King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Let him go his own way,’ said the handsome soldier, stepping into the circle of his countrymen. His eyes were dark and full of suspicion as he fixed his stare on the newcomer. ‘We didn’t need your help or ask for it, stranger. If you think that running into a fight which we were winning, killing a couple of Theban deserters while their backs are turned and then claiming all the glory for yourself has put us in your debt, then I’ll be happy to show you your error. We don’t need scavengers.’

Eperitus placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Quickly glancing around the circle of Cretans he could see that every eye was on him, waiting for his reaction to the insult. If he drew his blade, surely they would aid their countryman and all his hopes of glory would perish in a short, frenzied death. But his soldier’s pride would not permit him to back down from such a slur on his name. He felt suddenly alone.

‘I agree, Mentor: we don’t need scavengers,’ Castor said, taking the man’s arm and gently steering him to one side. ‘Or parasites or hangers-on of any kind. But we do want fighting men.’ He lowered his voice, though the slight wind carried his words to Eperitus’s keen ears. ‘You know there’s trouble brewing at home. He could be useful, and his spirit impresses me.’

Mentor muttered something inaudible. Castor nodded then turned back to the others, announcing that matters were settled and – if Eperitus was willing – they would journey to the oracle together. The young warrior released his grip on his sword and exhaled.

‘And what’s more, Eperitus, after we’ve heard the Pythoness we can give you safe escort to the harbour where our ship is moored. It’s a busy place, and if you’re looking for adventure you could do worse than start in a port. What do you say?’

Eperitus nodded. ‘A stranger in a foreign land has to accept offers of friendship whenever they’re made.’

At this Castor took a dagger from within the folds of his tunic and offered the hilt towards him.

‘Then you should be a stranger no more. Take the dagger. Go on, take it. As Zeus, protector of strangers, is my witness, I swear to you my lasting friendship and loyalty. By this token I promise to honour and protect you whenever you’re in my home or on my lands; never to oppose you in arms; and always to help you in your need. This oath will be true for myself and my children, to you and yours until seven generations have passed, as our customs require.’

Nervously Eperitus took the dagger and held it in his sweating palm. It was rich in gold and the handle was inlaid with a scene from a boar hunt – a work of great craftsmanship. Closing his fingers about it, hiding its enthralling wonder, he looked gratefully at Castor. The prince’s eyes were expectant.

Eperitus was familiar with the noble custom of xenia, offering friendship to guests, which he had seen his grandfather carry out many times. It was not merely good manners, but a promise of unbreakable friendship. An alliance for life. It lay at the heart of the code by which warriors brought themselves renown, the code that made their names both feared and celebrated throughout Greece.

After a moment’s pause he unslung the scabbard from his shoulder and removed the sword. Sliding the blade into his belt, he offered the leather sheath to Castor.

‘I’ve nothing more to give you than this,’ he said solemnly. ‘It was given to my grandfather by the father of our king, after he saved his life in battle. It belonged to a great man and I offer it to you freely, happy it’s given to a warrior of noble blood. With it I offer you my own oath of allegiance. I swear to honour you whenever we meet. I will never take up arms against you, but will defend you from your enemies. As Zeus is my witness, for myself and my children to you and yours until seven generations have passed.’

Castor took the scabbard and winked at the young warrior, while behind him Mentor glowered with displeasure.

They marched silently in single file, tracing the mountain pathways that had been worn smooth by thousands of pilgrims over hundreds of years. A shower of rain in the late afternoon had made the stones slippery, so they picked their way carefully and used their spears as staffs. Upon reaching the upper slopes they could see a large plain spread below them. A wide body of water lay beyond it, which Eperitus fancied led to the sea. Above them the sky was grey with the passing rain clouds; evening was closing and soon the moon would rise above the crest of the hills.

Castor and Halitherses were striding ahead of the rest of the group, who, after the exertion of the battle, were beginning to lag as the relentless march continued, their strained breathing filling the air. Eperitus, who was tiring of Mentor’s watchful presence only two or three paces behind, left his place in the file and stretched his pace out to join the two leaders.

‘Evening’s nearly upon us, Castor,’ he said as he caught them. ‘Are we to make camp or march into the night?’