King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Your generosity astounds me, Odysseus,’ Iphitus said, taking the spear and feeling its balance in his right hand. ‘Truly you are a great friend and a noble ally, a man of virtue and nobility. And you do me great honour with your words and these gifts.’ He looked again at the things Odysseus had pressed upon him in the ages-old custom of xenia. As a man of royal birth who had already proved himself to be honourable and true, Eperitus knew Iphitus would accept and return Odysseus’s oath. He watched him take the prince’s hand and look him sternly in the eye.

‘Odysseus, I give you an oath of my allegiance, before the all-seeing eyes of Zeus. When our separate missions are completed I’ll visit you in Ithaca to confirm the words we’ve spoken here. And then you shall visit my father’s palace in Oechalia and be our most honoured guest. This is my promise, true for seven generations.’

Then he stopped and withdrew his hand. Iphitus was required to give a gift in return, a token to seal his side of the alliance. And yet he had nothing to give beyond his travel-worn cloak and the plain dagger tucked into his belt. His only other possession was the bow, the one weapon with which he could defeat Heracles.

He looked at Eperitus, who could not return the Oechalian’s gaze. He felt ashamed for his simple part in Odysseus’s trick, even though he had not realized it until the last moment. Then Iphitus looked at the sword again and tucked it into his belt, smiling with what seemed a mixture of pleasure at the richness of the gift, and resignation at the knowledge that he must give the bow to Odysseus. Everything, after all, was the will of the gods, and they clearly favoured the Ithacan prince.

‘This is my gift to you. It’s a great weapon, Odysseus, made by Apollo himself. It’ll respond to you like a lyre in the hand of a skilled bard. You’ll never miss your target with any arrow fired from this bow, and only you or the one you give it to will be able to string it. I give it to you freely and happily in token of our friendship.’

Odysseus took the bow from Iphitus’s hand. It was clean and smooth and sat in his palm as if it had been purposely crafted for him alone. Then they all looked at Iphitus and knew he would never now feast with them in the great hall in Ithaca, for when he found Heracles he was certain to die.

book

THREE

Chapter Fifteen

SPARTA

They stood in the foothills of the Taygetus Mountains and looked across the wide valley to the city of Sparta. It lay wedged between the river Eurotas and a lesser tributary, strung like a gold medallion on a silver necklace. It was a wealthy place, home to a numerous, warlike and proud people who had made themselves rich by conquest and trade. They were further blessed with rolling, fertile plains for the growing of crops and the breeding of horses, for which the Spartans were famous throughout Greece. The Eurotas flowed freely down to the coast, enabling their merchants to reach the sea with ease. And by the same route goods came in to Sparta from the rest of the world, providing Cyprian copper for her armourers, Nubian gold and Attican silver for her craftsmen, and a wealth of ivories, textiles, pottery and other luxuries.

The city was larger than anything Eperitus had ever seen before or had dared to imagine. There were the usual hovels of the poor on the outskirts, but these eventually gave way to the magnificent homes of the richer classes, whose lime-plastered walls staggered upwards like giant steps towards the city’s acropolis, the hill upon which sat the royal palace.

The morning had been a dull one – cold and threatened by rain – but as he caught his first glimpse of Sparta, set against a backdrop of steep mountains, the clouds parted and broad fingers of sunlight reached down to lift the city from the greyness. It glowed golden-white under the scintillating rays as wall followed wall, gate led to gate, and roof overlapped roof, creating an awesome edifice that dominated the whole valley.

The group of dusty warriors looked on in silence. In comparison, Ithaca was nothing more than a poor, unsophisticated island with a few ramshackle towns and villages. There were no glorious buildings or awe-inspiring palaces to impress visitors; no battlements or soaring watchtowers to deter invaders; no paved streets filled with wealthy merchants or bronze-clad soldiers. All that their homeland could offer were dusty cart tracks that led to simple dwellings surrounded by pigs, chickens and dogs.