‘Damn you, dog!’ Eurylochus shouted, wafting away the fine particles that filled the air and choking as he breathed them down into his lungs. He leapt to his feet and ran towards the puppy, bent on giving the animal a hard kick. Argus was too quick for him, though, and ran off through the trees, where the echoes of his barking could still be heard for some time.
Eurylochus patted the ash from his clothes and, feeling almost as annoyed as he had after his confrontation with Eperitus earlier that morning, looked around for something to wet his throat. A skin of wine was hanging from a branch at the edge of the camp, so he strolled over and took a mouthful of the cool, refreshing liquid. The camp was on the edge of the wood, overlooking a sloping pasture that led down to the narrow channel between Samos and Ithaca, and after another swallow of wine Eurylochus leaned his shoulder against a tree and looked out at the view. The bright, early spring sunshine was reflecting back from the choppy waters below and illuminating the white gulls as they wheeled and cried over the waves. Behind them, the rocky bulk of Ithaca loomed up like a black sea-monster basking in the morning’s warmth. To the south of the island, the dark waters of the Ionian Sea spread out towards the mainland of the Peloponnese, a low, grey profile on the horizon.
Then Eurylochus heard Argus’s bark returning through the woods, accompanied by the sound of crashing undergrowth and the shouts of several men. Fearing danger, Eurylochus ran to grab his shield and spear from the tree where he had leaned them then turned to face whoever was approaching the camp at such speed.
‘Who’s there?’ he called, the terror clear in his voice.
Suddenly, Odysseus’s heavy, triangular bulk could be seen weaving its way through the trees at a fast run, with Argus barking at his heels. ‘Lower your spear and get the camp packed up,’ he shouted. ‘We need to return to Ithaca at once.’
‘But why?’ Eurylochus asked, leaning his spear back against the tree. ‘I thought we were going to stay on Samos for a few days’ hunting.’
Odysseus leapt over the screen of ferns that edged the camp and came to a halt by the scattered remains of the fire. He rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, his face red with the exertion of running. The others, led by Eperitus and Arceisius, were now visible sprinting through the trees towards the camp.
‘We received a message,’ Odysseus gasped, ‘that Penelope is in labour. So we’re going back. Where’s that squire of mine?’
‘I sent Eurybates down to the ship to prepare food for the midday meal.’
‘Well, if we eat at all, it’ll be back at the palace. I’ll head down to the galley – pack up this stuff and follow on as quickly as you can.’
‘Wait for me,’ Eperitus said, almost collapsing with exhaustion as he broke through the screen of ferns and stood wheezing next to Odysseus. ‘Arceisius, gather up my gear and bring it down to the ship. I’ll go with the king.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the squire replied, his usually ruddy face now an even brighter red and shining with sweat.
Eurylochus gave Eperitus a frosty glare, then turned his back on him and began angrily stuffing bowls and cooking gear into a large sack. The others had all reached the camp by now and were already rolling up their bedding and throwing their belongings into leather bags. Odysseus placed a hand on Eperitus’s shoulder and pulled himself straight.
‘Come on then, Eperitus,’ he sighed. ‘This is no time to take a rest.’
They jogged through the last of the trees and down the slope towards the water’s edge. Argus bounded ahead of them, barking happily in the bright sunshine. Below them was a small cove edged by a thin crescent of sand, where their galley drifted gently at its anchor. Beyond it was the narrow sleeve of dark water that separated Samos from Ithaca, and as they ran they stared at the familiar outline of the smaller island. The southern half – where the majority of its population made their living as fishermen, or from farming the little fertile land that existed – was low, wide and sheer-sided. A tooth-like peak guarded the narrow isthmus that led to the northern half, where the near-vertical walls of Mount Neriton rose up to dominate the island. Beyond the mountain’s mass was the principal town of Ithaca, and at its centre the palace of Odysseus, where Penelope was in the throes of labour. Eperitus caught sight of Odysseus’s face as he looked towards his home, and could see the anxiety in his eyes.
With the help of Eurybates, a short, round-shouldered man with dark skin and curly hair, they fitted the spar to the mast before the others had reached the ship. Then, once every man was aboard and the oars had been fed out into the calm waters of the bay, they pulled up the anchor stone and unfurled the dolphin-motifed sail.
Eperitus and Antiphus sat next to each other at the back of the galley, with Arceisius and Polites on the adjacent bench; the rest of the men were spread evenly along the length of the ship, each pair gripping one of the long-handled oars. Odysseus stood in the stern accompanied by Argus, and at his command the crew lowered their oars and began to row, gradually easing the galley over the calm waters of the cove towards the rapid current of the channel beyond. But before they could feel the sweat prickle in their armpits, the wind caught the sail with a ferocious snap and sucked them out into the choppy sea. Each man pulled in his oar and, after helping Antiphus make a correction to the angle of the sail, Eperitus went back to join Odysseus.
‘Penelope’ll be fine,’ he assured him, trying to disguise his own anxiety with a smile. ‘She’s a strong woman and the gods have always been with her.’
Odysseus nodded, his eyes focused on the open sea as he pulled at the twin rudders. ‘I’m sure she will – and my son, too.’
‘Actoris says it’s a girl for sure.’
‘Actoris also said the baby wasn’t due for at least three weeks!’ Odysseus scoffed. ‘And now that we’ve seen Athena again, I know my dream of the other night was from her. It’ll be a boy, whatever any old maid thinks.’
They fell silent for a while, their thoughts turning from the birth of Odysseus’s child to the appearance of the goddess. Eventually, as the galley fell under the shadow of the steep flanks of Mount Neriton, Eperitus could hold his silence no longer. ‘What do you make of it all, Odysseus – Athena’s words, I mean, about war with Troy? And why on earth would you want to spend twenty years away from home?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Odysseus replied, simply. ‘And I won’t – not with a family to care for and a kingdom to rule. Ithaca’s king owes no allegiance to Mycenae, and if Agamemnon still wants war against Priam then he’ll have to do without me. I don’t care for battle and glory – not like you do, Eperitus; my heart is here, in these islands with my family and friends. If the call to war does come, then I’ll find a way out of it. It’s you I’m worried about.’
Eperitus stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, at the same time feeling like a thief caught in a man’s home.
‘I’m not a fool,’ Odysseus said with a short laugh. ‘You’re a warrior, Eperitus, and these islands that I love with all my heart must be like a prison for you. I know that you often climb to the top of Mount Neriton and look out at the mainland, no doubt yearning to go and find adventure on some foreign battlefield. And I saw the way Athena questioned you – she knows where your heart is, too. It’s only your vow to serve me that’s kept you here for so long, and your friendship. And if you weren’t the best friend I have, I would consider releasing you from your oath.’
Eperitus looked across the bow of the ship to the rapidly approaching harbour, where several fishing vessels were drawn up on the sand and two galleys lay at anchor on the smooth waters. ‘I wouldn’t want to be released,’ he said quietly. ‘As I told the goddess, if war is coming then I’ll face it at your side.’