Eperitus watched the men plant their feet firmly on the paved road and grip the shafts of their spears. The overlapping plates of their body armour guarded every natural weakness from the neck to the groin, while the layer of boars' tusks on their bronze helmets would deflect almost any blow. More concerning, though, were the eyes that stared out from beneath the ornate helmets: they were confident but cautious, and it seemed to Eperitus that every one of the men facing him was a skilled and natural fighter. If the defence provided by their armour would not prove too difficult to penetrate, then their training and experience might. Nevertheless, he positioned himself in front of them and took his spear in both hands.

'Throw down your weapons, man,' said one of the Mycenaeans, a short, stocky soldier with a long beard. There was sympathy in his hard eyes. 'Don't make us kill you.'

Eperitus took two paces forward. The three men in the middle of the line stepped back, while the two on either side edged round to form a horseshoe about him. Iphigenia stooped to pick up Eperitus's second spear, but was grabbed by her mother, who pulled her back and held her tightly. As the Mycenaeans were still moving, Eperitus lunged to the left with his shield held out before him. The four-fold leather smashed into the nearest soldier, pushing him over the edge of the road to fall crashing down the gentle slope beyond. In the same instant he swung the shaft of his spear at the face of the next soldier, who was already turning to meet the attack. It caught him above the neckguard, causing him to drop his spear and stagger backwards, dark blood oozing out between his fingers as he clutched at his injured mouth.

The remaining Mycenaeans gave a shout of anger and surged forward. The nearest struck low, stabbing with the point of his spear at Eperitus's groin. The blow was intended to kill him, and as he swept it aside with his shield Eperitus knew the battle would be to the death. He lunged at his opponent, thrusting his spear into the gap where the warrior had leaned forward to attack. The point would normally have found the soft flesh above the thigh, crippling the man if not killing him, but instead was turned aside with a dull sc.r.a.pe by the lowest plate of body armour.

The man stepped back, shaken by the skill and ferocity of Eperitus's attack. Two others took his place, striking simultaneously, one high from the left and the other low to the right. Eperitus sensed rather than saw the approach of both spear-points, instinctively raising his shield to deflect the first while twisting aside so that the other slipped past him. He felt the ash shaft brushing past his hip, and at the same time heard a scream of alarm from Iphigenia. Eperitus looked across to see one of the guards brushing Clytaemnestra aside and seizing hold of his daughter.

With a roar of anger, he swung the edge of his shield into the face of one of his opponents, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling backwards. The other rushed forward, only to receive the head of Eperitus's spear in his thigh. It pa.s.sed through his leg and was torn from Eperitus's grip as the man fell dying to the ground, the dark blood pumping thick and fast from the pierced artery. Eperitus jumped across the screaming warrior and, casting aside his c.u.mbersome shield, rushed to help Iphigenia.

'Stand back!' he ordered as Clytaemnestra tried to pull the tall, muscular soldier away from her daughter.

The man's shield was slung across his back and he had thrown his spear aside in the struggle with the child and her mother. He turned at the sound of Eperitus's voice, but on seeing that his enemy was unarmed stepped forward with his fists raised and a grim smile on his face. Eperitus dodged the first blow, which swept past his left ear, and reacted with an upward punch to the man's nose. The Mycenaean tottered sideways, stunned and blinking, but was quick to regain his senses. With a shake of his head, he turned and raised his fists again. Eperitus moved around him so that he was standing in front of Iphigenia.

'Father!' the girl warned, as the other guards formed a new line across the road. They were joined by the two men who had been knocked aside by Eperitus's first attack, their eyes burning with a desire for revenge.

'Clytaemnestra,' Eperitus said, not taking his eyes from the man before him. 'When I attack, take Iphigenia down the slope and into the town. Find the horses and escape don't wait for me.'

