By good fortune they found the Taphian mules tied up at the foot of the slope, and amongst them their own animals, complete with the rich gifts for Tyndareus. As many of the Ithacans had received injuries that needed tending, Odysseus ordered the fine dresses to be torn up for bandages. The wounded men were ridiculed by their comrades for the pretty yellows and blues, of course, but this soon stopped when Odysseus tied a bright purple bandage around the wound on his forehead. Grateful for the clean material, which was far better than the dirty cloaks and tunics of the dead, they were nonetheless concerned that Odysseus had chosen to use Helen’s bride gifts in such a manner. Eperitus wondered how many other nobles would put the care of their men before their own gain.
They slept that night on the threshold of the temple. At dawn they returned to the hill and dug a large grave for the Taphians they had slain. It took much of the morning to make a pit big enough. Many had been put to death as they lay wounded on the ground after the battle, pleading for mercy from the men whose homes they had taken. But they received none, unless it was to save them from the carrion birds that circled above.
And so it was that by noon they started for Messene, saddened by the deaths of their fellow warriors but lifted by their victory over Polybus. The gods had been with them on the battlefield and they were encouraged by their protection. There were many, though, who pointed at Odysseus as he led the march and said it was he whom the immortals favoured. A handful of Taphians had escaped and would eventually reach Ithaca with the news that the prey had turned on the hunter, but by then Odysseus and his men would be guests at the palace of Tyndareus and safely beyond the reach of Eupeithes.
The chariot of the sun had not travelled far in its course through the dull and cloudy sky before they could detect animal dung and smoke in the air, the familiar smells of a township, and knew that Messene was just beyond the hills ahead of them. Odysseus, standing with Mentor at his side, called Damastor, Antiphus and Eperitus over to join them.
‘I was a fool to march us straight between those hills yesterday, so this time I’m sending you four to scout ahead. If you meet any trouble, send someone back to warn us – we’ll be close behind.’
They had no difficulty in outstripping the rest of the party, who were slowed down by the mules and the wounded men. Soon they reached the hills that separated them from Messene and stood in the road that wound its way between them. The boulder-strewn slopes rose steeply up on either side, providing another easy site for an ambush. With Polybus’s force destroyed and their leader dead it was unlikely they would meet more Taphians, and yet travellers in Greece – even armed warriors – were always at risk from bandits. So Mentor suggested they split into two groups, one to flank the road on the left and the other on the right.
‘Eperitus and I will go left,’ he said. ‘You two go right, but don’t wander from our view.’
With that he began to climb the scree-covered flank of the steeper hill, followed closely by Eperitus. Clambering over the small rocks and struggling through thick bushes quickly brought them out in a fresh sweat, despite the cold of the day and the fine drizzle that had started. This made the stones wet and their progress more treacherous, but eventually they reached level ground again and looked across to see Damastor and Antiphus picking their way along a rough track on the other side of the road.
Larger hills loomed ahead of them now, blocking everything that lay beyond from sight. They continued between outcrops of rock and boulders that had toppled from the peaks above, until before long they could hear the sound of flowing water. It came from a low valley that intersected the road and lay between themselves and the larger range of hills. Mentor ran ahead and was soon calling for Eperitus to catch up with him.
‘A river,’ he said. ‘The road starts again on the other side.’
Eperitus looked down into the valley. The waters were wide and fast, swelled by the recent rains falling in the mountains to the east, but nothing like the obstacle they had encountered a few days before. At least it was shallow enough to ford and would not delay their progress. Then, as his gaze crossed to the opposite side where the road to Messene continued, he noticed a lone figure crawling about amongst the stones. Ducking behind the bole of a weather-beaten olive tree and signalling Mentor to get out of view, he looked across to see if Damastor and Antiphus had seen the man. To his dismay they had not, and were already making their way down to the ford.
‘There’s someone on the other side of the river,’ he told his companion. ‘I think he’s alone, but can’t be sure – and the others haven’t spotted him yet.’
Mentor nodded. ‘I’ll go and warn Odysseus. In the meantime, see if you can stop the others giving us away.’
‘Tell Odysseus he’s carrying a bow,’ Eperitus shouted after him as he sprang off in the direction by which they had come.
Seeing that the mysterious figure was still on his hands and knees, searching for something in the mud of the road, he began the descent as quickly as he could. The scree slope was treacherous, made more slippery by the rain. He had no hope of reaching the river before Damastor and Antiphus, but in his haste sent a cascade of small rocks tumbling down to the road below, catching the attention of the man on the opposite bank. He stood and looked across the flowing waters, just as the others reached the road. They were as surprised as he was to find anybody else in the small valley.
Eperitus sprang down the last stretch of the hill to join his comrades, where they stood eyeing the young man with silent curiosity. He was small and pale with hardly the bulge of a muscle upon him, looking more like a living skeleton than a human being. His head was crowned with a sheaf of black hair, and a thin, juvenile beard sprouted from his bony chin. He wore no armour and his only weapons were a dagger that hung loose in his belt and a bow of white horn slung across his back.
The magnificent bow was much too big for such a skinny lad, and Eperitus knew it must be the weapon Athena had told Odysseus to make his own. He walked across to Antiphus and asked what he thought of the stranger.
‘A child with the weapon of a god,’ the archer replied, eyeing the horn bow greedily.
Damastor agreed. He raised his voice above the cacophony of the river and called out to the stranger, who had been looking back at them with wary interest.
‘What’s a boy doing with a man’s bow? Did you steal it from your father, or did he give it to you in the hope it would make you a man?’
‘What would a bastard such as you know about a father’s gifts?’
The young man looked so meek and pathetic that Eperitus was shocked, as well as amused, by his feisty retort. For a moment Damastor was flabbergasted at the youth’s audacity, but when he realized he had been humiliated his temper quickly got the better of him. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, then advanced into the river with his spear levelled above his shoulder. Mirroring his advance, the archer on the far bank unslung his bow, fitted an arrow and waded out to meet him. Unless the younger man was an appalling shot, there was little doubt about the outcome of the fight. Eperitus even felt concern for Damastor, though the Ithacan’s rudeness had deserved an insolent reply. In contrast, Antiphus was laughing at his friend’s vexation and appeared completely unfazed by the encounter.
‘Give me the weapon, lad, and I promise not to kill you,’ Damastor shouted.
His answer was the twang of the great bow. Antiphus choked on a new wave of laughter as the arrow plucked Damastor’s bronze cap from his head and carried it clean beyond the river to clatter amongst the rocks behind them. Damastor was so shocked that he fell back into the water with a great splash. This brought tears of laughter to the eyes of his comrades on the river bank, followed by more shouts of laughter from the road behind. Eperitus turned to see the rest of the party arriving, led by Odysseus and Mentor, of whom only Odysseus was not touched by the hilarity of Damastor’s situation.