The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

He raised his leg to show a foot bandaged in cloth that was black with filth. As he did so he gave out a cry of anguished despair and fell back against a boulder, beating the stone with the flat of his free hand and raising a scream to the invisible skies above, where he knew the gods remained indifferent to his pain. Eperitus caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see that Eurylochus had taken a step forward. His hand was cupped over his mouth and nose to filter out some of the reek of Philoctetes’s wound, and in his eyes Eperitus could see he was debating whether to leap up the rocks and take the bow and arrows by force while their owner was paralysed with agony. Then, before Eurylochus could make his decision, the screaming ended in another fit of coughing and Philoctetes slid himself back up against the boulder. He raised his bow and drew back the arrow once more, though weakly, and aimed it at the men below.

‘So who are you?’ he called in a tired voice. ‘Do you have any lineage to speak of? And what in the name of Heracles brings you to this forsaken place?’

‘As for whom I am, you know me already,’ Diomedes answered, tipping back his hood. ‘I am Diomedes, son of Tydeus. I have come to ask if you will rejoin the army and fight with us against Troy.’

Philoctetes did not move. His eyes narrowed slightly as they stared down the shaft of the arrow at the king of Argos, but he said nothing. Then a flicker of anger touched his twisted features. He gripped the bow tightly and drew the string back to his sneering lip.

‘He prayed you would come one day,’ he said, heavy tears swelling up in the corners of his eyes before rolling down his filthy cheeks and into his beard. ‘Philoctetes prayed you would come back for him, snivelling like curs, pleading for him and his arrows to save your worthless skins. He prayed for this day so hard and so long, to Heracles and any god who would listen, offering the only sacrifices his kingdom of rocks could provide – birds, fish and crabs! Have you ever tried to sacrifice a crab, Diomedes? Do the gods even accept such meagre sacrifices? But of course they do, or why else have you come?’

‘Indeed, why else have we come, Philoctetes, unless it was the gods who sent us? The Greeks have need of your bow and arrows and Agamemnon himself requests that you return to the army and help us secure the final victory over Priam.’

‘Agamemnon!’ Philoctetes spat. ‘What does Philoctetes care for that man and his requests? What service does Philoctetes owe to him, or to any of you for that matter? How long has it been since you abandoned him here? It must be at least five years by now.’

‘It’s ten.’

‘Ten!’ Philoctetes reeled back, bearing his blackened teeth in a snarl and slapping repeatedly at the boulder with the flat of his hand. ‘Ten years alone, with nothing but seagulls and his hatred of the Greeks to keep him company! In the name of Heracles, can it have been so long?’

‘Be glad it doesn’t have to be any longer,’ Diomedes said, a little impatiently. ‘What’s more, Agamemnon realises you were wronged when we left you here and doesn’t expect you to return to the army without compensation. He offers seven copper tripods and cauldrons to go with them, never touched by fire, along with ten ingots of gold and three slave women trained in all the household arts. These are fine gifts, Philoctetes, and you will bring yourself great honour by accepting them.’

Philoctetes was half lost in a sheet of fog that had rolled down from the cliff tops above, but his husky voice was clearly audible in the damp air.

‘Philoctetes always liked you, Diomedes. You were one of the few kings who had a shred of decency in them. Yet you don’t have Odysseus’s powers of persuasion, or that honeyed voice of his; indeed, you make Agamemnon’s gifts sound as exciting as roast seagull. The King of Men should have sent Odysseus instead; Philoctetes could have enjoyed the skill of his arguments, and then had the satisfaction of shooting him dead in payment for marooning him here! Now go back in your ship and tell Agamemnon to keep his offer. Philoctetes doesn’t need cauldrons or gold – not here – and any “honour” attached to them would be more than compensated for by the shame of serving an army that betrayed him!’

‘Then forget the gifts,’ Diomedes snapped, jabbing his finger at the mist-shrouded figure above. ‘Forget Agamemnon, forget the army, forget the oath we took to protect Helen. If you’re so twisted with hatred of your own countrymen –’

‘Curse all Greeks!’