The Gates Of Troy (15 page)

He turned Lipse’s head towards the bridge and dug his heels into her flanks. She covered the remaining distance at a gallop, followed closely by Apheidas and Aeneas.

Chapter Eight

O
N
H
ERMES’S
M
OUNT

I
t was a bright morning and the blue skies were filled with the harsh cawing of seagulls. They swept about the rooftops of Odysseus’s palace and the surrounding houses, landing and taking off, and fighting with each other over the scraps of food the townsfolk had thrown out for their livestock. A cooling breeze swept across the channel from Samos, washing away the stink of fish from the day’s catch and carrying in the smell of pine from the thinly wooded slopes of Mount Neriton.

The large expanse of open ground before the palace walls was thronged with people. Slaves bartered at the stalls of the many fishermen or haggled noisily with farmers who stood atop carts filled with grain or vegetables. A pair of herdsmen were driving in a score of pigs, using their sticks liberally on the pink backsides and shouting instructions to their dogs. Under the shade of a large olive tree a group of old men were watching the progress of a board game, giving advice or deriding unwise moves; colourful birds sat beside them in willow cages, singing cheerfully to each other. Young children were everywhere, clinging to their mothers or playing games that involved an unending flow of chasing and hiding.

Underneath the palace walls, not far from the folding gates, sat a semicircle of four boys and nine girls. They did not seem to mind the nearby dung pile, which had not been collected for three days and stank horribly; instead, their attention was fixed on a short, chubby boy with curly brown hair and large, staring eyes. He sat against the wall on an upturned basket and looked round at his audience.

‘When the resourceful Odysseus realized Penelope had been captured by Polytherses and his Taphians, he devised a plan to get into the palace and free her. With Mentor and Antiphus, he hid in a large clay pithos filled with wine and was carried through the heavily guarded gates on the back of a cart.’

‘How did they breathe?’ said a sandy-haired boy with skinny limbs and a long neck. ‘I mean, how did they breathe if the pithos was full of wine?’

‘They waited until the last moment, and then when the long-speared Taphians stepped forward to check the shipment, they ducked their heads under the surface of the dark wine and breathed through straws.’

‘See!’ said a fiery-eyed girl with dark skin and long hair bunched up on top of her head. ‘Now, why don’t you shut up and let Omeros tell the story?’

Omeros held up his hands.

‘Thank you, Melantho-of-the-pretty-cheeks,’ he said, making the girl blush coyly. ‘Now, after the cart had passed through the gates – those very gates to my right – and night had fallen, Odysseus, Mentor and Antiphus slipped from their hiding place and began their butchers’ work, slitting the throats of the sleeping Taphians until the courtyard was awash with their blood. Fully a hundred were dead by the time rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, and then the mercenaries woke and discovered what was going on. Up they leapt and, seizing their bronze-tipped spears and leather shields, set upon the three Ithacans with a great fury.’

Omeros scowled and thrust an imaginary sword towards one of the girls, making her fall back with a squeal.

‘At that moment a horn blew from beyond the walls. Out of the mist, striding across the plain came godlike Eperitus, leading an army of stout-hearted Ithacans.’ Omeros stood and pointed to the broad terrace behind the other children. Every head turned, and in their minds’ eyes the throng of slaves, peasants and tradesmen became an army, marching resolutely towards the palace walls. ‘Halitherses of the great war cry was with them; Eumaeus the swineherd and Arceisius, Eperitus’s squire, too. With a great shout they ran towards the gates, from which hundreds of Taphians were already issuing, eager to meet them in battle.’

Eperitus and Arceisius stood unobserved by the gates, listening to the story.

‘There you go,’ said Arceisius, his mouth full of apple. ‘Why go to the mainland to seek glory when we’ve already been immortalized in song at home?’

‘Omeros is eleven,’ Eperitus replied, snatching the apple from his squire’s hand and taking a large bite. ‘Besides, the boy’s imagination knows no limits – where’d he get this “godlike Eperitus” from, for instance?’

‘Now then, sir, you can’t lust after fame one moment and get embarrassed when you receive it the next.’

