King of Ithaca (36 page)

‘I suppose you could always ask Clytaemnestra to help you,’ Neaera said, nonchalantly.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, they say she’s a witch.’

‘A witch indeed!’ Damastor scoffed. ‘So what will she do?
Scare
Penelope into marrying Odysseus?’

Neaera propped herself up on one elbow, her large breasts hanging down across her rib cage. They lay upon a straw mattress in one of the palace’s dozen or so armouries, surrounded by bundles of spears and rows of shields, stacked one upon another. A thick woollen blanket covered them, keeping the chill of the night air from their naked flesh. Her face was a blur in the darkness.

‘
I
would never cross her. Her maids say she has an ancient knowledge that gives her terrible powers. She can make a mother’s milk sour in her breasts or ruin a man’s crops for a whole year. Some say she can kill animals by cursing them – even small children, too. And if she chooses to, she can make a woman love a man against her will.’

Damastor put a hand upon her waist and squeezed her soft flesh.

‘And do you think Clytaemnestra will perform her magic so that Penelope falls in love with Odysseus?’

‘If I can convince her it’s for the good of her cousin,’ Neaera said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’ll visit her after breakfast tomorrow.’

Agamemnon had called his council of war. The kings and princes came as invited, bringing only their senior captains and advisers with them. Eperitus, Halitherses and Mentor accompanied Odysseus, and each felt the privilege of being there among so many great names. These were the elite of Greece, the pride of its young nobility, and in them burned the hope for its future.

No slaves were in attendance, as the meal that evening had been a frugal one, so with only a handful present from each suitor’s entourage the great hall was almost empty. Now, in the echo of their footsteps as they entered, they were able to appreciate the full size of the place. Without the distractions of food, wine or women the guests began to notice the splendid murals that decorated the walls, columns and ceiling, telling in vivid colour and larger-than-life imagery the rich mythology of Sparta’s past.

The air buzzed with their hushed voices as rumour spread her evils amongst the gathered warriors. They were excited by the prospect of war, though they did not yet know who or where the threat was from. But the thought of taking up their arms again in anger, after several years of relative peace on the mainland, excited everyone.

Foremost among them was Ajax, standing an imperious and awe-inspiring head and shoulders above everyone else, his eyes alight with the prospect of bloodshed. He was accompanied by his twitching half-brother, who had a habit of hiding slightly to one side of his giant sibling and peering out from behind his elbow. There also was Little Ajax, wearing his snake about his shoulders. His eyes were blackened and puffed up from the fight of the other day, but this did not prevent him from staring about himself with aggressive malice.

Diomedes saw the Ithacans enter and came over to greet them.

‘Magnificent, isn’t he?’ he said, indicating Ajax. ‘Can you imagine him in battle? Even the gods would fear such a man.’

‘That’s what he claims himself,’ Halitherses replied. ‘I’ve heard him bragging that he could defeat Ares and Athena put together, with his bare hands if he chose. That sort of talk will only bring trouble.’

Diomedes nodded. ‘It’s true he’s no respecter of the gods, but he’s still a man of honour and someone I’d be happy to count as a friend and ally. Agamemnon and I have spoken to him about the coming war and he’s taken the idea to heart. We didn’t give details – that’s for the council to reveal – but he’d go today if he could. He lives to fight and is totally without fear; if he’s afraid of death at all, it’s because he’ll no longer be able to fight and win glory for himself.’

‘There isn’t a man here like him,’ Eperitus said. ‘But his pride is dangerous. I hear he came without an escort because he resents the idea of needing protection. Apart from those two creatures that hang about with him, he fights alone. I even heard him say the rest of the suitors were little more than worried slave women, bringing so many soldiers with them. But I tell you truthfully, that kind of fearless independence makes a man unreliable and dangerous.’

‘Maybe so, Eperitus; but he’s also our greatest weapon. If you can believe it, they say his skin can’t be penetrated by any weapon, ever since Heracles’s lion-skin was laid over him as a baby. It’s also said that Heracles is the only man he respects. Can you imagine if those two ever came to blows? It’d be the war of the gods and the Titans all over again.’

Diomedes was clearly obsessed with the martial prowess of the king of Salamis. Having seen Ajax swatting aside the Myrmidons like ants, Eperitus shared his admiration of the man. However, he had always been taught to fight as part of a unit and remained naturally suspicious of anyone who fought alone.

They were joined by Menelaus, who greeted them in a friendly manner and said that things would begin shortly. Then, as he glanced about at the gathering, mentally counting off each of the suitors, something caught his attention.

‘Who’s that wearing the sheepskin vest?’

He pointed to a young man lingering in the shadows at the back of the hall. He was handsome but clearly of low birth; he had the appearance of a shepherd by trade, except that in place of a staff he carried a gigantic bow. It was even larger than the bow Iphitus had given to Odysseus, and Eperitus was relieved to see that the lad did not carry any arrows.

Suddenly there was a loud rapping as Agamemnon, carrying a long wooden staff, struck the stone floor and called for silence. A pause followed in which every eye was fixed upon the king of Mycenae, dressed in his immaculate white tunic, golden breastplate and red cloak. He looked back at them as the co-kings of Sparta took their seats beside him, waiting patiently for everybody to follow their lead. Then, when all were settled in the chairs provided, he spoke.

‘Nobles of Greece! Suitors to the princess Helen! I have called you to this council to discuss matters of war, but first it is right to weigh upon you the exalted company you are in this day. You are the pride of Greece; its highest-born. Some of you are the sons of gods; others accompanied Jason on his voyage to Colchis, or have fathers who were Argonauts; a few have recently returned from the siege of Thebes. And except for that unfortunate city and a handful of lesser states, every nation in Greece is represented here. Never before has such a wealth of rank and glory been brought together under one roof, and for that you should be proud.

