King of Ithaca (22 page)

‘Wait!’ he said, catching up with his comrades. ‘If we rush straight into the fight the Taphians will still have the advantage of the higher ground; if we go around and attack them from behind we’ll throw them into panic.’

Mentor looked up the hill, weighing up the suggestion as he watched the tight skirmish in which his lord and friend was fighting. ‘Then we’ll need to be quick. Come on.’

Carrying their spears at their sides they set off at an even run. A goat track led around to the other side of the hill and made the climb much quicker. Soon they were ascending from the other side of the hill and forming a line behind the Taphians.

The sight that greeted them was a desperate one. The Ithacans had by now been encircled by the greater mass of their foes, and bodies and broken or discarded weapons lay strewn all around. Odysseus’s squat, muscular form stood out in the centre of his men, fighting off two Taphians as if he were fresh to the battle. At his side was Halitherses, straining shield-to-shield against another of the mercenaries.

As he had done at Parnassus, Eperitus launched one of his spears into the back of an enemy soldier, then charged at the remainder. Another warrior turned in shock at the death of his comrade, only to receive Eperitus’s second spear point in his throat. The momentum of the thrust snapped the man’s head back and broke his neck, killing him instantly and toppling him to the ground. On either side more Taphians fell to the spears of the others. Still more were killed by Odysseus and his group as they broke through the circle of their stunned foes.

The effect of the attack was devastating. The brief and chaotic butchery that followed left only seven opponents standing, including Polybus, and these withdrew steadily before the Ithacan onslaught.

Polybus raised his sword and ordered his men forward. They were the last and the best of the Taphians and obeyed the command without compunction, whilst Polybus turned his back on them and ran. Halitherses and Mentor stood at each end of the rank of Ithacans and ordered them to stand firm and meet the attack. But as the two lines met a hand fell on Eperitus’s shoulder and pulled him out of the battle. It was Odysseus.

‘Come with me. We still haven’t finished that discussion with Polybus yet.’

Antiphus was next to them and heard the prince’s words. ‘I’m coming too,’ he said.

Odysseus did not question him, but simply turned and set off at a run in pursuit of Polybus. They followed him down the reverse slope of the hill, instinctively finding their footing amongst the treacherous boulders and rocks. Already Eperitus could see their quarry before them, running beside the course of a small stream that cut between large, steep hills. The narrow valley was green with the recent rains, and as they reached the swollen watercourse they found a level footpath that gave them more speed. Ahead of them they could see that Polybus had cast off his spear and shield and was stretching the distance between himself and their pursuit. They followed his lead, retaining only their swords and Antiphus’s bow.

Despite the heavy fighting, Odysseus showed no sign of fatigue and soon began to close on Polybus. Eperitus had never seen a man so short and stocky run with such speed, and he and Antiphus had to keep up as best they could. The stream wound its way between the spurs of the hills, which sometimes hid Polybus from sight, only to reveal him again as they passed each bend. Then, just as Eperitus’s legs were tiring beneath him, he saw Polybus head uphill. Odysseus mustered fresh energy and sprinted to where he had left the path, but there he stopped. By the time they had caught up with the prince, Polybus was nowhere in sight.

‘Where did he go?’ Antiphus asked, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Odysseus pointed up the hill. ‘He’s in there.’

They looked up. Another path led to the summit where, surrounded by olive trees and overgrown with scrub, a large stone building stood. Judging by its stern silence it was disused.

‘What is it?’ Eperitus asked.

Odysseus smiled and, as if to himself, said, ‘The temple of Athena.’

Chapter Thirteen

T
HE
T
EMPLE OF
A
THENA

The temple was larger and more impressive than any Eperitus had ever seen before. In Alybas they worshipped at natural places associated with the gods: groves of trees, caves or mountain springs. The only man-made objects were altars and statuettes, perhaps the occasional hut, but nothing so awe-inspiring as this. And yet what had once been a place of beauty and reverence was now a scene of waste and devastation.

They stood by a painted statue of Athena, its once rich colours faded by the sun, and looked through the entrance of the walled compound that surrounded the temple. The decorated wooden doors had been thrown down and lay shattered amidst a chaos of other debris and destruction in the courtyard beyond. Parts of the wall were staved in and the rubble was strewn about at random, punctuated by broken vases, upended tripods, clothing and even an overturned cart. Who, or whatever, had caused such damage had immense strength, and clearly did not fear the wrath of the gods. They drew their swords from their belts and walked in.

