King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Icarius laughed at the suggestion. ‘No. He raped my daughter, and I’ll be the one to put him to the sword. The right of revenge is mine.’

‘He’s my friend and, what’s more, he’s an Ithacan warrior. If a man is to die, let it be by the hand of one of his own countrymen.’

Tyndareus sighed loudly. Taking a sword from one of the guards, he handed it to Odysseus. ‘Be quick,’ he said. ‘I’m already sick of this whole affair.’

Odysseus took the weapon, but made no move to carry out the king’s request.

‘Not before the eyes of all these onlookers,’ he announced. ‘Let me take him down to the orchard by the bridge and carry out the sentence there, privately and with respect for the service he has given me. I give you my word Penelope’s attacker will receive his just rewards.’

‘No – do it here,’ Icarius demanded. ‘Where there are witnesses to the act.’

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. They had already come to regard Odysseus as too clever for the absolute truth, and though they respected him few trusted him. But at that moment Peisandros stepped from the ranks of the Myrmidons and joined Odysseus.

‘I’ll see that it’s done. Permit Odysseus to take this man to the orchard he talks of, the one by the tributary that runs into the Eurotas. I will be your witness. This is an evil business and, by the gods, I want to see it over.’

‘I agree,’ Menelaus said, his face full of disgust at the proceedings and Icarius’s lust for revenge. ‘Let Odysseus kill his friend and let Peisandros act as witness. He’s of noble birth and we can trust what he says.’

The early spring sky had filled with grey clouds and a wind was blowing across the courtyard now. Agamemnon and Tyndareus exchanged hushed words then quickly nodded their approval. Odysseus and Peisandros bowed low before them, then, as the first dollops of rain began to sink pits into the dust, they led Eperitus across the courtyard and through the gates.

For a while they walked in silence through the town, Odysseus on one side of Eperitus and Peisandros on the other, looking in every respect the escort that they were. The rain shower had been brief and as the townsfolk emerged from the shelter of homes and doorways they stared at them because of the prisoner’s beaten and bloodied state. A few children dared follow in their wake to throw sticks and stones at his back – instinctively identifying him as some form of criminal – but were chased angrily away by Peisandros.

Before long they reached the city walls and could see the bridge and the orchard only a short walk further on through the arched gateway.

‘Wait here and keep watch, Peisandros,’ Odysseus commanded, handing him the sword. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

With that he sprinted back up the hill at a speed that belied his heavy bulk. They watched him out of sight, wondering what had brought about his sudden desertion, and then Peisandros turned to the young soldier.

‘What’s all this about, Eperitus? I was with you last night before they sent everybody back to their quarters, so I know you couldn’t have been in Penelope’s room. You’re covering for someone, aren’t you?’

Eperitus remained silent.

‘Was it Odysseus? You can trust me not to say anything. If you’re standing in for the prince then I honour you for your sacrifice, but I’ll not see you murdered for something you didn’t do.’

At that point Odysseus reappeared, carrying a struggling goat under his arm.

‘Come on,’ he told them, and marched through the gate at a pace which they struggled to keep up with.

‘He’s keen to see you dead, my friend,’ Peisandros muttered as they dropped behind. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want you changing your mind. But don’t forget who’s carrying the sword now.’

Although his name was now a thing to be despised, Eperitus felt a glimmer of hope that the Myrmidon spearman did not want him dead. How he planned to save his life he did not know, though if it meant Odysseus would be found out he would freely have chosen death again. Either way, if he lived he knew that his time in Sparta was over and the life of an outcast lay once more before him.

They reached the orchard and sought the shade of the apple trees. Here Odysseus passed the restless goat to Peisandros and turned to Eperitus.

‘Come to the river bank,’ he ordered, and led him down to the water. Here he made him kneel and began scooping up handfuls of the cold water, pouring them over his friend’s head to loosen the caked blood. Then he removed his own cloak and, dipping a corner in the gurgling waters, began to gently dab the blood from Eperitus’s skin. If he winced, Odysseus tried again with more care, and did not stop until every bit was gone.