The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

A murmur of interest spread through the group of warriors as they strained to see, but a snapped order from Diomedes silenced them again. He led them back down to the level of the river, where the hill was lost to Eperitus’s sight behind the line of trees. They followed the overgrown track to the eaves of the wood. Here the air was heavy with the pungent odour of damp earth and thick foliage, through which Eperitus could faintly discern the mingled scent of woodsmoke and roasted flesh. Before long they reached a small clearing where the glimmer of the river could be seen through the trees a short distance on the other side. In the centre of the clearing was a pile of blackened, smouldering wood, upon which the burnt thighbones of a sheep or goat were gently smoking. To the left of the pyre was a rough table of stone supported by two boulders. This crude altar was covered in a dark circle of fresh blood that was still dripping onto the trampled grass below.

‘Looks like we’ve disturbed someone in the middle of a sacrifice,’ Diomedes said, entering the clearing and poking at the fire with the point of his spear. ‘The gods won’t be pleased.’

‘This must be the temple of Artemis that Athena mentioned,’ Odysseus said in a low voice to Eperitus, as they looked around at the circular clearing in the wood. ‘And if that’s the case then your guess was right – Pelops’s tomb is just through those trees, on the other side of the river. Come on.’

Without waiting for the others, he crossed the clearing and plunged into the undergrowth. Eperitus strode after him and together they were the first to reach the edge of the wood and see the sombre-looking hill on the opposite bank of the Alpheius. It was unnaturally perfect in shape, as if a giant bowl had been upended in the middle of the level plain, and at this range Eperitus could see it was much larger than he had estimated when he had first seen it from the ridge. Its curved flanks were featureless, covered with long grass and thorn bushes, and though the sun was bright overhead the mound seemed to absorb its light and maintain a dreary dullness.

‘Even a hill as big as that can’t hold too large a maze,’ Eperitus said, trying to quell the despair that had crept into his heart at the sight of the mound.

‘The maze will be below ground,’ Odysseus replied, knowingly. ‘That hill is just the earth they dug out to make it. And that should give you an idea of the size of what lies beneath.’

The river was fordable between the wood and the mound and they crossed it in single file with the water rising no higher than their waists. The olive tree that marked the opening was on the other side of the hill, just as Athena had said it would be. Not wanting to let on to the others that the goddess had spoken to him, Odysseus suggested they look for something that might indicate where the entrance to the maze was. Diomedes obliged almost immediately by pointing to the dead tree. After hacking away the brambles with their swords, they scraped at the earth beneath with a combination of flat rocks and their bare hands until they exposed the top of what appeared to be a wall. The rest was soon uncovered, but before they attempted to knock it in and open the ingress to the labyrinth beyond, Odysseus ordered the men to make torches from the materials they had brought – dowels and rags that had been soaked in animal fat – while he made a small fire to light them with. Finally, after the torches were ready and two Argives had been chosen to remain guard on the outside, Polites slid down into the shallow pit they had dug and splayed his massive hands against the stone blocks of the wall. It gave way easily under his great strength, collapsing in a cloud of dust that swept over him and forced him to turn away, choking loudly as he covered his face with the crook of his arm.

The others crowded round the edge of the pit, Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus foremost, trying to see through the swirling brown haze into the void that had been created. But even Eperitus’s eyes were unable to penetrate the thick blackness beyond the remains of the wall, and after a moment’s hesitation Diomedes ordered one of his men to light a torch and hand it to him. An instant later he was shouldering past Polites and stooping beneath the low entrance to the tomb, holding the flaming brand before him.

‘What do you see?’ Odysseus called after him.

‘It’s a chamber,’ Diomedes replied from the darkness, his voice flat and stifled. ‘Come and see for yourselves.’