The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

It was then that one of the Trojans turned and saw the newcomers. Confused as to why a group of spearmen were behind the cavalry and not in the thick of the fighting, he reined his horse about and trotted towards them for a closer look. An expression of alarm spread across his features and he pulled up sharply, turning his mount to the left. He shouted a warning to his countrymen, just as Neoptolemus ran forward and hurled his father’s spear at him. The bronze point drove clean through his leather cuirass and pulled him bodily from his horse, sending him crashing to the ground. Neoptolemus yelled in triumph and ran to retrieve his spear from his first kill. Several cavalrymen turned at the commotion behind them, their faces instantly transformed with fear at the sight of the enemy warriors. Then Odysseus dropped his hand and sixty spears flew through the air towards the startled Trojans.

Chapter Twenty-three

NEOPTOLEMUS AND EURYPYLUS

The volley of spears was followed by the anguished cries of men and the whinnies of dying horses. Panic tore through the orderly ranks of the Trojans as mounts crashed to the ground in clouds of dust and riders struggled to control their startled beasts. Eperitus’s weapon had hit the base of his target’s spine, sending him twisting in bloody agony from the back of his horse. Gripping his remaining spear, he joined the Argives and Ithacans as they rushed the confused cavalrymen. Odysseus and Diomedes led the charging Greeks, but ahead of them all was Neoptolemus, his father’s spear retrieved and held out before him. A Trojan noble, resplendent in his cuirass of overlapping bronze scales and his boars’ tusk helmet, dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and came out to meet him. Neoptolemus’s spear found his chest with stunning speed and the man toppled back from his horse, a look of shock on his face. In a single, fluid movement, Neoptolemus drew out his sword and hewed the man’s head from his shoulders. Then the line of advancing Greeks swept past him and smashed into the frightened mass of their enemies.

Eperitus’s weapon found the throat of an ageing rider, dyeing his white beard red as the blood gushed out over his chest. He sensed a looming presence to his left and turned with his shield to meet the jabbing spear point of another horseman. The man’s thrust lacked the momentum of a full charge, though, and was easily brushed aside as Eperitus’s spear simultaneously found his attacker’s upper arm, tearing through the unprotected muscle. Dropping his weapon with a cry of pain, the Trojan flicked back his heels and sent his mount galloping out of the melee and away to safety across the plain.

Others were not so fortunate. The ruin of dead horses and riders was all about, but the worst of the destruction was piled around Neoptolemus. Standing amid the corpses of men and beasts, he dealt out death with a speed and ferocity that reminded Eperitus of Achilles. He wielded the great shield as if it were a wooden toy, parrying every blow that his attackers dared aim at him, while his sword found their flesh again and again until it was running with gore. Then, as Eperitus watched in silent admiration, someone pointed at the god-made armour that had so awed and terrified the Trojans in earlier battles. A cry of dismay went up and Neoptolemus’s enemies fell back, leaving a ring of annihilation around him. The shout was repeated, spreading quickly through the hundreds of closely packed horsemen, and though they outnumbered their foes several times over they began to withdraw from the fight, some of the horses rearing and flailing the air in panic as they retreated. The shouts were in the Trojan tongue, but Eperitus understood them and smiled.

‘Achilles! Achilles has returned from the dead!’

Now the mauled cavalry were streaming away, fleeing in horror at the return of the man they feared more than any other – a man who had seemingly defeated death itself and come back from the halls of Hades. The infantry and archers that still seethed about the walls like boiling water now glanced uncertainly over their shoulders, seeing hundreds of horsemen break and flee with the name of Achilles on their lips. And then, out of the dust of battle strode the very image of the dread warrior, his armour gleaming as he tugged his spear from the chest of one of his victims. A line of warriors followed in his wake, their number exaggerated by fear and the swirling dust, so that the Trojans began to feel uncertain of the victory that for a moment they thought they had won. All this Eperitus could see in the faces that were now turned towards them, and in an instant he understood the value of Neoptolemus – this second Achilles – and why he would be so important to the final destruction of Troy.