Before she could reply, he kicked downward at his opponent's shin, sc.r.a.ping away the flesh with the edge of his sandal. The man shouted with pain, but was quickly silenced by a swift blow from Eperitus's fist. The next instant, Eperitus drew his sword and prepared to run at the line of men before him. That he would die on their spear-points was inevitable, but if it gave his daughter a chance to flee he knew the sacrifice would be worthwhile.

'What is this!' barked a cold voice.

Eperitus turned to see Agamemnon standing in the gateway. He was tall and fearsome in his red cloak, white tunic and gleaming breastplate, as formidable a sight as the snarling stone lions in the wall above his head. On either side of him were Odysseus and Eurylochus. Eurylochus was grinning broadly, but Odysseus's face was a mixture of concern, confusion and anger as he looked at the armed men spread across the road.

'Eperitus,' he said, sharply, 'what's happening here? Eurylochus says you were trying to run away with Agamemnon's wife and daughter. In the name of Athena, tell me he's wrong!'

'I'm not wrong, my lord,' Eurylochus announced, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at Eperitus. 'I followed him down to the gardens and heard him and the queen planning to run away to Ithaca. I didn't catch everything, but I know there's a man waiting with horses and provisions for a long journey.'

'You treacherous worm!' Eperitus sneered, shooting a glance at Eurylochus.

Clytaemnestra stepped forward and looked imploringly at the king of Ithaca. 'Whatever Eurylochus thinks he heard, Odysseus, he is wrong,' she answered. 'Iphigenia's life is in danger, and I asked Eperitus to help me get her away from Mycenae.'

'What sort of danger?' Odysseus demanded.

Eperitus sheathed his sword and looked at his daughter. She stared back at him with fear in her eyes, but also pride at his fierce resistance against the Mycenaean guards. He fought the urge to pull her into the safety of his arms.

'Calchas has bewitched the King of Men,' he replied, turning to Odysseus. 'He convinced Agamemnon that the storm at Aulis will not be lifted unless he sacrifices Iphigenia to Artemis, as retribution for the slaying of the white hart. When Clytaemnestra told me, I agreed to protect her.'

'A human sacrifice!' asked Odysseus, staring incredulously at Calchas on top of the slope. 'That sort of thing is the stuff of legend, not reality!'

'All wars require sacrifice,' Agamemnon responded. 'Didn't you tell me in the woods that hunting the white hart could cost us dear? Well, if war with Troy requires the death of my own daughter then so be it.'

He stepped out from beneath the shadow of the gate and held out his hand towards Iphigenia. His jaw was set firmly and his blue eyes were as hard as sapphires as he stared at the girl. She responded with a look of hatred and, leaving Clytaemnestra's side, ran towards Eperitus and threw her arms about him. Eperitus placed the palm of his hand on her head, but could not look at her.

With an expression of contempt on his pale face, Agamemnon signalled to his guards, who seized Eperitus by the arms and pulled him away from his daughter. Another took hold of the queen and dragged her out of the king's path as he walked down the sloping road towards Iphigenia, followed closely by Odysseus. At that moment Eperitus realized the oath he had sworn to Clytaemnestra the oath to protect Agamemnon was not binding until the king killed Iphigenia. But if Eperitus could kill Agamemnon now, though he would lose his own life in the aftermath, he would at least save the girl.

With a huge backward thrust of his arms, he threw off the men who were holding him and drew his sword from its scabbard. It flashed red, catching the light of the sun as it rose above the mountains in the east, but as Eperitus turned his fierce gaze on Agamemnon, Odysseus whipped out his own sword and brought the pommel down on the back of his friend's head.

Chapter Twenty-six.

THE KING AND THE THIEF.

Eperitus woke from the depths of a dark dream with his head throbbing and his body feeling as if it were made of stone. He looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, colourfully decorated on one side with scenes of maidens dancing to the music of lyres and flutes, and on the other with naked youths boxing, wrestling and running. He briefly recalled his dream, in which he had been pursuing a silver deer through a dark forest, only to see the creature transformed into Iphigenia as he closed upon her with his spear. Then he heard the sc.r.a.pe of a chair nearby, followed by sandalled feet crossing a stone floor towards him.

