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

‘What’s that?’ hissed Diomedes, thrusting a finger towards a tall black shape emerging from the swirls of mist ahead of them.

Eperitus narrowed his eyes; there were other shapes beyond it, more rocks waiting to rip open the ship’s belly and condemn its crew to the same fate as Philoctetes. And suddenly every man on board could hear the seagulls and smell the pungent seaweed piled up on the crags, though only Eperitus’s nostrils could detect the underlying stench of corruption emanating from the island, a reek he had not known in such strength for ten years. They had found Philoctetes and he was still cursed by the terrible wound the gods had inflicted on him a decade before.

‘Throw the anchor stones overboard,’ Odysseus shouted. ‘And ready the boat. We’re going ashore.’

Chapter Two

P HILOCTETES

The boat bumped against the shelf of black rock and Odysseus leapt out, slipping slightly on the layered seaweed before finding a handhold and pulling himself to safety. Antiphus threw him the rope and he held the vessel fast as the others clambered free of its cramped confines. Eperitus was last behind Diomedes and seeing Polites had left the club and lion’s pelt that Odysseus had given him, stooped to pick them up.

‘You can leave those,’ Odysseus said quietly, passing the rope to Polites and offering Eperitus his hand. ‘We’ll only need them if all else fails.’

Mystified, but knowing better than to ask for an explanation from his friend, Eperitus left the club and pelt in the boat and took the king’s hand. He stepped ashore and looked about himself. Through the thick fog behind them he could just see the mast and cross spar of the galley, swaying gently between two sentinels of rock. The sea in-between was lost beneath the curling fronds of white mist that rose like steam from its surface, creeping inland across the stony shore to lap at the knees of the cliffs that loomed harsh and forbidding above the party of Greeks. The bluffs were dotted with seagulls, huddled into pockets in the rock for protection from the cold breeze, and Eperitus could hear many more of the creatures nestled on the invisible cliff tops above. There was little else to see or hear in this barren corner of Lemnos, but the stench he had picked up from the galley was stronger and more offensive now, forcing him to lift a corner of his cloak to cover his mouth and nose.

‘What is it?’ Diomedes asked.

‘Can’t you smell it yet?’ Eperitus replied. ‘It’s Philoctetes’s wound, I’m sure of it.’

‘Impossible,’ Diomedes scoffed. ‘There’s no way he could have survived for ten years in that sort of pain. Either the wound healed itself, or it killed Philoctetes long ago and we’re here to find his bones – and the weapons he left behind.’

‘You forget he wasn’t bitten by any ordinary snake,’ Odysseus said. ‘It was sent by Thetis, in answer to Achilles’s calls for vengeance because Philoctetes beat him in the race to Tenedos. The wound’s a curse from the goddess, and if she wanted the pain to last for ten years without killing him then you can be sure he’s still alive. One thing’s for certain, though: the pain and the loneliness of this place will have sent Philoctetes half-mad at the least, if not completely insane. We need to be on our guard and do nothing to frighten him – nothing at all! And that means leaving our weapons in the boat.’

Diomedes laughed, his handsome face genuinely amused as he patted the ivory pommel of his sword.

‘This blade is never more than a few paces beyond my reach, old friend, and if you think I’m going to face an embittered madman like Philoctetes without it –’

‘With respect, my lord,’ Antiphus interrupted, ‘what good will your sword be against the bow and arrows of Heracles? It’s said they never miss their target and the tips are poisonous, so if Philoctetes wants to shoot us dead then our weapons aren’t going to stop him.’

‘I’d rather take my chances with my sword than without it, thank you Antiphus,’ Diomedes replied. ‘Besides, I’ll keep it well hidden beneath my cloak.’

Odysseus slipped his sheathed sword from his shoulder and set it down on a pile of black seaweed.

‘One careless movement of your hand’ll be enough to show you’re armed, Diomedes, and then you’ll only have yourself to blame if Philoctetes gets the idea into his head that we’re not friendly. Either leave your sword here with Polites, or stay by the boat yourself and let Polites take your place.’

Diomedes gave him a surly look, then unbuckled his baldric and placed his sword down beside Odysseus’s. Antiphus’s bow, arrows and dagger were next, followed by the spears and swords of Eurylochus and Eperitus.

‘Good,’ Odysseus said, flicking his hood up to hide his face. ‘Eperitus, lead the way – just follow your sense of smell and we’re bound to find him.’

Eperitus paused to sniff the foul air, then, pulling his cloak about his shoulders, began to pick his way between the seaweed-festooned rocks and the small, dark pools that hid between them. The others followed, except for Polites, who had been given the task of keeping watch over the boat and their weapons while they were away. Glancing back, Eperitus saw Odysseus reach into the boat for a skin of water, which he threw over his shoulder before turning to speak to the giant warrior. His words were too low even for Eperitus’s acute hearing to pick out from the constant cawing of the gulls, and a moment later the king had turned back and was following behind Antiphus.

Eperitus moved with the cliffs to his right – an unending wall that forbade access to the rest of Lemnos and confined them to the narrow, rugged strip of land that skirted the sea. The fog, if anything, was growing thicker. It condensed on his beard and eyelashes to form little droplets of water that would occasionally merge and trickle into his eyes or down his neck. The stench of brine and seagull droppings pervaded everything, but soon even this was eclipsed by the reek Eperitus had first picked up on the galley. The others could smell it too by now and began to complain under their breath or cover their faces with their cloaks. Diomedes and Odysseus both wore scarves to keep the rims of their breastplates from rubbing against their necks, but had pulled them up over their mouths and noses to filter out the foul odour; the others had no choice but to endure it. After a while Eperitus detected a low groaning that reminded him of a battlefield after nightfall, when the fighting had stopped and the opposing armies had settled down by their campfires, only to be haunted by the cries of the wounded among the corpses in-between, calling out for their friends to find them or to the gods to claim their wretched souls. The sound grew nearer, though none of his comrades remarked on it, and he noticed there were no more seagulls on the cliff faces above them. There was something else, too, something his instincts had been aware of for a while but he had not been able until that moment to identify. He realised they were being followed.

‘What’s that?’ Eurylochus hissed, stopping and pointing into the mist.

Eperitus traced the direction of his finger and saw a ring of small, fist-sized stones on a plateau of rock ahead of him. They were grey with ash and a pile of burnt wood lay heaped up between them. Scattered about the remains of the fire were thin white sticks of varying lengths, which Eperitus quickly realised were the bones of seagulls. He could tell the ashes were cold, but by the smell of them they were no older than the previous night. He reached instinctively for his sword and remembered he had left it with Polites.

Odysseus moved past his shoulder and gave the remains of the fire a kick with his heel. The heavier ash that had not been blown away by the sea breeze now rose up in a small cloud about his ankles.