The Gates Of Troy (10 page)

Eperitus looked across the bow of the ship to the rapidly approaching harbour, where several fishing vessels were drawn up on the sand and two galleys lay at anchor on the smooth waters. ‘I wouldn’t want to be released,’ he said quietly. ‘As I told the goddess, if war is coming then I’ll face it at your side.’

‘Let’s see what the Fates hold for us,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Now, get back to the benches and tell Antiphus to lower the sail – we’ll row the rest of the way into harbour.’

But Antiphus had already given orders for the sail to be furled and for the oars to be readied. Eperitus took his place beside him, sliding the pine oar between its pegs and fastening the handle with a leather strap. He felt the strain in his arms and shoulders as the blade bit the water, then picked up the rhythm of the rest of the crew as they rowed the galley into the small inlet that nestled at the northern foot of Mount Neriton. The calm waters of the sheltered bay offered little resistance, and soon the splash of the anchor stone was followed by the shouts of men as they lowered a small boat over the side.

Odysseus told Antiphus and Arceisius to wait for him and Eperitus in the boat, then turned to Polites.

‘Come with us, friend. You’ve not seen my home yet, and as you’re now one of the palace guard I want your first experience to be a happy one.’

Polites bowed his head but said nothing. Leaving their weapons and equipment in the ship, they climbed down into the waiting boat – which dipped alarmingly as Polites stepped onto it – and rowed to shore. They left Arceisius to take the boat back to the galley, then ran up a narrow road that led to the town above. A group of women, filling clay jars from a spring at the side of the road, looked on in silence as they passed. Eperitus wondered whether they had any news about Penelope, but had no time to ask as the king led them on towards the town. Soon they were passing the first houses, and shortly afterwards had reached the open terrace before the palace walls.

Large numbers of people were standing around in the midday sun. Most were peasants or slave women, many with baskets of clothes under their arms, jars of water on their shoulders or babies on their hips. Here and there old men conversed with each other in animated tones, their grey beards wagging and their crooked fingers poking emphatically at each other’s chests. Groups of children ran in and out between the knots of adults, shouting and screaming as they chased and caught one another. It annoyed Eperitus to see them gathered there, clamouring like vultures as they awaited news of the royal birth; they seemed not to care that their queen’s fate was in the hands of Artemis, who from time to time saw fit to take the life of a mother or baby.

Odysseus had stopped and was staring at the open gate in the outer wall of the palace. At the sight of their king, the din of voices gradually grew quiet and soon all eyes were upon him.

‘What is it, Odysseus?’ Eperitus said in a low voice, standing next to him and holding his elbow. ‘Do you want me to go in and ask?’

‘No,’ Odysseus said, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. ‘No, of course not. I just felt a moment of uncertainty. As if . . .’

‘Don’t say it,’ Eperitus said, squeezing his elbow. ‘It’s natural to be afraid, but she’s in good hands. Promise Artemis the sacrifice of a goat if she’ll see Penelope and the child safe, and then let’s go in.’

‘A goat?’ Odysseus said, looking his friend in the eye. ‘If everything goes well, she’ll have my best bull before night-time – the thigh bones and fat, which all the gods love. And we’ll feast on everything else, eh? Come on, Eperitus, let’s find out whether I’m a father yet.’

They walked through to the courtyard, followed by Antiphus and Polites (the sight of whom caused a great stir in the crowd). The scene inside the walls was no less busy than on the terrace outside, with slaves and soldiers scurrying to carry out their duties. Since taking over from his father, Odysseus had transformed Ithaca from a poor, unsophisticated kingdom into a prosperous and bustling state. His palace had also grown in size and richness: in Laertes’s day, it had been a tired and neglected place with no more than two dozen slaves and a guard of thirty men; now it was completely rebuilt, boasting hundreds of slaves and a standing army of three hundred soldiers.

