Laertes took his son’s hand. ‘I don’t like crowds, so I’ll say farewell here. Look after yourself and come back as quickly as you can. Mentor and I will take good care of Penelope and Telemachus for you.’
With that, he turned his pale, watery eyes away and departed, leaving only Eperitus, Eurylochus and Mentor with the king. Odysseus took a last look around the hall he had known so well for all of his life, then turned and left.
The changeable weather had brought a sky full of grey cloud to cover the departure of the Ithacan fleet. Odysseus marched out of the palace gates with his three companions to a loud cheer from the waiting army and the crowds of Ithacans who had come to see them off to war. He waved his hand in acknowledgement and looked at the hundreds of faces. The soldiers stared back with something close to adoration, all of them eager to risk their lives for a war not of their making, in a foreign land none of them had ever seen. Each man wore a chelonion flower tucked into his belt or in a joint of his armour, to act as a reminder of their homeland. Odysseus knew almost all of them by sight and many by name, even amongst those who had come from the furthest corners of his small kingdom. As he stood before them, a wave of nervous energy burst through his stomach and filled him with a feeling of nausea. Every moment of the past two weeks had been consumed by preparation for the great expedition, but now he was finally able to understand that he was leaving his beloved homeland for a faraway country, unable to say when – or if-he or any of his men would return.
At that moment, a bark erupted from the crowd and Argus came bounding towards him.
‘Hello, boy,’ he said, bending down and patting the puppy vigorously as it licked his beard. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. Thought perhaps you didn’t want to see me off.
Argus barked and wagged his tail.
‘I’m sure you’d love to come along for the voyage, youngster,’ Odysseus said, holding the dog’s face in his hands and looking into his eyes. ‘And you’d be better company than most. But a ship’s no place for a dog, and neither is a battlefield. Mentor’s going to look after you until I come back.’
‘That’s right, boy,’ said Mentor, bending down to pat Argus’s head. ‘We’re being left at home while Odysseus and Eperitus go to reap all the glory. But at least we can hunt a few boar while they’re away, eh?’
Odysseus grinned at his old friend, then turned to Eperitus.
‘Time to divide the men into their units,’ he said.
Eperitus nodded and stepped forward. ‘Form up by your commanders,’ he shouted, his voice rebounding off the walls and houses.
Suddenly the hum of conversation grew louder and more urgent as the men hurriedly kissed their loved ones goodbye and gathered their arms and belongings about them. This was followed by a disorderly stampede of warriors searching to find their nominated commanders, who in their turn were calling out their own names so that their men would be able to find them in the chaos.
‘You’ll have your work cut out getting this lot into shape,’ Odysseus said in a low voice that only Eperitus could hear.
‘We’ll manage it,’ Eperitus replied.
As he was the commander of Odysseus’s ship, large numbers of men were now emerging from the mayhem and making their way towards Eperitus. They included the hand-picked warriors of Odysseus’s personal bodyguard, Antiphus, Eurybates and the titanic figure of Polites among them. Arceisius was also with them, grinning in anticipation of his first great adventure.
‘This is quite a rabble you’ve got here, Eperitus,’ Antiphus sighed, looking about at the chaotic assembly.
‘Anything we can do to help?’ asked Eurybates.
‘Yes. Organize our lot into ten rows of twelve, get rid of the women and make sure we haven’t gained any stragglers,’ Eperitus ordered firmly.
An instant later the old soldiers of the guard were barking commands and using the shafts of their spears to chase people into, or out of, the orderly ranks their captain had requested.
‘Having trouble with your army, Odysseus?’
Odysseus turned to see Agamemnon standing behind him. Menelaus and Palamedes stood on either side of the Mycenaean king and an escort of a dozen well-armed men stood watchfully at their shoulders.
‘If you’re in a hurry, gentlemen,’ Odysseus said, shaking the hands of the two brothers, though pointedly avoiding the hand offered by Palamedes, ‘I can send them back to their homes and just take the one ship.’
He pointed to Eperitus’s unit who, though still lacking a few men, were standing in orderly rows.
‘We can wait,’ Agamemnon replied, clearly enjoying the sight of hundreds of armed men running around with little semblance of order. ‘I’m sure that once your men separate themselves from their families they’ll make a fine body of men. Unless, that is, the women and children are coming too.’
Odysseus gave a tired smile and shook his head. ‘Not yet. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have to say goodbye to my own family. Eperitus, get the men down to their ships a unit at a time, with ours last.’
Eperitus watched the king stride back through the palace gates with Argus barking at his ankles. Odysseus was about to face one of the hardest challenges of his life, but this time there was nothing Eperitus could do to help him.
Actoris gave Telemachus to his father and stepped back.
‘Such a shame,’ she tutted as Odysseus bent to kiss the child on his warm, red cheek. ‘Such a shame. I hope this war doesn’t last long, my lord, or you won’t hear his first words or see him learn to crawl.’
‘Don’t make matters worse, Actoris,’ said Penelope, her voice strained. ‘Leave us now, and take Telemachus with you.’
Odysseus pressed a final kiss on the baby’s forehead before passing him into the old nursemaid’s waiting arms.
‘Go with Telemachus, boy,’ Odysseus ordered, looking down at Argus. ‘Guard him until I return.’
He barked once and promptly followed Actoris out of the room, trotting along beside her with his head craned up at the white bundle in her arms. Odysseus watched them go, then shut the double doors behind them and walked over to the bed in the middle of the room. Each post had a thick girth and was inlaid with patterns of gold, silver and ivory that twisted and turned all the way up to the ceiling.
‘Do you remember when I made this bed?’ he said, sliding his palm like a plane over the smooth surface of one of the posts.
Penelope smiled and sat on the pile of furs that covered the thick straw mattress. ‘Of course I do. You refused to sleep with me for two weeks until you’d finished it.’
‘Ah, but it was worth the wait.’
Penelope lay back on the bed, her long, dark hair spreading over the light-coloured fleece like a fan. ‘Yes, I couldn’t forget that either.’
‘I made this post from the bole of a living olive tree,’ Odysseus continued. ‘The others I just cut to size and fitted, but this one was from the tree that used to stand here before I built this part of the palace. Its roots still run beneath the bed we’ve shared for ten years – the best ten years of my life, Penelope.’
‘Will you be away long, Odysseus? The talk among the slaves is that the expedition will take over a year – it’s an awfully long time to be apart from you.’
‘Who can say for certain?’ Odysseus mused, sitting beside his wife and placing his hand on her warm stomach. ‘The Trojans might give Helen back the moment they see our fleet anchored off their shores, or they might decide to fight it out. But I promise you I’ll do everything I can to bring this quarrel to a quick end, even if I have to give up eternal glory and all the plunder in Priam’s treasury to achieve it. There’s nowhere I want to be more than back here with you and our son.’