King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Odysseus resisted the impulse to throw himself into another furious attack. Koronos was easily his match in swordsmanship, if not in physical strength; he was also a cunning man, and Odysseus sensed that he was deliberately trying to provoke his anger. Already his lapses of concentration had nearly allowed the older man inside his guard. He stepped back and eyed him with caution.

‘You know I have Laertes held prisoner in my home?’ Koronos continued. ‘Before you arrived I was telling your mother how he begs to see her again. I find his pleas very moving. If I die, though, my slaves have orders to kill him. Is that what you want?’

Odysseus sensed an undercurrent of desperation in Koronos’s calm voice, the voice that had once persuaded him to leave his family undefended. Now it was trying to convince him that his wife would be raped and his father murdered. And yet for all his skill and power, the old man could not conceal his fear from the prince.

‘Don’t be a fool, Koronos,’ he responded in an even tone. ‘Your slaves hate you. Once you’re dead and I’m standing at their door, they will never dare kill the rightful king of Ithaca. For all your delusions that Laertes was an unfit ruler, the people of this island know different. And before this day is out my father will be back on the throne. Only, you won’t be alive to witness it.’

Odysseus had bided his time carefully. He had watched the beads of sweat on his opponent’s forehead, heard his struggling breath and noticed the wavering grip on his sword. In the meantime he had allowed Koronos to take the offensive with his voice, encouraging the traitor to switch his thoughts to goading and dissuasion. Then he struck.

He scythed down with all his strength. Koronos attempted to divert the blow and had his weapon swept from his hand, to clatter noisily across the stone floor and leave him defenceless. The traitor stared in disbelief at his empty hand, then fell slowly to his knees. But Odysseus was in no mood for mercy. The sight of Koronos pleading for his life only made him think of his father, imploring his former friend and adviser to let him see Anticleia. Without a second thought on the matter, he plunged his sword through the man’s black heart.

Turning at once to his mother, he gathered her into his arms and pressed his cheek to hers. They held each other for a few moments, then Anticleia sobbed and pushed him away.

‘Find your wife, Odysseus. Let me tend Mentor; you just go – and hurry.’

Odysseus was loath to leave his mother unguarded, but was racked by the sense that Penelope was in urgent danger. He kissed her on the cheek, then ran from the room and down the steps to the lower floor. Beyond the passageway where the bodies of the Taphians lay he could hear the clash of bronze upon bronze in the courtyard. Men were shouting, though the words would not carry to him, and the cacophony of battle was punctuated by the screams of dying men.

Without pause, he turned right and followed the passageway until he reached the entrance to the great hall. There was no guard, so he raised his sword point and walked boldly in to meet whatever perils lay in wait.

The hearth burned low in the middle of the room, just as it had on the day that he and his men had left for Sparta. The previously smoke-stained walls were now bright with a fresh coating of limewash. Upon this were sketched the ghostlike outlines of murals yet to be painted, giving the familiar hall a curiously alien feeling. The great doors that gave access to the courtyard beyond were barred shut, ensuring nothing would disturb Odysseus and the men who had taken his father’s throne.

They stood on the other side of the hearth, their shapes distorted by the heat from the flames. The Taphian warriors were armed with bows, each aiming an arrow at the lone intruder. Between them stood Polytherses, his arm wrapped about Penelope’s waist and holding her to him. His free hand held a dagger to her throat.

Chapter Thirty

KING OF ITHACA

A Taphian warrior stepped out from the gates. His face was covered in blood and rivulets of gore stained the sword he carried, which Eperitus could only think was the blood of Odysseus, Mentor or Antiphus. He beckoned the Ithacans to come to him.