Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Both of the chosen men fell. The driver pitched sideways out of the cart, whilst the lead soldier half-raised a hand to his throat – where Antiphus’s arrow had struck – before dropping to the ground. The squealing cart halted and for a brief instant everything was silent as the surviving Taphians looked about themselves in consternation. Then Eperitus leapt to his feet and ran at them screaming, his sword raised above his head. The others followed, yelling insanely as they dashed across the short distance separating the trees from the road.

One man made a clumsy effort to loosen the shield from his back and turn it towards them, but failed to hold its weight in his hurry and dropped it. An instant later Eperitus’s sword had swept his head from his shoulders and sent it bouncing back down the road to the harbour. The remaining man on the wagon burst into tears and threw his arms out in supplication, pleading for his life in a garbled and hideous-sounding dialect. Realizing he had no heart for a fight Eperitus ignored him and looked for the other man, who he saw duck beneath a swathing cut from Halitherses’s sword and sprint up the road to the town.

Antiphus fell in beside his captain and raised his bow to shoot the man down, but before he could release the arrow from between his thumb and forefinger, Mentor and another soldier hurdled the stone wall and dived upon the fleeing Taphian, smashing him to the ground beneath their combined weight. He struggled ferociously, and not until more help arrived did they manage to control him.

Strangely, when the two men were hauled before Odysseus for judgement their attitudes reversed. When Odysseus revealed his identity, the old man who had gibbered insanely for mercy became silent and stared at the prince with defiance; the younger man, however, crumbled with fear and began begging for his life. He fell to his knees before the prince and wrapped his arms about his legs.

‘Don’t kill me, lord,’ he cried, his accent thick and barely intelligible. ‘Spare me and I’ll fight for you against Polytherses. We came here to support Eupeithes, but since he was deposed many of us have lost our reason to be here.’

‘Shut up, you grovelling piece of snot,’ growled his comrade.

Mentor cuffed him about the back of the head, persuading him to silence.

‘I’ll spare you,’ Odysseus said. The kneeling man looked up in surprise. ‘If you help us get into the palace.’

‘Say nothing, Mentes,’ ordered the other Taphian, earning himself another blow. This time blood trickled from one of his nostrils, proof that Mentor’s patience was thinning.

‘What do you say?’ Odysseus persisted. ‘I give you your life, and in exchange you get me into the palace.’

The man seemed suddenly uncertain, but as Odysseus raised the point of his sword and placed it against the soft flesh of his throat he swallowed quickly and nodded.

‘I’ll do it. I can tell you all you need to know about Poly-therses’s defences. If you let me return now, I can open the gate for you in the middle of the night.’

‘Don’t mock me, Mentes,’ Odysseus replied with a frown. ‘I intend to drive this wagon up to the palace gates with you at my side. And in return for your life you’ll not only tell the guard I’m one of the wine merchants, you’ll also see I’m made welcome for the night. Then, when the palace is sleeping, you can help me open the gates so that the rest of my men can enter. I want you close to me the whole time, close enough for me to slit your throat if you show any sign of revealing my name. And only when Ithaca is rid of Polytherses and your countrymen will I spare your life. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, lord,’ Mentes nodded fervently. ‘I’ve told you I have no love for Polytherses – I’ll do all these things you ask, and more if required.’

‘I don’t believe him,’ Mentor said. ‘He’ll say anything right now, when your sword is pricking at his soft neck. But what about when he’s surrounded by his friends, safely tucked away inside the palace with nothing but your dagger to threaten him? The cow-ard’ll find his courage and sense of duty quick enough then – duty to Polytherses! Some god has robbed you of your wits, Odysseus, if you let yourself be led into the palace by this serpent.’

‘I give you my word of honour as a warrior, as all the gods are my witness,’ said Mentes, standing and facing his accuser.

‘I don’t trust the word of a Taphian,’ Mentor replied, sliding his sword out of his belt. He presented the hilt to the Taphian. ‘But if you kill your comrade . . .’

‘No!’ Eperitus protested. ‘That’s barbaric.’

‘It’s the only way to be sure,’ said Odysseus, looking expectantly at Mentes.

The older Taphian shifted uneasily. Then Mentes took the sword and stuck it deep into his guts. He twisted the blade once and pulled it back out, unplugging a stream of dark, glistening blood that sluiced down the man’s groin and legs and onto the road.

He turned from the body and handed Mentor his sword. ‘Is that proof enough for you?’

‘It will do,’ Odysseus answered coldly. ‘Now hide these corpses and listen to what I have in mind.’

The gate guards heard the squealing of the wagon long before it came into sight. The sound carried easily through the silent streets of Ithaca, which had already settled down for the night after an unusually busy day, and brought great joy to the wine-starved hearts of the soldiers gathered in the compound. Although the noise of the burdened vehicle was painful to hear, the Taphian warriors had been eagerly anticipating the shipment for several days and listened to its strained music with suppressed excitement.

The rumour that Odysseus had returned to the island meant nothing to them in comparison with the prospect of getting drunk. There had almost been a riot when Polytherses announced the wine would be kept in storage until further notice. Although the king wanted his warriors to remain sober to meet any attack that might come in the night, faced with the mutiny of his army he was forced to relent. Instead he took a core of volunteers who agreed not to drink in exchange for gold, and kept them garrisoned within the royal quarters.

‘Who’s that with you, Mentes?’ called one of the guards as the wagon screeched to a halt before the gates.

‘Merchants,’ he answered. ‘They want to stay in Ithaca for a while, so I said they could sleep in the palace until they find a house in the town tomorrow.’

‘After our money, I suppose.’

‘Why else would anyone want to come to this rock?’ Odysseus answered.

He smiled at the three guards, who looked back with stony faces. They were tall men wrapped in thick cloaks, each one armed with two long spears and a shield and wearing leather caps on their heads. They looked more than ready for a fight.

‘There speaks a wise man,’ one of them replied. ‘Where are the others?’

Odysseus squeezed closer to Mentes and pressed the point of his dagger against his ribs, the blade concealed beneath the cast of his cloak. On either side of the wagon Mentor and Antiphus prepared to pull their swords from between the jars of wine, where they had been concealed in rolls of matting.

‘Drunk in one of the huts by the harbour,’ Mentes shrugged. ‘They couldn’t wait.’

The guard shook his head resignedly and waved them through the tall wooden portals. Odysseus and Mentes had to duck their heads slightly, and then they were inside the familiar courtyard of the palace.

‘Do you trust me now?’ Mentes whispered as he applied a stick to the backside of one of the oxen.

‘We’ll see,’ Odysseus replied, nudging the point of his dagger against his ribs.