Glyn Iliffe - The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

His supporters exploded back into life. Eperitus, now flat on his back, saw the terrible anger in Polites’s eyes as he reached down and picked him up, lifting him above his head as if he were no more than a child. With a huge grunt, he hurled the Ithacan across the circle of men to land in a heap at the feet of Arceisius.

For a moment Eperitus’s vision was filled with flashes of light, beyond which the world seemed to be spinning about him in a whirl of faces and trees set against a cloudy sky. His whole body was awash with pain, a thousand spear-points of agony stabbing at him relentlessly, and his ears were filled with the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. Then he saw Arceisius’s face bending close, his lips moving urgently.

‘Sir, he’s coming again!’ he said, his voice distant and muffled by the blood pumping through Eperitus’s ears.

Suddenly, with a rush and a loud pop, his senses returned to him. Seeing the looming figure of Polites approaching from the corner of his vision, he thrust aside his pain and rolled onto his hands and knees, springing away just as the giant leapt towards him. With his brain beating hard against the inside of his skull and every muscle in his body protesting at the movement that was forced upon them, Eperitus sprinted to the opposite side of the human arena and, gasping, twisted about to face Polites, who had turned and was coming at him again, his massive body covered in sweat, dust and blood.

Then Eperitus’s fighting instinct came back to him. New strength filled his limbs and his senses sharpened to a fine point once more. His eyes searched the arena for anything that would give him an advantage, acutely aware that Polites was closing on him. Beyond the circle of Thessalians, he heard the faint rustle of undergrowth trodden under careful feet, and the small sounds of armour and weapons knocking against each other. Odysseus was coming.

‘This time I will kill you,’ Polites announced in a deep, slow voice, staring at Eperitus with a mixture of frustration and hatred.

Sensing the brigands close once more behind him, Eperitus knelt swiftly and picked up the rock he had spotted a moment before. It was smooth, round and large and he had to splay his fingers to fit it in his hand. Raising it above his head, he watched with satisfaction as the look on Polites’s face turned to fear and doubt. Then he took aim and threw the rock, hitting the giant square on the forehead. Polites looked at him blankly for a moment, his eyes blinking, before toppling backwards with all the slowness and rigidity of a felled tree.

There was a moment of silence, followed by uproar. The short bandit pushed Arceisius aside and leapt forward, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he rushed across to where Eperitus was now being held by the others, his arms pinned behind his back.

‘HALT!’ boomed a voice from the slopes above.

Eperitus turned to see Odysseus standing in the trees, his short legs planted firmly apart in the undergrowth and his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest. Two spears were stuck in the ground beside him and his leather shield was hung across his back. A score of Ithacan soldiers were spread out across the slope, many of them aiming arrows at the bandits.

At the sound of the king’s voice, the Thessalians stopped and looked up. The men holding Eperitus pushed him into the centre of the circle and drew their swords. The rest followed suit, and as the short bandit moved forward to the safety of his comrades Arceisius ran across to join his captain, bringing him his cloak. Eperitus threw the garment about himself, then knelt and pulled his squire down with him, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible if the arrows began to fly.

‘I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes,’ Odysseus announced, his eyes travelling along the raised faces of the bandits. Their shields and spears had been piled in the undergrowth at the foot of the slope – left there as they had formed a circle about Eperitus and Polites – and now no man dared to retrieve them for fear of being shot down by the Ithacan archers. ‘You are in my kingdom without my leave. If you want to live, throw down your swords now.’

‘Don’t be fools,’ the short bandit shouted, looking around at his comrades. ‘If we throw down our weapons they’ll massacre us all. Keep your swords, lads; there are more of us than them – we can still make a fight of it.’

‘Think about what you’re doing,’ Odysseus warned, glaring sternly at them. ‘You are trespassers here, and by right I could have had you shot down where you stand moments ago. Don’t forget, this is my kingdom – I have an army at my command. The trees all around you are filled with concealed archers; all I have to do is give the word and you will all perish. Antiphus!’

A scruffy archer with a large nose and hollow cheeks stepped forward. He held a tall bow in his right hand, the fore and middle fingers of which had been cut off – a punishment for poaching in his youth. Undeterred, he had simply taught himself to draw the bowstring with his left hand instead, and now stared straight down the shaft of the arrow at the bandit leader. The Thessalian shifted uncomfortably but retained his hold on his sword, whilst his comrades looked nervously at the trees around them, wondering how many more archers were hidden in the undergrowth.

‘But I have no intention of murdering you,’ Odysseus continued, breaking his harsh stare with a smile. ‘I know you’re not common brigands, and by the looks of you, you were soldiers once. Thessalians, too – a proud and fearsome people.’ There was a murmur of approval from the men on the road. ‘If you throw down your arms and take a solemn oath before all the gods not to return to my kingdom, I will allow you safe passage back to the mainland. I’ll even give you provisions for a week. What do you say?’

The Thessalians looked at each other, talking and nodding in low voices, then one by one began to throw down their weapons.

‘Cowards!’ the short bandit shouted at them. ‘Idiots! Can’t you see he’s lying?’

Suddenly the twang of a bowstring sang out from the trees. The bandit staggered backwards, the long shaft of an arrow sticking out from his chest. He clutched at it briefly, trying to pull it free, then the strength drained from his fingers and he fell lifeless to the ground.

Shocked, Eperitus looked up the slope. Instantly his eyes fell on the plump figure of Eurylochus, Odysseus’s cousin, his hand still hanging in the air by his ear but the string of his bow empty. There was an arrogant, self-satisfied sneer on his face as he peered down at the man he had shot.

In the moment of shocked silence that followed, Eperitus quickly turned and saw a sword lying in the grass not far from him, where its owner had thrown it down in surrender. Now, though, surrender was the last thing in any of the Thessalians’ minds and suddenly they were reaching for the weapons they had cast away. Eperitus sprang forward and swung his fist into the face of a bandit as he stretched a hand towards the sword. The man fell backwards and Eperitus snatched up the weapon, hacking off the outstretched arm of another of the Thessalians as he plucked his own blade from the dust. Arrows were flying all around and men were crying out as they fell. Eperitus grabbed the discarded sword of the warrior whose arm he had severed and tossed it towards Arceisius.

‘Here, lad, use this,’ he shouted, ‘and stick close to me.’

Up on the slope, the Ithacan guardsmen had formed a line of spears either side of Odysseus and were charging down at the lightly armed bandits, howling like Furies as they came. Eperitus smiled grimly to see the men he had trained go into battle – many for the first time – wishing he were with them. Then he sensed movement behind him and turned to see that three of the surviving Thessalians were running directly at him, brandishing their swords. Now, more than ever, Eperitus longed for the comforting weight of his grandfather’s leather shield on his arm and rued the fact that, due to his disguise, it had been left leaning idly against a tree at their camp. The first attacker reached him ahead of his comrades and swung his sword down at his head. Eperitus met the blow with his own blade, then threw the Thessalian’s arm back and arced his weapon down across his face, slicing through his left eye and the bridge of his nose. The man staggered backwards and fell down the slope on the opposite side of the road.