King of Ithaca (51 page)

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

T
HE
B
ATTLE FOR
I
THACA

‘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.

A low mist had crept up from the sea and shrouded the legs of the small army, making them appear to float as they followed Halitherses through the town towards the palace. Eperitus and the other guardsmen were close behind him. As the only trained soldiers, they were to secure the gates whilst the others entered the courtyard and led the assault on the palace.

There were no fires or torches, but by the first light of dawn that pervaded the already failing night they could see the whitewashed palace walls through the murk. There was a dark hole where the gate stood and they could not tell whether the portals were open or shut, but they were encouraged by the silence that met them as they formed a line along the edge of the terrace.

A cockerel crowed. Halitherses pointed at Eumaeus, who raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, clear note. For a moment they waited, listening to the lonely sound shiver the darkness, and then they were running steadily towards the gates.

Their weapons weighed them down, making it difficult to run. Eperitus’s sword banged against his thigh and he was conscious of the bronze greaves upon his shins, stiffening his movements and checking his speed. His feet became quickly sodden from the wet grass, and yet the palace walls seemed hardly any closer. Suddenly someone called out.

‘The gates are closed!’

Some of the men slowed down to look at the tall wooden doors. Though they were still some way off, they could see the gates remained shut against them.

‘Come on, you dogs!’ Halitherses shouted grimly. ‘Get moving! We’ll scale the walls while they’re still waking up.’

But it was too late even for that. Taphian bowmen were already climbing onto the walls from the other side, unslinging their bows and taking aim. Halitherses was leading the Ithacans headlong into a trap, yet even so Eperitus ran on after him, hoping to close the remaining distance before the archers’ deadly arrows stopped them. After waiting so long to return, it angered him that they should fail so early in their mission. Now only death and honour awaited them, and he was determined to fight his way into the compound and die with Taphian blood on his sword.

The attack had almost stalled behind them, but encouraged by the example of their captain the guardsmen ran screaming at the high walls, followed by most of the townsfolk. Eumaeus, unencumbered by shield or armour, outstripped them all. He passed Eperitus at a sprint and caught up with Halitherses, seeming as if he would run straight up the walls and over into the compound beyond.

Then the archers fired.

Their bows sang in the cold morning air. Eumaeus fell into the layer of mist and was gone. Halitherses turned towards him and was brought down under a second volley, disappearing into the vapours like the squire before him. Eperitus thrust his shield out before him and ran towards where his captain had fallen, shouting with rage and heedless of the flying darts from the walls. They split the air about his ears and thumped into the layered ox-hide of the shield, and in the growing light he could see yet more Taphian archers clambering up to shoot at the easy target he presented for them.

But Athena had heard his prayers. As he searched amid the swirling vapours only a spear’s throw from the walls, he was not brought down by an arrow but by an obstacle on the ground. He stumbled forward into the welcoming mist and his shield fell on top of him, just as two more arrows thumped into its thick hide. There was a tense pause as the archers looked for him through the concealing vapours, then, thinking him dead, they turned their attentions to the mass of retreating Ithacans.

Eperitus lay still as the noise of battle receded from him. The grass was damp under his stomach and its fresh smell filled his nostrils. Close by someone was crying. Looking to his right he saw Eumaeus, whose legs he must have tripped over. The mist was beginning to evaporate as the sunlight grew and he could see the swineherd lying slumped and motionless on his front, a pair of arrows protruding from his left thigh. It also exposed him once more to the archers on the wall, and another arrow buried itself into the ground perilously close to his side. Eperitus sprang to his feet and, with his shield and spear in one hand, lifted the wounded boy with his free arm and ran as fast as his burdens would allow, back across the terraced plain towards the town. The bows twanged behind him again and he watched the arrows pluck at the last swirls of mist. There were dark humps on either side as he ran, barely distinguishable as bodies in the weak light of dawn, but ahead of him he was encouraged to see the remainder of his comrades, crouched beyond the reach of the Taphian arrows.

They stood to welcome him as he joined them, elated that two of their number had returned from the dead. He threw down his spear and shield and passed Eumaeus into the hands of one of the townsfolk, a giant bronze-smith who lifted the lad easily in his giant arms and set off with him back through the streets.

The rapid defeat had strained every man’s nerves, and Eperitus wondered whether the Ithacans had the courage for another attack. Too few of them were seasoned warriors; the majority were ordinary men who had decided to join the fight for their country with whatever weapons were to hand. Now, with the loss of their captain, possibly of their prince, and with the palace gates barred against them, they were faced with the reality of a bloody fight and little hope of survival.

Eperitus brushed the dirt from his tunic and looked about at their anxious faces. ‘Anybody who wants to abandon the fight now is welcome to do so; if you can face the shame of it, then your homes and families are waiting for you. Besides, I’d rather fight with brave men at my side than cowards. The rest of us have a duty to fight Polytherses and free our homeland. Halitherses has fallen and we must avenge him. Odysseus may also be dead, but as long as there’s a chance he’s still alive then we must go back and take the palace. If we don’t fight for him now, all hope is lost and the Taphians will
always
rule Ithaca.’

‘I’m with you!’ said a grey-bearded old fisherman, his face stern and uncompromising. He was joined by a chorus of agreement from the rest of the men. ‘I’d rather die fighting than live under Polytherses.’

‘Good. Then let’s go to glory, or an honourable death.’

Eperitus lifted his shield before him and signalled for the other guards to do the same. Together they made a wall of shields and marched once more towards the palace, the arrows parting the air above their heads again. Those without armour fell in behind them for protection from the deadly hail, and for a while, at range, they remained safe. But as they approached the walls two or three arrows found their mark, spinning men backward into the grass to kick out the last moments of their life. Eperitus peered around the edge of his shield and an instant later an arrow thumped into the top of the hide. But ahead of them their objective was getting progressively closer.

‘We’ll use our shields to make a platform when we reach the wall,’ he shouted. ‘It won’t be easy: we’ll be under fire from their archers as we climb, and they’ll be waiting for anyone who gets over alive. But when Ithaca is free again, the bards will make songs about us that will be told long after we’re all dead.’

They cheered at the prospect of glory, and at the same time shrank behind the cover of the shields as the palace defences grew tall before them. A man fell heavily, making no sound as an arrow pierced his heart and took his life. His comrades shrank down even further as more arrows rattled against the line of shields.

Suddenly Eperitus noticed a slight figure break away from the huddle of attackers and stand exposed before the walls. It was Arceisius, the shepherd boy, who must have slipped unnoticed into the Ithacan ranks. Without a care for his own safety, he fitted a pebble into the woollen pouch of a sling and spun it rapidly about his head. Another cheer erupted from the Ithacan line as the stone found a target and one of the Taphian archers tumbled from the walls. A second pebble followed, hitting one of the defenders in the face before a flurry of hastily aimed arrows forced the shepherd boy back behind the press of his comrades. As he watched Arceisius send a further missile flying at the walls, Eperitus regretted not having any more slingers or archers; although he carried Odysseus’s horn bow on his back and his quiver of arrows at his waist, his own place was at the forefront of their attack. Arceisius would have to work alone.

Having seen the first Taphians fall, Eperitus was also keen to press the attack on the wall and take his spear to the elusive enemy. They were almost up to the gates now and he was ready to break into a run, when suddenly he saw the body of Halitherses lying in the grass. At the sight of his grey hair and the distinctive, old-fashioned armour Eperitus felt the hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, provoked to sadness by the loss of his good friend. And then Halitherses moved.