As he had done at Parnassus, Eperitus launched one of his spears into the back of an enemy soldier, then charged at the remainder. Another warrior turned in shock at the death of his comrade, only to receive Eperitus’s second spear point in his throat. The momentum of the thrust snapped the man’s head back and broke his neck, killing him instantly and toppling him to the ground. On either side more Taphians fell to the spears of the others. Still more were killed by Odysseus and his group as they broke through the circle of their stunned foes.
The effect of the attack was devastating. The brief and chaotic butchery that followed left only seven opponents standing, including Polybus, and these withdrew steadily before the Ithacan onslaught.
Polybus raised his sword and ordered his men forward. They were the last and the best of the Taphians and obeyed the command without compunction, whilst Polybus turned his back on them and ran. Halitherses and Mentor stood at each end of the rank of Ithacans and ordered them to stand firm and meet the attack. But as the two lines met a hand fell on Eperitus’s shoulder and pulled him out of the battle. It was Odysseus.
‘Come with me. We still haven’t finished that discussion with Polybus yet.’
Antiphus was next to them and heard the prince’s words. ‘I’m coming too,’ he said.
Odysseus did not question him, but simply turned and set off at a run in pursuit of Polybus. They followed him down the reverse slope of the hill, instinctively finding their footing amongst the treacherous boulders and rocks. Already Eperitus could see their quarry before them, running beside the course of a small stream that cut between large, steep hills. The narrow valley was green with the recent rains, and as they reached the swollen watercourse they found a level footpath that gave them more speed. Ahead of them they could see that Polybus had cast off his spear and shield and was stretching the distance between himself and their pursuit. They followed his lead, retaining only their swords and Antiphus’s bow.
Despite the heavy fighting, Odysseus showed no sign of fatigue and soon began to close on Polybus. Eperitus had never seen a man so short and stocky run with such speed, and he and Antiphus had to keep up as best they could. The stream wound its way between the spurs of the hills, which sometimes hid Polybus from sight, only to reveal him again as they passed each bend. Then, just as Eperitus’s legs were tiring beneath him, he saw Polybus head uphill. Odysseus mustered fresh energy and sprinted to where he had left the path, but there he stopped. By the time they had caught up with the prince, Polybus was nowhere in sight.
‘Where did he go?’ Antiphus asked, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
Odysseus pointed up the hill. ‘He’s in there.’
They looked up. Another path led to the summit where, surrounded by olive trees and overgrown with scrub, a large stone building stood. Judging by its stern silence it was disused.
‘What is it?’ Eperitus asked.
Odysseus smiled and, as if to himself, said, ‘The temple of Athena.’
Chapter Thirteen
THE TEMPLE OF ATHENA
The temple was larger and more impressive than any Eperitus had ever seen before. In Alybas they worshipped at natural places associated with the gods: groves of trees, caves or mountain springs. The only man-made objects were altars and statuettes, perhaps the occasional hut, but nothing so awe-inspiring as this. And yet what had once been a place of beauty and reverence was now a scene of waste and devastation.
They stood by a painted statue of Athena, its once rich colours faded by the sun, and looked through the entrance of the walled compound that surrounded the temple. The decorated wooden doors had been thrown down and lay shattered amidst a chaos of other debris and destruction in the courtyard beyond. Parts of the wall were staved in and the rubble was strewn about at random, punctuated by broken vases, upended tripods, clothing and even an overturned cart. Who, or whatever, had caused such damage had immense strength, and clearly did not fear the wrath of the gods. They drew their swords from their belts and walked in.
Inside the compound they could see the greater extent of the desolation. Half a dozen olive trees – sacred to Athena – had been wrenched out of the ground and left to wither in the sun. There were innumerable shards of pottery spread about, the tatters of ornamental drapes that must once have hung inside the temple itself, and dozens of clay figurines. It looked as if a whirlwind had sucked out the contents of the temple and regurgitated them over the courtyard, then resumed its chaotic path of destruction until there was nothing left to ruin but the plastered stone walls of the building itself.
The temple entrance had once consisted of a pair of doors approached by four broad stone steps. The doors had long since been burst open, while on the steps lay the skeletal remains of a human being. The rotted clothing hanging about it could once have been a priest’s robes, but such was the decay that they could not tell. The body had long since been picked clean of flesh and the bones bleached by the sun, but there was something in those empty eye sockets that retained an unspeakable terror, something about the open jaw that still cried out in silence.
As they stared at the chaos a hideous scream rang from the temple. It rooted them to the ground with its despairing horror, then it was suddenly silenced. Eperitus’s blood ran cold and the hair on the back of his neck was stiff with fear.
‘Goodbye Polybus,’ Odysseus said grimly, staring at the shadowy entrance.
So the serpent was still there, jealously guarding the temple against any who dared enter. Perhaps it had relieved them of the need to take the pursuit any further, but Odysseus would want to make sure that Polybus was dead. He would also want to honour his promise to Athena, though Eperitus hoped he had the good sense to go back for the others first; the thought of encountering another serpent in the darkness, without his spear, his shield or the aid of his comrades, made him sick with fear.
Odysseus, however, had no intention of waiting. He led the way up the steps and into the shadowy interior of the temple, beckoning for the others to follow.
‘What could have made Polybus scream like that?’ Antiphus asked quietly, unslinging his bow and readying an arrow from his quiver. ‘If it caused all that damage back there, it can’t be a man.’
‘It’s a serpent. The spawn of Echidna,’ Odysseus answered, though he offered no account of how he knew.
Antiphus looked at Odysseus in horror. Echidna was a monster of legend, half woman, half snake. A child of hers would be the stuff of nightmares.
They edged further into the shadows, where for a few tense moments their eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom. They had come to the head of a long aisle, flanked on either side by two rows of pillars. The rank-smelling air was thick and oppressive and their limbs felt suddenly heavy with the toil of the battle they had just fought. Then they heard something heavy slithering across the dusty floor at the far end of the temple.
Antiphus leaned his weight against one of the pillars and sought a target for his bow, but could see nothing in the weak light that suffused the interior. Odysseus drew his sword and walked cautiously towards a stone dais at the back of the temple, watching for movement as he passed between the rows of columns. Anxiety for the prince made Eperitus follow closely behind, his sword held before him. Never had he felt so vulnerable, or so naked, without his grandfather’s shield on his arm.
Something glinted on the broad flagstones a few paces ahead of them.