The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘With respect, my lord,’ Antiphus interrupted, ‘what good will your sword be against the bow and arrows of Heracles? It’s said they never miss their target and the tips are poisonous, so if Philoctetes wants to shoot us dead then our weapons aren’t going to stop him.’

‘I’d rather take my chances with my sword than without it, thank you Antiphus,’ Diomedes replied. ‘Besides, I’ll keep it well hidden beneath my cloak.’

Odysseus slipped his sheathed sword from his shoulder and set it down on a pile of black seaweed.

‘One careless movement of your hand’ll be enough to show you’re armed, Diomedes, and then you’ll only have yourself to blame if Philoctetes gets the idea into his head that we’re not friendly. Either leave your sword here with Polites, or stay by the boat yourself and let Polites take your place.’

Diomedes gave him a surly look, then unbuckled his baldric and placed his sword down beside Odysseus’s. Antiphus’s bow, arrows and dagger were next, followed by the spears and swords of Eurylochus and Eperitus.

‘Good,’ Odysseus said, flicking his hood up to hide his face. ‘Eperitus, lead the way – just follow your sense of smell and we’re bound to find him.’

Eperitus paused to sniff the foul air, then, pulling his cloak about his shoulders, began to pick his way between the seaweed-festooned rocks and the small, dark pools that hid between them. The others followed, except for Polites, who had been given the task of keeping watch over the boat and their weapons while they were away. Glancing back, Eperitus saw Odysseus reach into the boat for a skin of water, which he threw over his shoulder before turning to speak to the giant warrior. His words were too low even for Eperitus’s acute hearing to pick out from the constant cawing of the gulls, and a moment later the king had turned back and was following behind Antiphus.

Eperitus moved with the cliffs to his right – an unending wall that forbade access to the rest of Lemnos and confined them to the narrow, rugged strip of land that skirted the sea. The fog, if anything, was growing thicker. It condensed on his beard and eyelashes to form little droplets of water that would occasionally merge and trickle into his eyes or down his neck. The stench of brine and seagull droppings pervaded everything, but soon even this was eclipsed by the reek Eperitus had first picked up on the galley. The others could smell it too by now and began to complain under their breath or cover their faces with their cloaks. Diomedes and Odysseus both wore scarves to keep the rims of their breastplates from rubbing against their necks, but had pulled them up over their mouths and noses to filter out the foul odour; the others had no choice but to endure it. After a while Eperitus detected a low groaning that reminded him of a battlefield after nightfall, when the fighting had stopped and the opposing armies had settled down by their campfires, only to be haunted by the cries of the wounded among the corpses in-between, calling out for their friends to find them or to the gods to claim their wretched souls. The sound grew nearer, though none of his comrades remarked on it, and he noticed there were no more seagulls on the cliff faces above them. There was something else, too, something his instincts had been aware of for a while but he had not been able until that moment to identify. He realised they were being followed.

‘What’s that?’ Eurylochus hissed, stopping and pointing into the mist.

Eperitus traced the direction of his finger and saw a ring of small, fist-sized stones on a plateau of rock ahead of him. They were grey with ash and a pile of burnt wood lay heaped up between them. Scattered about the remains of the fire were thin white sticks of varying lengths, which Eperitus quickly realised were the bones of seagulls. He could tell the ashes were cold, but by the smell of them they were no older than the previous night. He reached instinctively for his sword and remembered he had left it with Polites.

Odysseus moved past his shoulder and gave the remains of the fire a kick with his heel. The heavier ash that had not been blown away by the sea breeze now rose up in a small cloud about his ankles.

‘It’s recent,’ he declared, slipping his scarf momentarily down from his mouth. ‘He’s here somewhere.’

As he spoke Eperitus sensed a change and realised the groaning had stopped. He raised a finger to his lips, gesturing the others to silence. A number of large boulders had rolled down from the cliff countless years before, forming a clumsy ramp that led up the sheer rock face. Eperitus’s gaze followed the boulders up the side of the cliff, noticing signs of smoothing here and there, as well as smaller stones that seemed to have been put in place to act as steps where the rocks were steepest. And then, as he looked higher up the fog-shrouded precipice, he saw the triangular mouth of a cave.

‘He’s in there,’ he whispered, pointing.