The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus cared little for the fact he was now facing seven horsemen, or that his chances of survival were small. With his sword outstretched before him, he focussed on his father and kicked back hard. But he had forgotten the wound in his thigh, which had been rapidly draining his strength since Odysseus had pushed the arrow out of the flesh. His blood-soaked leg now gave beneath the effort and a great stab of pain surged up through his body, weakening his hold on his horse. The last thing he saw before his vision went black and he slid from the galloping mount was Apheidas’s snarling grin and the gleam of sunlight flashing from his blade.

BOOK

THREE

Chapter Twenty-four

THE KEROSIA

Laertes spat on the ground and shook a gnarled fist at Eupeithes.

‘My son will return, and when he finds out what you’ve been up to in his absence he’ll make sure you and all these cronies of yours are kicked off the Kerosia for good. That’s if he doesn’t just have you executed, like he should have done twenty years ago!’

‘Sit back down you old fool!’ Antinous growled, half rising from his chair.

‘Watch what comes out of your mouth, lad,’ warned Oenops, laying a hand on the youngest member of the Kerosia’s shoulder and easing him back into his seat. ‘Remember Laertes was once our king.’

‘What does his generation care for rightful kings?’ Laertes said dismissively. ‘And least of all a son of Eupeithes.’

‘My friends,’ Penelope interjected, ‘be calm and respect the rules of this council.’

She looked at the two old enemies who were staring at each other with open animosity. Eupeithes stood to her left with the speaker’s staff clutched in his hand as if it were a king’s sceptre, his usually pallid complexion warm and flushed from the heat of the central hearth. On the other side of the flames was the bent form of Laertes, glaring with fierce hatred at the man who had once tried to usurp his throne when he had been king of Ithaca. When Penelope had first seen her father-in-law he had been pale-skinned with spindly legs and a bloated stomach, more like an upended frog than a king. Since ceding power to his son, though, he had retired to his farm with Anticleia, his wife, and thrown himself into the hard labour of growing crops and keeping livestock. Now his distended belly had shrunk to a paunch and his flaccid muscles had become as firm as knotted rope. With his sunburnt skin he looked like the root of an old tree standing in the middle of the great hall, tough and immovable.

‘Father,’ Penelope said, ‘Eupeithes has the speaker’s staff. You must return to your seat. Please.’

Laertes sat back down with a show of reluctance and Eupeithes stepped forward into the space he had vacated.

‘Whatever foolish hopes some of us may be clinging on to, it’s clear to me that we cannot wait forever for Odysseus to return. The world beyond our little group of islands is changing rapidly. Outsiders are beginning to enter Greece from the distant north. They are allowed to settle and establish themselves because the mainland kingdoms are too weak to throw them out. It won’t be long before they find their way here. Ithaca needs strong, singular leadership if it is to survive.’

‘Perhaps you should claim the throne for yourself,’ Laertes sneered, ‘bringing in Taphians like you did before.’

Eupeithes ignored him and looked at Penelope. ‘I have a proposal, my lady, and Oenops, Polyctor and Antinous are in full agreement with me. We feel that if Odysseus does not return within two years, he must be assumed to have perished and you must remarry for the good of Ithaca. According to our ancient laws, your new husband will then become king in Odysseus’s place.’

‘Never!’ Laertes barked.

Even Mentor, who had sat listening uneasily to Eupeithes’s slow build-up throughout the morning, rose from his chair with a look of fierce disapproval on his handsome features.

‘That’s preposterous! What about Telemachus, Odysseus’s rightful heir? The law you quote depends on the queen agreeing to remarry, and Penelope would never deny her son his birthright.’

‘Telemachus is still a boy,’ Eupeithes retorted. ‘He won’t come of age for another eleven years, and Ithaca can’t wait that long for a king. If Penelope’s new husband – our new king – dies before then and leaves no offspring of his own, then Telemachus can inherit the throne.’

‘You have a nerve, Eupeithes, suggesting such a thing before me,’ Penelope said, rising from her seat. ‘You act as if Odysseus is dead already! How can you expect me to marry another man when my husband is still alive? You certainly can’t force me to do such a thing!’

Eupeithes smiled patiently at the queen.

‘If I’m blunt, then it’s because something needs to be done to protect the kingdom from spiralling into chaos. We can’t wait forever for Odysseus to return. You must know the nobility are growing restless. They want proper leadership.’