Eperitus pushed the head of his spear into a Trojan’s chest, only for another to leap into the gap and swing at him with a double-headed axe. Eperitus met the shivering blow with the boss of his shield, before despatching his attacker with a rapid thrust of his spear as he pulled back his axe for a second time. Stepping over his body, he was met by a young lad armed with nothing more than a crude leather shield and a dagger.
‘So this is the level Troy has been lowered to,’ he said, staring at his enemy. ‘Sending boys on to the battlefield with nothing more than knives.’
There was no fear on the lad’s face, only angry determination as he rushed at Eperitus with his blade held before him. Almost without thinking, Eperitus reached across and grabbed the boy’s wrist, twisting his arm aside until, with a shout of pain, he dropped the dagger into the trampled grass. Eperitus kicked the weapon away just as Odysseus appeared at his side. Eurybates, Polites and Antiphus were with him.
‘Come on,’ the king shouted over the din of battle. ‘We’ve got to reach Achilles before the Trojans overpower him and drag his body into the city walls.’
He plunged into the press of Trojans, followed by the others.
‘Go home to your mother,’ Eperitus said, releasing the lad’s wrist.
He shoved him forcefully back towards his comrades, then followed the giant form of Polites into the fray. The Ithacans were cutting their way man by man through the swarming Trojans, and as their enemies were slowly pushed back, Eperitus caught a glimpse of Achilles ahead of them, fighting alone against a press of spearmen. Any other man would have fallen beneath such numbers. And yet no other man possessed Achilles’s all-consuming lust for glory, a lust that could only be satisfied by taking the gates of Troy and denying the doom his own mother had laid on his shoulders. But his savage fury was met with equal determination on the part of the Trojans, who were prepared to sacrifice everything in the defence of their homes and families, even to the point of sending boys into battle. Watching them throw themselves at the unstoppable Achilles, Eperitus realized that such men could never be defeated by the Greeks. They had a cause worth dying for, whereas Agamemnon’s army had forgotten why it had come to Ilium in the first place. Its leaders cared for nothing more than their own personal quests for glory, and pride alone would never give them victory.
Then Eperitus sensed a shadow fall across the battle. Others felt it too and looked up, only to see clear blue skies overhead. But as Eperitus lifted his gaze to the crowded battlements, he thought he saw a giant presence warping the air above the archers there, distorting the emptiness over their heads so that it seemed to shimmer like the heat haze on a distant horizon. No physical form was visible, but Eperitus knew a god was standing on the walls of Troy and casting its shadow over the fighting below. Then his eyes fell on Paris, who was leaning over the parapet with his bow pulled back, and suddenly Eperitus could see the shadowy outline of a tall figure standing over him, moving back its right hand as the Trojan prince drew the bow, and bending its head just as Paris bent his own head to take aim along the line of the arrow. Then the bowstring sang out and the missile struck its target.
Achilles cried out in pain. It was a sound Eperitus had never heard from Achilles before, nor had he ever expected to: high and clear and filled with extraordinary anguish, then slipping into despair as the great warrior knew his end had finally come, just as his beloved mother had warned him it would. He staggered, clutching at the long black arrow that had buried itself in his right heel, then fell.
As he disappeared among the circle of his enemies the clash of weapons and the shouts of men drained away, every Trojan and Greek sensing that something strange and terrible had happened. Then the shadow departed from the battlefield and the heaviness lifted from men’s hearts. Paris leaned over the wall and shook his fist.
‘That’s for Hector! And just as you mistreated his corpse, so will I mistreat yours. Bring the body to me!’
‘No!’ Odysseus exclaimed, running towards the place where Achilles had fallen.
The battle erupted back into life. Eperitus dashed after Odysseus, who was cutting down any man who dared stand in his way; they were followed by Polites, Eurybates, Antiphus and a handful of Ithacans. Within moments they had driven back the Trojans surrounding Achilles and, while the others fought to hold them off, Odysseus and Eperitus knelt beside the fallen prince.
Odysseus removed Achilles’s helmet and took his head in his lap, brushing the long blond hair from his face. As his fingers stroked across his forehead, Achilles’s eyes flickered open and looked up at the Ithacan king.
‘Odysseus!’ he whispered, trying to smile despite the pain of approaching death. ‘Odysseus, my friend, it seems Calchas was right after all. And yet it’s better this way, I can see that now. The honour of killing Hector was given to my hand, though in the end it was a victory for hatred and revenge rather than for Achilles the man; but the glory of taking Troy must belong to another. To you, I think. And now I’m going down to Hades, where a man’s soul knows only misery.’
‘But your name will remain here on earth,’ Odysseus said. ‘Here among the world of the living.’
Achilles gripped Odysseus’s arms with the last of his strength, and suddenly there was doubt in his eyes. Doubt, at the last, that he had achieved immortality.
‘Can you be sure of that?’ he gasped.
‘Yes,’ Odysseus reassured him. ‘Yes, Achilles, you’ve earned that much at least.’
‘But . . .’ Achilles’s back arched with a stab of pain, forcing Odysseus to hold him tight until the convulsion ebbed away again. ‘But are you the only one who has come to save my body from the Trojans?’
As he spoke, a thunderous shout of anger rose above the cacophony of battle. Odysseus and Eperitus looked over their shoulders to see the titanic form of Ajax striding towards them from the Greek lines. Forgetting his wounds and exhaustion in his fury, he brushed aside Trojans as if they were nothing more than children.
Unaware of Ajax’s approach, Achilles reached up and clutched at Odysseus’s shoulder, his fingers tightening with pain and his eyes suddenly wide with fear.
‘He’s coming, Odysseus! Hermes is coming for my soul! Lean closer, quickly; let my final words in life be to you, my friend.’
Odysseus bent down and placed his ear to Achilles’s lips, which moved briefly and were still. An instant later Ajax burst in among the encircled Ithacans, his great shield bristling with arrows and his sword running with fresh gore as he stared down at the body of his cousin.
‘He’s dead,’ Odysseus announced, passing his fingers over Achilles’s eyelids and closing them for ever.
Ajax, his dirt-stained cheeks wet with tears, bent low and lifted the fallen warrior over his shoulder.
‘Come, Odysseus, we must take him back to the ships. I can carry his body, but I can’t easily fight Trojans at the same time. You and Eperitus must protect me.’