King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

The day was a warm one, in contrast to the clouds and occasional rain of the past week, and by the time Eperitus reached a point on the river far enough down from the city gates he was sweating and thirsty. He laid down his shield and spears behind a stone wall and glanced about the countryside for signs of life. There were shepherds on the foothills to either side of the valley and a handful of peasant children in an olive grove on the other side of the river, but neither posed a threat so he walked to the near bank and knelt down to drink. The cold waters were refreshing on his dusty hands, the strong undercurrents driving his fingers apart and chilling them to the bone. He took a quick draught and splashed some on his face and neck, then on his dark hair, hot with the sun. He scooped up more handfuls of the liquid until his thirst was slaked, then sat back with the water dripping from his unshaven chin onto the tunic Clytaemnestra had given him.

As he slouched back against the rich, damp grass of the river bank the sun quickly dried his hair and skin and took advantage of his wearied condition to woo him with thoughts of sleep. The air was rich with the smell of spring blossom, overpowering his senses, and he felt his lids grow ponderous and the tension in his muscles ease away. His breathing grew slower and heavier as the gentle breeze from the river fanned his skin. His chin lolled onto his chest and within moments he was in the depths of sleep.

A noise snagged him back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes and raised his head to listen. Silence. For a moment he thought the noise had not been from the waking world, but then he heard it again. The slow beat of hoofs and the trundle of wheels, followed by the sharp whinnying of horses. Eperitus pulled the sword from his belt and lay flat on his stomach against the steeply angled bank.

The road bent out of sight behind a cluster of cypress trees, hiding whoever was approaching, but soon a chariot with a team of four horses came slowly into view, followed by a large number of fully armed warriors. Because of the size of the escort, Eperitus thought at first that it was one of the more powerful suitors, on his way to the coast and a ship home, but as they came closer Eperitus could see Mentor at the reins with Odysseus and Penelope standing beside him. The couple looked magnificent together, and Eperitus felt a surge of happiness at the sight of them. Behind them came the small band of Ithacans, with Halitherses and Antiphus at their head, followed by a much larger troop of a further forty warriors.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Eperitus stood up and ran to greet them. At a command from Odysseus, Mentor halted the chariot and the prince jumped down to meet his friend.

‘I’ve been praying you would find us before we sailed for Ithaca,’ he said, taking Eperitus’s hand and pulling him into an embrace. ‘I’ve a lot to tell you about. Penelope and I were married.’

He nodded towards his wife, who was watching them from the chariot.

‘You old fox,’ Eperitus replied, feigning surprise. He looked up at Penelope and took pleasure from the sight of her calm, intelligent face. She smiled back at him with a happy gleam in her eye.

Odysseus gave him a roguish grin as the other Ithacans gathered around them, their faces full of surprise and joy at the unexpected reunion. Halitherses put his arms about Eperitus and held him in a bearlike grip, a rare sign of affection from the guard captain. As he stepped away, Antiphus gave the young warrior a hug and roughed up his hair affectionately, welcoming him back into the ranks.

‘You did a brave thing,’ he said. The others murmured their agreement. ‘After you escaped Odysseus told us it was him, not you, who had been in Penelope’s room, and that your sacrifice probably saved his life. I wonder how many of us would have done the same.’

‘You all would have,’ Eperitus said, dismissing the compliment. ‘Now, is someone going to tell me who these others are?’

‘They’re Spartans,’ said Damastor, stepping forward and offering his hand. ‘Tyndareus lent them to Odysseus as a wedding gift, to help him retake Ithaca.’

This was the moment Eperitus had thought about and dreaded more than any other since waking that morning. Should he refuse Damastor’s gesture of friendship and denounce him as a traitor in front of everybody, without the slightest proof to support his accusation? Or should he keep silent and bide his time, waiting for some evidence that Clytaemnestra was right? After a moment of doubt, he decided the latter would be the wisest course of action and took Damastor’s hand.

Soon after, the march to the sea resumed. Odysseus did not return to the chariot, but walked beside Eperitus. The matter of his sudden appearance still needed explanation, he said.