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

But they had gained only a minor success, temporarily driving away a company of cavalry and dinting the confidence of their enemies; the greater battle was far from over. As the rear ranks of the Trojan foot soldiers turned their shields, spears and bows towards the newcomers, a second unit of cavalry began forming up to charge. Eperitus glanced across at Odysseus, flanked on either side by Polites, Eurybates and Omeros, their spears tipped with dark blood. The king caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow in typically understated fashion at their dilemma. As Neoptolemus saw the forces gathering against them he laughed aloud, his veins flowing with reckless confidence, as if he had not only inherited his father’s armour but his indestructibility also. Levelling his great ash spear above his shoulder, he cast it at the line of cavalry and plucked a rider from his mount, sending him tumbling to his ruin in the dust.

A shout of anger erupted from the Trojans. A single horseman burst from the mass of beasts and men and galloped at the lone figure of Neoptolemus, a long spear couched beneath his arm and aimed at the warrior’s chest. Eperitus saw him and cursed: it was Apheidas. For a moment he was at a loss, wanting to see his father dead and yet not by the hand of Neoptolemus, or anyone other than himself. The Trojan cavalry were charging in the wake of their commander and Eperitus heard the voice of Diomedes calling for his men to close ranks. On the walls, Trojans and Greeks cried out the name of Achilles – the former in dismay and the latter as a rallying cry – and the fighting broke out again with renewed vigour. Then, as Eperitus seized his spear and resolved to run out to face his father, Odysseus grabbed him and pulled him back. Eperitus tried to release himself, but the king held him tight and pressed the whiskers of his beard close to his ear, so that he would be heard over the din of battle.

‘It’s too late,’ he said, guessing what was on his captain’s mind. ‘Run out there now and you’ll be killed for certain. All you can do is ask the gods to save him for you, if that’s what you want.’

Eperitus watched Apheidas galloping down on Neoptolemus, the wind trailing his hair and cloak behind him, and knew Odysseus spoke the truth. With a bitter scowl, he called on Athena to protect the man whose death he had craved all his adult life, promising her the sacrifice of an unblemished lamb if she saved him from Achilles’s son. No sooner had he spat the words from his mouth than the terrifying hum of hundreds of bowstrings filled the air. The Greeks instinctively ducked behind their shields, but their caution was unnecessary: the Trojan archers had loosed their arrows at the reincarnation of Achilles, whose unexpected appearance had filled them with dread and a determination to send him back to the Underworld. The murderous shafts poured towards the splendidly armoured figure, forcing Apheidas to break off his charge and steer his mount away from the fall of shot. Neoptolemus crouched low behind his shield, which no earthly arrow could pierce, then rose to his feet again in defiance of the archers and the fast-approaching cavalry. An instant later, he was swallowed up by the wall of charging horses.

Apheidas – still ignorant of his son’s presence – now sent his black stallion galloping towards the knot of enemy spearmen. The rest of his command followed, intent on wiping the small band of Greeks out of existence. While the Argives and Ithacans instinctively closed ranks to form a circular buttress against the fast-approaching cavalry, Eperitus rushed out to meet his father, determined to avenge the deaths of King Pandion and Arceisius. More than ever now he regretted that the spear of Ares had been left back in Pelops’s tomb. Its unerring accuracy would have brought Apheidas down in the dust, even at that distance, but Agamemnon had given strict orders that his ancestor’s crypt was not to be plundered. And so Eperitus pulled his spear behind his shoulder, aimed at his father’s chest and waited for him to come nearer.

The second volley of arrows hit the Greeks with a silent whisper. Diomedes and Odysseus had shouted warnings, but Eperitus – aware of nothing but the charging figure of his father – did not realise his danger until the bronze tip of an arrow tore into the muscle of his right thigh. It was as if his leg had been knocked from beneath him by a giant hammer, toppling him backwards so that his armoured body met the ground with a thud. He lay there like a stricken titan, momentarily paralysed by the pain of his wound and the approach of unconsciousness. His vision began to fade, like a funnel into which a dark liquid was being poured, and he was dimly aware of the thunder of hooves rising up through the ground and into his ribs. There was a mingled odour of dust, sweat and horses, too, and he knew he only had moments now to live.

Then a strong hand seized the back of his breastplate – the thick knuckles digging into the nape of his neck – and began dragging him at speed through the long grass. His vision cleared again, and he almost shouted in terror as he saw the Trojan cavalry bearing down on him less than a spear’s cast away, their well-bred mounts steaming and snorting as their riders drove them madly on into battle. More hands were hooked beneath Eperitus’s shoulders and he was hauled rapidly through a gap in the Greek line, before being dropped hastily into the grass. He caught a brief sight of Eurybates and Omeros standing over him, and then Polites – whose vast strength had pulled him to safety – before the Ithacans were turning and rejoining the double-ranked ring of Argives, ready to meet the Trojan onslaught.

Grimacing with pain, Eperitus drew himself up on one elbow and placed a hand on the sword slung beneath his left arm. The Greeks had one hope if they were to survive the charge – to stand firm and not flee, whatever their impulses might scream at them to do. It was rare that a horse would ride into an unbroken barrier of shields and spears; instead, its instincts would drive it around the sides with the rest of the herd, losing the impact of the charge and compelling its rider to attack his enemy side-on. But if one man in the shield wall lost his courage and ran, the gap he left would be like an open gate, inviting the cavalry to surge in and tear the Greeks apart from within. Eperitus had seen it happen on many occasions, and the memory of those massacres made him tense as the din of hooves reached its climax.

The Greeks held their nerve. The vast body of horses rushed past and around them, accompanied by the shouts and curses of their riders. A spear thudded into the ground beside Eperitus and he felt a body crash down behind him, though whether Greek or Trojan he could not tell in the confusion. A mounted warrior appeared, framed in the circle of blue sky above the heads of Omeros and Polites, but Eurybates pierced his throat with his spear. Suddenly there were horsemen on every side, hacking at the shields and spear points of the Greeks. The clang of bronze filled the air and for a while Eperitus feared his comrades would be overwhelmed by the sheer number of Trojans. But the horsemen were disadvantaged by having to present their unshielded flanks to the Greeks in order to wield their spears and swords, and many were brought down. After a brief but fierce fight, Eperitus heard the unmistakeable voice of his father calling out from behind them. The Trojans began to pull away.

Now a shadow fell across him and he looked up to see the outline of Odysseus, black against the slowly rising sun. He knelt down without a word and inspected his friend’s leg. The arrow was still buried in the muscle at the back of his thigh, and Odysseus probed the area gently with his fingertips, causing Eperitus to wince.

‘Despite your best efforts to kill yourself,’ the king commented, still studiously examining the wound, ‘it seems the gods have taken mercy on you. The arrow appears to have missed the bone and the main arteries, but we’re in the middle of a battle and we can’t just leave it in there.’