King of Ithaca (14 page)

Chapter Eight

F
AREWELL TO
I
THACA

Eperitus leapt from his bed and dressed as quickly as he could. Outside, the dark streets of Alybas were filled with the din of fighting – men shouting, the scrape and clatter of bronze on bronze. He could smell smoke and a flickering orange glow shone through the high window of his room onto the ceiling.

Moments later he was rushing down the steps to the ground floor, pushing the household slaves aside and ignoring their urgent pleas as he ran to arm himself. There was no time to fit breastplate or greaves, so he crammed his bronze cap onto his head and pulled his shield from the wall. One of the newer slaves, whose name he could not remember, followed him in and handed him his sword.

‘What’s going on out there?’ Eperitus demanded.

‘Looks like rebellion, my lord. A group of soldiers set a few of the houses alight to draw the guards from the palace. Now there’s hand-to-hand fighting and the streets are littered with corpses.’

‘You seem to have your wits about you,’ Eperitus said. ‘Find what weapons you can and arm the male slaves, then lead the women up into the hills until the fighting is over.’

‘What about the house?’

‘Don’t worry about the house. Have you seen my father?’

‘No, sir. He could have been in the palace until late, as usual, or perhaps he left as soon as the trouble started.’

Eperitus patted the man’s arm and ran out into the street. A house was burning further up the hill, filling the night air with sparks that spiralled up towards the black clouds above. There was an awful stench of burning flesh and Eperitus could see several lifeless shapes lying in the mud of the street. The sounds of battle continued, but had moved away in the direction of King Pandion’s palace.

Eperitus set off at a sprint, driven by fear for the king’s life. He passed several more corpses and only stopped as he approached the gates. These were guarded by four members of the guard, who lowered their spear points as they recognized him.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked, relieved to see the gates held by the king’s men, but concerned to still hear the sounds of battle within. ‘Is it a rebellion?’

‘Your father has everything under control,’ one of them answered. ‘They’re just finishing off the last of the survivors now. You’ll find him in the great hall.’

Eperitus ran through to the small courtyard beyond, where yet more bodies littered the ground. Even in the reflected glow from the clouds he was able to recognize many of their faces, the light absent from their eyes and their features frozen in the agony of death. Knowing his spear would be awkward in the narrow corridors, he threw it aside and drew his sword as he hurried over the threshold and into the palace.

Torches sputtered in their brackets, casting a dull, pulsing light over the passage that led to Pandion’s throne room. The sounds of fighting had all but disappeared, leaving only the clashing of swords from beyond the doors at the end of the corridor. Eperitus had a sudden feeling that the king was in danger and that only he could save him, but as he prepared to join the fight he was stopped by a sight that drained the energy from his limbs. Lying on the stairs to the women’s quarters were his older brothers. One lay face up, his throat open and dark with blood; the other lay across him, the broken shaft of a spear protruding from his spine.

As he stared at their corpses, feeling empty and emotionless, the clamour from the throne room stopped. Eperitus felt a rush of fury and ran the length of the body-strewn passage determined to avenge his brothers. He shouldered the doors open and stood with his legs apart and his sword and shield at the ready. But he was too late. The king lay slumped across the floor, one hand still clutching a sword whilst the other reached towards the throne. His dead eyes stared accusingly at Eperitus.

Standing over him was a tall figure, wiping the king’s blood from his blade. Eperitus stumbled and lowered his sword.

‘Father?’

A part of him understood what had happened, but the greater part would not accept it.

‘It had to be done, lad,’ his father replied calmly. ‘I would have told you before, but I was afraid you’d give my plans away. You have too much of your grandfather in you – I knew your loyalty would be to the throne. Well, now
I
am the throne.’

As if to emphasize his point, he stepped over Pandion’s body and sat in the stone chair.

‘What have you done?’ Eperitus asked, only then noticing several members of the palace guard standing on either side of him.

‘Pandion was a fool and a weakling, Eperitus. Under his rule Alybas was becoming a feeble and insignificant city, so some of us,’ he raised his sword point and indicated the surviving guards, ‘decided it was time for a change.’

‘No king is weak who has the full loyalty of his followers,’ Eperitus responded, gripping his sword and taking a step forward.

Instantly the guards formed a circle about his father, who laughed as if drunk.

‘Gods! You remind me so much of my father – that rigid sense of honour and devotion to duty. But that’s what I want, Eperitus. I’m king now, and I need someone trustworthy to succeed me. Your brothers died fighting at my side like true sons; now you must decide where your loyalties are. If you swear allegiance to me, we’ll make Alybas a city to be proud of. And when I die, you’ll become king in my place. What do you say, son?’

He leaned across the arm of the throne, offering his hand. Eperitus ignored it.

‘Once I loved and respected you. I obeyed your every wish freely and willingly. But now you’ve brought dishonour on our family. I can’t forgive you for that.’

His sense of disbelief had not disarmed his anger, and with a curse on his lips he lunged at his father with the point of his sword. Two of the guards threw their shields before the new king, whilst another knocked the weapon from Eperitus’s hand with a swift stroke of his own blade. Two others leapt on him and pinned his arms behind his back. They dragged him before his father, whose smile had been replaced with an angry scowl.

‘You disappoint me, lad. I should kill you, but I’ve lost enough sons already today. You can have your weapons and that old shield you’re so proud of, but from this point on you have no home, no possessions and no family. You’re an exile, and if you ever set foot in Alybas again I’ll kill you myself.’

Eperitus sat up, gasping for breath and clutching at his blanket. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked about at the unfamiliar surroundings. A grey light was seeping into the windowless room, revealing the rows of large clay jars along the walls. With a sense of relief he realized he was in one of the storerooms in the palace at Ithaca, where he had been quartered after the Kerosia three nights ago.

