Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Did he . . . touch you?’ asked the officer.

‘Do you know him, my lady?’ added the other guard in the face of her silence.

‘No. It was dark and . . . and he covered my face with this blanket so that I couldn’t see him.’

There would be trouble from this, the soldiers knew, but for now they had to see that Penelope was safe. The officer went to the window and looked down. Nothing. Then he looked at the tree and an explanation dawned on him.

Suddenly there were more voices in the corridor outside and a moment later Icarius burst in with three guards at his heels. He took one look at his daughter and with a sinking heart knew that what he had been told was true. Seizing a torch from one of the soldiers, he held it before her as she hid her nudity behind the flimsy covering.

‘Who?’ he demanded.

When she did not answer the officer repeated what she had told him. ‘Shall I send the men out and call for a slave, my lord?’

‘No! Let her squirm in her own infamy. Did you see the man?’

‘We saw him, but it was dark and before we could do anything he leapt out of the window and escaped.’

‘What do you mean, you idiot? How could anyone jump out of the window and run off? He’d break his legs, if he didn’t break his neck first.’

‘He must have got in by climbing up the tree, father,’ Penelope offered, still kneeling on the bed. The lascivious urgings had faded and she tried harder to conceal her nudity behind the blanket.

Icarius ignored her and went to the window. After thrusting his head out and assessing the means of entry and exit he turned back to the knot of guards in the centre of the room. They were trying desperately not to look at the naked princess or her incensed father.

‘Have you looked to see if he left anything behind? A sandal or a piece of clothing? Anything?’

They shook their heads, but as they did so Icarius suddenly shot out an arm and pointed at the floor.

‘There!’ he exclaimed, and leaned down to pick something small and delicate from the bare slabs at the feet of his soldiers. He held it up like a prize, turning its delicate form before their eyes. It was a dried sprig of chelonion, the badge of the men from Ithaca.

The feast was stopped immediately and every man – noble or commoner – ordered back to their quarters. Eperitus and Peisandros had already quit the festivities for the night, preferring instead to walk through the gardens and swap stories of the battles they had been through. Eperitus was recounting the fight with the serpent when armed guards approached and escorted them back to their rooms. He found Odysseus already there, looking breathless and dishevelled with scratches on his arms and legs. As the prince offered no explanation for his condition, or his absence from the feast, Eperitus knew better than to interrogate him about it.

They remained under strict guard until first light, when a herald visited each suitor and his men with a summons to assemble in the courtyard. There was a great press on the stairs as the Ithacans descended, swapping keen gossip with the friends they had made amongst the warriors of other Greek nations. Speculation was rife. Some said Helen’s husband would be announced, whilst others declared it would be war with Troy. But nobody suspected that the true reason for the summons would prove much more sensational.

In the meantime Odysseus was curiously withdrawn from the excitement that gripped his men. His absence had been noticed from the banquet the night before, but when the men questioned Damastor about it, knowing he had remained with the prince until after they had gone down for the feast, he dismissed them with impatient gestures. Instead, he preferred to spend his time looking about the courtyard in a distracted manner.

So as they waited, watching slaves cut down an old olive tree close to the palace walls, they remained in ignorance of the reason for the muster. Then Agamemnon, Tyndareus and Icarius appeared and walked across the compound towards them. That they were escorted by two dozen heavily armed guards brought new questions to the minds of the waiting men and made them shift uneasily, conscious that their own weapons were locked in the palace armoury.

Agamemnon stepped forward, glowering at the assembly with a ferocity none of them had ever witnessed in him before. ‘Whilst most of us were feasting in the great hall last night,’ he began, ‘someone entered the women’s quarters and assaulted the princess Penelope. It’s beyond any doubt in my mind that a man here, be he king, prince or soldier, has violated the trust of his hosts. Such an act is a vile abuse of the customs of xenia . That Icarius is angry is his right; and both Tyndareus and I support his demand for justice under Spartan law.’ Agamemnon left a pause, in which Icarius stood erect and cast his glance across the silent files of men, his eyes lingering meaningfully on Odysseus. ‘You all understand the Spartan punishment for any man who sleeps with an unmarried noblewoman?’

Death was the punishment, and every man knew it. They stood more stiffly now, staring directly ahead without turning to look at the faces of their colleagues. The news left a bitter taste in Eperitus’s mouth, not only because of what had happened to Penelope but also because their period of happiness had ended in such a dishonourable way. He sensed the three men already knew who had committed the offence, or why else would they have ordered them to the courtyard? It could only be to make a public show of the culprit, and the prospect turned his stomach. He dared to glance sideways at Odysseus and noticed that his friend’s head hung down and his eyes were closed.

Tyndareus now stepped forward, his grim face dark with emotion.

‘Shame has been brought not only upon this house, but upon every man here. I intend to see the perpetrator found and punished, not only with death, which is the law, but also with disgrace. His name will be cast down into ignominy where it belongs; a name to be despised, hated, and then forgotten; a punishment befitting a true coward, a man without honour or glory. And don’t think we are in ignorance of who did this, for the man who invaded the privacy of the women’s quarters last night left a clue to his identity. Odysseus!’

Tyndareus pointed directly at the Ithacans, sending Eperitus’s heart beating hard against his chest. Odysseus lifted his head and looked back, but said nothing.

‘Odysseus,’ the Spartan king repeated, his voice trembling with rage. He held up a small, fragile flower in his great fist for everyone to see. ‘You once told me your men wear these flowers as a reminder of their homeland. This one was found on the floor of Penelope’s room!’

Suddenly there was uproar amongst the gathered soldiers. The warriors on either side of the Ithacans stepped back as if they were diseased. They looked at them with anger in their eyes, and some shouted abuse at them for bringing dishonour on every man there. The crime itself was nothing compared to the shadow of shame that had touched upon them all.

Meanwhile, Odysseus’s men frantically checked their clothing for the dried flower that each wore as a badge. Upon finding them still attached – to their relief – they glanced about at their companions to see whose was missing. Eperitus was comforted to see his own sprig of chelonion secured in his belt. Then a sense of foreboding made him look at Odysseus, who remained staring at Tyndareus. He did not move, though Eperitus saw his vast bulk wavering in a strange manner, as if he were about to step forward but a greater will restrained him. Then his fears were confirmed: the flower that the prince usually wore with such pride was gone.