King of Ithaca (33 page)

‘Don’t look to Odysseus for salvation,’ Agamemnon said, noticing his glance. ‘We know Helen plans to run away, and Odysseus is just as keen as we are to prevent her. Tell me honestly, has she asked you to help her? Was that why she arranged to meet you?’

Relieved that they did not yet know everything, Eperitus told them Helen had not asked him to help her escape from Sparta, which was the truth. Menelaus seemed happy to accept his word and looked at him with all the earnestness he could muster in his honest heart.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘But if you won’t reveal why she meets with you, then we want you to do something else for us.’ It was clear he loved the princess deeply and it made Eperitus glad that he would be chosen to marry her. ‘Watch over her for us, Eperitus. I don’t ask you to betray her confidence, just keep her from leaving Sparta.’

He offered him his hand. Diomedes, whose affections for Helen were no less than those of Menelaus, looked at him and nodded that he should accept the role that was being forced upon him. Eperitus took the proffered hand.

At that point there was a loud bang and the doors of the great hall burst open, sweeping broad arcs through the crowded revellers. He was unable from where he stood to see who or what had hurled the massive portals open with such force, and his view was further obscured as a press of guests and slaves stood to see what was happening. Then Diomedes and Menelaus cleared a passage through the throng and Eperitus followed Agamemnon in their wake.

Three men stood in the aisle that led to the twin thrones of Sparta. On the left stood a skinny youth with a hooked nose and a twitch. To the right was a short man with an evil look to him; about his shoulders, much to Eperitus’s disgust, was draped an enormous brown snake. This alone would have been enough to cause a stir amongst the crowd, but instead all eyes were fixed on the third man.

Eperitus had never before seen anyone as tall or as broad as he was. He stood head and shoulders above everybody else in the room and looked about himself with long, slow sweeps of his head, shrivelling people with fear as his eyes fell upon each of them in turn. That he was a handsome man who wore a smile behind his black beard was no comfort, for his looks were hard and the smile was a mocking one, completely without fear. It came from an overwhelming confidence in his own prowess – a knowledge that nobody in the room could match him: few of them reached higher than his chest, and even Odysseus’s massive build was dwarfed by the titanic muscles on the man. Although he carried no weapons and wore no armour, everybody felt vulnerable before him.

‘I am Ajax, son of Telamon,’ he boomed. ‘I have come to marry Helen of Sparta and take her back with me to my kingdom of Salamis. When I want something I get it and not even the gods can stop me, so the rest of you fools may as well go home. Now, which of you is Tyndareus?’

‘I am,’ Tyndareus admitted, cautiously. Despite his own fierce looks, the king was clearly nervous in the presence of the bearded giant who had burst into the heart of his palace like a thunderbolt. ‘Welcome, Ajax. We have been awaiting your arrival for some time.’

‘We expected you to wait,’ said the short man, stepping in front of his companions. All three men carried the dust of the road on their clothes but, unlike the other suitors, there was no sign of an escort or retinue with them. ‘I am Ajax of Locris, son of Oileus.’

‘As nasty a brute as you’ll ever meet,’ Diomedes confided to Eperitus in a whisper, all his previous hostility forgotten. ‘They call him Little Ajax to distinguish him from his colossal friend, though some call him Ai for short.’

Ai was an exclamation of woe, and looking at the man Eperitus could guess why he had been given the nickname. He stared about at the watching crowd with insolence in his dark, closely set eyes, and though he was hardly much older than Eperitus his look of fearless arrogance warned of trouble to come. His features matched his fearsome manner: a single eyebrow ran in an unbroken line across his forehead, his nose was squashed flat from fighting and his thick black beard could not hide the scars on his disease-ravaged cheeks.

‘This is Teucer, youngest son of Telamon and half-brother of my namesake,’ he continued, pointing at the third member of the party, who fidgeted nervously and lifted his head as if sniffing the air, then looked back down at his feet so as not to meet the eyes of the onlookers. ‘We’ve come to support Ajax’s claim to the princess Helen.’

