They go out into the place where the demigod Aeneas had led the Greek slaughter, more than a year ago. Red flowers grow now where their comrades fell. All else is quiet.
Ophellios releases the string of his bow and a bird falls from the sky. It was only a small thing, but the arrow pierced neatly its heart; there will be enough meat for feasting later.
There is hunger in the camp.
He turns, looking to his lone companion. “How many have you caught, Lord Aetos?”
The plains of Troy on this side of the river are quiet by night, and the clouds hide the moon.
They are not spotted, but the going is perilous and slow: the ground is littered now with gnawed bones and scraps of broken armour, bristling like a hedgehog with abandoned spears.
In time they come towards the edge of the plain, and it is Ophellios who first notices the river lap at his sandals.
The air is cold this time of year.
The waters are even colder.
He looks down, looks towards the river.
Only some minutes ago, the bank had been yards to their left. Scamander should not have risen so quickly.
“Aetos.”
"I see it."
He reaches quietly towards his sword.
"Hail, O Scamander, child of Zeus; do not skulk, I ask you, creeping over banks and hidden from our sight without form, but speak plainly. "
"You come here, Achaeans, to my banks, to Ilium which the immortal gods have sworn to defend, to waste away your brief lives and pollute my waters with the blood of men; and now you two alone venture across the haunted plain, and I wonder indeed what it is that you intend. And you, godling, what word of your far-shooting father compels you hither?"
With round eyes he gazes up at the river-god, waters frothing and foaming and roaring around His form.
Should he bow?
“Lord of the River,” he addresses him, “it is my sire’s word yet unspoken that compels us forth. We are on a quest to commune with Him in a foretold place. It is the will of Apollo.”
"Strange words indeed: for far-shooting Phoebus Apollo it is who defends Troy through the ages of man. And indeed in these days none may know His will, for He is silent and brooding, in fear perhaps of the heavenly father. I wonder if you dare lie."
"Ah. Yes, indeed, many times has He guided Paris's arrows and lent strength to Hector's arm."
He hesitates only briefly.
“The Lord of Arrows acts in His own divine interests. I am His son, river-god, and He has summoned me forth.”
“We desire only safe passage towards the mountains, lest we all invoke the anger of an Olympian god for obstructing His will. Rest assured we will not pollute your waters.”
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post