'How's your head?' Odysseus asked, looking down at his friend with a mixture of concern and relief. 'I hit you a bit harder than I intended. You've been out cold for most of the day.'

Eperitus sat up, provoking sharp stabbing pains in the back of his head and between his eyes. He winced, but quickly brushed aside the discomfort to focus on Odysseus. 'Where's Iphigenia?' he croaked. 'What happened?'

He sat up and tried to stand, but Odysseus laid a hand on his shoulder and forced him to remain on the bed.

'Iphigenia's with Agamemnon. They're on their way to Aulis as we speak.'

Eperitus brushed his friend's hand aside and stood. 'Then we must go after them, at once!' he said, urgently looking around the room. Although he still wore his tunic and could see his sandals and cloak nearby, there was no sign of his weapons in the unfamiliar room. 'He's going to murder her, Odysseus you heard him admit it! Surely you're not going to stand by and allow him to go ahead?'

'Agamemnon is the elected leader of all the Greeks,' Odysseus reminded him, gently but firmly. 'He can do as he pleases, whether you and I like it or not. Besides, he left Mycenae at dawn this morning, with Calchas, Talthybius and a bodyguard of twenty warriors, all on horses. It's now reaching sunset, and even if we were able to leave this moment and catch them on our little ponies, what chance would six Ithacans stand against so many? If we weren't ma.s.sacred there and then, we'd be denounced as traitors for opposing Agamemnon's will.'

Eperitus slumped back down on the bed, seemingly crushed by the weight of Odysseus's information. The orange light of the westering sun shone through the small, high window on the lime-plastered walls and Eperitus knew that his daughter would already be a long way from Mycenae far beyond any chance he would have of preventing her doom. Briefly, he wondered whether Clytaemnestra had told Odysseus the truth about Iphigenia, but there was nothing in the king's eyes to show this. Should he tell him now, he thought surely, as a father himself, Odysseus would understand his anguish and help him? But he kept his silence and, shaking his head slowly, looked at his friend with despairing eyes.

'I can't just let her be killed in cold blood,' he said. 'It's monstrous, like something from the old legends.'

Odysseus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then sat down beside Eperitus.

'You did everything you could to save her, but it was hopeless from the start. Even if you'd managed to escape, what chance would you have had with every warrior in Greece hunting for you? As it is, you're only alive now because of the efforts of Talthybius, Clytaemnestra and myself. Agamemnon was enraged that you tried to help his wife and daughter to escape; he wanted you killed there and then, and it took all my powers of persuasion to stop him. Clytaemnestra helped, saying she had told you their lives were in danger and they had to flee the city. Only when Talthybius confirmed this did Agamemnon believe you were acting in ignorance to save his family.'

'Then I owe Clytaemnestra and Talthybius my thanks,' Eperitus said. 'But if you hadn't hit me over the head I could still have helped Iphigenia to get away.'

Odysseus laughed ironically. 'If I hadn't knocked you out, you would most certainly have been dead,' he said. Then he reached across and grabbed Eperitus's arm, a fierce look in his eyes. 'Do you think I didn't see what you were about to do? Admit it, Eperitus you wanted to kill Agamemnon, didn't you!'

'Yes!' Eperitus exclaimed, s.n.a.t.c.hing his arm away and turning to face the window. 'Yes, and I'd strike him down now if he were here. Iphigenia has become . . . precious to me in these past few days. Agamemnon doesn't care for her or Clytaemnestra, but I do and they care for me!'

