“Stop!!!” he finally yelled, and his senses grew still again. He knew the Fates were teasing him, baiting him, but he did not understand why. Focus on her! he told himself, thinking of the tears upon the woman’s face.
As he pushed himself to his feet, not looking toward that dread, Titanic hill behind him, he noticed the rutted earth where chariot wheels had churned it, the imprints of hooves, and the faded colour of dried blood.
The shades of eighteen men hovered before him, dazed, confused, their strength and will sapped when once they had been filled with utmost confidence and hope.
Pelops would have spoken to them, asked what had befallen them, but he dared not.
Keep going, Pelops! Poseidon’s voice crashed in his skull. Do not linger!
Pelops left that place behind, but inside, he
