Long ago, Iphitus’s father Eurytus, king of Oechalia and a renowned archer, had offered his daughter in marriage to any man who could outshoot him. As Apollo himself had tutored Eurytus in archery he had every right to be confident of his marksmanship and was justly proud of his skill with the bow. Indeed his reputation was so widespread that few had bothered to take the challenge and his beautiful daughter, Iole, was in danger of becoming a spinster.
At that time Heracles was the king’s friend. Eurytus had taught him to shoot when he was young, and their bond of friendship had remained. But Zeus’s wife, the goddess Hera, bore a grudge against Heracles and induced a madness in him that caused him to slay his own children. When he regained his sanity he rejected his wife Megara and, upon the instruction of the Pythoness, served penance as a slave to King Eurystheus of Tiryns.
It was whilst he was Eurystheus’s bondsman that Heracles decided to challenge his old friend for Iole’s hand in marriage, seeing her as a potential replacement for the unfortunate Megara. Eurytus had no choice but to accept the challenger as a matter of honour, though he had misgivings because Heracles’s arrows were reputed to be magically guided to their target. And so they were, making Heracles the first man to defeat Eurytus in an archery contest.
But the king also knew of Heracles’s womanizing and his treatment of Megara. Friend or no, he loved his daughter too much to give her in marriage to the worst husband in Greece. So, Iphitus explained, his father declared the contest void because of Heracles’s magic arrows and threw him out of his palace. Iphitus alone complained at the treatment of their famous guest, goaded by his strong sense of fairness under the heroic code and the friendship which had formed between them during Heracles’s short stay.
‘It stung me to see a man as mighty as he thrown from the palace like a beggar,’ he said. ‘And when a few days later twenty-four of our prize horses were stolen, I was the only one who would not believe Heracles had taken them. Such a petty act of revenge is below him. It would have been more in keeping with his character to storm the palace single-handed and lay us all out on the flagstones, like so many fallen leaves in autumn.’
They pictured Heracles in their minds, a huge man, bigger even than Odysseus and half again as tall, smashing down the palace doors with one blow of his fist and then carving up Eurytus and his guards as if they were nothing more than a herd of goats. He crashed through their imaginations like a whirlwind until, finally, they noticed that Iphitus had stopped talking.
‘And what do you believe now?’ Mentor asked, the first to speak since Iphitus had begun his tale.
‘There are rumours amongst the people I’ve spoken with. They say a large number of horses were herded north to Tiryns by a lone warrior dressed in a lion’s skin, a huge man bound with muscles the size of boulders. That’s what they say. As for me, I left the trail to come south to Messene, in the hope that my father’s horses would be hidden here by thieves other than Heracles.’
Now Halitherses spoke: ‘And do you still refuse to believe your friend stole these prize horses? It seems clear to me he did. After all, everybody knows Heracles is a slave in Tiryns and wears the skin of the lion he slew in Nemea. To my ears the things you’ve heard aren’t rumours, but news.’
‘Yes, old man,’ Iphitus conceded. ‘Only a fool can deny it – or a friend. But even loyalty can’t stifle suspicion, and for a long time now I’ve known I must confront Heracles.’
Damastor sat back and gave a whistle, expressing the thoughts of them all. Eperitus looked at Iphitus in a new light. How could a mere youth even contemplate matching himself against Heracles? Only a man of extraordinary courage would seek out a fight that would end in his own ignominious death.
The band of soldiers looked at their guest in silence.
‘And how can you hope to get your horses back if Heracles has taken them?’ Odysseus asked. ‘You’re not unaware of his reputation.’
‘I have my bow. Here, take a look for yourself.’ Iphitus handed the curved weapon over with pride, taking satisfaction from Odysseus’s close and knowledgeable inspection of it. ‘Heracles may have magic arrows, but this bow was the gift of a god. Apollo gave it to my father, and he in turn to me, so you see it has divine powers. It can hit a hawk in the eye at twice the distance of any mortal’s weapon. And it can only be strung by the man to whom it is given freely. If Heracles himself were to find this weapon, for all his great strength he would not be able to fit a bowstring to it. So I tell you in full confidence that if my father’s horses are in his possession and he will not return them to me, then I will use this bow to mete out justice to him.’
Eperitus liked Iphitus, but for all the divine origins and powers of the bow he had little faith in the lad’s ability to kill Heracles – especially if Odysseus fulfilled the command of the goddess and took it from him. He watched the prince admiring the weapon in which Iphitus had placed his faith, running his fingers over its smooth surface of crafted horn and admiring the skill that had shaped it. He stood and tried the string, finding that the bow bent to his will as if it had been made especially for him. And Eperitus could tell that he coveted it, that he wanted it with all his heart, as a man would want a woman.
‘Innkeeper!’ Odysseus shouted. ‘Bring more wine in here. My men want to get roaring drunk.’
Another krater was brought in to the cheers of his guards, but Odysseus did not stop to taste it. He announced he was going to check on the mules and, taking the bow with him, went through the door that led to the stables. Iphitus became fidgety without his prized weapon. Unable to let it out of his sight for a moment longer he stood and, excusing himself politely and promising to return, followed the prince. Eperitus waited a short while then followed in his wake.
He reached a doorway onto the courtyard and heard their voices coming from the stables on the other side. Waiting in the shadows, he heard Odysseus explain the real reason for their journey across the Peloponnese.
‘And when will you leave for Sparta?’ asked Iphitus.
‘We won’t delay any longer than we have to,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, if the men’s wounds show signs of healing and they feel fit enough. And what about you, Iphitus? When will you head to Tiryns?’
‘Messene holds no attraction for me,’ he replied. ‘Tomorrow will be as good a time as any. Already the trail is fading, and yet my mission won’t allow me to delay. I have to find Heracles.’
Eperitus crossed the courtyard. It was lit only by the glow of the moon, an eerie light that reflected in the dozens of small puddles on the muddy ground, which was still sodden from the day’s rain. The mules were huddled together in the darkness, where Odysseus was stroking their long noses and ugly, twitching ears. Iphitus was in the corner of the stable, once more in possession of his bow.
‘Hello Eperitus,’ Odysseus greeted him.
‘My lord.’
‘Not interested in getting drunk then?’
‘Not really. I thought I’d join you and see if I could dissuade Iphitus from pursuing Heracles.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the young archer. ‘I feel honour-bound to find my friend and prove the rumours wrong.’
‘Or right.’
‘At least travel with us, Iphitus,’ Odysseus said. ‘Sparta is on the way to Tiryns. We can share the road together and keep each other company. The men like you.’
‘It’s true,’ Eperitus agreed. ‘Who can forget the way you shot Damastor’s cap off with that arrow? And even he has come to forgive you for it. You should join us.’
As Iphitus shook his head resolutely, Odysseus moved towards the baggage that had been stowed in a corner of the stable, knelt down and untied one of the leather bags.