Odysseus stared at his friend for a time, his expression dark and stern. Eventually, he broke the silence that had fallen in the room. 'You wanted war, Eperitus, and as Agamemnon said, war requires sacrifice. When Helen left Sparta, whether by force or of her own free will, she had to give up all but one of her children. How do you think she feels now? And what about Menelaus, who lost everything he lived for in Helen? Achilles has given up a wife and child to go to his doom against Troy, and unless the words of the oracle can be broken, then I'm condemned not to see Penelope or Telemachus for twenty years. It's the same story, one way or another, for every man waiting at Aulis, whether spearman or king. Even Agamemnon, the great King of Men, will be sacrificing his own humanity when he takes Iphigenia's life a fitting price for his ambitions, perhaps. But you should count yourself blessed, Eperitus: at least you have no family to sacrifice to the flames of this war.'

'Blessed, am I?' Eperitus scoffed, pacing the room in his bare feet. 'By all the G.o.ds on Olympus, Odysseus, don't you realize who Iphigenia is? She's my daughter.'

Odysseus opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. It was the first time Eperitus had ever seen a look of anything like stupidity on the face of his astute, sharp-minded friend, and as Odysseus closed his mouth again and narrowed his eyes in thought Eperitus suddenly felt like laughing.

'But how?' the king asked.

'Clytaemnestra and I became lovers ten years ago, when I was hiding in the Taygetus Mountains. I never knew before we came here that I'd fathered a child how could I? but Clytaemnestra says Iphigenia is mine, and my every instinct tells me it's true. And now, perhaps, you can truly understand why I did what I did.'

'Of course, but . . .'

'There's no but about the matter,' Eperitus snapped, turning to his friend with a sudden look of intense determination on his face. 'Your message is clear, Odysseus the G.o.ds are cruel and demanding, but no man can deny them their due. Have you given up on Penelope and Telemachus so quickly? Well, I'm not prepared to simply lie down and accept that Iphigenia is lost. I won't allow her to slip from my fingers, to be murdered by an insane king at the insistence of an unloving G.o.d; and if you will help me, then I know there's still hope.'

'Think about what you're asking, Eperitus,' Odysseus responded. 'They're a whole day's ride ahead of us, and even if we could catch up with them they outnumber us three to one.'

'No, you think about it!' Eperitus shouted. 'You're the most intelligent man I know, and yet you haven't seen what this means yet! If you help me save my daughter, then the words of the oracle can be broken. When Agamemnon can't appease Artemis with Iphigenia's life, the fleet won't be able to sail for Troy. Before long the expedition will be forced to disband, and even if you have to walk there you'll be able to return home to Ithaca to your family. If we work together, Odysseus, we can save Iphigenia and stop the war. I know we can!'

Odysseus's eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened as he realized the insane possibility of what Eperitus was suggesting. His face broke into a grin and, grabbing Eperitus by the arms, he stared at his friend with a new intensity.

'By the G.o.ds, Eperitus, you're right! Why didn't I realize it at the Lion Gate? I could go home to my wife and son, and if Iphigenia came back with us you'd have every reason to stay on Ithaca and forget your l.u.s.t for glory. Come on, man, get your sandals and cloak on we haven't a moment to waste. I told the others to be ready to leave as soon as you were awake, so they should be waiting for us.'

'What will you do?' Eperitus asked, already crouching down and tying on his sandals.

'I don't know yet, but I'm going to take your advice and think about it. Obviously, we can't use force it'll need subtlety and cunning but unless all the G.o.ds are against us then we'll take whatever opportunities arise.'

They left the room a small guest-chamber in the royal quarters and pa.s.sed through several narrow corridors to a flight of stairs, which took them down to the threshold of the palace. Here they could see the city below them, where the shadows lay long and dark, and beyond its walls a landscape of green hills in a fertile plain. As they paused to take in the view, Eurylochus pa.s.sed through the pillared gateway and came running towards them.

'Odysseus!' he called. 'Everything's ready. Clytaemnestra has provided horses instead of the ponies we came on, so . . .'

Before he could say another word, Eperitus launched himself forward and seized him by the throat with both hands. Eurylochus's legs buckled beneath the attack and the two men collapsed on the flagstoned floor, punching and kicking ferociously at each other. Eperitus, his lower lip already bleeding, quickly forced Eurylochus onto his back and pushed his thumbs into his fleshy neck, throwing all his weight into the stranglehold as Eurylochus fought back with surprising strength, kicking out with his fat legs as he struggled to throw off his attacker.

