The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

The watching armies, which for a few moments had been awed into silence, now shouted encouragement and cheered as the two men circled each other, seeking opportunities to attack. A Mysian soldier tossed his shield out into the long grass and Eurypylus ran towards it, pursued by Neoptolemus. He snatched up the leather and wicker disc just in time to push aside the thrust of the Greek’s spear, then leapt forward with the tip of his sword. It beat Neoptolemus’s guard, slipping inside the edge of his shield and finding his bronze cuirass. But the armour that Neoptolemus wore had not been forged by men in the fires of an earthly smithy. It was the work of the smith-god, Hephaistos, and had never been pierced by any weapon. It turned the point of Eurypylus’s sword with a flash of sparks and the king stepped away in dismay and wonder. Neoptolemus, too, fell back a few paces, looking down at himself as if expecting to see his life’s blood pouring from him. When he realised the invulnerability of his armour, his shock quickly turned to triumph. Gripping the shaft of his father’s spear with both hands, he lunged at Eurypylus. The Mysian raised his shield in defence, but the layered oxhide was no match for the cruel bronze point or the ruthless strength behind it. The spear punched through the shield and found the base of Eurypylus’s throat, passing through the spinal cord with such force that his head was almost torn from his shoulders. The onlookers fell suddenly silent, and as Neoptolemus withdrew his spear and his victim’s body slumped lifeless to the ground the Trojans cried out in grief, while the Greeks shouted to the skies in exultation. Achilles’s son drew his sword and straddled the body of Eurypylus, taking three blows to hack off the head before lifting it by the plume of its helmet so that everyone could witness his victory.

Now the battle recommenced with a fury. A hum of bowstrings drove away the groans and cheers of the two sides and the air above the Greek walls was momentarily dark with arrows, before the deadly rain fell down among the unprepared ranks of Trojans and Mysians. Many fell, the dead in silence and the wounded in shrieks of pain. Other voices followed, but these were the roars of the Greeks as they charged into their shocked enemies. The Trojan archers released a hurried volley, felling several, but not enough to stop the terrifying assault. Moments later the spearmen of Mycenae, Sparta, Corinth and a dozen other nations were driving the centre of the Trojan line back with great slaughter. From his vantage point, Eperitus could see Agamemnon and Menelaus in the forefront of the attack, with Idomeneus the Cretan and Menestheus the Athenian leading the fight on each flank. Neoptolemus abandoned the armour he had been stripping from Eurypylus, unable to resist launching his own onslaught against the rear of the enemy line. Deiphobus, alone now in command of the Trojans and their allies, could do nothing to halt the inevitable disintegration of his army. At first, small groups broke and fled; then, as the Greeks poured through the rents in their enemies’ ranks, the rest took flight.

‘Go now,’ Odysseus shouted to Eperitus over the din of battle. ‘Find Podaleirius or another healer. I don’t want to lose you to a mere flesh wound.’

He slapped the hind quarters of the horse and sent it leaping forward. Eperitus, who had ridden horses since childhood in Alybas, took charge of the frightened animal and directed it towards the gates where the Greeks were still pouring thick and furious from their camp. Then, as he rode between fleeing Trojans and their pursuers, a single horn blew a long note that rose above the clamour of war and turned many heads towards its source. Eperitus glanced to his left and saw the ranks of the Trojan cavalry, who had been pulled from the chaos of battle and reformed into a controlled fighting unit. The great mass of horses and men sprang forward, building up momentum as they rode with gathering speed towards the battle. At their head was Apheidas, charging to the rescue of his retreating countrymen as he had done so many times before. And as Eperitus’s eyes fell upon his father, he cast aside any thought of returning to the Greek camp. Drawing his sword, he pressed his heels back into the flanks of his mount and sent it galloping at the wall of approaching cavalry.

Apheidas saw him almost immediately. Abandoning all consideration for the rest of the battle, he steered his black stallion towards his son and leaned across its neck with his sword held at arm’s length before him. While the mass of horsemen behind him raced on towards the Greek spearmen – whose flank had been left exposed by Agamemnon’s headlong pursuit of the enemy infantry – a group of half a dozen riders broke off to follow their leader.