King of Ithaca (54 page)
‘I fear nothing and no man, least of all you. No – I want you to kneel before your king, and then I will kill you. And if you want Penelope to live, you’ll do as I command.’
‘No, Odysseus,’ Penelope shouted fiercely, struggling against the strong grip that held her. ‘I’d rather die than be this man’s whore.’
Polytherses placed his hand over her mouth and pressed the tip of the dagger into her neck, pricking the soft skin so that a bead of blood rolled down over her chest. Odysseus took a step forward and the archers drew back their bows; the slightest twitch of their fingers would release the arrows.
Eperitus put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. The ungainly prince, with whom he had shared so many hardships, looked at him and there was anger in his eyes. But in that same moment Eperitus handed him Iphitus’s bow and a single arrow he had taken from the quiver. Odysseus snatched them from him and in an instant had fitted the arrow and was aiming it at Polytherses.
Silence fell in the hall. Polytherses’s eyes were wide with terror as he dragged Penelope in front of him to act as a shield against Odysseus’s arrow. The four Taphians strained their bowstrings even further and waited only for a word from their leader. Meanwhile, Odysseus focused his concentration on Penelope and Polytherses. Penelope met his eyes and nodded imperceptibly. Odysseus whispered a prayer to Apollo for the sureness of his aim, then released the arrow from his fingertips.
The darkness in the hall and the shimmering heat from the flames obscured the usurper of his father’s throne and made his aim almost impossible. Indeed, very few could have hit such a mark: Teucer, possibly; Philoctetes also, but only with the magical arrows that Heracles had given him; Apollo, certainly. But with Iphitus’s great horn bow Odysseus was as deadly as any archer in Greece, and the arrow flew from his fingers straight into Poly-therses’s left eye. It passed through his brain and killed him before he could even think to cut his captive’s throat. The Spartan princess stepped free of the dead man’s hold and the corpse collapsed in the dirt behind her.
In the same instant, the Taphian bowstrings shivered the air in the great hall. One of their arrows nicked Odysseus’s forehead, and another his upper arm. The third missed completely, but the fourth thumped into his thigh, making him shout in pain. Eperitus drew his sword and charged towards the enemy archers, but at that moment Mentes burst in through the twin doors, followed by Antiphus and a group of Ithacans. The Taphian held up his hand and ran to the centre of the hall.
‘You are victorious, Odysseus,’ he announced, and then to his countrymen: ‘Lower your weapons, my friends. The battle is over.’
With their leader slain, the archers realized they had nothing more to fight for and threw down their bows. Polytherses’s brief reign as king of Ithaca was over, and fittingly he was the last to die on that fateful day.
Odysseus plucked the arrow from his leg and tossed it into the shadows, then limped across the hall to embrace his wife.
The courtyard was filled with the nobility of Ithaca, Samos, Dulichium and Zacynthos. An honour guard, commanded by Antiphus, lined the newly whitewashed walls; it was drawn from the survivors of the battle for the palace six days before, many of whom still wore their bandages like badges of pride Beyond the gates, hundreds more people filled the broad terrace hoping for a sight of their king and queen.
A large space had been left clear before the threshold of the great hall, and Eperitus stood between Mentor and Halitherses in the first rank of onlookers. Both men had been severely wounded in the battle and would not fight again: with his hand severed, Mentor would no longer be able to hold a shield, whilst it was a miracle that Halitherses had survived at all. The old warrior had been hit in the foot and the arm and had lost a lot of blood as he lay beneath the palace walls, and it took all the skill of Eurycleia, Odysseus’s childhood nurse, to revive him. When Odysseus and Eperitus visited him two days later he swore never to lift a weapon in anger again, and with tears in his eyes resigned his position as captain of the guard there and then.
Odysseus was saddened, but recognized the will of the gods. That same evening he conferred the captaincy on Eperitus, as a reward for his services and a recognition of their friendship. To the young exile from Alybas it meant the security he longed for – a permanent home among friends, as well as a true sense of purpose and fulfilment. And at last, Eperitus felt he had absolved himself of the disgrace that had been brought upon him by his father. Though he remained the son of a treacherous usurper, by fighting to put a rightful king on his throne he had lessened the shadow on his family’s honour. His grandfather’s ghost would take satisfaction from that.
