Return to ithaca adventu.., p.15
Return to Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus Book 6), page 15
Laodamas cupped his hands into a bowl of water offered by a slave and washed the blood and sweat from his face. Taking a towel and dabbing himself dry, he walked over to stand before Odysseus.
‘Have you changed your mind yet, my lord? Or do you lack sporting prowess? Any beggar can look dignified in clothes stolen from a prince, but sport shows the true quality of a man.’
‘Enough, Laodamas,’ Alcinous warned.
His son held up his hand in a silencing gesture.
‘Come and join us, my lord, and show us your mettle. If you are a man of substance and quality, you’ll soon be able to prove yourself. But if you’re just another lying vagrant, as my friend Euryalus tells me you are, then we’ll soon find you out. What do you say, nameless one? Will you compete with us to earn your passage home, or will you continue to plead tiredness and throw yourself at my mother’s knees again, hoping she won’t toss you out into the streets to beg crusts of mouldy bread for the rest of your life?’
Odysseus watched him through narrowed eyes. The insult was arrogant and calculated. Laodamas was Alcinous’s heir, Phaeacia’s next king, and he was used to being deferred to in all things. He was also a bully, who wanted revenge for the affront of being made to give up his seat for Odysseus the night before. And he was a fool. But his challenge woke something in Odysseus that Calypso had taken from him. His determination. He cared little for the insults of a boy, but Laodamas had offered him the chance to compete for his passage home. And he would take it.
‘Your friend, Euryalus, must reckon himself a keen judge of men. Without speaking to me, he declares me a fraud and a beggar. In some respects, he is right, for I have defrauded many over the years, and I once begged my way into the most heavily defended city in the world to steal its greatest talisman. But I am not the low-born scoundrel your friend thinks I am. Indeed, anyone who thinks of me that way is a fool. A man may be unimpressive to look at, but the gods can still grace him with speech and intelligence that puts lesser men to shame. Other men are handsome and well-built, with oiled hair and fine clothing, but the moment they open their mouths they are revealed to be vulgar, rude and of a base mind. Don’t you think, Laodamas?
‘But come, your friend’s accusations have stirred me to anger. Wearied though I am, I accept the challenge. I may prove a better sportsman than you guess, and in so doing will prove the quality of my breeding.’
He stood and unclasped his purple cloak, letting it fall in a heap around his feet. Then he removed his sandals and belt and walked across the grass to where the rest of the young Phaeacians had gathered for the next contest. They greeted him with sneering looks and muttered jibes. A length of rope had been laid in the grass, facing a stretch of field where a line of distance markers had been laid. Beside the rope was a pile of circular lumps of iron of differing sizes.
One of the youths was called forward by a slave and told to choose a discus. He picked one of the lighter ones and tested the direction of the sea breeze. Spreading his feet apart with his left flank towards the markers, he twisted his body round from left to right until the discus was behind his left shoulder, then swung it back hard and released it with a shout. It flew high and to the right for a good distance, the sun gleaming from its smooth surface as it spun, before dropping to the grass with a thud.
The thrower punched the air and gave a victorious bellow, before being pushed aside by the thickset man who had lost to Laodamas in the final boxing match. Odysseus heard the name Elatreus from among the other youths and, judging by their silence as he made his preparations, it seemed he was the man to beat. He picked up a large discus, tested the weight, then switched it for the largest. A moment later it was hurtling across the field, passing the first man’s throw until it hit the ground with a puff of dust. The crowd cheered and the next man stepped forwards to select a discus. But Elatreus’s throw was not surpassed by any of the subsequent competitors, though Laodamas’s came close to it.
Finally, it was Odysseus’s turn. There were a few smirks and nudges among the ring of Phaeacians, and sounds of mock awe as he checked the shape and felt the weight of each discus.
‘He’s fondling them like they’re his wife’s tits.’
‘They’re much too firm and round for that.’
‘Perhaps they’re too heavy for him to lift.’
‘Do you want us to help you, old man?’
Odysseus had found a discus that balanced nicely in his hand but, irked by their mockery, he deliberately tossed it aside. It landed on Elatreus’s toes, who gave a shout of pain before lunging angrily towards Odysseus. Laodamas grabbed his elbow and pulled him back.
