Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘They are uneasy,’ said Mentes, who had returned with them. ‘That is understandable, when you live each day wondering whether the true heir to the kingdom will return to take his revenge. But I could have told you that without the need to risk your lives and mine.’

Odysseus covered himself with his cloak and lay down, looking up at the stars and listening to the riotous noise of the Taphians. He caught snatches of arguments, voices raised in drunken dispute. Then he heard female voices, servant girls who had been forced – or came willingly – to entertain the warriors. He instantly thought of his sister, Ctymene, but did not stir as the cold stars sparkled overhead.

‘I didn’t go just to see their fear at the sound of my name. No. I wanted to see the faces of the men who have invaded our homeland. I wanted to know what sort of people they are, how different they are to us, or how similar. I wanted to know who I’ll be killing in the morning. Now get some rest and I’ll wake you before first light.’

It was still dark when he shook them from their sleep. The fire in the middle of the enclosure had died to leave a pile of glowing embers, and the revelry of the Taphians was long since over, leaving only the faint harmony of their snores. Mentor and Antiphus were quickly awake and drawing out their weapons from beneath the matting in the back of the wagon. Last of all, Odysseus woke Mentes.

‘I’ll not ask you to accompany us in what we must do now,’ he said. ‘But you haven’t betrayed us, despite being given every chance, and so I’ll entrust you with one more task. You told us last night there were a number of Spartan prisoners held in one of the storerooms. Release them and wait until the fighting is over. If I’m still alive I will free you from your oath.’

Mentes nodded and, pulling his cloak about his shoulders to keep off the early morning cold, crept off towards the palace. Odysseus turned to Mentor and Antiphus. They stood close by, two black figures with only the dull gleam of their naked swords to distinguish them in the darkness.

‘It’s time,’ he announced. ‘We’ve thought about this moment for over half a year, but now it’s here. It’ll be bloody work, but this is no time for mercy. As you hold your daggers to their swinish throats, think of what they’ve done to your homeland and how long your families have had to endure their yoke. And remember that Ithaca’s freedom depends on us opening those gates.’

He drew his dagger and led them by the faint starlight to where the gates sat slightly ajar. The guards were on the outside, watching the terrace between the walls and the city, unaware of the peril their sleeping comrades were in. The humped shapes of the unprotected men lay all about the Ithacans, motionless as if dead already, each one ignorant of the inglorious fate that awaited him.

Quickly, as if afraid that he might lose his determination for the grim task, the prince knelt down beside one of the soldiers and placed the palm of his hand firmly over the man’s mouth. His eyes flickered open and looked up, but before he could react Odysseus had cut open his throat. The first victim died at once, his ruptured arteries jetting thick gouts of blood up Odysseus’s bare arms.

Without pausing he moved to his next victim, this time sitting astride the torso and leaning his weight onto the hand with which he covered the man’s mouth. In an instant he sawed through the soft flesh of his windpipe and stood again to move to the next Taphian.

Mentor and Antiphus waited no longer and joined in the butchery with silent determination. They gave little thought to the work, beyond the occasional grimace of disgust at the amount of blood that covered them, and very soon two dozen men lay murdered in their sleep. Not one had made a noise and few had even woken to set eyes upon the avengers who killed them.

Then the air changed and Odysseus looked up from his tenth victim. There was a faintness now in the sky above the stables, and he knew that if the attack were to come it would be soon.

He stood. The others finished the work at hand and stood with him. Odysseus tucked his gore-drenched dagger into his belt and drew the long sword that hung there. He gestured his men towards the gates: to surprise the sleepy guards and kill them would be the work of moments. Mentor and Antiphus drew their swords beside him and together they looked through the open portal at the shadowy city beyond. And then they heard a noise behind them.

‘Stay where you are,’ said a familiar voice. They turned to see the scar-faced Taphian, standing with a bow in his hand and an arrow fitted. It was aimed directly at Odysseus. ‘I knew there was something not quite right about you,’ he continued. ‘You’ve got too much of the warrior about you to be a mere merchant, and now I find you slitting the throats of my countrymen. But before you die I will find out whether you are more Spartan scum, or one of Odysseus’s men.’

Odysseus drew himself up and looked scornfully at the Taphian. ‘Don’t trouble yourself – I’ve concealed my name for too long as it is. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, and you are trespassing on my father’s property.’

For a moment the concern on the Taphian’s face was visible, even in the darkness. After months of living uninvited under this man’s roof, helping himself to his food and wine, he felt now like the trespasser he was and longed to be anywhere other than in his presence. But he soon quashed his own dismay and, realizing that the key to Polytherses’s ultimate victory was at his mercy, smiled with satisfaction.

‘Guards!’ he called to the men outside. ‘Guards! Get in here and shut the gates. Bolt them. I think we can expect visitors soon.’

His loud voice woke the surviving men in the courtyard, who propped themselves up on their elbows to see what was happening. Somewhere in the town outside a cockerel cried out to herald the first light of dawn. And at that moment a horn sounded a single note, rising clear and strong through the morning air.

Chapter Twenty-nine

THE BATTLE FOR ITHACA

‘Come on then, lads,’ Halitherses said. ‘These Taphians have already overstayed their welcome; let’s send them to a new home in Hades’s halls. Eumaeus! I want you at my side with that hunting horn.’

He stood before a mixed force of guards and men from the town. There were over fifty of them, waiting for the first grey light of dawn to edge the darkness. Those who had escorted Odysseus to Mount Parnassus and Sparta had seen battle already and were calmly preparing their weapons and armour for the coming fight. The younger townsfolk, though lacking training or the proper arms and protection, were buoyed by thoughts of glory and making a name for themselves on their tiny island. The older men were stern-faced, thinking of the consequences of failure and determined to accept nothing less than victory. They knew that if Odysseus had been successful they would be inside the palace before the Taphians could wake, with every possibility of catching them entirely by surprise. But if he failed and the gates remained shut, then their attack would be short, bloody and fruitless.

As Eperitus loosened his sword in his belt and hefted the weight of his spear in his hand, he thought not of Ithaca but of Alybas. His father’s treachery had brought disgrace on his family, and he could almost hear his dead grandfather calling out for revenge. But Eperitus knew he could never go back to the valleys in which he had grown up, once again to be walled in by its dead mountainsides or to sink into the mire of its humdrum troubles. Who had he met in the great palace of Sparta that had heard of Alybas, an obscure little place where the sum of its entire wealth was worth less than Agamemnon’s golden breastplate? And which of the girls in Alybas was even fit to serve wine to Helen, whose beauty was perilous to look upon? No, he would remove the shame of his father’s sedition by fighting the traitors who had overthrown Laertes. Ithaca was his home now, and Alybas but a memory.