He recognized him: it was Alcatous, son of Dolius. He had long ago left Mases, a town on the coast where he had made his living as a fisherman, dreaming of glory and a rich booty. He had followed Diomedes on this last adventure hoping one day to be among the first in a grand new kingdom, with a place of his own in the assembly. He could never have imagined that destiny would bury his life on the bottom of a dark, miserable pit.

Myrsilus leaned over the edge of the pit and took aim with his arrow, while his dying comrade, who had understood, tried to drag himself to clear ground where he could offer an unhindered target.

The arrow pierced the pit of his throat and he collapsed against the wall. As his soul, groaning, fled his wound, his eyes rolled backwards and he could see within himself, for an instant. He found his native town, the glittering water of the sea and his own boyish steps along the shore, he felt the splashes and the foam, the sand beneath his feet and the heat of the sun on his bare shoulders. He wished he had never left as he descended forever, weeping, into the cold and the dark.

Myrsilus approached another hole but he could not get close enough because the walls were too steep, nor could he see inside because the opening was covered with thick bushes. All he could do was to toss down his knife, a sharp blade of bronze that he had never parted from, in the hopes that another one of the men could retrieve it and put an end to his suffering. He shouted: ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you, my friend!’ Only an echo answered: ‘Friend!’ And he climbed out of the gully and up to the rim with a heavy heart, the last of all of them.

Diomedes came close: ‘How many?’ he asked. ‘How many comrades have we lost?’

‘Alcatous. .’ began Myrsilus, ‘shattered on the bottom of one of those holes.’

‘Schedius and Alcandrus,’ added another, ‘crushed by their stones.’

Each of the men looked around, naming the companions he found missing. Agelaus drew close to the king, and pointed at the prisoner he had taken: ‘I got one of them alive, and tied him to that tree. Avenge their slaughter on him.’

But Diomedes said: ‘I’ve already killed so many of them. . what would one more change? Let’s go now, back to the ships. Our comrades will be worried about us.’ He started off, but Telephus and the Chnanturned back first to retrieve the deer they had left down in the gorge, so that its meat would not go to waste.

Myrsilus, who had not taken part in the battle but had listened to the cries of his dying friends, lagged behind; he desired nothing but revenge. He waited until the others had gone on and he approached the prisoner. He was a vigorous man, and in trying to get away was shaking the whole tree to which he was tied. Myrsilus came close and tied him even tighter, and then he unsheathed his sword. The man stared at him without trembling, his head held high. Myrsilus cut the straps that held up the goatskin that covered his body, leaving him naked. Then with the tip of his sword he cut his skin just above his groin, making his blood drip copiously between his legs. The man understood the end he was meant for and widened his eyes in terror, trying desperately to twist free with all his remaining strength. He shouted and pleaded in an incomprehensible language but Myrsilus had already gone off to catch up with the others.

When he had walked for a good stretch, he turned back and saw that a wolf or a wild dog was approaching the prisoner, attracted by the smell of blood. It would stop, doubtfully looking around, before approaching again. The man was trying to scare it off, shouting and kicking, and the animal would draw back, only to reapproach a little more courageously each time, until it started to lick at the blood seeping into the earth. Myrsilus saw it go close to the man and lift its snout towards his groin, and he knew that his aim had been achieved. He turned and started to run down the slope, to join up with his comrades. Just then, an excruciating scream sounded through the valley and they all stopped short with a shudder. The scream echoed again, even louder and more frenzied, following them at length as it bounced again and again off the rocky cliffs, until it died away into a dreadful whimpering.

They started on their way again with heavy souls, eager to leave a land that could swallow up a live, glittering river and regurgitate it back into the sea, cold and black.

When they reached the beach and saw that the ships were all there, they felt relief but dared not abandon themselves to joy, for they had lost many companions.

Diomedes wanted a trophy erected nonetheless to commemorate victory over their enemies, and since they had neither spoils nor booty, he dedicated a suit of armour he had won in Ilium. He hung it on two crossed poles and had his name carved on to a stone, so that a memory would remain of his passage through that land.

They raised a lofty cairn on the shores of the sea and celebrated the funeral rites of their fallen comrades, so that they might find peace in Hades.

Telephus and the Chnanlit a fire and roasted the deer; when it was cooked, they carved it into portions and distributed them to everyone. Diomedes had wine brought from his ship and thus, as long as their cups were full and there was food to eat, their sadness was dispelled, although they all knew in their hearts that it would return, grim and oppressive, with the shadows of night.

They took to sea again and the ships sailed the whole day without ever losing sight of one another; towards evening, the Chnanapproached Myrsilus who was at the helm and said: ‘The wind is shifting; soon it will be athwart of us and will push us towards the open sea.’

‘I feel nothing. How can you say that?’

‘I tell you the wind is changing. Strike the sails and dismast, and order the men to row to shore. And signal to the others to do the same, while there is time. Have you ever heard of the Borrha?It is a freezing wind born in the Hyperborean Mountains in the land of night: when it blows on the sea, no one can withstand its force. It raises waves as high as hills and even the most well-built boat will sink in no time.’

The hint of a chilly breeze brushed the shrouds and Myrsilus started, looking around uneasily.

‘Do as I say,’ insisted the Chnan. ‘If you don’t, we will all die. There’s no time left.’

Myrsilus went to the king: ‘ Wanax, we must go aground. The wind is changing. I ask for your permission to signal to the other ships.’

Diomedes turned towards him: ‘The light of day is still with us, why should we do so?’

A sharp gust of wind bent the mast and tensed the sails. The hull listed to its side with a groan.

‘The next will break the mast and sink us!’ shouted the Chnan. ‘By all the gods, do as I say!’

The defiant wind roused Myrsilus and transformed him. He shouted for the men to sink the right oars and to row with all their might on the left ones. He posted another at the helm in his stead and rushed with all the crew to strike the sail. The wind had become very strong and snapped the free end of the great sheet of linen like a whip. They flung themselves upon it and held it down with their weight. When they had restrained it, they began to extract the mast from its step.

‘Too late!’ shouted the Chnanover the roar of the wind. ‘If you dismast now, it will fall on you and kill you.’

Myrsilus returned to the helm. ‘Row hard on both sides now. Set the bow to the wind! Bow to the wind or we’ll go under!’

Diomedes had climbed up to the curved stern and had hoisted the signal to strike sail; some of the ships responded immediately. But one of them appeared to be in great difficulty as it was tossed to and fro in the enormous foaming waves by the powerful gusts of the Borrha. Through a cloud of sea spray, he could see the men struggling with the rigging, but the force of the wind had become overpowering. He saw one of them flung into the sea by a wave and disappear under the billows; another, thrown overboard, grasped on to the railing, floundering and calling for help, before going under himself.