‘Men will speak of this assembly for generations to come. But it’s not because of who we are that our children’s children will preserve the memory of this day. No, I tell you truthfully that we shall be remembered for our own deeds, for today we can forge an alliance of nations that will endure for ever. If you will accept my counsel you have the opportunity to bring peace to our homeland, and unify the Greek-speaking peoples in arms against the growing influence of the perverse East!’

They cheered his words until the rafters of the hall were filled with their shouts. Even though Agamemnon lifted his staff for silence they still cheered, standing up and raising their fists at the promise of war. Then, as the last echo of their approval finally died, he looked at each of the suitors in turn and spoke their names, some resounding with fame and greatness, others yet to earn the trappings of glory and honour.

At the mention of his own name, Ajax stood and held up his hand. Eperitus saw the anger flicker across Agamemnon’s brow, but in a moment he had controlled it and signalled for the man to speak.

‘You talk of war,’ he said, his great voice booming around the hall, ‘and you declare that these men are the greatest in the land, but you are wrong. How can you say this is an assembly of the finest warriors of Greece when its greatest hero has not even been invited? Where is
Heracles
?’

Murmurs of agreement came from the gathered warriors. At this, Tyndareus stood and moved to the front of the dais.

‘I wouldn’t want that wife-killer paying court to
my
daughter! His outrages have made him unwelcome wherever he goes, and if he came here I would send him back beyond the borders of my country.’

Ajax laughed. ‘You’d presume to send Heracles away from the gates of Sparta? Tyndareus, your words stand tall in his absence, but Heracles could take your daughter by force if he chose to. He may be old, but there’s no man here beside myself who could hope to match him.’

As he spoke there was a jostling in the crowd of warriors beside him and the shepherd boy stepped into the open space before the hearth. He stood there and looked about at the staring faces, yet said nothing.

‘Who in Hades are
you
?’ boomed Tyndareus, his anger at Ajax’s words venting itself upon the newcomer.

Though there were tears in his eyes the boy displayed no fear. Instead he lifted the gigantic bow above his head and showed it to the assembly.

‘This is the bow of Heracles,’ he said. ‘He gave it to me before he died.’

Suddenly there was a pause, a silent, collective intake of breath; then the hall exploded in uproar. As if with one voice, the guests let out a great cry and filled the room with their shouts of dismay. Ajax took two strides towards the boy and picked him up by the throat, shaking him like a toy and cursing him for a liar. Odysseus and Mentor rushed to rescue the stranger from the clutches of the giant. Behind them Agamemnon slammed the butt of his staff upon the dais and shouted for order, but it was not until Ajax controlled his anger and in his roaring voice commanded silence that peace was restored.

With a look in his eyes that threatened instant death, he leaned over the boy and ordered him to speak. But despite being strangled almost to death, the boy returned Ajax’s gaze without fear.

‘Heracles is dead,’ he confirmed. ‘His wife gave him a tunic rubbed with a poisonous ointment. It gave him so much pain that he built a funeral pyre for himself and ordered me to light it. I was tending sheep on the hills nearby and, as nobody else dared put a flame to the stack, he offered me this to put him out of his misery.’

The shepherd held up the bow again and everybody knew that he spoke the truth. It was of such a monstrous size that even Ajax would have difficulty in handling it, and in the boy’s grip it looked comically large.

‘I recognize it,’ the giant warrior said, putting a hand on the weapon. ‘Many times in my youth I saw Heracles using this bow. They say the arrows are charmed and cannot miss their target. It’s a great gift, boy; you must guard it well. What’s your name?’

‘I am called Philoctetes, sir. My father is Poeas of Malia.’

Ajax put a hand on the boy’s head and thumbed his scruffy, badly shorn hair. Then, taken by an overwhelming sadness at the news of Heracles’s death, he lowered his eyes to the flames that jigged happily in the hearth and fell into a deep silence. The rest of them turned to face the royal dais, still shocked to hear that the most renowned hero of their age had died. Most had thought it was not possible, but from that day on nobody ever saw or heard of the great man again, and so Philoctetes’s report became more widely accepted. But for those of them present the bow itself was proof enough, as they knew no man could forcibly take the weapon from such an owner.

Agamemnon handed the staff to Tyndareus and retired to his seat, where he also slumped into contemplative silence. The king of Sparta, however, stood before the assembly with a look of defiance on his face. He rapped the staff once to demand their attention, then declared in a loud voice, ‘Helen is my daughter. Any man who wishes to marry her will first obey me, as his host and as the girl’s father. The time is coming soon – very soon – when I will make my choice. But before I do so I have one demand of all present. This demand is made of suitors first and foremost, but also of those men of power and influence who have come here as advisers, escorts or representatives. Any man who refuses to obey my wish is welcome to do so, and will not earn my enmity, but he must agree to leave Sparta this very day and not return without my permission. He can take with him any gift that he brought and go back to his home with my blessing.

‘To those of you who choose to stay I say this: when my decision is made almost all of you will be disappointed. Some of you may even be angry and might resent the good fortune of the chosen suitor. But know this also, that I will not tolerate argument or bloodshed in Sparta. Therefore my demand is that you take an oath, a sacred promise amongst you all to defend Helen and her husband against any who would threaten their happiness. Only when each one of you has given his word will I be satisfied; only then will I announce my choice.’

Tyndareus left a long pause but nobody spoke. They were proud men who knew the power of an oath, and they considered the king’s words in stern silence.

‘Is there any man here who refuses the oath?’

Again silence.

‘Then if you are sure in your minds and hearts that you will make this promise and honour it, stand up.’