King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘I don’t believe him,’ Mentor said. ‘He’ll say anything right now, when your sword is pricking at his soft neck. But what about when he’s surrounded by his friends, safely tucked away inside the palace with nothing but your dagger to threaten him? The cow-ard’ll find his courage and sense of duty quick enough then – duty to Polytherses! Some god has robbed you of your wits, Odysseus, if you let yourself be led into the palace by this serpent.’

‘I give you my word of honour as a warrior, as all the gods are my witness,’ said Mentes, standing and facing his accuser.

‘I don’t trust the word of a Taphian,’ Mentor replied, sliding his sword out of his belt. He presented the hilt to the Taphian. ‘But if you kill your comrade . . .’

‘No!’ Eperitus protested. ‘That’s barbaric.’

‘It’s the only way to be sure,’ said Odysseus, looking expectantly at Mentes.

The older Taphian shifted uneasily. Then Mentes took the sword and stuck it deep into his guts. He twisted the blade once and pulled it back out, unplugging a stream of dark, glistening blood that sluiced down the man’s groin and legs and onto the road.

He turned from the body and handed Mentor his sword. ‘Is that proof enough for you?’

‘It will do,’ Odysseus answered coldly. ‘Now hide these corpses and listen to what I have in mind.’

The gate guards heard the squealing of the wagon long before it came into sight. The sound carried easily through the silent streets of Ithaca, which had already settled down for the night after an unusually busy day, and brought great joy to the wine-starved hearts of the soldiers gathered in the compound. Although the noise of the burdened vehicle was painful to hear, the Taphian warriors had been eagerly anticipating the shipment for several days and listened to its strained music with suppressed excitement.

The rumour that Odysseus had returned to the island meant nothing to them in comparison with the prospect of getting drunk. There had almost been a riot when Polytherses announced the wine would be kept in storage until further notice. Although the king wanted his warriors to remain sober to meet any attack that might come in the night, faced with the mutiny of his army he was forced to relent. Instead he took a core of volunteers who agreed not to drink in exchange for gold, and kept them garrisoned within the royal quarters.

‘Who’s that with you, Mentes?’ called one of the guards as the wagon screeched to a halt before the gates.

‘Merchants,’ he answered. ‘They want to stay in Ithaca for a while, so I said they could sleep in the palace until they find a house in the town tomorrow.’

‘After our money, I suppose.’

‘Why else would anyone want to come to this rock?’ Odysseus answered.

He smiled at the three guards, who looked back with stony faces. They were tall men wrapped in thick cloaks, each one armed with two long spears and a shield and wearing leather caps on their heads. They looked more than ready for a fight.

‘There speaks a wise man,’ one of them replied. ‘Where are the others?’

Odysseus squeezed closer to Mentes and pressed the point of his dagger against his ribs, the blade concealed beneath the cast of his cloak. On either side of the wagon Mentor and Antiphus prepared to pull their swords from between the jars of wine, where they had been concealed in rolls of matting.

‘Drunk in one of the huts by the harbour,’ Mentes shrugged. ‘They couldn’t wait.’

The guard shook his head resignedly and waved them through the tall wooden portals. Odysseus and Mentes had to duck their heads slightly, and then they were inside the familiar courtyard of the palace.

‘Do you trust me now?’ Mentes whispered as he applied a stick to the backside of one of the oxen.

‘We’ll see,’ Odysseus replied, nudging the point of his dagger against his ribs.

He looked about himself at the two or three score of warriors who were approaching the wagon from every corner of the courtyard. Although it lifted his heart to see again the familiar surroundings of his home, it dismayed him to see this place – his childhood playground – filled with foreign soldiers. He halted the wagon and ordered Mentor and Antiphus to pass down the wine.

The Taphians cheered with delight and eager groups of men gathered at the back of the cart, ready to receive the heavy clay jars and pass them back to their waiting comrades. Others called on servants from the palace to bring food and, more importantly, water to mix with the wine. That was when Odysseus saw his father’s ageing housekeeper come out of the palace at the head of a column of slaves bearing food and water.