The king was out of his mind. The brawl raged around him like a dream of the past: the battle under the wall of Thebes, the duels fought to the death before the Scaean gates, the Trojan warriors mowed down as their women watched. The king was like the wind that bends the oaks on the mountainside, like the hail that destroys the harvest, like the bolt of lightning that first blinds, then kills.

His cleaving blow ripped open the belly of the Pelesetwarrior in front of him, making his bowels spill down to his knees. He decapitated the comrade who had come to his aid and he horribly disfigured the face of a third who had dared to creep up on his left.

The blood drove him wild with anger and yet filled his soul with deep sorrow, like the sea tousled on the surface by a storm remains dark and still down beneath. And thus the force of his blows was invincible.

Myrsilus and his men, eager to prove themselves worthy in the eyes of their king, counter-attacked vigorously, repulsing the enemies towards the shore of the river. The Pelesetchief realized that the situation had been completely reversed and that if the battle were to continue his men would be annihilated. Satisfied with the damage he had inflicted on his enemies, he shouted out that upon his signal, all his men should run to the ships and set sail.

Only Lamus, son of Onchestus, understood what he had said, but he was near the palisade and had no way of letting Diomedes know, as the king was in the thick of the battle and his ears were full of its din. He shouted: ‘Stop them, they want to escape! We must not let them get away, or we will have no ships for ourselves!’ But his cries went unheard. At their chief’s signal, the Pelesetturned and fled rapidly to their ships, setting off towards the centre of the river, where the current swiftly carried them out of sight, towards the sea.

The Achaeans remained on the gravelly shore of the river and not a one had the heart to raise the cry of victory although they had defeated a numerous, war-seasoned enemy. Almost all of their ships had been destroyed. Those which had not burned down were in such a sorry state that they could not imagine repairing them.

The king assembled them all near the palisade; he took off his helmet and, dishevelled and blood-spattered as he was, said: ‘We have won the battle but we have lost our ships. We have no choice now. Although the comrades who came with me last night asked me to leave this land which shows so many signs of unexplainable destruction, today it is no longer possible to do so. We will push on and find a place suitable for founding our new kingdom. Perhaps the destruction of the ships is a sign from the gods who want to make us understand that this is the place they have destined for us. Let us go forward; there is always a new land on the horizon. If we must, we shall go towards the Mountains of Ice or the Mountains of Fire, or even beyond. No one is stronger than a man who has nothing left to hope for from fate.’

The men listened to him in silence. Many of them, especially those who had accompanied him the day before and marched with him all night, were distressed thinking of the hardships and privations they would suffer in that deserted, cursed land. But among them the most afflicted was Lamus, the Spartan; he was certain then that he would never be able to see his home and his city again. If he had been free to go as he pleased, he would not have known where to turn. He kept at a distance, head low, choking back his tears.

‘Do not despair!’ said Diomedes to his men. ‘The enemy has deprived us of our ships, but they did not succeed in attacking the camp. What is most precious remains. Follow me,’ he said, heading towards the camp. ‘Since we have nothing left but our arms and our courage, it is time that you know the truth.’

He reached the centre of the camp, where alongside the pole with his standard was the chest that he had always kept tied to the main mast of his ship. He grabbed an axe and with a single stroke broke open the hinges. The lid fell to the ground and revealed what was within. A great silence fell over the camp and the men bowed their heads.

Myrsilus came forward and raised his spear towards the sun which was rising from the bare branches of the poplars and oaks to illuminate the waters of the Eridanus. ‘We will follow you, wanax, even to the Mountains of Ice, even to the Mountains of Fire!’

All the men raised their spears to the sun and shouted: ‘ Wanax!’

They were no longer afraid and they watched their ships sink under the river current, without tears. The ships that had brought war to Ilium, the ships that for years had been the hope for their return, the symbol of their homeland.

‘Now we can only go forward,’ said the king.

They loaded all they had on the backs of the horses. The chest was closed again and loaded on to the king’s chariot, to which the divine horses of Aeneas were harnessed. When they were all ready, he gave the signal to depart and the column began its westward march.

The Chnanwas one of the last, and he was distraught over seeing the ships destroyed. ‘Madmen and fools!’ he said. ‘They’ve lost their ships and it’s as if nothing had happened at all, just because they saw that thing in the box. Were you able to get a look at it, at least?’ he asked Telephus, the Hittite slave.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘They were all in front of me with those crested helmets. But I don’t think it makes much of a difference for us.’

‘Of course it does,’ said the Chnan.‘With a ship, I could have brought you anywhere: to the ends of the earth, to the shores of the Ocean, to the swamps of the icy Borysthenes, to the mouth of the Nile, or. . home. Even home. .’

For the first time, his eyes were full of dismay and of terror.

They advanced for several days until they found another of those strange square-shaped cities, surrounded by a canal, filled with huts of the same size. There were still some people left here, just a few families who survived by rearing a cow or two, or a small flock of sheep. They took fright at the Achaean warriors, but Diomedes ordered his men not to harm them and to take only the women they could convince with gifts or words. A pointless order; nearly all the remaining inhabitants were well on in years.

They decided to stop there nonetheless because the weather had changed again for the worst: first rain, then snow and intense cold. They found food there as well: wheat, barley, milk and cheese. And the forests were full of wood for lighting fires.

When the weather was fine, the king took his horses down to the plain, far away from the square city. He brought them there to graze, and the horses pawed the snow to find grass and scrub to feed on.

He would return in the evening with a look of melancholic peace in his eyes, and would go to his hut without speaking to anyone. If snow fell during the night he would come out wrapped in his cloak and linger there, watching the big flakes swirl through the air in silence, his eyes bright and feverish. Sometimes he wouldn’t go to rest until it was nearly dawn, falling then into a heavy, agitated sleep.

The men who stood guard outside his door said that they had heard him calling out the name of Queen Aigialeia, in his sleep, and that they had heard him weeping, but Myrsilus threatened to cut off their tongues if they ever dared speak of such a thing again. He said they had to stand guard and nothing else, putting the rest out of their minds.

One day the king took only one of his horses with him and when he was far from the camp, he tried to mount him barebacked, as he had seen the Dordo. The steed bucked and shook him off more than once, but in the end the king had the better of him and managed to stay on his back as he galloped through the snow-covered plain. It felt incredible, like flying, like squeezing an impetuous sea wave between his legs, and Diomedes felt as if he could feel the hot blood of that great animal flowing in his own veins.