Glyn Iliffe - The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Shortly after midday, they came upon a bend in the river where the fast-flowing water curved around the spur of a low hill. As they climbed the ridge, Eperitus spotted a flash of whitewashed walls gleaming in the distance. Shielding his eyes against the bright sunshine, he could make out a large town nestled within the fold between two hills, not far from the river. It was surrounded by modest battlements and had a single gateway that he could see, guarded by a tall tower. Two men in armour – the first signs of human life he had seen since leaving the deserted fishing village at dawn – stood watch as an ox-drawn cart struggled along the tree-lined road towards the gate. The town was still a long way off, but in-between was a small wood from which a thin trail of smoke was drifting up into the clear sky. On the opposite bank of the river a domed mound rose like a dark mole on the face of the land.

‘I can see a town,’ he announced. ‘It’s still a good way off, but it has walls and guards and there are signs of more life inside.’

‘That must be Pisa,’ said Diomedes, squinting in the direction Eperitus was pointing.

‘Can you see a temple?’ Odysseus asked.

‘No, but you see the trail of smoke coming from that wood? There’s a small hill on the opposite bank of the river. That could be the tomb.’

A murmur of interest spread through the group of warriors as they strained to see, but a snapped order from Diomedes silenced them again. He led them back down to the level of the river, where the hill was lost to Eperitus’s sight behind the line of trees. They followed the overgrown track to the eaves of the wood. Here the air was heavy with the pungent odour of damp earth and thick foliage, through which Eperitus could faintly discern the mingled scent of woodsmoke and roasted flesh. Before long they reached a small clearing where the glimmer of the river could be seen through the trees a short distance on the other side. In the centre of the clearing was a pile of blackened, smouldering wood, upon which the burnt thighbones of a sheep or goat were gently smoking. To the left of the pyre was a rough table of stone supported by two boulders. This crude altar was covered in a dark circle of fresh blood that was still dripping onto the trampled grass below.

‘Looks like we’ve disturbed someone in the middle of a sacrifice,’ Diomedes said, entering the clearing and poking at the fire with the point of his spear. ‘The gods won’t be pleased.’

‘This must be the temple of Artemis that Athena mentioned,’ Odysseus said in a low voice to Eperitus, as they looked around at the circular clearing in the wood. ‘And if that’s the case then your guess was right – Pelops’s tomb is just through those trees, on the other side of the river. Come on.’

Without waiting for the others, he crossed the clearing and plunged into the undergrowth. Eperitus strode after him and together they were the first to reach the edge of the wood and see the sombre-looking hill on the opposite bank of the Alpheius. It was unnaturally perfect in shape, as if a giant bowl had been upended in the middle of the level plain, and at this range Eperitus could see it was much larger than he had estimated when he had first seen it from the ridge. Its curved flanks were featureless, covered with long grass and thorn bushes, and though the sun was bright overhead the mound seemed to absorb its light and maintain a dreary dullness.

‘Even a hill as big as that can’t hold too large a maze,’ Eperitus said, trying to quell the despair that had crept into his heart at the sight of the mound.

‘The maze will be below ground,’ Odysseus replied, knowingly. ‘That hill is just the earth they dug out to make it. And that should give you an idea of the size of what lies beneath.’

The river was fordable between the wood and the mound and they crossed it in single file with the water rising no higher than their waists. The olive tree that marked the opening was on the other side of the hill, just as Athena had said it would be. Not wanting to let on to the others that the goddess had spoken to him, Odysseus suggested they look for something that might indicate where the entrance to the maze was. Diomedes obliged almost immediately by pointing to the dead tree. After hacking away the brambles with their swords, they scraped at the earth beneath with a combination of flat rocks and their bare hands until they exposed the top of what appeared to be a wall. The rest was soon uncovered, but before they attempted to knock it in and open the ingress to the labyrinth beyond, Odysseus ordered the men to make torches from the materials they had brought – dowels and rags that had been soaked in animal fat – while he made a small fire to light them with. Finally, after the torches were ready and two Argives had been chosen to remain guard on the outside, Polites slid down into the shallow pit they had dug and splayed his massive hands against the stone blocks of the wall. It gave way easily under his great strength, collapsing in a cloud of dust that swept over him and forced him to turn away, choking loudly as he covered his face with the crook of his arm.

The others crowded round the edge of the pit, Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus foremost, trying to see through the swirling brown haze into the void that had been created. But even Eperitus’s eyes were unable to penetrate the thick blackness beyond the remains of the wall, and after a moment’s hesitation Diomedes ordered one of his men to light a torch and hand it to him. An instant later he was shouldering past Polites and stooping beneath the low entrance to the tomb, holding the flaming brand before him.

‘What do you see?’ Odysseus called after him.

‘It’s a chamber,’ Diomedes replied from the darkness, his voice flat and stifled. ‘Come and see for yourselves.’

One by one, the others lit their torches and joined Diomedes in the low antechamber, where the stale air was cold and smelled of damp earth. By the light of his struggling torch, Eperitus could see that the floor and walls were of mud and had not been dressed with wood or stone. The ceiling, too, was bare and had been broken in several places by the roots of the dead olive tree on the hillside above. At the back of the chamber, directly opposite the entrance, was a deeper darkness that he knew led down into the depths of the maze. He sensed a faint current of air coming from it, like the breath of something ancient and evil, and shuddered as it touched his skin.

Odysseus approached the passageway with his torch, revealing a roughly hewn arch and a steeply sloping tunnel beyond it. He peered down into the darkness, sniffed at it, then turned to the others.

‘This has to be the way to the maze. It’s too narrow for spears, so bring your swords only. And that old shield of yours will never fit down there, Eperitus.’

Though the half-moon shields of the others could easily be slung across their backs, the heirloom Eperitus had inherited from his grandfather was tall and bulky and would only prove an encumbrance in such a tight space. Reluctantly, he slipped it from his shoulder and laid it with his spear against a wall of the chamber.

‘Why do we need our weapons, anyway?’ said one of the Argives, leaning his spear next to Eperitus’s. ‘It’s just a tomb, after all.’

‘A warrior should never be without a weapon, Trechos,’ Eperitus answered. ‘Even in the houses of the dead.’

‘It’s the curse Odysseus is worried about,’ added another Argive, a veteran warrior called Epaltes who had lost an ear and two fingers during the long years of the war. ‘My wife was from Pisa, and she always said how the tomb was filled with riches befitting a great king like Pelops, but that they were protected by a terrible guardian. There’s someone, or some thing, down there and Odysseus knows it. Ain’t that right, Eperitus?’