'You treacherous swine,' Eperitus cursed through gritted teeth, staring into Eurylochus's beady eyes. 'If Iphigenia dies because of you . . .'

'I didn't know you were . . .' Eurylochus gagged, but the force of Eperitus's fingers crushed the words in his throat and he could only gasp for more air as his oxygen-starved brain began to fall into the unconsciousness that preceded death.

Then Odysseus locked his arms about Eperitus's chest and dragged him away with irresistible force. Eurylochus rolled over onto his knees and coughed violently, before vomiting over the flagstones. Eperitus continued to struggle against Odysseus's fierce grip for a few moments, then gave up and let the tension drain from his muscles. As soon as Eurylochus had risen groggily to his feet and taken a few steps back, carefully ma.s.saging the marks on his bulging neck, Odysseus released his hold and Eperitus stepped free.

'Eurylochus didn't know anything about Agamemnon's plans,' the king explained angrily. 'I've already questioned him on the matter, and he says he only overheard you and Clytaemnestra planning to run away with Iphigenia.'

'I did what I thought was right,' Eurylochus croaked, shooting a fierce glance at his attacker.

'Liar,' Eperitus spat, stepping towards Eurylochus. 'You've hated me ever since Odysseus made me captain of the guard. And because of your petty jealousy a young girl is going to die!'

Odysseus placed a restraining hand on Eperitus's shoulder. 'Stop this,' he commanded. 'Both of you! If we're to have any chance of catching Agamemnon, we must leave before it gets dark and ride late into the night. That means we haven't got time to waste on your differences.'

After a warning glance at both men, he strode off towards the portico that led down to the lower levels of the city. Eperitus and Eurylochus scowled briefly at each other, then followed in his wake. The sun had already gone down by the time they reached the city walls, leaving behind an azure sky streaked with avenues of thin cloud. A line of six horses were waiting on the road beyond the Lion Gate, where Arceisius, Polites and Antiphus were talking quietly. Antiphus playfully admonished the newcomers for their lateness, before pointing each man to his horse. Eperitus walked over to the tall mare that had been a.s.signed to him and stroked her neck. She was entirely black but for a white diamond on her nose, and her coat shone with a blue gleam in the failing light. Though he had liked Melite, the pony that had brought him to Mycenae, he could feel the strength and speed in the horse before him and knew she would make a much more suitable mount for the pursuit of Agamemnon.

'We've packed your things for you,' Antiphus said, glancing briefly at the blood on Eperitus's lip and the marks about Eurylochus's bulbous neck. 'There's a few days' supply of food and a couple of skins of water for each of us. And we've brought your weapons down, too.'

Eperitus thanked him and looked across at the shield, sword and spears stacked ready at the side of the road. But as he turned, he noticed a figure standing beneath the shadows of the gateway. It was Clytaemnestra.

'Give the queen our thanks for her hospitality,' Odysseus said. 'And especially for the gift of the horses.'

He caught Eperitus's eye and smiled knowingly, before turning away and adjusting the blanket on his horse's back. Eperitus walked back to the gate, where Clytaemnestra was leaning against the smooth wall with her arms behind her back and her red hair loose over her shoulders. Her pale face seemed to have lost its harshness, and was soft and appealing in the twilight, but he could also see the redness in her eyes and the despair in her crushed expression. The promise of happiness had been cruelly s.n.a.t.c.hed away from her before it could be realized, and now she was condemned to remain the queen of Mycenae cold, beautiful and lonely. Agamemnon had not punished her rebellion, but not out of kindness: without Iphigenia he knew her life would be even more empty than before, and in time her loneliness would consume her. Soon all she would have would be her hatred for her husband, gnawing at her with a greater and more bitter intensity than it had ever done before.

