most disliked, arrogant and mean-looking men in all of Sparta, and it surprised nobody to see them already at loggerheads.

‘Then he must be,’ Little Ajax persisted, like a boarhound on a scent, ‘because I’m sure you’d know if he had hair on his balls yet.’

Suddenly Patroclus dropped his natural reserve and seized him by the throat. He was not a well-built man but his sinewy muscles were deceptively strong. He also had the reactions of a cobra – Peisandros had boasted that his captain was the most accomplished fighter amongst the Myrmidons – and Little Ajax could do little more than try to pull the strong, long-fingered hands from his neck.

An instant later Ajax himself leapt down from the dais and with one blow from his massive fist knocked Patroclus halfway across the hall, where he landed at the feet of his own men. They took one look at their leader, unconscious and bleeding, and with a great shout of anger rushed as one towards the giant.

Peisandros was the first to reach him. He slipped inside Ajax’s guard and punched him in the stomach. It was as hard a blow as he could give, but his fist rebounded as if he had slammed it into an ox-hide shield. Ajax roared with joy and hurled Peisandros into the crowd of onlookers. An instant later he threw himself into the rest of the Myrmidons, tossing them about the great hall like dolls. He was joined by Little Ajax, who was always looking for the opportunity to fight. But unlike his companion, who simply enjoyed beating his opponents, the smaller man was driven by a constantly simmering hatred for all mankind. He went for the tallest warrior he could see and jumped up to hit him full on the jaw. The man fell back and took no further part in the fight.

Despite being knocked this way and that, the Myrmidons were proud fighting men and would not give up the fight until the last man was beaten. They launched themselves in numbers at Ajax, though with no more effect than the sea crashing against a great rock. But the more badly mauled amongst them now saw an opportunity for revenge against Little Ajax, and Peisandros and two of his comrades crowded about him and began to give him a severe beating.

Eperitus, Diomedes and Menelaus had stood by in the crowd, enjoying the spectacle of Ajax fighting off a dozen men whilst his colleague took a much-deserved battering. Agamemnon and Odysseus seemed to be watching the spectacle with equal satisfaction from the royal dais, whilst beside them Tyndareus looked on aghast, imagining similar scenes when he eventually chose a husband for his daughter. But as Eperitus watched Little Ajax reel away from his attackers with a punch to the side of his head, he saw him snatch a knife from one of the meat stewards and immediately go running back into the fray, straight at Peisandros. Instinctively Eperitus stepped forward and called out to the Myrmidon, who turned to see the Locrian running towards him, a sneer of hatred on his battered lips. In the same moment Teucer stood up on the dais and called out frenetically to his half-brother.

Ajax was still fending off the other Myrmidons, but turned as he heard Teucer’s voice and saw the blade glinting in Little Ajax’s hand. In a moment he had bounded across the floor and smashed his fist down upon the head of his companion, crumpling him in a heap. The knife skittered across the flagstones and came to a spinning rest at Peisandros’s feet.

The Myrmidon signalled for his comrades to stop the fight. Immediately he walked up to Ajax and offered his hand in thanks for saving his life. Ajax enclosed it in his own and nodded curtly. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

Neaera stood at the entrance to the temple of Aphrodite and glanced shamefacedly at Eperitus as he arrived. The interior was lit by a solitary torch and he could see Helen waiting for him by the whitewashed altar.

She looked even more beautiful than usual tonight. Her hair was worn loose to frame her face and emphasize the features that the warrior had come to know so well during their many meetings here. He had often thought of how he could be happy spending hours just looking at her, absorbing the gentle lines of her face and the full curves of her body. A man could die for that pleasure, he thought, but would he ever be happy? The suitor who finally won Helen would never be able to possess such beauty and would spend his whole life jealously guarding her from the attentions of other men. He felt sorry for her – her delicate femininity and spellbinding looks were as much a curse as a blessing.

As he shook the late winter rain from his cloak, she came up to him and kissed his cheek. Up until that point she had barely touched him in all of their secret liaisons, which was a painful irony in view of the news he had to bring her. And yet the touch of her soft lips on his stubbly cheek, with the faint hint of perfume in her hair, was exquisite.

‘What’s wrong, Eperitus? Are you shocked that I should kiss you? Well, you shouldn’t be. If I wasn’t the plaything of the powerful, who knows that I wouldn’t be happy to spend my life with a handsome warrior like yourself?’

‘You’re kind, my lady,’ he replied despondently. He knew she wanted to repay him for being her one friend during the long weeks of her courtship by so many men, but he could not bring himself to match her cheerfulness, weighed down by the guilt of what he had to reveal to her. ‘But you truly are the plaything of the powerful, to use your own words. I’m afraid you will always be a prisoner of Tyndareus and Agamemnon.’