It was an achievement that Odysseus could be justifiably proud of, though many of his decisions had proved unpopular to start with. The first of these concerned Eupeithes, the affluent merchant who had initiated the rebellion against his father. Laertes’s last act as king had been to banish the traitor to Dulichium, but after a year on the throne Odysseus had brought him back and appointed him his chief adviser on trade. In a single stroke, he had gained the benefit of his former enemy’s commercial acumen and guaranteed his loyalty and support (if causing Laertes a certain amount of anger and embarrassment). Odysseus also made peace with the Taphians, who had supported Eupeithes’s rebellion, and now counted their chieftain, Mentes, as one of his closest friends. Eventually, the whole of Ithaca came to appreciate their king’s wisdom and learned to trust his judgement.

Eperitus had always believed in Odysseus’s cleverness, but it was for his hard-working nature that he respected him most. As they walked across the busy courtyard, he looked about at the many improvements his friend had made. Their visit to Sparta years ago had impressed on Odysseus that a king’s home reflected his position and authority, and he had quickly set about redesigning the palace and helping in its reconstruction. The ash planks of the threshold to the great hall, which they were now approaching, had been cut to length and fitted by the king himself; even the cypress pillars that supported the roof had been tapered and rubbed smooth by his hands. His mark was in every aspect of the kingdom, and soon it would be made complete. The child that he and Penelope had wanted for ten years would continue his bloodline and, more importantly, preserve the memory of his deeds so that when death claimed his body it would not claim his renown also.

As Eperitus pondered these things, the doors of the great hall swung open to reveal a tall woman standing in the shadows. She was dressed in a white chiton with a bright-red cloak draped over her shoulders. Her tangled brown hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing a pale face with dark, tired eyes that blinked against the bright sunlight. Penelope’s calm beauty reminded Eperitus of the first time he and Odysseus had seen her, at a feast in Sparta ten years before. Then she had worn a full-length, green dress and her hair had been tied in a ponytail that danced cheerfully with each movement of her head. Odysseus had fallen in love with her that night, and with a combination of persistence and wiliness he had won her heart and made her his queen.

She turned and received a small white bundle from her body slave, Actoris, who stood in the deeper shadows behind her. Then she stepped forward into the sunlight and, with a smile, held the silent baby at arm’s length towards her husband.

‘It’s a boy,’ she said, as Odysseus mounted the threshold and took the child in his arms.

The king looked down at his son and there were tears in his eyes. The people who had been criss-crossing the courtyard now stopped and stared at their king and queen, while at the gates the crowd pressed so close that many were forced over the porch. The hubbub of voices from beyond the palace walls fell silent, and in that moment of blissful peace Odysseus pulled Penelope to him and kissed her with a fierce passion. Then he stepped forward and, raising his son above his head, showed him to all who could see.

‘A son!’ he boomed proudly, the tears now flowing down his cheeks into his beard.

A great cheer erupted from the crowd of onlookers, and as the noise swept back through the town Odysseus took the sleeping child back into his arms and whispered something in Penelope’s ear. Then he turned and beckoned Eperitus to join them.

Despite the continued cheering and his father’s handling of him, the baby was still asleep as Eperitus looked down at him. He had a red face with little features that were screwed up as if with concentration; his tiny fists were pulled up to his cheeks, and his head was covered in shiny black hair that curled in every direction.

‘What will you call him?’ he asked, looking at Odysseus and Penelope. The king was still staring down at the child, studying the miniature details of his son, but Penelope met Eperitus’s eyes and smiled.

‘It’s the father’s duty to name his son,’ she said.

‘Telemachus. His name is Telemachus,’ Odysseus answered. He gave Eperitus a wide grin. ‘And when he’s old enough to walk, you can teach him to use a sword and throw a spear.’

‘And I’ll teach him how to use a bow,’ Antiphus added, stepping onto the raised threshold. He was followed by Polites, whose brutal face was softened with wonder as he stared down at the baby. Then Actoris appeared and reminded Penelope that the child should not be exposed too long to the sun.

Eperitus slipped into the crowd that had formed before the threshold. As he made for the gate, an old woman stopped him.

‘Is it true what they’re saying, sir?’ she asked eagerly. ‘A son?’

‘Yes, a healthy looking lad,’ he replied, forcing a smile.

‘Praise Zeus and Artemis and all the gods!’ she exulted, holding both hands in the air and spinning round with glee.

