Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus’s first reaction was one of shock and sickened horror. He could not believe Odysseus was the man who had assaulted Penelope, though his eyes and heart told him it was true. Even then he trusted him not to have stooped to rape and knew he would not have hurt the princess. But that would not save him from public execution for his crime. Worse than death, though, was the dishonour that would destroy his name. To a warrior such a punishment was unthinkable, and Eperitus was repulsed by the thought.

Then he remembered his duty of honour to Odysseus. The prince was a great warrior and the best man he had ever known, someone whom he had come to love. He knew he could neither see him shamed nor killed.

So, as Odysseus took a step towards Tyndareus, he caught one of his large hands and pressed his own sprig of chelonion into his palm, then walked out to accept his friend’s punishment.

Chapter Twenty-two

THE EXECUTION

‘I’m the man you’re looking for,’ Eperitus said. He opened his cloak so they could see he no longer wore the badge of Ithaca. ‘It was I who dropped the flower in Penelope’s room last night.’

Shouts of abuse erupted from the crowd of warriors. Agamemnon and Tyndareus looked at him with disdain, and even his comrades took a step back as Icarius came purposefully towards him. Eperitus knew he would have to accept the king’s hatred without complaint, along with public execution and the dishonour that would accompany it. These were the consequences of his sacrifice. Not that death scared him, but the shame that would attach to his name was worse than a hundred deaths. And yet as the son of a traitor, he thought, he should have known the gods would not choose him for glory. The Pythoness had lied; his father’s curse had been passed down to him.

Icarius stepped up to him and spat in his face. Eperitus felt the spittle running down his cheek, and then Penelope’s father punched him with all his strength. It was not a hard blow, because Icarius was not a strong man, but he felt his nose break and tasted the blood running onto his lips and into the back of his throat. For a moment he was glad for the king that he had drawn blood, as it might slake some of his thirst for revenge. But then he sensed the crowd of warriors gathering around him and knew that public humiliation and execution were not enough for them, who believed he had brought dishonour on them all.

The first soldier hit him and sent him spinning backwards, where he was caught by one of the other men in the circle closing around him. Then he received the full force of their collective anger. Fists came at him from all sides. They hit him in the stomach, kidneys, face and head so that within moments he was on the ground, consciousness slipping away from him as he impulsively curled up in a ball to resist their blows. Blood ran into his eyes and mouth and he was barely able to see as his senses folded in upon him. As blackness tunnelled his vision, he looked up and recognized Little Ajax amongst the snarling faces.

Then the blows and kicks receded. Through his throbbing ears he heard the voice of Odysseus. He blinked the blood from one of his eyes and saw the prince dragging his assailants off him, helped by Menelaus, Halitherses and Gyrtias the Rhodian. Somebody pulled him to his feet and he recognized Mentor’s voice whispering encouraging words in his ear. He supported Eperitus until he regained enough strength to stand unaided, then withdrew to leave him alone with Odysseus before the kings of Sparta and Mycenae.

Odysseus looked long at Tyndareus before speaking.

‘This man is no criminal,’ he began. The sound of his voice was smooth and calming, countering the rage that was all about him. ‘Though he confesses to the crime, he doesn’t deserve death. In my company he has always proved himself a man of honour; a warrior whose bravery is second to none, and whose skill with the spear has laid many of my enemies in the dust. Were it not for his courage and self-sacrifice I might not be standing before you now, pleading for his life. So I beg your mercy, and Icarius’s, whose daughter’s honour has been offended by the rash act of a foolish man. The shame of dishonour is enough for any warrior: let that be sufficient.’

‘There’s nothing I can do,’ Tyndareus replied. ‘The decision is not mine to make.’

‘I’ve helped you ensure peace will be kept in your palace, and for that you promised me anything it was in your power to give. I ask you for the life of Eperitus.’

Tyndareus was surprised that Odysseus should be prepared to exchange Helen for the life of a mere soldier, but he kept his wonderment to himself. ‘Only Icarius can make that choice, Odysseus. You must ask him.’

‘My answer is the same,’ Icarius said, coldly. ‘The man must die.’

‘Then if you won’t give me Eperitus’s life, at least offer me his death. Allow me to be the executioner.’

Icarius laughed at the suggestion. ‘No. He raped my daughter, and I’ll be the one to put him to the sword. The right of revenge is mine.’

‘He’s my friend and, what’s more, he’s an Ithacan warrior. If a man is to die, let it be by the hand of one of his own countrymen.’

Tyndareus sighed loudly. Taking a sword from one of the guards, he handed it to Odysseus. ‘Be quick,’ he said. ‘I’m already sick of this whole affair.’

Odysseus took the weapon, but made no move to carry out the king’s request.

‘Not before the eyes of all these onlookers,’ he announced. ‘Let me take him down to the orchard by the bridge and carry out the sentence there, privately and with respect for the service he has given me. I give you my word Penelope’s attacker will receive his just rewards.’

‘No – do it here,’ Icarius demanded. ‘Where there are witnesses to the act.’

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. They had already come to regard Odysseus as too clever for the absolute truth, and though they respected him few trusted him. But at that moment Peisandros stepped from the ranks of the Myrmidons and joined Odysseus.

‘I’ll see that it’s done. Permit Odysseus to take this man to the orchard he talks of, the one by the tributary that runs into the Eurotas. I will be your witness. This is an evil business and, by the gods, I want to see it over.’

‘I agree,’ Menelaus said, his face full of disgust at the proceedings and Icarius’s lust for revenge. ‘Let Odysseus kill his friend and let Peisandros act as witness. He’s of noble birth and we can trust what he says.’

The early spring sky had filled with grey clouds and a wind was blowing across the courtyard now. Agamemnon and Tyndareus exchanged hushed words then quickly nodded their approval. Odysseus and Peisandros bowed low before them, then, as the first dollops of rain began to sink pits into the dust, they led Eperitus across the courtyard and through the gates.

For a while they walked in silence through the town, Odysseus on one side of Eperitus and Peisandros on the other, looking in every respect the escort that they were. The rain shower had been brief and as the townsfolk emerged from the shelter of homes and doorways they stared at them because of the prisoner’s beaten and bloodied state. A few children dared follow in their wake to throw sticks and stones at his back – instinctively identifying him as some form of criminal – but were chased angrily away by Peisandros.

Before long they reached the city walls and could see the bridge and the orchard only a short walk further on through the arched gateway.

‘Wait here and keep watch, Peisandros,’ Odysseus commanded, handing him the sword. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’