King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘You do understand then?’ he said. ‘Imagine it: I could do what I wanted. No oracle or prophecy of any kind would ever restrict me again. Take the words of the Pythoness: she said that if I go to Troy I wouldn’t return for twenty years, and even then I’d come back destitute and without friends. But that would have no hold on me any more. If Agamemnon persuades the Greeks to sail against Troy, I could sail with them and have no concern about returning in my own time and with all my companions beside me.’

‘But if you marry Helen you’ll have defied the will of Zeus himself,’ Eperitus warned. ‘Are you so great that you should dare challenge the father of the gods?’

‘But if the will of Zeus is defeated, what power does he hold? It’s within my mortal grasp to lead my own life, be free to make my own choices without pre-ordained consequences. Why should I throw that chance away?’

‘And have you ever thought this might be a test?’ Eperitus responded. ‘Until Helen stands beside you on your wedding day and is declared your wife, then, as I see it, Zeus’s will is still firmly in place. If you accept Tyndareus’s offer you set yourself in open opposition to the greatest of the Olympians. Do you think you’ll win glory fighting the gods? You won’t; it can only lead to oblivion.’

‘The only power Ajax acknowledges is his own,’ Odysseus protested. Then he ran his hands over his face and looked down at the floor. ‘But he’s a fool, and who knows what sort of end he’ll come to? Perhaps you’re right, Eperitus – perhaps I want too much. Maybe I’m like Ajax, wanting all the honour and renown for myself, without acknowledging that it’s only by the will of the gods I come out alive after a battle.’

‘It’s because you’re an intelligent man, my lord,’ Eperitus said. ‘I don’t have that problem: I trust my heart before my head. But a clever brain can deceive its master, and that’s when a man needs the counsel of his friends. So I say you should fear Zeus and submit to his will, and then you’ll have as much honour and glory as you could wish for.’

‘And a wife I can love,’ Odysseus added. He put an arm about Eperitus’s shoulder and led him towards the palace. ‘I only wish I knew why Penelope dislikes me so much.’

‘She either thinks you’re an oaf or she’s hiding her true feelings for you.’ Eperitus grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘If you ask me, I’d say she thinks you’re an oaf

Damastor lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Neaera lay in his arms with her head resting upon his hairy chest.

‘Penelope can be very stubborn,’ the slave girl said. ‘You can’t force her to like Odysseus.’

‘Doesn’t she find anything attractive about him?’

‘Not that I’ve ever heard. I know her maid, Actoris, but she never reveals anything about her mistress. Besides, I’ve never known Penelope to take much interest in men. She’s too busy with other things. But I think it’s nice you want to help him.’

Damastor gave a silent sneer and continued to look up at the ceiling. The only help he wanted to give Odysseus was a dagger in the back. Ever since Eupeithes had bought his loyalty with gold and a promise of rank amongst the new nobility of Ithaca, his mission to kill Odysseus had been beset by failure. Although he had helped Polybus and his Taphians to find the prince – with the fire and the dagger beside the road – the badly planned ambush had ended in defeat. Since then Odysseus had barely been alone for a moment: at the feasts he was always with the other suitors; at night he slept in the same room as his men; and in the day he spent most of his time with Mentor, Halitherses or the foreigner, Eperitus. It was far too dangerous to risk an attempt on his life, especially as Damastor had no intention of getting caught, so he had been forced to bide his time.

But now, against all expectation, he had overheard the prince say that Helen had been offered to him. Even if Damastor could not kill him, he must at least prevent him marrying Tyndareus’s daughter. If that happened, his dreams of wealth and nobility were over, so his only hope was to encourage Penelope to return Odysseus’s affections.

‘I suppose you could always ask Clytaemnestra to help you,’ Neaera said, nonchalantly.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, they say she’s a witch.’

‘A witch indeed!’ Damastor scoffed. ‘So what will she do? Scare Penelope into marrying Odysseus?’

Neaera propped herself up on one elbow, her large breasts hanging down across her rib cage. They lay upon a straw mattress in one of the palace’s dozen or so armouries, surrounded by bundles of spears and rows of shields, stacked one upon another. A thick woollen blanket covered them, keeping the chill of the night air from their naked flesh. Her face was a blur in the darkness.