‘Then step forward, all of you, and refresh yourselves after your travels.’ Tyndareus walked down to meet them, while a flurry of slaves brought food, wine and chairs to the dais for the latest of Helen’s suitors. But the men remained where they stood.

‘Where is Helen?’ demanded the greater of the Ajaxes.

‘Sleeping,’ Tyndareus answered. ‘There will be time to see her tomorrow, but for now you should eat and drink and tell us the tale of your journey here.’

But Ajax was impatient, as if he expected the girl to marry him before the night was out. ‘Then wake her. Should I be kept waiting for the sake of a woman’s sleep?’

‘Her beauty will not diminish overnight, Ajax,’ Agamemnon said, leaving the crowd to join the newcomers. ‘Take your seats and join the feast.’

Little Ajax’s snake flicked out its tongue and hissed as he approached, but the king of Mycenae had a commanding presence that seemed to silence even the irrepressible Ajax. The three men allowed him to shepherd them to the places set out by the slaves.

But if Agamemnon was pleased to receive the latest suitor, happy that his planned council of war could now go ahead, there were others among the noble guests who were not so pleased at the giant’s words or the insolent presence of his lesser namesake. Palamedes and King Menestheus stood as the trio stepped up to the dais and walked to the opposite side. Patroclus, who sat on a chair at the foot of the dais, also stood and walked away. Seeing this, Little Ajax draped his pet snake over the twitching Teucer and followed the Myrmidon.

‘You!’ he said.

Patroclus turned and sneered down at the Locrian prince, who now stood threateningly before him.

‘You’ve no royal blood in you. Who are you and what are you doing here?’

Patroclus wrinkled his pinched nose at the stench of the man’s breath. ‘My name is Patroclus, representative of Achilles.’

‘Achilles?’ Little Ajax scoffed. ‘Do you hear that, lads? He says he’s here to represent Achilles! But everybody knows Achilles is just a boy. He
is
just a boy isn’t he?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Patroclus replied, testily.

They were the two most disliked, arrogant and mean-looking men in all of Sparta, and it surprised nobody to see them already at loggerheads.

‘Then he must be,’ Little Ajax persisted, like a boarhound on a scent, ‘because I’m sure
you’d
know if he had hair on his balls yet.’

Suddenly Patroclus dropped his natural reserve and seized him by the throat. He was not a well-built man but his sinewy muscles were deceptively strong. He also had the reactions of a cobra – Peisandros had boasted that his captain was the most accomplished fighter amongst the Myrmidons – and Little Ajax could do little more than try to pull the strong, long-fingered hands from his neck.

An instant later Ajax himself leapt down from the dais and with one blow from his massive fist knocked Patroclus halfway across the hall, where he landed at the feet of his own men. They took one look at their leader, unconscious and bleeding, and with a great shout of anger rushed as one towards the giant.

Peisandros was the first to reach him. He slipped inside Ajax’s guard and punched him in the stomach. It was as hard a blow as he could give, but his fist rebounded as if he had slammed it into an ox-hide shield. Ajax roared with joy and hurled Peisandros into the crowd of onlookers. An instant later he threw himself into the rest of the Myrmidons, tossing them about the great hall like dolls. He was joined by Little Ajax, who was always looking for the opportunity to fight. But unlike his companion, who simply enjoyed beating his opponents, the smaller man was driven by a constantly simmering hatred for all mankind. He went for the tallest warrior he could see and jumped up to hit him full on the jaw. The man fell back and took no further part in the fight.

Despite being knocked this way and that, the Myrmidons were proud fighting men and would not give up the fight until the last man was beaten. They launched themselves in numbers at Ajax, though with no more effect than the sea crashing against a great rock. But the more badly mauled amongst them now saw an opportunity for revenge against Little Ajax, and Peisandros and two of his comrades crowded about him and began to give him a severe beating.

