King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

With that he began to climb the scree-covered flank of the steeper hill, followed closely by Eperitus. Clambering over the small rocks and struggling through thick bushes quickly brought them out in a fresh sweat, despite the cold of the day and the fine drizzle that had started. This made the stones wet and their progress more treacherous, but eventually they reached level ground again and looked across to see Damastor and Antiphus picking their way along a rough track on the other side of the road.

Larger hills loomed ahead of them now, blocking everything that lay beyond from sight. They continued between outcrops of rock and boulders that had toppled from the peaks above, until before long they could hear the sound of flowing water. It came from a low valley that intersected the road and lay between themselves and the larger range of hills. Mentor ran ahead and was soon calling for Eperitus to catch up with him.

‘A river,’ he said. ‘The road starts again on the other side.’

Eperitus looked down into the valley. The waters were wide and fast, swelled by the recent rains falling in the mountains to the east, but nothing like the obstacle they had encountered a few days before. At least it was shallow enough to ford and would not delay their progress. Then, as his gaze crossed to the opposite side where the road to Messene continued, he noticed a lone figure crawling about amongst the stones. Ducking behind the bole of a weather-beaten olive tree and signalling Mentor to get out of view, he looked across to see if Damastor and Antiphus had seen the man. To his dismay they had not, and were already making their way down to the ford.

‘There’s someone on the other side of the river,’ he told his companion. ‘I think he’s alone, but can’t be sure – and the others haven’t spotted him yet.’

Mentor nodded. ‘I’ll go and warn Odysseus. In the meantime, see if you can stop the others giving us away.’

‘Tell Odysseus he’s carrying a bow,’ Eperitus shouted after him as he sprang off in the direction by which they had come.

Seeing that the mysterious figure was still on his hands and knees, searching for something in the mud of the road, he began the descent as quickly as he could. The scree slope was treacherous, made more slippery by the rain. He had no hope of reaching the river before Damastor and Antiphus, but in his haste sent a cascade of small rocks tumbling down to the road below, catching the attention of the man on the opposite bank. He stood and looked across the flowing waters, just as the others reached the road. They were as surprised as he was to find anybody else in the small valley.

Eperitus sprang down the last stretch of the hill to join his comrades, where they stood eyeing the young man with silent curiosity. He was small and pale with hardly the bulge of a muscle upon him, looking more like a living skeleton than a human being. His head was crowned with a sheaf of black hair, and a thin, juvenile beard sprouted from his bony chin. He wore no armour and his only weapons were a dagger that hung loose in his belt and a bow of white horn slung across his back.

The magnificent bow was much too big for such a skinny lad, and Eperitus knew it must be the weapon Athena had told Odysseus to make his own. He walked across to Antiphus and asked what he thought of the stranger.

‘A child with the weapon of a god,’ the archer replied, eyeing the horn bow greedily.

Damastor agreed. He raised his voice above the cacophony of the river and called out to the stranger, who had been looking back at them with wary interest.

‘What’s a boy doing with a man’s bow? Did you steal it from your father, or did he give it to you in the hope it would make you a man?’

‘What would a bastard such as you know about a father’s gifts?’

The young man looked so meek and pathetic that Eperitus was shocked, as well as amused, by his feisty retort. For a moment Damastor was flabbergasted at the youth’s audacity, but when he realized he had been humiliated his temper quickly got the better of him. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, then advanced into the river with his spear levelled above his shoulder. Mirroring his advance, the archer on the far bank unslung his bow, fitted an arrow and waded out to meet him. Unless the younger man was an appalling shot, there was little doubt about the outcome of the fight. Eperitus even felt concern for Damastor, though the Ithacan’s rudeness had deserved an insolent reply. In contrast, Antiphus was laughing at his friend’s vexation and appeared completely unfazed by the encounter.

‘Give me the weapon, lad, and I promise not to kill you,’ Damastor shouted.