The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus stared out at the thick mist, raising his chin a little as he focussed his hearing on sounds that were beyond the gentle creaking of the long oars in their leather loops and the swish and trickle of water across the blades. As he concentrated he began to hear things the others could not, noises diminished by distance that took a few moments to understand. With them came odours and aromas, and different tastes carried on the air, all of them delicate and insubstantial, but nevertheless distinct to his raised perceptivity.

‘I can hear crowds of gulls,’ he began, ‘squabbling and cawing like they used to on the cliffs and hillsides around Ithaca. And waves crashing against rocks. There’s a stink of seaweed and wet stone, but with a hint of soil and vegetation. It’s definitely land, though I can’t say whether it’s Lemnos or not.’

‘It is,’ Odysseus said confidently. ‘Which way?’

Eperitus pointed at an angle to the bearing they were travelling along. Odysseus gave a satisfied smile and glanced back over his shoulder.

‘North a little, Antiphus.’

The man at the helm nodded, a determined look on his face as he leaned the twin steering oars to the left.

‘I’m going to the prow,’ Odysseus announced. ‘I remember the rocks the first time we came here, and the last thing I want is one of them popping up out of this fog and tearing a hole in the hull.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Eperitus said.

‘No need,’ Odysseus replied, placing an arresting hand on his broad chest. ‘Why don’t you stay here and make sure the anchor stones are ready? You can prepare the boat, too, while you’re at it.’

The fact the anchor stones and the small rowing boat could be quickly readied by any of the seasoned crew made Eperitus suspicious, and when Odysseus added one of his reassuring smiles he felt sure he was hiding something. Not that there was any point in questioning him; after twenty years as the king’s friend, Eperitus knew he would not reveal anything he did not have a mind to.

Odysseus bent down to pick up a bundle of fur and a wooden club that were stowed beneath one of the rowing benches.

‘That’s Agamemnon’s lion’s pelt, isn’t it?’ Diomedes said.

‘I borrowed it from him,’ Odysseus explained innocently.

‘What in Athena’s name do you want that for? And what’s the point of the club? If you’re planning to beat Philoctetes to death, don’t forget Calchas said we need to bring him back to Troy alive.’

‘Philoctetes probably perished years ago,’ Odysseus replied, ‘especially with that stinking wound of his. The important thing is to find his bow and arrows.’

Eperitus and Diomedes watched him walk down the centre of the galley, pausing halfway beside a gigantic warrior crammed onto the end of one of the benches. Odysseus leaned down and spoke close to the man’s ear, then handed him the lion’s pelt and the club before continuing to the prow.

‘Why’s he giving them to Polites?’ Diomedes asked. ‘He’s definitely up to something.’

Eperitus nodded. ‘But what?’

‘Some trick or other, no doubt.’

‘No, he promised me he’d act honourably, especially after the unjust way Philoctetes was marooned on Lemnos. All because the poor wretch was bitten by a snake.’

‘It was a harsh decision, but perhaps the years have helped us forget the stench of the wound and how he used to groan and wail.’

‘We were too harsh, my lord,’ Antiphus interrupted from his position at the twin rudder. As an archer himself, he had always empathised with Philoctetes. ‘With the bow and arrows Heracles gave him he could have ended the war in the first year. Hector and Paris were the backbone of the Trojan army, but two shots from Philoctetes would have brought them down in the dust and left the gates of Troy virtually undefended.’

‘Then perhaps it was the will of the gods that we abandoned him on Lemnos,’ Diomedes replied. ‘Though if he has survived, I wouldn’t want to fall foul of him if he still has his weapons. A good reason for us to remind Odysseus of what we agreed, don’t you think Eperitus?’

Eperitus nodded.

‘Omeros,’ he barked, staring at a lad who was sitting with his back against the side of the ship, busily restringing a tortoiseshell lyre, ‘put that damned thing away and make the boat ready. Get Elpenor to help you. And I want my breastplate, greaves and sword ready the moment we’re at anchor. If I find you’ve been spending more time on that instrument than you have cleaning and oiling my armour then you’ll only have yourself to blame for the consequences.’