The Locrians of Pyrrhus’s rear guard withdrew to the hills, and the concerted shouts of their commanders lined them up rapidly in combat order. In the immense confusion, the warriors who had fought at Ilium with Ajax Oileus exhorted their comrades to throw all the stones they could find on to the ground before them to hinder the charge of the enemy chariots, and their commanders had the archers advance on all sides. But the terrified Epirotes fled in every direction, falling in droves under the spears of the seasoned chariot-borne marksmen of Aegisthus. The Mycenaean had meanwhile identified Pyrrhus’s chariot and was loosing his squadron, widened into a pincer formation, upon it.
The sun, veiled since early that morning, was now hidden by a front of black clouds driven by a strong northern wind that made the dust swirl under the racing horses’ hooves and under the wheels of the chariots launched at full speed across the plain.
Pyrrhus saw the tips of the pincer closing in on him from the right and from the left, and he felt that all was lost. He turned his eyes towards the hills and saw the barricaded Locrian contingent shooting swarms of arrows at the assailants, decimating the warriors on the enemy war chariots.
‘There!’ shouted Pyrrhus at his charioteer. ‘You must get us there before they close us off. Save me, Automedon, and I will make you king of Tiryns!’
But Automedon had already seen the only route of escape and was urging on his left horse, pulling at the reins with all the strength of the arms that had once prevailed over the gallop of Balius and Xanthus. His pursuers, intuiting the manoeuvre, whipped on their teams to cut off his path. Automedon shouted: ‘I will take you to safety, son of Achilles, but look out! The chariot there on our left will succeed in cutting us off unless you slay the driver.’
But Pyrrhus was not listening, and seemed to be out of his mind; ‘Faster, faster! Force over!’ he shouted.
Automedon could not complete the curve any more sharply without causing the chariot to overturn. He pulled a javelin onehanded from the quiver at his side and thrust it at Pyrrhus, shouting: ‘Strike the charioteer, now!’ Contact with the weapon seemed to rouse Pyrrhus; he grasped the massive ashwood pike in his fist and turned towards the closest chariot, where the enemy was already taking aim with his bow. He weighed the javelin and hurled it with all his might. The point of bronze tore through the charioteer’s cuirass at his waist, pierced through his belly and came out the other side. Without its driver, the chariot careened and overturned, dragging down the two chariots close behind it in a tangled mass of men and horses. Automedon urged his team onward, loosening the reins at their necks; they flew towards the line of the hills, to safety. Aegisthus and the others pulled up short, finding themselves on too wide a curve, and regrouped with the rest of the squadron confronting the Locrians.
Pyrrhus meanwhile had penetrated behind the lines where many of his Epirotes had gathered, and he jumped to the ground, instantly regaining his composure. He reformed the lines into a close, compact array, shield against shield. He ordered the front line soldiers to kneel; each warrior planted the shaft of his weapon into the ground so that only the spearpoints emerged. That would do to hold back the chariots, while he had the rest of the army retreat to more uneven ground. There the enemy would be forced to attack them on foot; they would gain time and perhaps he would be able to open a passage through to Aegisthus. .
Menelaus was exceedingly worried. He could not imagine what could have happened to Pyrrhus, and the massive Mycenaean lineup was becoming more and more menacing. He ordered Pylades to join up with Orestes and head north with the chariot squadron to see what had happened. It was risky to leave the battlefield exposed in the direction of Argos, but an attempt had to be made. The sky was getting darker and flashes of lightning shot from peak to peak, while violent gusts of wind bent the tops of the poplars down in the valley and the crests of the warriors’ helmets. The horses quivered impatiently at their yokes, pawing the dirt with their hooves, as they felt the storm gathering in the sky and on the ground.
When Orestes had received Menelaus’s order, he left a small garrison to hold the position and he flew off, with Pylades and all of his squadron, towards the line of hills standing out to the north. It wasn’t long before he realized what must have happened, and he was about to stop his horses and turn back, abandoning Pyrrhus to his destiny, but Prince Pylades convinced him to advance. ‘There are Locrian troops with Pyrrhus,’ he shouted. ‘This is the best way to settle your score; the son of Achilles will be in your debt his whole life!’
Orestes launched his chariots forward in attack; he deployed them in three lines across the entire plain, so that they would strike the enemy in waves. Aegisthus realized too late what was happening; he tried desperately to turn his front in the opposite direction, giving up on the ground battle with Pyrrhus’s men. He ordered his men to go back to their chariots and to retreat towards the sides, before Orestes’s chariots reached them, but the manoeuvre failed before it could begin. His warriors had just jumped into their chariots when they were hit by the first wave and decimated. Then came the second wave, and the third. Aegisthus’s chariot was overturned, and his driver was dragged away and trampled to death by the crazed horses, on the stones of a dry river bed. Aegisthus got to his feet and turned in confusion to seek a way to escape, but Pylades spotted him and shouted to Orestes, whose chariot was rushing past at a short distance: ‘On your left! Look to your left!’ Orestes enjoined his driver to hold the horses, and he spotted Aegisthus. He leapt from his chariot and ran straight at him.
‘You will pay for the blood of Agamemnon!’ he shouted in a rage. ‘You will appear before him this very day in Hades, with your nose and ears cut off!’
‘Then come and get me, you cur!’ shouted back Aegisthus, standing up to him. ‘I fucked your mother and butchered your father! Yes, that’s right, he was bleeding like a pig!’
Those words pierced through Orestes like a white-hot blade as he charged forward, and devastated his soul. A veil of blood dropped over the eyes of the prince. His fury vanished all at once and was replaced by an icy calm. Near his enemy now, he halted his charge and weighed his spear. Aegisthus’s sneering confidence disappeared all at once; he looked around wildly and spotted an abandoned shield. He dropped lightning quick to gather it, but Orestes was left-handed and threatened him now on his undefended side. Orestes heaved the ashen pike and it sank through his shoulder blades, between his neck and his back, where his breastplate gave no protection. It nailed his enemy to the ground in that position, on his knees; Orestes watched as a great stream of blood poured from the mouth of the retching, choking man. But before he died, he wrenched the spear from his body and knocked him over on to his back. He drew his sword and cut off his nose, his lips, his ears and his genitals, so thus he would appear to the shade of his father the Atreid in the house of Hades.
Aegisthus’s soul fled sighing into the cold wind that battered the countryside, and Orestes found himself face to face with Pyrrhus. He was spattered with blood from head to foot and he had bits of flesh and human brains on his shield and greaves. Orestes felt a cold chill at the sight of him. He was panting, and stank unbearably.
‘The Argive infantry is wiped out,’ he said. ‘I imagine I should thank you for getting the war chariots out of my way.’ And then, observing the desecrated corpse of Aegisthus: ‘By the gods, I didn’t think you were capable of it. I have to admit you’ve got it in you.’
Orestes was uneasy at this praise, and answered: ‘Pisistratus and King Menelaus may be in difficulty. We must return to Mycenae.’ He leapt on to his chariot, followed by Pylades and his squadron, and set off swiftly towards the city.