Eperitus tossed the apple-core on the dung heap. ‘Come on, let’s find Odysseus. We don’t want to miss Telemachus’s dedication, and afterwards I will ask the king’s permission to go.’

‘I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about that,’ Arceisius said. ‘It’s been a month since Telemachus was born and you haven’t mentioned anything more about leaving Ithaca.’

‘I meant what I said, Arceisius. Did you?’

Arceisius nodded, firmly but without enthusiasm. Then, as Eperitus made to go, he threw his arm across the captain’s chest.

‘Wait a moment, sir,’ he said, pointing into the crowd. ‘Here come Eupeithes’s boy, Antinous, and his cronies. They’ll be looking for trouble, or I’m a Taphian.’

‘They mean trouble, all right,’ Eperitus agreed, eyeing the newcomers with distaste. ‘We’d better see what they’re up to.’

A group of three boys strutted up to the circle of children, just as Omeros was describing the moment when Odysseus shot dead the traitor Polytherses. Antinous, a tall, slim boy of fourteen with an arrogant face and a pampered air, scoffed at the story.

‘That oaf couldn’t hit a horse’s arse at point-blank range, let alone shoot a man through the eye in a darkened hall. You should take your ridiculous songs and tell them to the seagulls, Omeros, for all the truth that’s in them.’

‘Everyone knows Odysseus shot my father in the back,’ rumbled Ctessipus, a large boy with a single eyebrow and a flattened nose. ‘And if you tell any more lies about him, I’ll chuck you on that dung pile and you can sing to the flies and worms, if you like.’

The boys stared menacingly at Omeros’s audience, who began to slink away until only Melantho was left. She scowled at the third boy, a rather slow-looking lout who was trying desperately to avoid her eye.

‘Melanthius,’ she spat, ‘if you don’t clear off at once and take these two vultures with you, I’m going straight to Pa and telling him you’ve been up to no good again.’

Melanthius shifted uncomfortably, but was saved from answering his sister by Omeros.

‘It’s all right, Melantho. Perhaps they would like to sit down and listen to the rest of the story.’ He turned to the three boys and indicated the recently vacated spaces before him. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the part about how Eupeithes usurped the throne, then was himself betrayed by Polytherses – but as they were your fathers, I expect you already know the story. Maybe you’d like to hear of how Odysseus found Eupeithes in a storeroom, still chained up where Polytherses had left him?’

Both Antinous and Ctessipus leapt at Omeros, brandishing their fists and preparing to give him a beating. But before they could reach him they were pulled back by two pairs of strong arms.

‘Steady now,’ said Eperitus, hardly able to suppress his laughter as Antinous struggled against his firm grip. ‘Or you might hurt yourself.’

Arceisius, who was not as powerful as Eperitus and only a little bigger than Ctessipus, had already lost patience with his prisoner. With a grunt, he threw him over his shoulder, carried him to the dung pile and tossed him on it. At the sight of this, Antinous ceased his thrashing and fell limp, whilst Melanthius quickly disappeared into the crowd pursued by his sister, who was berating him loudly as she chased after him.

‘Be on your way, lad,’ Eperitus said, cuffing Antinous’s mop of blond hair, ‘and don’t let me hear you’ve been in any more trouble.’

Antinous turned and scowled at the captain of the palace guard, tears of anger and embarrassment flooding down his cheeks. He bit back the words he wanted to say and, ignoring Ctessipus’s plea to help him out of the dung heap, stormed off into the throng of people.

‘You shouldn’t provoke them, Omeros,’ Eperitus warned the young storyteller. ‘You’re nothing more than a whelp compared to them, and one day they’ll give you the thrashing you deserve.’

‘Perhaps they will,’ Omeros answered, jumping off his basket and following the two warriors as they navigated their way through the crowds. ‘But it’s precisely because they’re bigger than me that I’m always baiting them. I can’t defeat them physically, so I might as well humiliate them with my words.’

