King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

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 . . .’