‘I feel helpless, Eperitus,’ he said, kicking out at a pile of dead leaves and scattering them across the path. ‘I may be known for living by my wits, but I prefer to know where I’m going. I’d happily exchange places with you or any of the others. You’re soldiers and your job is to follow orders. If your captain says, “Slay that man,” then that’s what you do. But I have the fate of a whole people on my back. If I fail, Ithaca fails. And my captains are the gods – a more heartless and fickle bunch you couldn’t ask for. What matter if their earthly schemes don’t come off? They return to Olympus and forget their sorrows with ambrosia and nectar, whilst mortal corpses lie piled on the ground, their souls shepherded off to eternal misery in the halls of Hades. But what choice do we have but to obey their whims? I tell you in truth, I’d give anything to overturn my fate and dictate my own destiny.’
Talking about it put him in an even blacker mood, and when they returned to the camp he placed himself on guard duty and spoke to nobody for the rest of the evening. His silence continued throughout the next morning as they marched over the mountain passes to the Eurotas valley. But as Eperitus looked at his friend now, with the city of Sparta gleaming in the valley below, his stern expression had gone. He looked at the city as if he were sizing up an opponent. Here was the challenge that would require all of his wit and resources, and it was a test that he could not afford to fail. Suddenly his features were transformed by a smile.
‘Halitherses! See that the men are looking their best. We don’t want the Spartans mistaking us for a bunch of brigands, do we?’
Halitherses made himself busy inspecting their armour, making sure it was laced up tightly and sitting properly on their torsos. Then he tugged their shield straps and belts into place, checked that they still wore their little sprigs of chelonion – to remind them of their homes when they were tasting the delights of Sparta – and finally had them take out their whetstones from their pouches and sharpen the blades of their weapons so that they gleamed with a killing edge.
‘When you march through those gold-paved streets,’ he said, manhandling them into a double file, ‘I want you to walk with your chins held high and your eyes straight ahead. No looking at the pretty young Spartan girls, do you understand? Remember who you are, where you’re from and why we’re here.’
When they eventually reached the city, there were no pretty girls to be seen. In fact, other than a number of soldiers in various styles of armour and dress, they saw very few people at all. But the empty streets did not detract from the wonder of Sparta. Every wall was high and well built, each strong door ornately carved, and almost every house possessed a second floor. Empty windows stared down on them from every side as they marched up the steep and winding road towards the palace, and Eperitus marvelled to see such beauty and magnificence.
Eventually they reached the palace gateway. The doors were twice as high and twice as wide as their counterparts in Ithaca and were covered in beaten silver that gleamed dully in the watery afternoon light. As they arrived a soldier in full armour emerged from a large guard hut built against the wall to one side of the entrance. He looked strained and tired.
‘State your name and your business,’ he said, with a voice that sounded weary of dealing with foreign nobles.
‘I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca. I’ve come to pay court to Helen of Sparta, by reputation the most beautiful woman in Greece.’
This last was added by way of a compliment to Sparta as a whole, but the guard captain remained unimpressed.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I have orders to permit entrance only to those who have been invited by the king. As I’ve never heard of Ithaca or any of its princes or kings, you’d better turn about and return the way you came.’
When Eperitus heard his words and thought of the hardships they had endured to arrive at these gates, only to be rejected like a pack of mere beggars, he felt the fighting rage come rushing into his veins. By the murmurs of his comrades he could tell they were angered too. One nod from Odysseus and they would happily have killed the guard and stormed the palace gates. But the prince was more patient than his men, and showed no sign of anger as he walked up to the Spartan.
‘I’ve travelled for many days to come here, have fought two battles and lost three men. If you don’t wish to earn your master’s wrath, then I suggest you ask him to come here so he can tell me himself to leave. As I told you, I’ve come to see the daughter of Tyndareus, and see her I will.’
‘Then you’ve found her,’ said a voice from behind them. They turned to see a tall woman dressed all in black, escorted by four slave girls and two guards. She was tall, handsome and elegant, and had a commanding femininity about her, but Eperitus could not help but feel disappointed. He sensed the same reaction from Odysseus, whose eyes lingered briefly on the woman’s harsh and reproving mouth and the ears that stuck out like the handles on an amphora.
Recovering from his surprise, the prince stepped up to her and bowed. ‘Your reputation does not do you justice, Helen of Sparta.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘And your reputation does not exist, Odysseus of Ithaca. But let’s not get muddled about identities. For one thing, I am Clytaemnestra, daughter of Tyndareus and wife of Agamemnon. Helen – my sister – is within the palace, so if you’re here to join the general rabble you’d better follow me.’
At her command the massive gates were swung inward by invisible hands to reveal a spacious yet crowded courtyard within. They followed Clytaemnestra into the compound, which was surrounded by the magnificent stonework, high walls and countless windows and doorways of the palace. There were stables filled with scores of splendid horses, a dozen or more ornate chariots propped up against the palace walls, a host of richly armoured guards, and countless slaves rushing to and fro on untold errands. They had entered a city within a city, a place that teemed with people and yet was perfectly ordered.
‘Things are usually busier,’ Clytaemnestra commented. ‘Especially since the other suitors have been arriving. But today the mighty warriors are all out hunting boar. Things have been getting a little . . . shall we say strained? . . . in the palace of late, with all those former enemies living together under one roof. I’m sure that, as men, you’ll understand. So Tyndareus has taken them out into the hills for the day.’
She turned about and placed her hands on her hips, staring at them one after the other and assessing the state of their shabby clothes and battered armaments.
‘I apologize for the guard,’ she said, a hint of genuine kindness entering her voice for a brief moment. ‘He probably thought you were brigands. He does have orders to keep out the more general riff-raff, but he isn’t very bright in distinguishing between a commoner and a well-travelled nobleman. But the invitation was a general one and, if you truly are a prince, Odysseus of Ithaca, then you are welcome here. I’m also sorry you have to endure the welcome of a mere woman in my father’s absence, but you can rest assured that both he and my husband will want an audience with you this evening. There’ll be a banquet, of course, to feast on the boars they kill today, and you will all be guests of honour. But until then I’ll do what I can to see you are well housed.
‘The chief steward will take your guest-gifts, or you can wait to give them to Tyndareus in person if you prefer. Most do, though it makes little difference to him. He has so many swords, spears, daggers, tripods and the like that he doesn’t know what to do with them any more. And nobody ever brings anything for Helen herself, poor sister. I suppose you’re the same?’