‘Now then, Elatreus, don’t do anything that would displease the gods. The stranger’s our guest, after all.’
‘Are these the biggest you have?’ Odysseus asked, standing and looking at the overseer.
The man had a grey beard and skin that was lined with age, but from his size and muscles, he must have been a capable sportsman in his day.
‘We have a box with a few more, my lord. Nobody uses them, though; they’re too ungainly.’
‘Let me see them.’
At a wave from the overseer, the box was brought and the contents tipped onto the grass. All four discuses were larger than the first selection, and three showed signs of wear. The fourth, however, seemed only to have been included for mockery. It was large and its rough edges had not been polished with use. Odysseus knelt and ran his hands over it to the hesitant laughter of the onlookers. The crowd of spectators on the benches and city walls talked excitedly, their tone overwhelmingly doubtful.
Then he lifted it into his hands and stood. Silence fell. He clasped the edge with his fingertips. The opposite rim reached up to the angle of his inner arm. He felt the weight of it straining at his muscles. But those same muscles had carried heavy spears through many a full day of battle, and the memory of that old vigour revived the latent strength in his arm, emboldening him to the challenge.
‘Step back, Elatreus. You wouldn’t want me to drop this one on your toes.’
‘Put it down, you old fool,’ Elatreus snarled, ‘before you do yourself an injury you’ll never recover from.’
Odysseus gave him a half-smile and took up his position. Shifting his weight to his right leg and placing his free hand on his bent knee, he twisted his body round to the right so that the heavy discus was pulling him backwards. Then with a burst of strength and a practised movement of his feet, he swung it back round a half turn to the left. The weight of the iron seemed to want to pull his fingers out of their roots and take his whole arm with them. A blur of faces whirled past his vision. A voice in his head chose that moment to remind him he had not thrown a discus since the funeral games of Achilles ten years before, when he had come second to the throw of Great Ajax. Then he released his grip on the rim of the discus and, with a great bellow, watched the black shape spinning higher and higher as if lifted by an invisible hand. It passed Elatreus’s marker easily before hurtling into the ground and throwing up a large clod of earth.
‘The stranger wins!’ shouted the overseer.
The shocked whispers of the seated Phaeacian nobility were swallowed up by the roar from the city walls. Odysseus turned to the youths around him, who stared in disbelief.
‘Does that satisfy you, Laodamas?’ he asked, singling out Alcinous’s son. ‘Or must I face other challenges to prove my quality?’
‘A lucky throw,’ said a young man beside Laodamas.
‘Luck, Euryalus?’ Elatreus scoffed. ‘That was the greatest display of strength and skill I’ve ever seen with a discus, and there’s not a man in Phaeacia who can beat me in the sport. I apologise, sir, for insulting you, and hope you can forgive me.’
‘I can and do, Elatreus,’ Odysseus replied, accepting his hand. ‘But what does Laodamas say?’
‘You told my father we only ever challenge other Phaeacians, and you’re right. But should we then allow you to boast that you’ve never been beaten by a Phaeacian? Should we stand by while you claim superiority over us, even as a beggar in our own country? Our pride and dignity won’t allow it, my lord stranger. So, I give you a final challenge. If you succeed, my father will certainly grant you passage to whatever savage land you call home; but if you fail, you will remain a beggar in our palace until the end of your days.’
‘What is this challenge?’
‘To compete in the king of all sports – wrestling – against Phaeacia’s undefeated champion. Do you accept?’
‘And if I win, you will grant me passage home?’
Laodamas glanced at his father, who nodded.
‘Then I accept,’ Odysseus said. He looked first at the youths gathered before him, then at their fathers and brothers on the benches behind. ‘Where is this giant among giants?’
Laodamas stepped forwards.
‘Here. Prepare yourself, old man.’
There was a roar of approval from Laodamas’s friends and brothers, who patted him on the back as they went to sit on the grass behind the two competitors. Only Euryalus remained. He took a flask from a slave and, pouring some of the contents onto his hands, began to rub Laodamas’s shoulders and back. Odysseus, knowing he was slathering Laodamas with oil to make it harder to grip him, pulled off his tunic and stepped forwards. Euryalus quickly poured more oil and rubbed the rest of Laodamas’s torso, but the prince gestured for him to go.