As he allowed the emotions of the dream to fall from him and his eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn light, he became aware of sounds from within the palace. The kitchen slaves would be busy lighting fires and cooking breakfast, whilst others would be making preparations for Odysseus’s journey to Sparta.

After Koronos’s public challenge to the prince’s courage, which he had little choice but to accept, there had been another lengthy debate between the elders. One wanted Odysseus to travel light with only two or three companions, but this was quickly dismissed by the other members of the Kerosia. Some valued his life too highly and did not want him to travel to Sparta without a full escort. Others pointed out that he would need to impress King Tyndareus, and to do this a more substantial guard would be required.

They finally reached a compromise. Half of the thirty-strong palace guard would accompany Odysseus, led by Halitherses himself, whilst the remainder would be left under Mentor’s charge. This force would be bolstered by a hastily assembled militia that would be sufficient to defend the palace, until Odysseus returned in the spring.

With that point grudgingly settled the debate focused upon what gift they should offer. It was the height of good manners that a guest should take a present, and it was customary to give something that reflected the suitor’s standing, as well as the degree of respect with which he regarded his host. Therefore, despite Ithaca’s comparative poverty, the Kerosia agreed to send a gift beyond their means. Laertes’s second-finest sword would be sacrificed – a weapon with an ivory handle and pommel, gold inlay on the blade, and a gold-filigreed leather scabbard. Anticleia also offered three of her finest dresses for Helen (there was not enough time to make new garments), along with the finest jewellery that could be plundered from the palace stocks.

Odysseus took a surprisingly small part in the discussions, allowing the elders to decide his fate for him. He appeared to have his mind on something else – Helen perhaps – and only spoke to ensure that his father would be adequately protected whilst he was gone. However, it was at his suggestion that the elders agreed to waste no time, and that the expedition to Sparta should set out before dawn on the third day after the Kerosia. A quick departure, unannounced, would draw minimal attention and catch Eupeithes off balance. The recruitment of the militia would then be completed within a few days, before the rebels could muster their forces and threaten the undermanned palace guard.

By the amount of light that was now suffusing the gloomy interior of the storeroom, Eperitus judged that dawn had already arrived. He picked up his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. As he finished tying on his armour Eumaeus arrived, looking sleepy and dishevelled, to inform him that breakfast was being prepared in the great hall. Eperitus followed him out and joined Odysseus and a handful of his men, who had finished eating and were discussing the arrangements.

‘We need fifteen guards, Antiphus, not five,’ the prince said. ‘I don’t care what they’re doing or where they are. Search every house in the town if you have to.’

The archer turned and gave Eperitus a brief nod before running from the palace. Odysseus ordered Eumaeus to chase the head steward about the provisions for the journey, then turned to Eperitus and gave him a weary smile.

‘So much for leaving before first light, eh? No food, no gold, gifts mislaid and most of the guard haven’t even reported in yet. Still, I should consider myself lucky: it took a week to organize the visit to Pythia. How about you? Sleep well?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Eperitus lied, not wishing to share his nightmares with the others. ‘Can I help?’

The prince placed a huge hand on his shoulder. ‘I doubt it – you’ll only get lost in all the chaos. The best thing you can do is sit down and eat a good breakfast, as you’ll be lucky to eat again before we make landfall.’

By mid-morning the dresses were packed in a chest, along with the jewels Anticleia had chosen. Laertes’s sword had eventually turned up beneath a pile of mildewed shields and was stowed with the other gifts. The other members of the guard had been located and were assembled on the grassy terrace before the palace walls, sweating in their full armour. Some of them had been in the group that escorted Odysseus to Pythia, others he had met in the three days since the Kerosia, but most were strangers to Eperitus.

Scattered around were small groups of slaves, gathered ready to carry the gifts and provisions down to the galley. The crowd was further swelled by the remainder of the household, who had left their tasks and come out to see the party off. Finally, the goings-on at the palace had also excited the interest of the townsfolk, who had come to watch the expedition leave.

‘There goes our plan to slip away unnoticed,’ said Halitherses, standing beside Eperitus and Damastor. ‘We might as well have invited Eupeithes in person to wish us a safe journey.’

‘Perhaps we’ve played directly into his hands,’ Eperitus replied, cynically. ‘This may be just the opportunity he needs.’

‘Whatever happens, lad, it’ll be according to the wishes of Zeus. He is the unseen mover in the affairs of men.’

‘Where’s Odysseus?’ Damastor asked anxiously. ‘We should be going.’

‘With his father and mother,’ Halitherses answered. ‘They’re making sacrifices for the journey to Sparta. What about Koronos? I haven’t seen him since the Kerosia.’

‘He returned home after the Kerosia,’ said Damastor. ‘His wife is due to give birth.’

‘A midwife is he?’ Halitherses sniffed, making no effort to hide his dislike of Koronos. ‘Clearly a man of many talents.’

At that moment Ctymene appeared. It was the first time Eperitus had seen her since his arrival on Ithaca and he was relieved to see her fully covered, wearing a clean white dress clasped at one shoulder and carrying a basket of flowers on one arm. As she crossed the grass in her bare feet she was the very image of childish innocence.

‘Good morning, Damastor; Uncle Halitherses,’ Ctymene said, her voice like sunshine on that cloudy, rain-threatened morning. ‘Good morning, Eperitus. Have you killed many men today?’

‘No, Ctymene. Have you?’

She laughed and shot him a mischievous look, then linked her arm through his. ‘I have a gift for you,’ she announced.

He watched as she untangled a single pink bloom from the mass of flowers in her basket. The smell of perfume that hung about her was delicate in comparison with the sharp tang of sweat that clung to Halitherses, Damastor and himself.