The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Polites lifted him easily onto the back of the horse and passed him the reins. Looking quickly about, Eperitus could see the Argives had lost a few men to the attack but were standing firm beneath the command of Diomedes. Meanwhile, the battle around the walls of the camp had grown in fury. The parapet had been cleansed of Trojans and was now manned by Greek archers – led by Philoctetes – who were exchanging fire with the Trojan skirmishers on the plain below. Between them, the Greeks under Agamemnon and Menelaus had temporarily regained the gates, but had been pushed back by the cavalry while Eurypylus and Deiphobus – two figures in flashing armour at the forefront of the Trojan army – rallied their spearmen for another attack. Apheidas was nowhere to be seen, but to Eperitus’s amazement he saw a figure rise from a pile of dead horses and men further back on the battlefield. He was covered in blood and dust, and staggered drunkenly as he searched for something among the bodies around him, but the red plume of his helmet and the gleam of his great shield – despite its covering of filth and gore – put the man’s identity beyond doubt. Somehow Neoptolemus had survived the wall of Trojan cavalry. He plucked his father’s great ash spear from the body of a dead horse and turned to face the struggle before the walls. As he did so, a soldier on the battlements spotted him and called out the name of Achilles. Others joined in the cry and the spearmen under Eurypylus and Deiphobus looked over their shoulders in awe, unable to believe that the man who had struck fear into their hearts earlier had risen yet again from the dead.

The shock did not last long. Hundreds of archers turned their arrows away from the walls of the camp and aimed them instead at Neoptolemus. Before they could loose their lethal darts, though, Eurypylus shouted a deep-voiced command and every bow was lowered. Behind him, the Trojan cavalry broke off their attack on the Greeks and withdrew. The clash of weapons ceased altogether and men fell silent as Eurypylus walked towards the lone warrior. Deiphobus followed him and took him by the arm, speaking quietly but urgently in his ear. Eurypylus shrugged him off with an irritated gesture then strode out onto the empty plain, raising his spear above his head.

‘I am Eurypylus, son of Telephus, of the line of Heracles,’ he announced in Greek. ‘If the voices on the walls are to be believed, you are Achilles, son of Peleus. But Achilles fell to the arrows of Paris and his ghost is condemned to eternity in the Chambers of Decay, so who are you? Declare your name and lineage, so I can know whether you’re worthy of that armour you wear, which I will soon be claiming for myself.’

‘I’ve heard your name spoken back home on Scyros,’ Neoptolemus replied. ‘There they say you are a coward, watching from behind your mother’s skirts as your grandfather’s kingdom is slowly strangled to death. Well, I see the rumours aren’t entirely true: you’ve found the stomach to fight at least, though whether it was your decision or your mother’s I cannot tell.

‘As for me, I am Neoptolemus, son of Achilles. This armour you covet once belonged to him, but now it is mine. Vain words alone will not change that, Eurypylus, so let’s see how well your mother taught you to fight.’

Eurypylus gave a sneering laugh. ‘Better than your father taught you, boy.’

Tossing his spear into the air and catching it, he drew it back and launched it with a single, easy motion. Neoptolemus raised his shield just in time, deflecting the great bronze point so that it skipped over his head and clattered through the parched grass behind. Neoptolemus lowered his shield again and stared hard at Eurypylus, as if the Mysian king had thrown nothing more than an insult. Then, with a cry of pure hatred, he charged.

Eurypylus slid his sword from its scabbard and advanced to meet his opponent. Neoptolemus lunged at him with his father’s monstrous spear, ripping the shield from the Mysian’s shoulder and almost pulling his arm out of its socket. Eurypylus gave a roar of pain, which quickly turned to anger as he swung his sword at the younger warrior’s head. Neoptolemus caught the blow on his shield and the clang of bronze echoed back from the walls of the camp. He stabbed out with the point of his spear, missing Eurypylus’s abdomen by a fraction as the king twisted aside and backed away.