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doing,’ Odysseus warned, glaring sternly at them. ‘You are trespassers here, and by right I could have had you shot down where you stand moments ago. Don’t forget, this is my kingdom – I have an army at my command. The trees all around you are filled with concealed archers; all I have to do is give the word and you will all perish. Antiphus!’
    A scruffy archer with a large nose and hollow cheeks stepped forward. He held a tall bow in his right hand, the fore and middle fingers of which had been cut off – a punishment for poaching in his youth. Undeterred, he had simply taught himself to draw the bowstring with his left hand instead, and now stared straight down the shaft of the arrow at the bandit leader. The Thessalian shifted uncomfortably but retained his hold on his sword, whilst his comrades looked nervously at the trees around them, wondering how many more archers were hidden in the undergrowth.
    ‘But I have no intention of murdering you,’ Odysseus continued, breaking his harsh stare with a smile. ‘I know you’re not common brigands, and by the looks of you, you were soldiers once. Thessalians, too – a proud and fearsome people.’ There was a murmur of approval from the men on the road. ‘If you throw down your arms and take a solemn oath before all the gods not to return to my kingdom, I will allow you safe passage back to the mainland. I’ll even give you provisions for a week. What do you say?’
    The Thessalians looked at each other, talking and nodding in low voices, then one by one began to throw down their weapons.
    ‘Cowards!’ the short bandit shouted at them. ‘Idiots! Can’t you see he’s lying?’
    Suddenly the twang of a bowstring sang out from the trees. The bandit staggered backwards, the long shaft of an arrow sticking out from his chest. He clutched at it briefly, trying to pull it free, then the strength drained from his fingers and he fell lifeless to the ground.
    Shocked, Eperitus looked up the slope. Instantly his eyes fell on the plump figure of Eurylochus, Odysseus’s cousin, his hand still hanging in the air by his ear but the string of his bow empty. There was an arrogant, self-satisfied sneer on his face as he peered down at the man he had shot.
    In the moment of shocked silence that followed, Eperitus quickly turned and saw a sword lying in the grass not far from him, where its owner had thrown it down in surrender. Now, though, surrender was the last thing in any of the Thessalians’ minds and suddenly they were reaching for the weapons they had cast away. Eperitus sprang forward and swung his fist into the face of a bandit as he stretched a hand towards the sword. The man fell backwards and Eperitus snatched up the weapon, hacking off the outstretched arm of another of the Thessalians as he plucked his own blade from the dust. Arrows were flying all around and men were crying out as they fell. Eperitus grabbed the discarded sword of the warrior whose arm he had severed and tossed it towards Arceisius.
    ‘Here, lad, use this,’ he shouted, ‘and stick close to me.’
    Up on the slope, the Ithacan guardsmen had formed a line of spears either side of Odysseus and were charging down at the lightly armed bandits, howling like Furies as they came. Eperitus smiled grimly to see the men he had trained go into battle – many for the first time – wishing he were with them. Then he sensed movement behind him and turned to see that three of the surviving Thessalians were running directly at him, brandishing their swords. Now, more than ever, Eperitus longed for the comforting weight of his grandfather’s leather shield on his arm and rued the fact that, due to his disguise, it had been left leaning idly against a tree at their camp. The first attacker reached him ahead of his comrades and swung his sword down at his head. Eperitus met the blow with his own blade, then threw the Thessalian’s arm back and arced his weapon down across his face, slicing through his