The man seemed to understand what he was being asked; he widened fear-filled eyes in the dark and in a whisper, as if fearful of his own voice, said: ‘ Dor.’

‘I’ve never heard tell of these people, but I say that nothing will stop them if they have swords like the one I saw. .’

His Hittite slave approached. ‘It was made of iron,’ he said.

‘Iron?’ said Diomedes. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a metal, like copper and bronze, but infinitely stronger. Fire cannot melt it, but only serves to make it softer. It is laid on burning coals and then shaped with a hammer on an anvil. All of our noblemen in the city of Hatti, the king and all the dignitaries, are armed with swords and axes made of that metal. They have conquered all Asia with them. No one believed me when I spoke of the existence of this metal. Now you know I was telling the truth.’

As they were speaking, one of the ships drew up and the pilot called out: ‘ Wanax, are you safe?’

‘I am,’ replied Diomedes. ‘But we all risked death. Is that you, Anchialus?’

‘Yes, wanax. And I am happy to see you.’

‘Not for long. You must depart.’

‘Depart? I have departed, to stay with you. And I do not intend ever to leave you.’

‘You must go back, Anchialus. Have you seen that multitude of wild men? They are called. . Dor. . They are armed with a metal that can cut the best bronze, they ride the bare backs of their horses as if they were a single being, like centaurs. They are as numerous as ants and they are headed towards the land of the Achaeans. You must turn back, you must warn Nestor and Agamemnon; tell Menelaus, if he has returned, and Sthenelus at Argos, if he still lives. Tell them what you have seen. Tell them to ready their defences, to build a wall on the Isthmus, to send the black ships out to sea. .’

‘What does it matter, wanax?’ replied Anchialus. ‘We have chosen to sail towards the night, towards the land of the Mountains of Ice and the Mountains of Fire. What happens beyond the horizon we leave at our backs no longer concerns us.’

‘I am your king. I want you to go. Now.’

Anchialus lowered his head, gripping the railing of his ship with his hands.

‘I will do as you say,’ he replied. ‘But then I shall return. They say that this sea is really a gulf. I will catch up with you, when I have done as you have ordered me. I will sail up the coast until I find you. Leave a sign on the beach that I can recognize.’

‘I will. Seeing you again will fill me with joy.’

The other three ships had joined them. The fires burning in the fore braziers cast a crimson halo on the waves, like a blood-stain.

‘But before you go, let us render our lost comrades their last honours, ship by ship.’

They all stood, gripping an oar in hand and, one ship after another, looking towards land, they shouted out the names of their lost comrades, massacred by the enemy, hacked to pieces, abandoned without burial on a wild and hostile shore. Then Anchialus raised his hand in salute and pushed his ship back, his oarsmen at their places. The night swallowed them up and the wind carried afar the names of their comrades.

Diomedes walked back to the stern and covered his head in mourning for the loss of such gallant men. Strange quivers of blood-coloured light shot through the clouds crossing the sky. Perhaps it was their souls, seeking the light of the stars one last time before plunging into Hades.

The foreigner that they had hoisted aboard followed Diomedes and went to sit at his feet. He had chosen him as his master and awaited his command. Myrsilus, at his side, had taken the helm, keeping his eye on the Little Bear whenever it appeared between one cloud and another. It was too dark to seek a safe landing place, for they risked being smashed to pieces against the rocks, nor could they remain still and allow the wind and the waves to set them adrift. They had to navigate, confiding in the help of the gods and in good fortune. Telephus, the Hittite, sat on a basket near Diomedes, sharpening his knife on a whetstone.

‘What land are you from?’ asked Myrsilus, to break the silence and fear.

‘You call us Chetaeans but we are Hittites. My native name is Telepinuand I come from a city of the interior called Kussara. I fought at length as the captain of a squadron of chariots in the army of our king Tudkhaliyas IV, may the gods preserve him, against the league of Assuwa, which we defeated. But when you arrived from the west, the league was reconstituted in support of Priam and his city Vilusya, which you Ahhijawacall Ilium. We were willing to help Priam at that point, setting aside our past conflicts with the league in order to repel our common enemy, but only a small contingent could be sent. Other peoples had come from the east, from the Urartumountains, and invaded our land. Our king sent a legation to the king of the Egyptians but Egypt was being invaded as well, by multitudes from the desert and from the sea. If we had been able to draw up our whole army and all of our war chariots against you we would have chased you back into the sea! Nothing can withstand the charge of a battalion of Hittite chariots.’

Myrsilus smiled in the dark: ‘That’s what they all say. Ahhijawa. . so that’s what you call us. . it’s strange, a people do not exist because of who they are, but because of what others consider them to be. Have you seen Egypt as well?’

‘Oh, yes. I was sent to escort one of our princes who had gone to visit their king, who is called Pharaoh. Their kings know the secret of immortality, but reveal it to no one. Two thousand years ago, they were already building stone tombs as tall as mountains. Their priests know how to obscure the sun and make it reappear at will. And they have a gigantic river whose waters beget monsters with mouths full of teeth and backs covered by armour that no weapon can penetrate.’

Myrsilus smiled again. ‘What lovely stories you tell, Chetaean. By chance, do you know something of this land we are seeking?’

‘No. I’ve never heard speak of it. But all those people marching south worry me.’

The shrieks of a flock of cranes broke the silence of the night. The Hittite pulled his cloak close around his shoulders. ‘We’re heading where they’re escaping from. We’re going the opposite direction from the cranes, who are wise enough to abandon inhospitable places where the winters are too harsh. . Have you noticed those strange lights behind the clouds? I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life. And never, as far back as man can remember, have so many peoples left their own lands and set off to cover such immense distances. Something has terrified them, or perhaps something urges them on without their knowing why. . like when the locusts suddenly, for no reason, gather and begin to migrate, destroying everything along their path. .’ He turned to look at the king, who stood still and silent by the railing, his cloak pulled up over his head. ‘You are all running as well. . without knowing where. And I with you.’

He found a blanket and curled up between the baskets and ropes, seeking shelter from the damp night. Diomedes turned to the pilot then: ‘Are you well awake?’ he asked.

‘I’m awake, wanax, I’m holding the route and keeping windward. Sleep if you can.’

The king laid out a bear pelt and lay down upon it, covering himself with his cloak. He sighed, grieving for the comrades lost.

The Hittite slave waited until the king was asleep, then walked over to the pilot and pointed at a box tied to the mast. ‘Do you know what’s in there?’ he asked.

Myrsilus did not even turn towards him; his gaze was riveted to the sky. ‘In what?’ he asked.

‘You know. Inside that chest tied to the main mast.’

‘Ask me once more and I’ll chop off your head.’

‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ insisted the slave. ‘Do you think you can treat me like a mouse just because I’ve fallen into servitude? I am a Hittite warrior. I was the commander of a squadron of chariots. And I wasn’t born yesterday. There’s something strange in that box.’