But Eperitus was already starting to run, wanting to be as far away from the cheering crowds as his legs could take him. He forced his way through the press of bodies until he was beyond the town and climbing the twisting path that led up the flanks of Mount Neriton. When he reached the top he relieved the lookout of his duties and sat down beneath the thatched awning that provided the only shelter from sun, rain or wind, and looked out at the blue mass of the Peloponnese. He watched the merchant ships drift gently up and down the coast until the setting of the sun forced them to find ports or inlets for the night. The eastern sky was beginning to pale and the rocks all around him had turned a gentle shade of pink, reflecting the crimson fire in the sky behind Eperitus as the sun sank below the western edge of the world. Then he heard the sound of loosened gravel and saw Arceisius approach from the direction of the town.

‘I saw Thestor wandering around the palace,’ he said as he approached the awning, ‘when I knew he should have been up here, so I guessed this was where I might find you.’

‘Did you bring any wine?’ Eperitus replied. ‘I’m as thirsty as a hunted deer.’

‘I’ve some water,’ Arceisius said, slipping a leather bag from his shoulder and tossing it towards his master. ‘You were missed down there. Odysseus was asking everyone if they’d seen you.’

‘I thought he needed some time with his new family.’

‘Is that all, sir?’ Arceisius asked. Though young, he was not blind to his master’s anguish.

Eperitus stood and looked down at the wine-dark sea, washing the jagged skirts of the mountain far below with its ceaseless rocking.

‘No, Arceisius. No, it’s not. I’m thinking of leaving Ithaca.’

‘But Ithaca’s your home.’

‘Ithaca’s my prison,’ Eperitus retorted, instantly regretting his sharp tone. ‘I’m sorry, Arceisius. It’s just that, suddenly, everything’s changing, as if I’m being reminded that my destiny lies beyond Ithaca. I’ve been thinking of my father for some time, wanting to wipe away the shame of what he did. Then there was the fight this morning. It was the first time I’ve killed a man in ten years, and I
enjoyed
it – not the killing, as such, but the thrill of danger and the pride of victory. It woke something inside me, a yearning for glory that’s been dormant for too long, and a need to prove myself.’

‘But you
have
proved yourself,’ Arceisius protested. ‘If it wasn’t for you Ithaca would be ruled by Taphians.’

Eperitus shook his head. ‘I’m still a warrior, Arceisius – Odysseus reminded me of that on the ship, and it was he who said Ithaca is a prison to me. But do you know what it was that made me decide to leave? The sight of that baby in Odysseus’s arms. After all, a man needs a sense of his own eternity, something that will carry his memory beyond death. Telemachus will give that to Odysseus. But it made me realize that I’m slipping into obscurity. I need to get back out into the world and make a name for myself in battle – that’s all I ever dreamed of when I was your age.’

The wind, which had been constant since Eperitus had reached the top of Mount Neriton, whipped at their cloaks and hair, bringing to them the sounds of the sea crashing against the rocks far below. The chariot of the sun had disappeared and in the cool of the evening they saw the first stars shining in the deep blue skies above.

‘And now there’s talk of war in the east,’ Eperitus continued. ‘A great war between Troy and the whole of Greece. Odysseus knows about it and is determined not to be drawn in. But for the likes of me – and you, if you’re willing, Arceisius – it’s an opportunity to become what we were always meant to be: warriors, killing and dying for the sake of glory.’

The squire took the skin from his master’s hand and swallowed a mouthful of water. For a long time they watched the Peloponnese fade and the sea grow darker, then Arceisius broke the thought-filled silence.

‘Let’s go back, while we can still find our footing.’

‘I’m leaving for the mainland,’ Eperitus said. ‘Once Telemachus has been dedicated to the gods I intend to ask Odysseus to release me from my oath. If he does, I will go to Mycenae and join the army of King Agamemnon.’

Then I’ll come with you, sir,’ Arceisius replied. ‘It felt strange killing that man this morning, but I know now it was only because I’d crossed a threshold into a new world. I’m a warrior now, and I don’t think I’ll ever find happiness on Ithaca again.’