Understanding all these things, Eperitus looked at her and was moved with pity. He had a sudden urge to take her in his arms and comfort her, feel her thin body close to his again perhaps for the last time and tell her everything would be all right. But what comfort could he offer? What hope could he give when Iphigenia was already in the hands of her murderous father?

'Thank you for the horses,' he said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. 'We're going to ride through the night to catch them up, if we can.'

Clytaemnestra smiled sadly, like a child without hope, and looked down at her feet. 'And what will you do if you find them in time? There are too many of them for your small band.'

'Odysseus has promised to help. If anybody can find a way to save Iphigenia, he can.'

He smiled rea.s.suringly and took a step towards her, but she retreated before him. A quick movement of her eyes told him that the others were watching - at least, he knew, Eurylochus would be and that they were unable to show their affection for each other.

'Goodbye, Eperitus,' she said, turning away. 'Save our daughter, if you can. But if you can't, don't forget your promise protect my husband until he returns to me.'

They rode as swiftly as they could, long into the night until they pa.s.sed the watchtowers on the northern border of Agamemnon's kingdom. Here Odysseus called a halt and they ate a cold, frugal meal before s.n.a.t.c.hing a brief and fitful sleep. They were up again before dawn and galloping along the dirt road as the sun rose above the hilltops in the east. Eperitus rued the fact that they were not all experienced hors.e.m.e.n, for with skill they could have gone further in less time with the horses Clytaemnestra had given them, which were swift and strong; without them their pursuit of Agamemnon would not have stood a chance. As it was, Eperitus sensed his daughter, helpless and alone, was slipping beyond his reach.

They came to Megara soon after nightfall and found a room with straw mattresses a particular blessing for Polites and Eurylochus, who were the least used to riding and seemed to ache in every muscle. The next day was again warm and sunny, and the hooves of their mounts kicked up clouds of dust behind them as they sped along the coastal road beside the Saronic Sea. Being the best rider among them, Eperitus was at the head of the file with his comrades strung out over some distance behind him. As he strained his eyes for sight of a dust cloud that might reveal Agamemnon's party ahead of them, a bent figure clad in a long brown cloak with the hood pulled over its face hobbled out into the road and waved an arm. Heaving on the reins, Eperitus brought his horse to a halt and looked down at the old woman before him.

'What is it, mother?' he asked as Odysseus and Arceisius came galloping up on either side of him, kicking up a cloud of dust as they reined their mounts in. All three riders were unrecognizable from the fine grey dirt of the road that caked their faces and clothing.

The woman did not answer immediately, but spent a long moment pondering the men, studying the shields and weapons they carried and looking in admiration at their fine mounts. Though she must have been tall in her youth, now she was crooked with age and it was with difficulty that she craned her neck to stare up at them. Finally, as Eurylochus and Antiphus joined the group, a quavery voice came out from the shadows beneath her hood.

'Forgive an old crone her curiosity. I can see you're in a hurry, and that seems to be the way of youth these days. When I was a la.s.s they used to say that only a fool hurries, but the world no longer has the wisdom it used to. Anyway, I saw your shields and your tall spears, and I thought to myself: here are some warriors, riding to war no doubt, courageously hurling their lives into the path of danger as if they've plenty to spare, and not caring about their poor mothers sitting at home and worrying about the ones they brought into the world with such travail and pain.'

'Yes, old hag, we're warriors,' snapped Eurylochus, impatiently. 'Now, was there a point to throwing yourself into our path, or do you just want to bore us with tales of how things used to be?'

'As I said,' the old woman continued, nodding sagely, 'always in a hurry. Do I have a point, though? Yes, of course. I was just thinking to myself what magnificent, dust-covered warriors you all look, and how similar to my poor son you are, just before he rode off to his death in battle, leaving me already a widow dest.i.tute and poor, hardly able to feed myself but for the charity of pa.s.sers-by.'

'Our hearts bleed for you,' Eurylochus interrupted, tossing a barley cake into the road at her feet. 'Now, save us the detail of your suffering and stand aside, before I'm tempted to ride over you.'