Eperitus looked about at the throng that filled the courtyard, but recognized only a few of the faces he saw. Mentes was on the opposite side of the cleared space, standing a full head above those around him and attracting much curiosity. Diocles and the surviving Spartans were on either side of him. Like many of the Ithacan guards, their necks were draped with garlands of flowers given to them by appreciative islanders. Eumaeus was there too, leaning on a crutch with his leg bandaged; he had been so badly hurt from the arrow wound that Eurycleia predicted he would carry a limp for as long as he lived.
Standing next to the swineherd, with her arm linked through his elbow, was Ctymene. The young girl’s attractiveness had grown in the time Eperitus had been away, and it was obvious she was fast becoming a woman. But Eperitus, too, had matured: he had seen Helen, the most beautiful woman in Greece, and he had slept with Clytaemnestra, queen of Mycenae. The princess, though disappointed at the indifference that her brother’s handsome friend had shown since his return to Ithaca, quickly tired of flirting with him and diverted her attentions to the many more responsive young men at the celebrations.
In the centre of the clearing, two high-backed chairs faced the entrance to the great hall. These were occupied by Laertes and Anticleia, who held hands and chatted quietly to each other, their words lost in the noise of the crowd. Then the doors of the great hall swung open and the courtyard fell into silence. A moment later, the king and queen stood as Odysseus and Penelope appeared beneath the pillared threshold and walked out into the bright sunshine.
Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Eperitus’s heart swelled with happiness as he watched his friends cross the courtyard to stand before Laertes and Anticleia. The prince was dressed in a fine purple tunic with a white robe about his shoulders, clasped together by a golden brooch. His wife wore a light green chiton with a white sash about the waist, reminding Eperitus of the new growth of spring that was already filling the island. She looked relaxed and confident as she held her husband’s hand, and Eperitus knew she had quickly become enamoured of her new home. When Odysseus was not dealing with the aftermath of the rebellion, he had spent time showing her his beloved Ithaca. Often Eperitus would be invited to join them as they walked its woods, climbed its mountains and explored its coastline. On these occasions he had seen how Penelope had taken to the island, and heard her talking of starting a family that would be safe from the wars and political rivalries of the mainland. She reminded him of Helen then, and made him pity Tyndareus’s daughter, whose looks had condemned her to a life as the trophy of powerful men.
That the people loved Penelope was clear, and the huge crowds outside the palace walls had gathered as much to see the new queen as the long-awaited succession of Odysseus. But it remained Odysseus’s moment of triumph. It was his leadership, intelligence and courage that had led them to Sparta and back, and had brought about the downfall of the rebellion. Because of him, their great task had been a success and Ithaca was free again. The long journeys, the battles, the treachery and the mesh of love and politics were behind them. And now Odysseus was to replace his father, just as the oracle had predicted.
Laertes looked his son firmly in the eye, but did not move. As a captive of Koronos, the old man had long before decided that his son should take his place as king if he overthrew the rebels; but as the two men stared at each other, Eperitus feared that Laertes might revoke his decision. Then the moment passed. The old man kissed Odysseus on both cheeks and placed a short staff in his hand – the symbol of rule on Ithaca. Then he and Anticleia bowed low and moved aside.
Odysseus and Penelope now stepped up to the vacant seats and turned. They held hands and stared about at the silent faces for a long moment. Then they sat down and the simple ceremony was complete: Odysseus had become king of Ithaca, and Penelope was his queen. The courtyard erupted with cheering that was echoed in the streets beyond, marking the start of many days of celebration.
As the cheers continued, Odysseus found Eperitus amongst the crowd and gave him an irreverent grin. Eperitus returned the smile, happy to share in his friend’s moment of triumph. Yet circling vulture-like over his joy was a nagging doubt: Odysseus had found a Spartan wife and was the ruler of his people, but the second part of his oracle remained, distant but threatening. And if Odysseus’s doom took him to Troy, as the Pythoness had warned, then Eperitus would go also. For that was the will of Zeus, which he had naively sought a lifetime ago at Mount Parnassus.
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