The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

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Odysseus, king of Ithaca, lay on his stomach amongst a clump of fern. Leaves and twigs were tangled in his thick, red-brown beard, and his face and hands were smeared with earth so that only the whites of his eyes were visible in the undergrowth. He remained perfectly still and silent as he looked down the slope towards a clearing in the dense woodland, where two dozen men sat around a large fire and ate stew from wooden bowls. Their features were grey and blurred in the twilight, but it was clear from their armaments and the sound of their heavily accented voices that they were not Ithacans.

‘That’s them, Eperitus,’ Odysseus whispered, nodding decisively. ‘They’re not a hunting party or a group of woodsmen – they’re the bandits we’re looking for. Can you hear what they’re saying?’

Eperitus, captain of Odysseus’s guard, lay shoulder to shoulder with the king. ‘Most of it,’ he replied, turning an ear towards the circle of men. Despite the distance, his acute hearing – which, like the rest of his god-gifted senses, was unnaturally sharp – could easily pick out the words of their conversation. ‘Something about a troop of dancing girls and . . . well, you can probably guess the rest.’ A roar of harsh laughter broke out below them. ‘They met the girls in Pylos, but from their accents it sounds like they’re Thessalians.’

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