Inside the compound they could see the greater extent of the desolation. Half a dozen olive trees – sacred to Athena – had been wrenched out of the ground and left to wither in the sun. There were innumerable shards of pottery spread about, the tatters of ornamental drapes that must once have hung inside the temple itself, and dozens of clay figurines. It looked as if a whirlwind had sucked out the contents of the temple and regurgitated them over the courtyard, then resumed its chaotic path of destruction until there was nothing left to ruin but the plastered stone walls of the building itself.

The temple entrance had once consisted of a pair of doors approached by four broad stone steps. The doors had long since been burst open, while on the steps lay the skeletal remains of a human being. The rotted clothing hanging about it could once have been a priest’s robes, but such was the decay that they could not tell. The body had long since been picked clean of flesh and the bones bleached by the sun, but there was something in those empty eye sockets that retained an unspeakable terror, something about the open jaw that still cried out in silence.

As they stared at the chaos a hideous scream rang from the temple. It rooted them to the ground with its despairing horror, then it was suddenly silenced. Eperitus’s blood ran cold and the hair on the back of his neck was stiff with fear.

‘Goodbye Polybus,’ Odysseus said grimly, staring at the shadowy entrance.

So the serpent was still there, jealously guarding the temple against any who dared enter. Perhaps it had relieved them of the need to take the pursuit any further, but Odysseus would want to make sure that Polybus was dead. He would also want to honour his promise to Athena, though Eperitus hoped he had the good sense to go back for the others first; the thought of encountering another serpent in the darkness, without his spear, his shield or the aid of his comrades, made him sick with fear.

Odysseus, however, had no intention of waiting. He led the way up the steps and into the shadowy interior of the temple, beckoning for the others to follow.

‘What could have made Polybus scream like that?’ Antiphus asked quietly, unslinging his bow and readying an arrow from his quiver. ‘If it caused all that damage back there, it can’t be a man.’

‘It’s a serpent. The spawn of Echidna,’ Odysseus answered, though he offered no account of how he knew.

Antiphus looked at Odysseus in horror. Echidna was a monster of legend, half woman, half snake. A child of hers would be the stuff of nightmares.

They edged further into the shadows, where for a few tense moments their eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom. They had come to the head of a long aisle, flanked on either side by two rows of pillars. The rank-smelling air was thick and oppressive and their limbs felt suddenly heavy with the toil of the battle they had just fought. Then they heard something heavy slithering across the dusty floor at the far end of the temple.

Antiphus leaned his weight against one of the pillars and sought a target for his bow, but could see nothing in the weak light that suffused the interior. Odysseus drew his sword and walked cautiously towards a stone dais at the back of the temple, watching for movement as he passed between the rows of columns. Anxiety for the prince made Eperitus follow closely behind, his sword held before him. Never had he felt so vulnerable, or so naked, without his grandfather’s shield on his arm.

Something glinted on the broad flagstones a few paces ahead of them.

‘Odysseus!’ he hissed, afraid to disturb the sinister silence. ‘Polybus’s sword.’

Odysseus saw the discarded weapon and stopped.

‘The beast must have snatched him out of the darkness,’ he whispered, turning slightly to face Eperitus. ‘He couldn’t have known . . .’

Suddenly the great bulk of the serpent lashed out from the shadows. Eperitus flinched and this was the only warning Odysseus had of the doom that was closing rapidly behind him. In that splinter of time he turned and swept his sword up to defend against the terrific force of the monster’s attack. The blade thumped into its thick neck, but the blow was thrown back without effect. The open jaws and long fangs would have bitten the life out of Odysseus in a moment, had not an arrow from Antiphus’s bow taken the creature in the eye and sent it lashing back into the shadows, hissing with pain.

Eperitus’s shock at the speed of the attack and his companions’ reactions did not hold him for long. Nor did his fear of serpents. In an instant he became a warrior again, aware that death was upon them and his friends were in danger, and without thinking he charged after the retreating coils of the great beast. It sped away as fast as it had come, but in its half-blind confusion smashed into one of the painted pillars, splitting the wood and stalling its flight.

