King of Ithaca (30 page)

‘Your rough looks belie a fine character,’ Helen remarked. ‘I think I should be happy on Ithaca, if it produces such a breed of well-spoken men.’

Odysseus was about to say she would be welcome there, and that her presence would turn every Ithacan into a bard, but as he opened his mouth to speak Clytaemnestra joined them.

‘Always dreaming of running away, sister. Isn’t it a shame you’re a woman, and your destiny is ever in the hands of others.’ She looked about at the seated nobles. ‘Where’s my husband?’

‘Where do you think?’ Helen answered. ‘Snooping after Penelope, as usual.’

Eperitus looked up at Penelope as she stood before the seated soldiers with her hands on her hips and a smile upon her face.

‘Welcome to Sparta, men of Ithaca,’ she greeted them. ‘I am Penelope, daughter of King Icarius. I hope your needs are met, but if not I’ll do what I can to help you feel more at ease in our home.’

‘You can tell us whether Odysseus will win Helen’s hand in marriage,’ Damastor asked, to the cheers and laughter of the others. Gyrtias and his Rhodians jeered mockingly and received a hail of bread and barley cakes in response.

‘Is he the red-haired one with short legs and arms like tree trunks?’ Penelope replied. ‘Then I hope his clumsy charms are more effective on my cousin than they were on me.’

There was another roar of laughter. Warming to the young woman in their drunkenness, the warriors offered her wine and a seat, which she accepted.

‘And what about you, my lady?’ Eperitus asked. ‘Are you married?’

She looked at him and grinned. ‘Are you suggesting I should be?’

‘I am,’ he said, encouraged by the wine.

‘Yes,’ Antiphus added with a laugh. ‘To him!’

‘Are these men bothering you, Penelope?’

‘No, Lord Agamemnon,’ she answered stiffly, as the Mycenaean king appeared beside her.

He slipped his hand about her slim waist, his thumb almost touching her breast. The soldiers fell silent as he stood before them in his immaculate clothes and golden armour (which he wore at all times for fear of assassination). Eperitus felt a strong dislike for him, irked partly by the king’s arrogance and partly by the arm about Penelope’s waist. He noticed her flinch slightly as Agamemnon’s arm encompassed her and felt a surprising urge to defend her from his possessive touch. He could not understand why she did not remove herself from the king’s embrace, though perhaps she knew better than to resist the advances of the most powerful man in Greece, who rumour said would frequently take lovers from slaves and nobility alike.

‘These are Odysseus’s men,’ Penelope explained. ‘I was simply welcoming them and trying to make them feel more comfortable. The palace can be an overawing experience for those who haven’t been here before.’

‘I’ve heard of the fate of your home, and you have my sympathy,’ he said. The men grunted, approving of Agamemnon’s recognition. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

Halitherses stood and took a step forward.

‘I am, my lord. Halitherses, son of Mastor.’

‘Tell me, Halitherses, if Ithaca went to war how many men could it muster? How many ships?’

Agamemnon had already put the same question to Odysseus, but to ask the captain of his guard would let him know whether the prince had been honest or was hiding his real strength. It would also make the men think he cared about their opinion, which would earn their loyalty if they were ever to fight under his command.

‘Nobody really knows, my lord,’ Halitherses answered. ‘We’ve never had to summon every man to war before. But I should estimate that from all our islands we could fill twenty galleys with men able to fight, whilst leaving enough men to defend our homeland in our absence.’

‘Over a thousand warriors,’ Agamemnon said, nodding. ‘And how many men could be sent on a prolonged campaign, keeping sufficient at home to carry on normal life?’

‘Perhaps ten galleys, sir.’

At that moment Penelope saw Clytaemnestra approaching and released herself from the king’s grip in a quick, graceful movement. Agamemnon acknowledged his wife’s presence with a cold nod, but no familiar arm was placed about her hard, thin body.

‘Thank you, Halitherses,’ he continued. ‘You should know I have every respect for Odysseus. He and I are like-minded men. Now, carry on your drinking and find yourselves some willing girls to warm your beds tonight.’

The men cheered his words and there was a riot of speculation amongst them as he led the two women back to their fathers. Eperitus and Halitherses, disquieted by his questions, exchanged concerned looks.

Eperitus was the first of the Ithacans to leave the feast. He sat on the balcony adjacent to his quarters and looked out over the city of Sparta and the plains beyond, where the clear moonlight reflected from the winding course of the Eurotas river. His mind was full of the events of the evening, when from the corner of his eye he saw a young girl approaching and turned to face her. She bowed and asked if he was one of the party of Ithacans.

‘I am with them, though not an Ithacan,’ he replied. ‘Who are you?’

‘My lady sent me – she must speak with you about an urgent matter. Meet her in the temple of Aphrodite tomorrow night, after the evening’s feast has begun. Come alone and tell no one.’

Her errand accomplished, the slave did not stay to be questioned. She ran off into the shadows at the end of the corridor and disappeared down the steps to the second floor.

Chapter Eighteen

S
ECRET
L
IAISONS

The streets of Sparta were quiet and dark. The moon had not yet risen, and when it did would remain hidden behind the thick rain clouds that were filling the sky. Several times Eperitus stumbled in the deep wheel-ruts that numerous wagons had carved into the road, and though the palace armourer had given him directions to the temple of Aphrodite he felt sure he was now lost in the eerily empty streets. The only sounds came from the palace at the top of the hill, where the feast he had just left was at its height.

