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Odyssey
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Odyssey
Copyright © 2011 by Jeremiah Jennings
Cover art adapted from a series of illustrations by John Flaxman,
published in 1835 and currently available in the public domain
No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information or storage retrieval system, without written
permission from the author.
All characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to
any actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book has been printed and sold on a very limited basis. If, by
some wild twist of fate, you own a publishing house and wish to
buy the rights for this book, please contact the author. All
production and distribution has been done directly by the author, so
information on the number of books printed and sold will be readily
available.
If this book was not sold to you by the author or through his web
site, I would be curious to hear about how you found it. Please
contact me.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware
that it is in a state of disrepair.
Email:
Web Site:
[email protected]
jeremiahjennings.weebly.com
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For all the members of my family, who are and always will be
my biggest fans – especially for Jess and the boys, who so
lovingly put up with having an aspiring writer for a husband
and dad.
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Acknowledgements
Since this story didn’t originate with me, I have some people to
acknowledge for their contributions to this text.
First is the poet, poets, or whatever other ancient creative force falls
under the name of “Homer,” for composing the Odyssey. Without it this
novel would obviously not exist.
Second are the translators, whose extensive work allows English
readers like me to read the Odyssey and who, by extension, helped me
write this book. They include Samuel Butler, whose public domain
translation was consulted extensively, and W.H.D. Rouse, whose nonliteral but easy-to-read translation helped me form the big picture and plan
out the story’s pacing prior to writing.
I would especially like to thank Ian Johnston, who has not only
translated the Odyssey (along with many other works) but who, by posting
it online at https://records.viu.ca/~Johnstoi/, has made one of the best
modern translations freely available to all who want to read it.
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Contents
Introductory Materials
Map: The World of the Odyssey ………………
Introduction: About this Book ………………………
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The Novel
Athena’s Plan…………………………….
The Assembly …………………………...
The Fate of Odysseus ……………………
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Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Escape from Calypso’s Island …………...
In the Kingdom of the Phaeacians ………
Danger and Temptation …………………
Circe ….………………………………….
Shadows of the Dead ……………………
Running the Gauntlet of Monsters ………
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73
95
121
145
161
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Odysseus Departs ……………………….
At the Home of the Swineherd …………..
Revelation and Conspiracy ……………...
The Beggar Goes to the Palace ………….
The Scar …………………………………
The Contest for Penelope’s Hand ……….
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Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Reunion ………………………………….
Laertes …………………………………...
Conclusion/Appendix
Summary: Events After the Iliad …………………
Chart: Timeline of Major Events ……………
Reference: Suggested Readings from the Iliad ..
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293
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Introduction: About this Book
What is this book?
The Odyssey of Homer is, without question, one of the most famous stories in
the Western world. At least in the United States, almost no child can make it
through school without having read a retelling of at least part of the Odyssey, and
it’s hard to find a person from any age or any background who can’t tell you
something about the tale of the Cyclops, the Sirens, or some other episode from
Odysseus’ journey. Most, however, have not read the actual poem itself; with only
piecemeal exposure to a few of the more popular scenes from the story, they know
little if anything about where these stories fit into the big picture or what’s
emphasized in Homer’s plot.
That’s where this book comes in. For those interested in reading the complete
story of Odysseus’ return home, Odyssey: A Novel provides a literal retelling of the
Odyssey. It is not a translation, and it does not lay out everything from the
Odyssey line by line and speech by speech. It is a novel, and as such trims lists and
accounts of rituals, speculates on characters’ motivations, and emphasizes the more
dramatic and interesting parts of the story over the mundane. However, it does – in
most meaningful ways – get the facts straight. It begins where the poem begins,
ends where the poem ends, and (unlike most retellings) doesn’t rearrange anything
significant in between – so that anybody who has read this novel will have
essentially read the story of the Odyssey. It is also unlike most retellings in that it
is not designed for children. It is targeted at adults or teens who want to catch up
on a classic they’ve never gotten to finish, and in the process (hopefully) enjoy a
good read.
Readers should also be aware that this novel, like Homer’s Odyssey, is a
sequel. It follows a previous book I’ve written, entitled (naturally and with little
imagination) Iliad: A Novel. If you haven’t yet read Iliad, I would suggest doing so
before you begin this book.
“Odyssey” and “The Odyssey”
Obviously this novel, being entitled Odyssey, has essentially the same title as
the original work. To avoid confusion between the two when discussing the works,
Odyssey (the novel) will be italicized when referenced in the introduction and
appendix and, contrary to usual convention, the Odyssey (the original epic poem)
will not be.