‘Three falls for victory,’ Laodamas said.
Odysseus nodded and advanced, making a grab for Laodamas’s arm while throwing his other hand over his shoulder and neck. Laodamas did the same, though where Odysseus’s fingers failed to grip his opponent’s oiled skin, Laodamas’s gained a firm hold. Within moments he had thrown Odysseus on his back. As the crowd cheered, Odysseus looked up at the victorious Phaeacian and realised he had underestimated his strength. He also knew he had to find a way to keep his hold on Laodamas if he was to have a chance of winning. Feigning tiredness, he discreetly tore away the grass beneath his hands and scraped up fistfuls of the dry dirt beneath.
‘Come on, old man,’ called a voice.
‘Throwing that discus took up the last of his strength,’ laughed another.
Odysseus pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly as if weak with exhaustion. Laodamas approached and the two men threw themselves at each other. Odysseus pushed his right shoulder under Laodamas’s chin so that their heads were locked side by side while their hands sought a hold on each other. Opening his fists, Odysseus spread the dirt over his rival’s shoulders and upper arms.
As Laodamas pushed against him, trying to take him beneath his armpits, Odysseus slipped his head under the Phaeacian’s chest and pushed upwards, throwing him off balance. Laodamas staggered sideways and Odysseus took hold of his knee, lifting him off his feet and driving him onto his back in the grass. The overseer raised his hand, signalling the point was his. There was a cry of angry despair from the onlookers on all sides and, leaping back to his feet, Laodamas ran off to remonstrate with the overseer. The man shook his head and pointed to Odysseus.
Laodamas did not wait, but rushed straight at his opponent. They grasped at each other’s arms, then Laodamas slipped inside Odysseus’s hold so that they were side by side. The young Phaeacian’s arm was now around Odysseus’s neck in a powerful embrace that he could not shrug off. Then, with a skilful sidestep, Laodamas brought his foot up behind Odysseus’s heel and kicked away his leg. Using his weight, he pulled Odysseus down onto his back to another tumultuous cheer from the watching assembly. The overseer signalled a second point to the Phaeacian prince.
Odysseus raised himself onto one knee and stared down at the grass, gathering his strength. If he suffered another throw the contest would be over and he would live out the rest of his years as a beggar in King Alcinous’s palace. His fragile dream of returning to Ithaca – so recently revived after his escape from Ogygia – would be dead forever. He would never see his wife or son again. He gave voice to the thought in his head, hoping it would stir him back to action. Instead, he felt his weakness and the acceptance of defeat taking hold of him.
‘Get up and fight,’ Laodamas goaded him. ‘One more throw and it’ll all be over.’
Odysseus thought of the hardships he had endured to find his way home: the battle against the Cicones, the storm off Cape Malea, the Cyclops and the Laestrygonians. He remembered the twin horrors of Charybdis and Scylla, and the wrath of Zeus that had destroyed his ship. He saw the faces of the friends who had died: Antiphus, Eurybates, Polites and Eperitus. He thought of their spirits in Hades, that most terrible place – the place he had endured in the desperate hope he would learn the way back to Ithaca. Had it all been for nothing? Would the man who had done such things, who had even brought about the destruction of Troy, weakly submit to an arrogant boy, who not so long ago he could have defeated with an arm tied behind his back? Was he going to give up on Penelope just because he was tired and had lost his self-belief?
He realised the crowd were booing him now. Raising his head, he looked at Laodamas and slowly got to his feet.
‘You’ll soon by eating crusts from my plate, old man,’ he said, with a grin. ‘And on feast days I’ll even toss you a bone. I’m looking forward to having you as my dog.’
‘You’ll have to tame me first.’
