The sight turned his muscles to water and he had to close his eyes and fight down nausea. He wanted to run as he felt scores of them sliding in cold masses across his feet, but the fear of dishonour was greater and he stood his ground. Only when the sound of them had disappeared did he dare open his eyes again. The larger object was Polybus and Antiphus had hold of his right hand. Using the blood-stained dagger, he sawed off the dead man’s bow-fingers, first one and then the other. When he was done, he dropped the limb back into the mess of gore and stowed his trophies in his pouch. He had a right to those fingers, Eperitus thought, and nobody questioned him.
Their task had been completed and Odysseus’s promise to the goddess fulfilled, so they recovered their weapons and walked out into the twilight of the winter evening. The heaviness had lifted from the temple and Eperitus, breathing the clean air, was suddenly overcome by a sensation of relief, even joy, at being alive. He realized that the worry of facing the serpent had made him tense for days, but from now on he would be able to enjoy the prospect of Sparta, where they would be feted in luxury by one of the richest kings in Greece.
Then a sound behind him made him turn, and he saw Polybus staggering down the steps towards him, dripping with the serpent’s bile and reaching out his maimed hand in a plea for help. The others turned also, as shocked as Eperitus to see the hideous ghoul who had somehow survived being devoured by the monster. Gone were his arrogant sneer and his self-confidence. Now his eyes were wide with terror, his mind lost for ever.
As he came closer Eperitus could see him mouthing something, one word over and over again. At first he could not hear him, then suddenly his ranting grew more audible.
‘Fingers. Fingers,’ he groaned as he reached the young warrior. Then with a scream of loathing: ‘Give me my fingers!’
At the last moment, he snatched the dagger from Eperitus’s belt and thrust it at his stomach. Eperitus instinctively caught Polybus’s wrist with his left hand and turned the blade aside, then swung his right fist into his jaw, toppling him backwards into the dust. Odysseus stepped forward and brought his sword down upon Polybus’s neck, severing his head with a single blow.
Chapter Fourteen
THE BOW OF IPHITUS
Eperitus reached down to retrieve his dagger from Polybus’s death grip and, without a word being spoken, they walked free of the courtyard. The day’s fighting had left each of them spattered with gore, so they headed back downhill to the stream, where they stripped off and washed themselves in the cold, refreshing water. Mentor informed them that the last of the Taphians had been slain quickly, but as Halitherses had sent him to find Odysseus he did not know the full tally of their own casualties. The only thing he knew for certain, he said, was that he was hungry and wished there was something to eat.
As he spoke, a fat sheep appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, its fleece shining like silver in the twilight.
‘Well, if that isn’t an answer to prayer,’ Mentor said, drawing his dagger from his belt and wading into the stream.
‘Leave it alone,’ Odysseus cautioned. ‘I don’t think we should touch it.’
They heard bleating from further along the path. More silvery shapes were picking their way over the fallen rocks and through the scrub on either bank of the gurgling waters. A creeping, impenetrable mist followed them, its foremost fronds curling between their fat bodies and reaching towards the four men. Soon it was all about them, so that the only thing Eperitus could see was Odysseus sitting next to him on a rock. They heard the bleats of the sheep and saw their shadows in the fog, but their companions were lost from view.
Then a voice spoke out of the haze. ‘Very wise of you to keep your friend from my sheep. I wouldn’t have wanted to kill him after he spiked that serpent for me.’
They looked up and saw a young man standing before them. He was tall and carried a silver sheepskin draped across one forearm, whilst in his free hand he held a long crook. He had golden hair and huge grey eyes that looked at them sternly and expectantly. Odysseus was quick to recognize Athena and slumped to his knees before her; Eperitus followed his example and bowed his head so as not to look at the goddess.
‘Mistress,’ Odysseus said. ‘The beast is dead and the temple clean.’
‘I would hardly say clean,’ Athena complained. ‘But just to show you that the gods reward those who obey their commands, I’m going to tell you two things in return for ridding my temple of Hera’s pet.’ She put a smooth white hand under each of their arms and lifted them to their feet. ‘First thing, Odysseus: Tyndareus has already decided that Helen will marry Menelaus.’
‘Then I should return to Ithaca at once,’ Odysseus said.
The goddess ruffled his red hair affectionately. ‘Not so hasty, please. It’s Zeus’s will that Helen be given to Menelaus – he’s planning something big, but won’t let anyone know about it. You must still go to Sparta, though. A man of your charms will find important friends there, and perhaps something else, too. But I shan’t spoil things for you.’
Odysseus seemed restless. ‘You said there were two things, mistress.’
‘Yes: go to Messene and restock your provisions. There you’ll meet a man fording a stream. He will be carrying a large horn bow, which the god Apollo gave to his father. You must use your wits to get the bow from him, as he won’t be needing it for much longer himself. How you do it is up to you, but you will be ill advised to leave Messene without it. Do you understand me?’
‘What’s the importance of the bow?’ Odysseus asked.
But the goddess was gone, swallowed up by a billow of the fog. The gentle bleating of her sheep faded away and the mist evaporated about them to reveal Mentor and Antiphus, looking around themselves in surprise.
‘Where in Hades did that fog come from?’ Mentor said. ‘And where did those sheep go?’
Antiphus walked over to them. ‘You had a lot to say for yourselves, didn’t you? Chattering away in the mist.’
It was clear neither man had been aware they had been in the presence of an immortal. Odysseus and Eperitus made no answer, but instead headed back upstream to retrieve their shields and spears.
Three Ithacans had died in the battle. Eperitus had expected there to be more casualties, but the islanders were tougher men than they looked. From their outward appearances he had first thought them simple folk with little inclination to fight and no stamina for battle. They seemed to him men who preferred wine and the song of a bard to adventure and hardship. And so they were. But there was something about their island identity that gave them a toughness and spirit excelling anything he had encountered before. Again and again they proved themselves against every test. And only slowly, through listening to them tell stories over the camp fire each night and hearing them grumble on the long marches, did he realize the source of this strength. It came from their love of Ithaca and the simple freedom they had always enjoyed there. They would do whatever was needed of them to regain the idyllic world Eupeithes had stolen.
Eperitus only knew the dead men by sight, though they were obviously sorely missed by their comrades. They buried them together on the hill where they died. The place was marked with a mound of rocks, and when the last stone was laid they shouted three times over the grave of their comrades. After that Eperitus did not hear their names mentioned again for many months.
Damastor had been found still unconscious at the foot of the slope. He suffered a large bruise on his forehead and a headache that did not leave him until the next day, but was more dismayed at having missed the battle. Eperitus tried to reassure him that there was no shame attached, and yet he understood Damastor’s disappointment at missing the glory his comrades now enjoyed.