King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

With the bad news from Ithaca and the loss of their precious baggage, the expedition to Sparta was already in a precarious position. On the other hand, Eperitus had confidence in the men who were with him: the level heads of Odysseus and Mentor; the experience and strength of Halitherses, the bow of Antiphus; the loyalty and comradeship of the others. They also had the happy advantage of being in a tight group, whereas the Taphian leader had spread his force out to prevent the men below escaping. This meant he would have difficulty in keeping control of the warriors furthest from him. Eperitus knew this instinctively, and within moments of the ambush being sprung was searching for a weak spot, a place to launch an attack at and drive the surrounding foes apart.

He looked from position to position, counting each man and eyeing the terrain, remembering the lessons in tactics his grandfather had given him and hoping to identify where they were most vulnerable. It seemed to him that about two-thirds of their force were spread across the wider, steeper hill to their right, whereas the easier slope to the left was more lightly defended, a mere barrier to slow them down if they chose to escape that way.

‘There’s one of the twins,’ Mentor announced, pointing a thumb up the hill to their right. ‘You’ve got good eyes, Damastor: is he missing an ear?’

Damastor squinted over his shield. ‘Yes – it’s Polybus.’

Antiphus, who crouched next to him, spat over his shield. ‘Good. I’ve got an old score to settle with him.’

Eperitus looked up and recognized the arrogant braggart he had knocked into the pool back on Ithaca. His handsome features were out of place beneath the bronze helmet he wore, and his clumsy shield and spear were even less becoming against his elegant, well cared for physique. He looked as if he had just stepped out of his bath, been oiled by slaves and dressed in the finest armour wealth could buy. But none of the accoutrements of a warrior could make him look like a true fighting man. Judging by the way he had spread his men so thinly, Eperitus did not think he was a talented commander of soldiers either.

As he watched, Polybus stood on a large outcrop of rock and put his hands on his hips.

‘Greetings Odysseus,’ he shouted down to them. ‘I hope you like the little surprise I’ve prepared for you. The last time we met I told you we would continue our discussion when the odds were more equal. That time has come, I think.’

‘Our spears will speak for us,’ Odysseus replied, his deep voice reassuring to the men around him.

In answer, Polybus shouted to one of his archers and the first arrow flew. It caught an Ithacan in the chest and threw him back on to the road, his armour crashing about him.

The lull was over.

More bowstrings twanged from the hillsides, arrows splitting the air about them. One pierced Eperitus’s shield, the point stopping a finger’s breadth from his face. He stood and looked about himself, but by good fortune or the protection of a god only one man had fallen to the first volley. He leapt over the prostrate body as more arrows whistled about them and joined Odysseus, who stood with his shield held up against the deadly rain.

‘Polybus has spread his men too thinly,’ Eperitus suggested. ‘He’s left himself vulnerable on the left-hand slope. There are fewer Taphians there and the approach is less steep. They should break easily if we attack, and we can escape with only a few losses.’

‘What glory is there in escape?’ Odysseus smiled. ‘Besides, Polybus wants us to retreat that way so he can pursue us across the plain towards Sparta. He’s placed most of his archers on the right to fire at our backs, and just enough men on the left to hold us until his main force can attack our rear. It’s clever, but obvious. But if we kill Polybus, we break them as a force and gain victory against the odds. So we go right, where they least expect us.’

‘But if we fail, you lose everything.’

‘The gods will be with us, Eperitus.’

With that Odysseus let out a great cry and called for his men to follow him up the hill towards Polybus. They obeyed without question, lifting their shields before them and advancing in a steady line up the slope. Forgetting any thought of escape, Eperitus followed close on the heels of Odysseus.

Arrows fell into them from behind and two men went down before they were more than a few paces up the hill. Damastor turned in a mixture of surprise and anger, but caught his foot and fell, striking his head against a boulder. He did not get up again and his comrades were forced to leave him as they drove on into the rain of missiles from above.