Odysseus raised his hand to silence his cousin. Despite the urgency of their pursuit, he smiled kindly at the crone and nodded. 'Go on, mother.'

The woman ignored the cake at her feet and c.o.c.ked her head to look up at Odysseus. Her eyes gleamed from the shadow of her hood. 'You have the manners of a n.o.bleman, my lord,' she croaked. 'And perhaps your patience in listening to an old hag will be rewarded, eh? I was saying you reminded me of my son, a mighty warrior with n.o.ble blood in his veins. Beloved of the G.o.ds, he was, and though I say he went to war leaving me dest.i.tute, it is not entirely true. For after he was killed outnumbered and surrounded by his enemies his friends retrieved his armaments and sent them back to me, to remind me of him in his pride and glory. And long I have kept them, long; not only for the sake of his memory, but also because of their great pedigree. For they aren't the weapons of mere mortals: each one was given to him by a G.o.d, in recognition of his piety and devotion to them.'

Eurylochus snorted and muttered something under his breath. Arceisius turned to him, admonishing him in a loud whisper: 'Be careful, Eurylochus. Haven't you heard the G.o.ds often disguise themselves as crones or beggars to test the quality of a man?'

'Well said, son,' the old woman cackled. 'You may be young, but you're certainly no fool. And maybe the G.o.ds are about to reward you, for though I said I have kept my son's weapons for long, I find myself forced to part with them to feed my hungry belly. My eyes fail me now and I can no longer earn my way as a seamstress, so perhaps you can spare some food and a few trinkets in exchange for a helmet, a bow or a dagger? They're all that remain of my son's proud armaments the rest were had by wise travellers like yourselves, who knew a bargain when they saw one.'

'What would we want with a load of blunt, second-hand weapons?' Eurylochus scoffed.

'May the G.o.ds forgive your ignorance,' she replied. 'Did I not say they were the gifts of the immortals to my son? Would you insult the Olympians by turning your noses up at these fine weapons: a bow given by Apollo, which has unerring aim; a helmet from Ares himself, which can be penetrated by no weapon; and a dagger from Aphrodite, that is not only made of gold but also gives the wearer the power to woo any woman he comes across?'

'One of my men needs a new bow,' Odysseus said. He was eager to press on and, not wanting to show disrespect to an old woman, had decided the only option was to buy something and make a rapid departure.

The crone turned and hobbled towards a blanket that had been spread out on the ground at the side of the road, beneath the shade of an olive tree. Stooping a little, she took hold of one of its corners and pulled it away to reveal the armaments she had spoken of: a battered but polished helmet, a well-kept bow, and a dagger that gleamed with gold in the sunlight.

Suddenly, Antiphus leapt down from his horse and ran to look at the weapons.

'Hey!' he exclaimed. 'This is my bow!'

The old woman stepped back, straightening up a little as she moved. 'Impossible,' she laughed. 'I'm afraid you're gravely mistaken, lad. This is my son's bow, given to him by . . .'

'Apollo,' Odysseus said, jumping down and patting the dust from his clothes. 'Yes, we know. But Antiphus wouldn't make a mistake about a weapon he's owned since boyhood. Perhaps you'll allow us to take a closer look at these other gifts of the G.o.ds.'

At that moment, Polites arrived. The crone took one look at the giant warrior, then turned and began to hobble away at a rapid pace. 'I suppose you intend to rob me, do you?' she complained as she retreated. 'Five armed men and now a giant from the old tales! Take the d.a.m.ned weapons, then. A poor widow can hardly defend her possessions from determined thieves, can she, if they've a mind to have them for themselves?'

Odysseus signalled to Eperitus, who spurred his horse forward to block her escape. Meanwhile, Antiphus picked up his bow and studied it closely, checking for damage while smiling broadly at the feel of it in his hands again. Beside him, Odysseus stooped down to pick up a clay jar from beneath the shade of the tree.