He clutched the hilt of his sword, comforted by its presence. These past two days, since arriving in Sparta, he had felt naked without his weapons. Only his mission outside the palace walls had given him the right to have his sword returned, and now he felt whole again and capable of taking on any enemy who dared confront him. But the safe streets of Sparta posed no threat, beyond the danger of being endlessly trapped within its unlit labyrinth of thoroughfares. The only encounter he expected was in the temple, though he could not guess who would want to speak with one of Odysseus’s men, or why.

He turned a corner and saw a flickering pool of light cast across the road, coming from an open doorway. Bats squeaked over his head as he approached. Soon he was able to see that the building was not a dwelling but a temple. Even if this was not the temple of Aphrodite the attendant priest would point him in the direction of his goal so, loosening the sword in his belt, he went in.

The two wooden doors were wide open. They led into a chamber that was a little smaller than the hall in the palace at Ithaca. Its floor was paved with evenly cut flagstones and a row of painted wooden columns reached from either side of the entrance, forming an aisle that led to a sacrificial altar. This had been plastered with white clay which, in turn, was marked with dark stains that could not be identified in the gloom. Fixed into the wall behind the altar were two torches, the only sources of light in the shadowy temple. These stood on either side of a raised platform, on which stood the clay figurine of a goddess. It was as tall as his sword, with voluptuous curves and large breasts, but as Eperitus stepped closer he could see that the face was grotesque, deliberately distorted into a demonic expression.

He shook off the feeling of unease it put into him and looked about the temple. In one corner were an empty mattress and a heaped blanket where the priestess usually slept. He had brought a few barley cakes with him, taken from the feast to give as an offering to the goddess, so in her absence he slipped these from his pouch and placed them on the altar. When she returned the priestess would keep some for her own needs and see that the rest were offered to the deity.

There were alcoves in the walls that housed smaller but equally ugly figurines, their features leering out into the chamber. The shifting orange light of the torches showed only small details, but he was also able to catch glimpses of the murals that decorated the temple walls. These showed images of men and women copulating in every position imaginable – and some unimaginable – confirming beyond doubt that he had found the temple of Aphrodite, goddess of love. Being inexperienced in love-making, some of the pictures confused him, and the bodies of the lovers needed unravelling before he understood what they were doing. Others he found disturbing, but whether mystifying or sickening all were intriguing.

Some of the murals depicted women being raped by gods, well-known tales from the lost era when mankind and immortals intermingled freely together. Almost without exception the god or their victim would be transformed into some variety of beast, bird or plant, and the different metamorphosis in each mural identified which story was being explicitly recalled. Only one was unknown to him: a painting of a great swan standing over a naked woman, who writhed in ecstasy beneath its broad wingspan.

As he looked, a shape broke free from the shadows below the mural. It moved towards him, causing him to jerk the sword free of his belt and hold it out before the approaching phantom. Sensing danger, he watched the figure emerge into the light. Then he saw the long hair, the curve of her hips and the press of her breasts beneath her cloak. It was Helen.

‘Put down your weapon and explain yourself,’ she commanded. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Even in the shadowy gloom of the temple her beauty was stunning; standing only a sword thrust away from her, it turned Eperitus’s limbs to stone and stole his thoughts. Strangely, in this place dedicated to lust and carnality, the girl looked fresh and young, a vision of purity and innocence. There was no trace of the Helen who had stunned the great hall into silence only the night before. But she remained powerfully enchanting, so much so that he had to force himself to summon a response to her questions.

‘I am Eperitus of Alybas.’ He put his sword back into his belt, aware of how ridiculous he looked pointing it at her. ‘I received a message to meet someone here.’

‘Some common whore, no doubt,’ Helen said, disdainfully. ‘Anyway, she isn’t here so you can go.’

‘I’m going nowhere,’ Eperitus insisted, angered by the girl’s arrogance. Despite her divine beauty, she reminded him of a spoilt child too used to getting her own way.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she spat. ‘Now, leave at once or I’ll have my father throw you out of the city!’

‘Not before I’ve told him you’ve been leaving the safety of the palace. He wouldn’t like that, would he, with all these great warriors around?’ Eperitus caught her hand as it swept towards his cheek. ‘So why don’t you tell me what it is
you’re
doing here, Helen of Sparta?’

She shook herself free of his grip and glared at him with furious eyes. ‘I’m here to meet one of Odysseus’s men, if you must know.’

‘Then it was
you
?’

Helen looked at him with equal surprise. ‘You mean to say
you’re
the one my maid spoke to? Neaera!’

A figure emerged from the shadows behind the open doors of the temple and came to stand at Helen’s shoulder. Eperitus recognized her as the same young girl who had spoken to him the night before. She peered at his face in the wavering torchlight and nodded.

‘It’s him, mistress – the one I gave your message to.’

‘Very well, Neaera,’ Helen said. ‘You can wait outside now – but stay close.’

Once the slave had moved out into the narrow street – where her cloaked form could still be seen in the darkness – Helen returned her gaze to Eperitus, scrutinizing him closely.

‘Why did you say you were from Alybas, not Ithaca?’

‘I was exiled from my homeland,’ Eperitus explained. ‘Odysseus recruited me into his guard. Now perhaps you’ll tell me why you want to speak to a mere soldier?’