Laodamas advanced, throwing his arms around Odysseus’s back and reaching forwards with his foot to trip him. Odysseus passed one arm over his opponent’s shoulder and the other beneath his armpit, locking his hands together behind his back. With a grunt, he pulled Laodamas’s head under his neck, turned him sideways and pushed his hip into the Phaeacian’s groin. Laodamas’s whole body was lifted from the ground and in another instant Odysseus had thrown him onto his back, pinning him there with his own weight.
The overseer called out another point to Odysseus and was greeted with a clamour of protest from all around. The other youths surrounded him, appealing with open palms and raised voices. Laodamas pushed them aside and seized the old man by his beard, dragging him to his knees. Pulling the man’s ear close to his mouth, he whispered something through gritted teeth then shoved him onto his back. Shamed and frightened, the overseer regained his feet and bowed submissively to Laodamas before calling the two contestants together for the deciding bout.
Laodamas approached more cautiously this time. Their hands met, fingers interlocking as they tested each other’s strength. There was power in Laodamas’s arms and a ferocious desire to defeat his foe, but Odysseus’s stamina – built up over years of war – was a match for it. Both men dug their feet into the grass, their muscular legs holding fast and refusing to give ground. Then Odysseus slipped his hand behind Laodamas’s neck, forcing his head down. Laodamas resisted, pushing back with such force that when Odysseus released his hold the Phaeacian’s upper body was thrown upward, exposing his chest and stomach. Odysseus instantly threw his arms about Laodamas’s waist and butted his head into his stomach, driving him backwards and into the dirt.
‘No!’ the Phaeacian shouted, slamming his fist onto Odysseus’s back.
Odysseus looked across at the overseer, whose arms remained by his side. He shook his head and signalled for the two men to stand. The crowd cheered, though one or two voices on the city walls called for the point to be given. Laodamas wriggled free of Odysseus’s hold and got to his feet.
‘What’s the matter? Get up and fight, old man.’
Odysseus stood and planted his feet firmly apart, lowering his centre of gravity. Laodamas edged toward him. They scrabbled for a grip and Odysseus took hold of the back of his opponent’s upper arms, drawing him inward. Dropping to his knees, he grabbed Laodamas’s right leg and pulled it into his body. The younger man tried to squirm free, but Odysseus thrust his shoulder into his ribs and stood, the strength in his legs enough to lift Laodamas off his feet. The next moment he was on his back with the Ithacan pinning him to the ground.
Both men now turned their head towards the overseer. He looked uncertainly towards Laodamas, then over his shoulder at Alcinous, who shook his head. The overseer signalled the wrestlers to their feet again, but this time the cheers from the seated onlookers were half-hearted, while the townsfolk on the walls above began to boo and jeer.
‘So, what will it take, son?’ Odysseus said, as the two men faced each other again. ‘Do I have to kill you to get back home?’
‘Kill me and you’ll pay with your own life.’
Odysseus’s confidence was returning. His muscles had remembered their strength and his victories had fanned the dying embers of his self-belief. He looked around at the few guardsmen who had accompanied the nobles to the field, doubting any of them had ever seen combat before. And he took note of the spears that had been used by the Phaeacian youths earlier, still piled on the grass.
‘Do you think so?’ he asked, staring at Laodamas. ‘After Achilles fell, it was me who held off the armies of Troy while Ajax carried his body back to the Greek camp. When the oracles said the Palladium had to be stolen from under the Trojan’s noses, I was the one who took it. And it was me who came up with the idea of the Wooden Horse and sat in its belly while the Trojans celebrated their false victory, waiting for night to come so I could steal out and put their city to the sword. Now, Laodamas, do you still think a pack of unarmed youths and a couple of inexperienced guardsmen are going to stop me?’
‘You’re…’
Odysseus sprang forwards, ducking his right shoulder beneath Laodamas’s chest and lifting him from his feet. He rolled the Phaeacian onto his shoulders then threw him down onto his back as if he were nothing more than a child. The nobles were stunned into silence, while those watching from the battlements let out a great cheer. Again Odysseus looked at the overseer, who this time refused to meet his gaze and stared in silence at the grass.
Alcinous stood and threw his golden wine cup at the man.
‘Another foul throw. Start the next bout at once.’
But Laodamas hauled himself to his feet and took hold of the Ithacan’s wrist, raising it over his head.
