King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

The nobleman sighed and then with surprising speed launched himself up the slope, hurling his heavy spear at the line of warriors and sending one toppling backwards under the weight of its impact. Eperitus felt the excitement rush through his veins as he charged with the others towards their foe, screaming and casting their spears before them. A few found their targets, causing the new arrivals to fall back as their confidence wavered. The scar-faced man hurried to rejoin his comrades, who threw their own spears a moment later. Their aim was hasty and sporadic, but a lucky cast found the eye of a young soldier running beside Eperitus, splitting his head like a watermelon and spraying the contents over his arm.

The next moment Eperitus’s sword was raised and he was driving into the enemy line with his shield. One man fell backwards before him, catching his heel on a stone. There was no time to plunge his sword into his prostrate body, however, as a much larger and stronger man leapt forward and thrust a blade straight through his shield. The point stopped a finger’s breadth from Eperitus’s stomach, before jamming tight in the layered ox-hide.

Eperitus snatched the shield to one side, tugging the sword from his opponent’s hand and opening his guard. Without hesitation, he sank the point of his blade into the man’s throat, killing him instantly.

As he fell another man lunged at his ribs with a spear, but before the point could spill his lifeblood onto the rocky ground, the grey-haired warrior appeared from nowhere and kicked the shaft to one side. With a sharp and instinctive movement that belied his age, he hacked off its owner’s arm below the elbow and pushed his gored blade into the man’s gut.

Covered in sweat and blood, they turned to face the next assault, but their remaining foes were fleeing over the ridge, leaving their dead behind them.

Chapter Two

CASTOR

Eperitus looked around at the carnage of his first battle. The surrounding rocks were splashed with blood and littered with corpses; the cries of the enemy wounded were silenced one by one as the victors slit their throats. He knew he should feel triumphant that he had killed five men. Instead, his limbs were heavy, his mouth was parched and his shin throbbed painfully where the spear had hit his greave. All he wanted was to cast off his armour and wash the blood and dirt from his body in the nearby stream, but that would have to wait. The stocky leader of the men he had helped was sheathing his sword and walking towards him, accompanied by the old warrior who had saved Eperitus’s life.

‘My name is Castor, son of Hylax,’ he announced, holding out his hand in a formal token of friendship. A glimmer of mischief burned in his quick, green eyes, like sunlight caught in a stream. ‘This is Halitherses, captain of my guard. We’re pilgrims from Crete, here to consult the oracle.’

Eperitus grasped his hand. ‘My name is Eperitus, from the city of Alybas in the north. My grandfather was captain of the palace guard, before his death five years ago.’

Castor released his fierce grip on the young warrior’s hand and removed his helmet, his nail-bitten fingers thick and dirty against the burnished bronze. A mess of auburn hair, which he flicked aside with a toss of his head, fell down almost to his eyes. Though not a handsome man, he had an amicable smile that broke through his deep tan.

‘And your father?’

Eperitus felt anger flush his cheeks. ‘I have no father.’

Castor looked at him piercingly but pressed no further. ‘Well, we’re indebted to you, Eperitus,’ he continued. ‘Things would have gone badly if you hadn’t come along.’

‘You could have handled them without my help,’ Eperitus replied, dismissing the compliment with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Just a band of deserters, by the look of them.’

‘You’re doing yourself a disservice,’ Halitherses assured him. ‘And perhaps you overestimate our abilities. We’re just pilgrims, after all.’

‘Perhaps,’ Eperitus replied. ‘But not many pilgrims go about armed to the teeth, or can fight like a trained unit.’

‘These are dangerous times,’ Castor answered, blinking in the early morning sun. ‘Are you here to speak to the Pythoness, too? It’s no business of mine, of course, but you’re a long way from home if not.’

Eperitus again felt his cheeks flush with the sting of the unspoken shame that had driven him from Alybas.

‘Our crops failed this year and we haven’t enough in store to see us through the winter,’ Castor continued, realizing the young warrior was in no mood to talk. ‘We want to fit out a fleet with oil and pottery to trade abroad for food, but won’t lift a finger until we’ve consulted the gods on the matter first. If the seas are calm and pirate-free, then we can sail in confidence. If not,’ he shrugged his massive shoulders, ‘then our people will starve.’