Eperitus, Diomedes and Menelaus had stood by in the crowd, enjoying the spectacle of Ajax fighting off a dozen men whilst his colleague took a much-deserved battering. Agamemnon and Odysseus seemed to be watching the spectacle with equal satisfaction from the royal dais, whilst beside them Tyndareus looked on aghast, imagining similar scenes when he eventually chose a husband for his daughter. But as Eperitus watched Little Ajax reel away from his attackers with a punch to the side of his head, he saw him snatch a knife from one of the meat stewards and immediately go running back into the fray, straight at Peisandros. Instinctively Eperitus stepped forward and called out to the Myrmidon, who turned to see the Locrian running towards him, a sneer of hatred on his battered lips. In the same moment Teucer stood up on the dais and called out frenetically to his half-brother.

Ajax was still fending off the other Myrmidons, but turned as he heard Teucer’s voice and saw the blade glinting in Little Ajax’s hand. In a moment he had bounded across the floor and smashed his fist down upon the head of his companion, crumpling him in a heap. The knife skittered across the flagstones and came to a spinning rest at Peisandros’s feet.

The Myrmidon signalled for his comrades to stop the fight. Immediately he walked up to Ajax and offered his hand in thanks for saving his life. Ajax enclosed it in his own and nodded curtly. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

Neaera stood at the entrance to the temple of Aphrodite and glanced shamefacedly at Eperitus as he arrived. The interior was lit by a solitary torch and he could see Helen waiting for him by the whitewashed altar.

She looked even more beautiful than usual tonight. Her hair was worn loose to frame her face and emphasize the features that the warrior had come to know so well during their many meetings here. He had often thought of how he could be happy spending hours just looking at her, absorbing the gentle lines of her face and the full curves of her body. A man could die for that pleasure, he thought, but would he ever be happy? The suitor who finally won Helen would never be able to possess such beauty and would spend his whole life jealously guarding her from the attentions of other men. He felt sorry for her – her delicate femininity and spellbinding looks were as much a curse as a blessing.

As he shook the late winter rain from his cloak, she came up to him and kissed his cheek. Up until that point she had barely touched him in all of their secret liaisons, which was a painful irony in view of the news he had to bring her. And yet the touch of her soft lips on his stubbly cheek, with the faint hint of perfume in her hair, was exquisite.

‘What’s wrong, Eperitus? Are you shocked that I should kiss you? Well, you shouldn’t be. If I wasn’t the plaything of the powerful, who knows that I wouldn’t be happy to spend my life with a handsome warrior like yourself?’

‘You’re kind, my lady,’ he replied despondently. He knew she wanted to repay him for being her one friend during the long weeks of her courtship by so many men, but he could not bring himself to match her cheerfulness, weighed down by the guilt of what he had to reveal to her. ‘But you truly
are
the plaything of the powerful, to use your own words. I’m afraid you will always be a prisoner of Tyndareus and Agamemnon.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll be free when you convince Odysseus to take me away from here.’

‘You don’t understand me, my lady. Helen. I’m trying to tell you that they know.’

She froze and the playful smile fell from her lips. ‘Know what?’

Eperitus could not bring himself to say it in full, but Helen knew anyway. She closed her eyes and seemed to crumple under the realization. Tears collected beneath her long, dark eyelashes and began to roll down her cheeks to fall in large, fast drops to the floor. He watched her as she stood there, silent and unmoving, the tears shining on her proud face, and he wanted to touch her but could not. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen and it was like a sword through his heart to see the sadness of despair hurt her so deeply. Then he gathered all his courage and stepped up to her, daring even to hold her and let her fall against his chest, where the warm dampness of her tears seeped into his rough woollen tunic.

She put her arms about him and held him tight. Her face was buried into his neck, hidden beneath her dense black hair, and he looked down at the top of her head. Something told him to kiss her, a sudden, unexpected urge that threatened to take control of him. But the urge became a voice, the mocking voice of Gyrtias, and the beautiful, daring thought was soured and fell away. Then she spoke in a hoarse whisper.