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

A call from Odysseus reminded him of where he was. Picking up two more spears, he ran to the line of warriors and gave one to Polites and the other to Trechos.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered.

As they took the steps up to the dais, Odysseus looked at the spear in Eperitus’s hands.

‘It’s magnificent.’

‘It was lying among the other weapons. I’ve never seen anything like it. Look at the carvings on the shaft.’

Odysseus took the weapon in his hands while the others looked on, equally fascinated. He studied the depictions with a frown, then handed it back to Eperitus.

‘This is Oenomaus’s spear, the one given to him by Ares. It can’t be anything else.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘You said yourself you’d never seen anything like it. Just look at how the bronze still gleams, as if it were newly burnished; and feel how light it is in the hand. Only Hephaistos himself could have made such a spear. And these pictures recall Hippodameia’s suitors, whom he pursued to their deaths – until Pelops, that is.’

‘Put it back, Eperitus,’ Diomedes insisted. ‘You’ll bring the curse down upon us. If we take nothing, perhaps we’ll be spared.’

‘What about the bone?’ Eperitus countered.

‘I agree with Diomedes,’ Odysseus said. ‘Put it back and fetch another.’

Eperitus reluctantly did as he was ordered, returning with spears for himself, Odysseus and Diomedes. Together with Polites and Trechos, they forced the bronze points into the gap between the sarcophagus and its lid and pushed upwards. The heavy granite resisted for a moment, then with a grating protest began to move. The wooden horse quivered as the five men prised the lid slowly backwards, until finally it fell with a crash on the other side of the dais. The sarcophagus shook with the impact and sent up a cloud of dust that momentarily obscured the open tomb. Squinting and beating the air with their hands, the men stepped up and looked inside.

The skeleton of Pelops lay on its back with its arms by its side and its legs close together. It was of an immense size – in life, Pelops would have been a full head taller than Polites – and even in death the empty eye sockets contained a malice that was alarming to witness. Eperitus felt a small sense of relief to see that the left shoulder blade was creamy white, nothing like the ash-coloured bones of the rest of the skeleton; but his relief was quickly stifled by the feeling of evil that emanated from the sarcophagus. Then he began to notice the strangest thing about Pelops’s remains. The bones were not separated as they should have been – lying in disjointed pieces at the bottom of the stone coffin – but were fused together and retained their human shape. Arms, legs, spine, ribs, even the oversized skull remained connected to each other, as if the flesh that had once surrounded them was still there. Eperitus opened his mouth to comment on the peculiarity of it, when he thought he saw the fingers on one hand move. An icy coldness gripped him and his instincts told him to flee, but a grim fascination kept him there. Then, with a dry, grating sound, the skull began to move, rotating slowly on the spinal column to stare up at the horrified men.

Eperitus felt a rush of fear. His logical mind tried to explain away the movement as a delayed result of them shifting the heavy sarcophagus lid. Then there was a second movement, much quicker than the first, and Trechos began choking and clutching at his neck, trying desperately to throw off the skeletal hand that had seized his throat. Eperitus reeled back in shock, catching his heel on the bones of the dead grave robber and tumbling in a heap at the foot of the dais. A moment later there was a loud snap and Trechos fell back across the steps, his neck broken.

An involuntary shout of terror left Eperitus’s lips. He stared wide-eyed at Trechos’s upturned face, and then began to crawl backwards on his elbows, not daring to turn his back on the sarcophagus for even a moment. The others were leaping down from the dais, their cries of horror and disbelief echoing around the chamber. Odysseus appeared above Eperitus and, seizing his hand, pulled him to his feet. Over his shoulder, Eperitus saw bony fingers clutching at the granite edge of the tomb, followed slowly by the giant skull with its hateful eye sockets and death’s head grin.

‘How is it possible?’ he gasped, stumbling back with Odysseus towards the crescent of warriors, who were shouting in dismay. ‘What gives it life?’

Odysseus’s hands were shaking as they clutched the black shaft of his spear.

‘I don’t know what makes it move, but it’s not life. Perhaps this was the dying curse of Myrtilus – that his betrayer’s bones would never find rest.’

They blundered back into the rank of Argives and Ithacans – Diomedes and Polites had already sought refuge among their comrades – and stared incredulously as the giant skeleton raised itself to its full height and stepped stiffly out of the sarcophagus, its joints rasping like blocks of stone as they moved. It turned towards the cowering warriors, looking at them with a loathing that was unfettered by human sentiment. They had violated its resting place and every last one of them would pay with their lives.

Odysseus was the first to throw off his disbelief and come back to his senses. He pulled the spear back over his shoulder and hurled it with all his might at the skeleton. The head plunged through its ribcage, raising a cheer from the others as the horror that had once been Pelops staggered back against the sarcophagus. It stared down at the shaft that protruded from its fleshless body, but instead of collapsing in a clatter of bones, closed its fingers around the weapon and, passing one hand over the other, slid it back out. Raising the spear over its head it launched it back at the waiting warriors. The bronze point narrowly missed Omeros and sparked on the stone floor behind.

Now Diomedes ran towards the dais, brandishing his sword and snarling with anger at the death of Trechos. The copper light of the torches glittered like fire across the blade as it swept down against the monster’s thigh. The blow would have cut through the flesh and bone of any ordinary man, but the curse that animated Pelops’s remains must also have given them supernatural protection. The sword bounced off the bone without even marking it. Skeletal hands now seized hold of Diomedes as if he were but a child, and with inhuman strength hurled him across the cavern to land with a crash in a pile of spears.

The Argives gave a furious shout and dashed forward. The colossal skeleton moved jerkily down the steps to meet them, knocking aside the first two men as they threw themselves at him. The others quickly formed a circle about it, hacking uselessly at the hard bone or thrusting the points of their swords between its empty ribs. Epaltes, the veteran warrior whose wife had told him long ago about the curse of Pelops’s tomb, ran at the monster with his sword held in both hands over his head. He swung the blade against its neck, but the sharpened bronze sprang back and flew from his grip. The next instant, the skeleton had seized hold of his arm and pulled it clean from its socket, spraying the others with droplets of gore as it tossed the detached limb into a corner of the chamber and let Epaltes fall to the floor.

‘By all the gods!’ Omeros exclaimed.

‘How do we fight that ?’ Eurybates asked, slipping his shield onto his arm and picking up a spear.

‘We must try to cut off its arms and legs,’ Odysseus replied, drawing his sword from its scabbard. ‘Strike at the joints – it’s our only hope.’

After a glance at Diomedes, who was groggily raising himself from the pile of spears, he led the Ithacans into the fray. The skeleton had picked up Epaltes’s sword and was fighting the Argives, bronze against bronze. But the superior numbers of the warriors counted for nothing: the stabbing and slashing of their weapons were ineffectual, whereas a single sweep of the fiend’s sword took the head clean off one man’s shoulders, and a second blow – delivered with devastating speed – pierced the heart of another, killing him instantly. Eperitus rushed into the gap left by the slain man and, remembering his king’s words, sliced down at the skeleton’s elbow joint. It was as if he had struck stone. The impact vibrated up his arm and the sword fell from his numbed hand. The monster opened its jaws in a silent cry of hatred, but Eperitus ducked away just in time as its blade cleaved the air above his head.