‘Which is why Odysseus likes you so much,’ Arceisius said. He took three barley cakes from a basket and gave the seller a wink. The man shook his head resignedly and continued haggling with a fat, red-faced woman.

Omeros took a bite of the cake Arceisius handed him, then caught up with Eperitus.

‘Sir, the king was looking for you earlier.’

‘And I’ve been looking for him ever since I finished my duties this morning. Do you know where he is?’

‘He was on his way to Hermes’s Mount, with the queen and their baby. He said to tell you that he has gone ahead to make everything ready and will be waiting for you there.’

‘Then perhaps you should have been looking for me rather than lazing about and telling your friends stories,’ Eperitus said, looking at the boy with as much sternness as he could muster. ‘But I suppose I can’t blame you. Odysseus shouldn’t entrust his messages to daydreamers.’

‘I won’t always be a daydreamer, sir,’ Omeros responded, looking hurt. ‘People
need
stories – and bards to tell them – or where’s the enjoyment in life? If we didn’t give them tales of love, war and glory then no one would have anything to live up to.’

‘And if you left us all alone, we could lead contented lives and not be blighted by impossible dreams,’ Eperitus countered. ‘Anyway, I’d be wary of becoming a bard if I were you. Most end up as little more than tramps, wandering from palace to palace to earn scraps from the tables of the powerful.’

‘Some say that about warriors, too, sir,’ Omeros suggested, stepping back a little as Eperitus gave him another stern glance. ‘But I don’t intend to be a wandering storyteller – I will be bard to the court of King Odysseus himself, and King Telemachus after him.’

Eperitus turned to Arceisius and signalled for him to catch up. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, then you should start telling things as they really were. How many times have I had to remind you Odysseus didn’t enter the palace in a pithos of wine? He was disguised as a wine merchant.’

‘But it doesn’t
sound
as good, sir. Too much truth can ruin a story, and, besides, the king says he prefers my version.’

‘Odysseus has never been a great respecter of honesty, and you should be careful of following his example,’ Eperitus warned. ‘He was born with the cunning of a fox and knows more than most men about how to live by his wits; but even for him there’s a fine line between trickery and dishonour.’

Omeros was about to reply, but was silenced by the arrival of Arceisius.

‘Odysseus is waiting for us at Athena’s sacred grove on Hermes’s Mount,’ Eperitus informed his squire. ‘We should go and find him now, and leave this young rascal to evade Antinous and his cronies.’

The two men turned and walked in the direction of the low, wooded hump of Hermes’s Mount, which lay to the north-west of the town, but as they moved free of the crowd and began along the dirt track that led to the hill Omeros called after them.

‘Don’t forget that warriors need bards, too, sir. Without us, your acts of glory are worthless.’

‘He’s right, you know,’ Arceisius laughed.

Eperitus said nothing. He was already thinking of what he had to say to Odysseus after Telemachus had been dedicated to the gods, and what the cost of his own search for glory would be.

A strong wind blustered up from the sea, flattening the blades of grass that clung to the exposed flank of Hermes’s Mount. Eperitus and Arceisius held their cloaks about them as they walked towards the lonely thicket of pines that stood tall and dark in the centre of the sloping meadow, enduring the gusts that howled through its interlocked branches. Many years before, Odysseus’s grandfather had met Athena walking through the grove, where she had given him her blessing; since that day it had been considered a sacred place by all Ithacans, and especially the rulers of the island.

As they approached, they could see Odysseus standing beneath the eaves of the small wood. His auburn hair was blowing wildly in the wind as his keen eyes looked out over the Ionian Sea, oblivious to their approach. He was mouthing a silent prayer in preparation for the dedication of his son, and from time to time would close his eyes and bow his head.

Behind him stood Penelope, the knuckles of her fists white as she gripped the edges of her cloak. Her eyes, narrowed against the gale, were fixed upon her husband. At her right shoulder was her nurse, Actoris, whose back was turned against the squall to protect the baby in her arms. Eurybates, Odysseus’s squire and herald, was also with them; he held a struggling lamb in his arms and carried two skins over his shoulder, one filled with wine and the other with water.