Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted up at the sun. ‘It may be safe for now, whilst Mentor is seen to be acting under my authority. But the longer I’m away, the weaker my authority will become and the less people will listen to Mentor’s commands. Penelope is a good queen and the people love her, but she can’t impose her will at the point of a spear. And Telemachus is only a baby.’
‘And perhaps all the oracles and prophecies are wrong and we’ll be back on Ithaca within a year, glorious conquerors of Troy, our names to be sung forever in the tales of the bards.’
‘That would make me happy,’ Odysseus nodded, looking at the others sitting under the shade of their ponies with the warm blue of the Saronic Sea behind them. ‘And perhaps it would slake your thirst for adventure and renown, at least for a few more years.’
Perhaps, Eperitus thought, and with an unexpected pang of homesickness he found himself thinking of how nice it would be to be back on Ithaca with Odysseus and Penelope, safe from the threat of war and busy playing his own role in the upbringing of Telemachus. It occurred to him then that he was more like Odysseus than he had ever thought, or at least that his friend’s love of home had rubbed off on him over their years together. But as pleasing as these thoughts might be, he also realized that happiness of that kind could not be attained until he had first answered his own questions about himself. He had always thought of it as a personal quest for glory, a name that would endure beyond his own death, but in truth it was simply a desire to find out who he really was. Odysseus, he felt sure, had no such need – though Troy might yet reveal parts of his character that he did not know about – and Eperitus envied him his contentment.
He glanced over his shoulder at the woods where Galatea had taken their weapons, but there was no sign yet of her returning through the trees. When he looked back it was to find Eurylochus’s small eyes boring into him. He was quick to turn his head away, but the look served to remind him that Eurylochus’s animosity had not gone away, and he had not forgotten their argument on Samos.
‘Shouldn’t she be back by now?’ asked Talthybius after a while, craning his neck towards the wood. ‘I know prayers can be a complicated business, but all the same . . .’
He trailed off as if reluctant to follow his question to its natural conclusion. Odysseus, however, sucked on his teeth for a moment then rose to his feet.
‘I’m starting to believe that a mere girl may have tricked us out of our goods and weapons,’ he began. There was a chorus of protest, which he stilled with raised palms. ‘It’s true: where a band of armed brigands would have failed, it seems a pair of plump white tits with some audacity behind them have succeeded.’
The looks on the faces of the others revealed their growing anxiety about the whereabouts of the priestess, but they were unwilling – or too embarrassed – to accept Odysseus’s deduction. Polites, in particular, was adamant that Galatea had been telling the truth, and in the end it was agreed that Antiphus and Eurylochus should be sent to the temple to find her.
They returned quicker than expected, the hooves of their ponies kicking up a cloud of dust as they sped back across the fields from the wood.
‘There isn’t even a wooden hut, let alone a temple!’ Antiphus cried.
‘Odysseus is right, she’s fooled us all,’ Eurylochus added, panting as he pulled his pony to a halt.
‘And I’ve lost the bow I had since I was a boy. If I ever see that girl, I’ll . . .’
‘Silence, Antiphus,’ Odysseus commanded. ‘We have a mission to fulfil, so we might as well forget our losses and move on. Mount up, all of you.’
Eperitus pulled himself lightly onto Melite’s back, and as he turned her about saw Polites standing by his pony, looking wistfully at the wood.
‘That old helmet of yours is long gone by now, Polites,’ he said.
‘I don’t mind,’ he replied, his voice deep and slow. ‘She can barter it for some food. At least she won’t have to offer her body. I couldn’t abide the thought of that.’
‘But she was . . .’ Eperitus began, then thought better of it and spurred Melite forward with a jab of his heel.
Chapter Twenty-one
GOLDEN MYCENAE
Eperitus had not seen Clytaemnestra for ten years, ever since they had made love in the hills overlooking Sparta. She had given herself to him out of her spite for Agamemnon, and though there had never been any love between the young warrior and the Mycenaean queen, Eperitus had always remembered their brief time together with affection. Yet, as they came ever nearer to Mycenae, he began to feel nervous at the thought of meeting her again. He was also concerned about what else he would find within the walls of golden Mycenae. At first he had been keen to find the person who Calchas had said knew the first of the compelling secrets that had the potential to change his life, but as they crept closer to Agamemnon’s city a sense of caution grew in him – perhaps inspired by the disquiet he felt concerning their mission – and soured his enthusiasm.
‘See those watchtowers?’ Talthybius called back over his shoulder, pointing up at the high peaks on either side of the road where two wooden structures kept a silent vigil. ‘They mark the northern border of Mycenae. A richer and happier land you’ll never see, even if you live to be as old as King Nestor.’
Talthybius’s pride seemed justified. It was late afternoon as they crossed the border, but while the sun remained in the sky their eyes were able to feast on a fat and bountiful country. Their tired ponies trudged through valleys covered with crops of wheat, rye and barley, in the midst of which lay numerous stone farm-steads, their white walls gleaming in the sunshine. Children chased each other through the fields, enjoying the relative freedom of life before the coming harvest, when they would be busy gleaning the fields in the wake of the reapers and sheaf-binders. At one point they passed a herd of straight-horned cattle, standing up to their hocks in a gabbling stream and feeding among the rushes that nodded and swayed on either bank. Each fertile valley they passed through was flanked with hillsides where great numbers of sheep and goats seemed to cascade down the scree-covered slopes, searching for patches of vegetation whilst their shepherds looked on, talking peacefully between themselves as they leaned on staffs or spears.
The broad, winding road also took them through numerous villages, where grubby children and their mothers would gather in packs to wave or stare at the party of warriors as they passed. Many offered food or drink at inflated prices, which Odysseus occasionally felt obliged to purchase for his men with the last of his trinkets. He explained to Eperitus that he felt guilty for letting them give the last of their own food to Galatea, when he should have realized they were being tricked.
Soon the road took them closer to the low mountains. A fiery sunset left a brief legacy of purple skies, promising another warm day to follow, but as Talthybius assured them his home city was close they gave no thought to stopping for the night. For some time now the road had been paved – another sign of the wealth of Mycenae – and the hooves of their ponies sounded sharp and hollow in the evening air as the stars opened out above them. Occasionally they crossed bridges over deep ravines, where far below, lost in the twilight, they could hear mountain streams that had been dried to a trickle by the summer sun. Eventually they saw the lights of a city emerge from the darkness to the southeast. They had reached Mycenae.
The road angled down a little towards the plain, where it intersected another that ran from east to west. At the crossroads, they turned left and headed eastward up the slope towards the city. As the moon sailed out above the black hills, its light painted the wide circuit of the walls and the high-sided buildings beyond them a ghostly white. Nestled on the rocky hill at the centre of the city was the royal palace, where dozens of lights gleamed from its many windows and lines of blue-grey smoke trailed up from vents in its rooftops. Behind the city were two cone-shaped peaks, one to the north-west and another to the southeast. The northernmost peak supported another watchtower, the top of which was framed by the underbelly of the moon. The armour of its occupants glinted in the silvery light as they stared out over the plain. Beside the watchtower was a mound of stacked wood, ready to act as a beacon in times of need.