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

‘Come on,’ Neoptolemus encouraged them. ‘Agamemnon ordered that no stone was to be left standing on another. Tear this place down; take what you want, including the women – you’ve earned it. Then burn it to the ground!’

Odysseus watched Hecabe drag herself to her feet, only to be knocked down again by the stampeding soldiers. A spearman paused beside her, stooped down and proceeded to tear at the old woman’s clothing. Odysseus kicked him onto his back and pressed the point of his sword against his throat.

‘Leave her alone,’ he hissed.

The Myrmidon stared back at him angrily, then dragged himself back on his elbows and pushed the weapon aside.

‘Your welcome to the old hag,’ he replied with a sneer, before leaping to his feet and running into the temple.

Screams were now emanating from the open doorway. Odysseus looked up wearily and saw Neoptolemus still standing on the steps, wiping his blade on Priam’s cloak. The Ithacan fought to control his anger before walking up to Achilles’s son.

‘You’ve earned your father’s armour tonight, Neoptolemus,’ he began. ‘Achilles was a savage man, but I never thought I’d see his brutality outdone.’

Neoptolemus laughed at his contempt.

‘Wasn’t this what you brought me here to do, Odysseus? To fulfil the oracle and end the royal line of Troy? Then don’t complain if I choose to accomplish my destiny with as much cruelty and ruthlessness as is necessary.’

‘The royal line isn’t ended yet,’ Odysseus told him, then turned his back on the prince and walked over to Hecabe.

‘Come with me,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

Chapter Forty-two

T HE S NAKE P IT

Eperitus’s feet hit the earthen floor where the flames of the torch had cleared a circle among the writhing mass of snakes. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell onto his front, only to feel a searing pain shoot through his arm. His first thought was that he had been bitten, but as he rolled away he felt the heat of the torch and realised he had been burned. He lay there for two or three heartbeats, listening with horror to the hiss of the snakes all around him, then pushed himself up onto his haunches.

His fingers closed about the stem of the torch and he swung it round in an arc. It fluttered briefly and blazed up again, revealing a sight that filled him with revulsion. A sea of serpentine bodies surrounded him, squirming and thrashing as they retreated from the flame. Dozens of heads rose up, exposing pink, ribbed mouths with fangs that glistened in the torchlight. The sight of them made him nauseous, contracting his stomach muscles so tightly that he had to press his hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. He swivelled on one foot and swept the torch in a circle about himself, forcing the snakes as far back as he could while he searched for Astynome among them. She was nowhere to be seen and for a horrifying moment he imagined her body had already been lost beneath the vile creatures. Despair gripped him, knowing that no-one could survive the venomous bite of even one snake, let alone so many.

It was the darkest moment he could remember since the murder of his daughter. He had been powerless, then, to stop Agamemnon from sacrificing Iphigenia to appease the gods, and now he had failed Astynome too. Apheidas had murdered her and deprived him of his only joy in life, his only hope for the future. A blackness descended on his heart. He looked around at the countless snakes surrounding him and pictured them crawling closer and closer, finally darting towards him and burying their fangs deep into his flesh. And when death had overcome him they would cover his body with theirs, just as somewhere in that wide pit they had already covered Astynome’s. It seemed an ironic end – so different to the glorious death he had always expected – and yet he supposed it would be easy enough. He lowered the torch and watched as the serpents stopped retreating before it.

Then he heard a noise – small, almost lost among the constant, menacing hiss. A sob. Quickly, he raised the torch and held it in the direction of the sound. Another sob was followed by a low moan, and then he saw her, a black-robed figure lying on the steps above the deadly reach of the creatures below. Life and the desperate love of it came rushing back into Eperitus’s veins.

‘Astynome!’

He waved the torch in another circle about him, driving the snakes back again, but the torch was dying and he knew time was running out.

‘Astynome, can you hear me?’

The crumpled figure groaned again and began to move. There was a squeal of pain followed by a sharp intake of breath, but she raised her head and looked at him groggily.

‘Eperitus?’

‘Yes, it’s me. Are you badly hurt?’

‘Gods!’ she exclaimed, pushing herself up on her elbows. ‘The snakes!’

‘You’re safe. You landed on the steps, but you might have broken something.’

‘I think I’ve sprained my ankle. I don’t know if it’s broken, though.’

‘Wait, I’ll come to you.’

‘But the snakes –’

‘Don’t move, Astynome.’

Eperitus looked down at the floor and the mass of legless, lipless creatures that carpeted it. The flame sputtered, its light already receding so that the hundreds of snakes became a single, glistening throng that coiled and slithered in the shadows all about him, their eyes momentarily reflecting the fire as he passed the torch this way and that. Again he felt his stomach muscles tighten and he had to fight the weakness in his limbs that forbade him to take the first step. Then he recalled Apheidas’s words: that for a man to conquer his fears he had to face them. He thought, too, of what his father had told him about being bitten as a child, a traumatic memory that his mind had buried deep in his unconscious to leave only a fear and loathing of snakes behind. But the gods had protected him then and they would protect him now.

He took a step towards Astynome and the snakes retreated before his torch, though not as far as he would have liked. He threw a glance at the foot of the stairs, not wanting to take his eyes for more than a moment from the deadly reptiles that surrounded him. The steps were still five or six paces away, not nearly close enough to jump onto, and stopped half a man’s height above the floor.

‘The torch’s going out,’ Astynome warned, desperation entering her voice.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got an idea.’

Ideas were more Odysseus’s domain than his own, but fear had sharpened his mind and he knew there was but one chance to get out alive. He waved the torch again and took another step towards Astynome. The snakes moved back, but only a little. One unfortunate strike now might reach him. Quickly, he slipped his grandfather’s shield from his back and let it lean against his shoulder, while with his free hand he untied the knot in its leather sling and loosened the excess. He pulled his dagger from his belt and cut the sling, winding one end tightly around his wrist.

‘ Eperitus !’

The torch fizzled and went out. He tossed it aside and threw the broad shield down onto the coiling, twisting brood before him. There was a sharp hiss and a snap from behind: one of the snakes had darted at him and missed. Eperitus jumped onto the shield, feeling the soft, spongy mass beneath the leather as he sprang off again and reached for the stairs. Somehow he found them, his ribs colliding painfully with the stone steps, despite his breastplate, as he clawed his way to safety. He sensed bodies striking at the air about his ankles and then he was up, safe, with Astynome sobbing as she tried frantically to haul his heavy bulk higher up the steps.