King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

A new roar greeted his appearance. He saw the Locrian turn in surprise, the panic filling his eyes as he knew Odysseus could still rob him of victory. Further on the gates of the palace were open, guarded on either side by Diomedes and Menelaus, waiting to announce the winner. The volume of spectators’ shouts was enormous, driving him on relentlessly until he was at his Little Ajax’s shoulder once more.

He threw the final reserves of his strength into a last push to be first to the gates. But whatever force had kept his legs moving at such speed and for so long suddenly drained away beneath him. He willed himself on, desperately, but felt only a faint impulse in response. It was barely enough. He fell sprawling into the mouth of the palace gateway, not knowing whether it had been sufficient for victory. The last thing he saw as his mind collapsed into darkness was Diomedes and Menelaus leaping in the air like madmen, to the sound of endless cheering from the warriors of every state in Greece.

Chapter Twenty-four

EPERITUS AND CLYTAEMNESTRA

Eperitus rode to a village below the foothills of the Taygetus Mountains, where he exchanged Icarius’s stallion for a blanket, a dagger, and a few days’ supply of bread and meat. It was a sorry trade, but he desperately needed food and a weapon. Besides, he excused himself, the horse would only be a burden if he was to hide out amongst the frowning ridges and inhospitable peaks above. Swinging the bag of food onto his shoulder, he started up the crumbling road that struggled into the coppery-brown mountains.

After a while he found what he was searching for: the lip of a rock shelf overlooking the fertile plains of Sparta and the road through the mountains. He made his way carefully and slowly up the loose, scree-covered slopes until, shortly, he was standing in the centre of a shallow bowl that was an ideal place for a camp. It had an overhanging crest of rock to provide shelter from wind and rain, whilst its natural concavity would keep him out of sight from anyone below. And if he needed to make a defence, the only approaches were up steep gradients from the valley or the mountain road.

The westering sun was on his back as he saw out the last of the daylight, dangling his legs over the rim of his hiding place. Soon the brown light of dusk choked the colour and detail from the valley and his mind turned naturally to thoughts of warmth and food. He decided to risk a fire and wandered the slopes collecting dead bushes and branches from the few stunted trees that grew there, before sitting down to make tinder and kindling with his dagger. He shaped a nest of dried grass and put the tinder inside, then sharpened a stick and began vigorously rubbing a groove into a piece of wood. After a few moments he tipped a small coal into the tinder nest and blew on it until a puff of flame appeared. Carefully shielding it from the night breeze, he transferred it to the pile of kindling and soon a crackling blaze was bathing the rocky shelf in orange light.

The rest of the night was lonely and thought-filled. As Eperitus lay in his thick blanket and listened to the spit and pop of the fire, he looked up at the white moon that flitted between the ragged fronds above and thought of the future. Meeting Odysseus had been a blessing from the gods: at the prince’s side he had fought men and monsters and brought glory to his name; he had spent months in the company of Greece’s finest men, and had even spoken with one of the immortals. But now the fickle gods had forsaken him again, taking back what little honour he had won for himself and leaving him once more destitute and without hope. Unless he could somehow rejoin Odysseus and help him win back Ithaca, he would never redeem himself from the shame of what his father had done. Tortured by the memory, his descent into sleep was slow and fitful.

The next day was spent watching the gleaming walls of Sparta. The courtship of Helen would soon be over, and once a husband had been named the suitors would quickly begin to leave. Odysseus and his men might return the way they had come, but it was more likely they would head south to the coast and hire a ship to take them home, so he kept a watchful eye on both routes.

By the time dusk had fallen, he had seen nothing more than farmers’ carts, a few horsemen and the usual traffic of villagers and merchants entering or leaving the city gates, and was relieved to be able to leave his post and search the hillsides for firewood. He also looked for edible plants, conscious that his food supply would not last for long, but came back empty-handed. That evening his stomach rumbled in protest at the measly crust of bread and the strip of beef he allowed himself. After months of feasting on the best food and wine in all Greece, it was difficult to adjust to a harsher diet of restricted rations.