King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

As Eperitus loosened his sword in his belt and hefted the weight of his spear in his hand, he thought not of Ithaca but of Alybas. His father’s treachery had brought disgrace on his family, and he could almost hear his dead grandfather calling out for revenge. But Eperitus knew he could never go back to the valleys in which he had grown up, once again to be walled in by its dead mountainsides or to sink into the mire of its humdrum troubles. Who had he met in the great palace of Sparta that had heard of Alybas, an obscure little place where the sum of its entire wealth was worth less than Agamemnon’s golden breastplate? And which of the girls in Alybas was even fit to serve wine to Helen, whose beauty was perilous to look upon? No, he would remove the shame of his father’s sedition by fighting the traitors who had overthrown Laertes. Ithaca was his home now, and Alybas but a memory.

A low mist had crept up from the sea and shrouded the legs of the small army, making them appear to float as they followed Halitherses through the town towards the palace. Eperitus and the other guardsmen were close behind him. As the only trained soldiers, they were to secure the gates whilst the others entered the courtyard and led the assault on the palace.

There were no fires or torches, but by the first light of dawn that pervaded the already failing night they could see the whitewashed palace walls through the murk. There was a dark hole where the gate stood and they could not tell whether the portals were open or shut, but they were encouraged by the silence that met them as they formed a line along the edge of the terrace.

A cockerel crowed. Halitherses pointed at Eumaeus, who raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, clear note. For a moment they waited, listening to the lonely sound shiver the darkness, and then they were running steadily towards the gates.

Their weapons weighed them down, making it difficult to run. Eperitus’s sword banged against his thigh and he was conscious of the bronze greaves upon his shins, stiffening his movements and checking his speed. His feet became quickly sodden from the wet grass, and yet the palace walls seemed hardly any closer. Suddenly someone called out.

‘The gates are closed!’

Some of the men slowed down to look at the tall wooden doors. Though they were still some way off, they could see the gates remained shut against them.

‘Come on, you dogs!’ Halitherses shouted grimly. ‘Get moving! We’ll scale the walls while they’re still waking up.’

But it was too late even for that. Taphian bowmen were already climbing onto the walls from the other side, unslinging their bows and taking aim. Halitherses was leading the Ithacans headlong into a trap, yet even so Eperitus ran on after him, hoping to close the remaining distance before the archers’ deadly arrows stopped them. After waiting so long to return, it angered him that they should fail so early in their mission. Now only death and honour awaited them, and he was determined to fight his way into the compound and die with Taphian blood on his sword.

The attack had almost stalled behind them, but encouraged by the example of their captain the guardsmen ran screaming at the high walls, followed by most of the townsfolk. Eumaeus, unencumbered by shield or armour, outstripped them all. He passed Eperitus at a sprint and caught up with Halitherses, seeming as if he would run straight up the walls and over into the compound beyond.

Then the archers fired.

Their bows sang in the cold morning air. Eumaeus fell into the layer of mist and was gone. Halitherses turned towards him and was brought down under a second volley, disappearing into the vapours like the squire before him. Eperitus thrust his shield out before him and ran towards where his captain had fallen, shouting with rage and heedless of the flying darts from the walls. They split the air about his ears and thumped into the layered ox-hide of the shield, and in the growing light he could see yet more Taphian archers clambering up to shoot at the easy target he presented for them.

But Athena had heard his prayers. As he searched amid the swirling vapours only a spear’s throw from the walls, he was not brought down by an arrow but by an obstacle on the ground. He stumbled forward into the welcoming mist and his shield fell on top of him, just as two more arrows thumped into its thick hide. There was a tense pause as the archers looked for him through the concealing vapours, then, thinking him dead, they turned their attentions to the mass of retreating Ithacans.