He was upon the monster in an instant. His sword flashed down upon its glistening hide, but just as Odysseus’s blow had bounced off, so did his, unable to pierce the hideous skin. Its scales were like flaps of hardened leather, overlapping each other to form an impervious armour. Eperitus struck again, numbing his arm as the force of his blow was returned twofold by the creature’s defences.

The pain from Antiphus’s arrow had caused the serpent to momentarily forget the men who had invaded its lair, but as Eperitus’s second blow rebounded from its hide it drew back and cocked its ugly head at him, surveying him with an evil intelligence in its eye. It was bigger than Python and, unlike in the pitch-black cavern at Pythia, there was just enough light to see the monster in its full, terrifying hideousness. It raised itself to the ceiling of the temple – the height of two tall men – but even this represented only one quarter of its full length.

It gave Eperitus no time to recoil in disgust or horror, but darted towards him with the swiftness of an arrow. He could not even raise his sword in defence before its bony head punched the breath out of him and tossed him against one of the pillars like a child’s toy. The impact left him dazed, his senses reeling.

Odysseus leapt to his defence, standing before him and slashing at the giant creature with his sword. At the same time Eperitus heard the twang of Antiphus’s bow and saw the arrow, a speeding sliver of light in the shadows, skitter off the monster’s armoured neck. It had drawn its body up into a coil now to give more force to its attacks, and swayed before Odysseus as it sought the chance to launch itself upon him. In response the prince sought to edge close enough to use his sword on the beast’s softer underbelly, but was repeatedly forced back by its cautious repositioning.

Antiphus knelt to Eperitus’s right and drew his bow again. He wasted another arrow on the tough skin before sweeping out his sword and rushing forward. But before he could reach Odysseus’s side, the serpent flicked its giant tail and threw him back against a pillar, where he lay unmoving. Seeing his comrade dashed aside, Odysseus called on Athena’s name and charged beneath the looming head of the creature. With a huge thrust of his muscular arms he planted his sword in its neck.

The ages-old monster bellowed with rage and pain. It slithered back across the floor to the rear wall of the temple, wrenching the deeply buried weapon from Odysseus’s grasp, and as it moved a large swelling was visible in the middle of its body, slowing it down. So this had been the fate of Polybus, Eperitus thought groggily. Then he heard Mentor behind them, calling Odysseus’s name from the doorway. Eperitus had never taken pleasure from the sound of his voice, but now he rejoiced at it. He only hoped he had brought the others with him.

Looking back at the serpent Eperitus realized that it was not retreating to die from the wound inflicted by Odysseus, but was manoeuvring itself to strike again. He gripped his sword and struggled to his feet, feeling sick and disorientated. His instinctive reaction was to run to Odysseus’s defence, but he was too late. The creature opened its slavering jaws to reveal fangs as long as spears, shining blue in the fading light from the temple’s entrance, then hurled itself at the unarmed prince. Odysseus was swept from his feet by the force of the attack, yet somehow managed to seize hold of the brute’s head and hang on to it.

For a moment Eperitus could do nothing but watch as the serpent tried to free itself of Odysseus’s grip, shaking its head like an untamed horse trying to throw its rider. But the man’s strength would not succumb, even when it butted him against the pillars, dislodging showers of dust from the ceiling. And then Eperitus’s fighting rage took him. His repugnance at the sight of the great snake was forgotten and he rushed in to the attack once more, leaping onto its back and forcing his blade between the tight-knit scales. His anger gave him strength and the blade slid between the overlapping plates into soft flesh, releasing a gush of black blood to erupt over his hands and forearms.

Just then he heard a crack and saw Odysseus tossed across the temple, still holding on to the fang which he had torn out of the monster’s jaw. He fell against the stone dais and moved no more. Eperitus tried frantically to drag Polybus’s blade free again to inflict further wounds, but the serpent took no further notice of him. It was intent now on the man who had twice wounded it, maddened to vengeful lust by the pain that swept in great waves through its body, from its dimmed eye to the barbs that had pierced its previously impenetrable flesh. Eperitus’s eyes were fixed on Odysseus, knowing he could not save him now from the serpent, and in that moment he realized all his hopes were about to die with him. Then he heard a cry of anger and Mentor came running out of the shadows.