Hospitality in the Odyssey
One of the great themes of the Odyssey – and perhaps its most unbendable
social virtue – is that of hospitality. In Homer’s world, it is absolutely imperative
that, when a visitor arrived in one’s home, every measure be taken to meet his
needs and see to his comfort. A host is bound to offer an almost ritualistic series of
services that includes the washing and clothing of the guest, the serving of a meal, a
respect for the guest’s privacy (the host cannot start by asking his identity/history),
and the giving of parting gift. The topic could be explained in much more detail,
but the point is simply to give readers a framework for understanding the many
guest/host interactions in the story. Read carefully, and you will notice how much
of the story Homer devotes to meetings between guests and hosts – as well as how
thoroughly he explores the virtue of hospitality.
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Events leading up to the Odyssey
The Odyssey describes Odysseus’ return home after the Trojan War, which is
most famously depicted in the Iliad. It would make sense to read the Iliad (or Iliad:
A Novel) before starting this book, but other than that the story is pretty selfexplanatory. No extensive summary is necessary to bring you up to date before
beginning.
Readers should be aware that the story might not start exactly how they’d
expect. The beginning can be a little disorienting at first, but stick with it and it
will all start to come together…
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Part I
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Chapter 1
Athena’s Plan
“Look, I understand your frustration…” Zeus measured his words
carefully. “But I can’t just go running to the rescue of every mortal who
gets himself into trouble.”
Sitting at the head of the table, Zeus was an imposing sight – a hulking
mass of rippling muscles, a regal face with a hard-set jaw… No god dared
cross him. His strength was absolute, his authority unquestioned… Yet
still, endlessly harried by the petty gripes of his ever-feuding family, he
knew how to play the role of the politician – and he did it with a weary,
long-suffering diligence.
Athena looked back at him with a sparkle in her big gray eyes. Clad as
usual in full armor, she was always edgy, always on the go… Always an
instigator. “Now you know better than that, father,” she snipped.
“Odysseus isn’t just any mortal. He’s one of the greatest heroes of all
Greece – and he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve the trouble he’s in.”
“Oh is that right?” Zeus leaned forward slightly and raised his
eyebrows. “Well the last time I checked, he blinded a son of Poseidon. I
wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’”
“Who, Polyphemus?” Athena let out a sharp chuckle. “Really? You
think Odysseus should be punished for blinding that idiot?”
Zeus shrugged. “Polyphemus may be a bit of a brute, but the son of a
god is the son of a god – and a mortal can’t attack one without expecting to
face a little divine retribution.”
“But Odysseus was acting in self-defense!” Athena shot back. Her
arms spread wide in supplication, she looked around the table at other
gods, who were now looking in their direction – and had began mumbling
their agreement with her. “I mean really, what would you have had him
do? Not fight back? Let Polyphemus kill him just to avoid making
Poseidon mad?”
“Well, no,” Zeus replied. Sensing the room turning against him, he
continued carefully, “But... Okay sure, I know Odysseus was in a bit of a
quandary – but he put himself in that situation. He knew Polyphemus’
cave was dangerous. All the signs were there, and Odysseus would have
been perfectly safe it he’d just moved on and left well enough alone... But
no, instead he had to go in and start snooping around. He deliberately
chose to walk in to danger, and any dilemma he faced as a result was one
of his own making.”
The explanation elicited a low groan from the gods.
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“Oh is that right?” Athena shot back. “So you’d blame it all on
Odysseus, just like that.”
Zeus shrugged. “He’s not entirely to blame, I guess. But still... Come
on, you know how Odysseus is. His curiosity is always getting him into
trouble. He should have been more cautious, and... And... Well, we could
argue all day about who was ultimately at fault, but in the end I think we
all know there are consequences when a mortal makes a god angry. Can’t
we just – ”
“Consequences?” Athena nearly shrieked. “Consequences? The man’s
been blown from one side of the sea to the next, subjected to attacks by
monsters, barbarians, witches, and cannibals. He’s seen all his men killed
and all his ships smashed to splinters, as he himself was pushed to the
limits of human endurance. And even now, a full ten years after the fall of
Troy, he’s still stuck on the island of Ogygia – held captive by the goddess
Calypso who, with Poseidon’s support and blessing, refuses to free him.
That’s not what I’d call ‘consequences,’ father. That’s the arbitrary, meanspirited wrath of a malevolent god. And it’s gone on for way too long.”
As Athena spoke, the gods grew louder and louder in voicing their
agreement – until the hall resounded with the noise of their echoing,
overlapping voices.
Speaking out over the general rumble, Athena continued, “Yes, we’ve
all taken out our anger against mortals – sometimes for good reasons, and
sometimes not. But we’ve never, ever taken it this far. Poseidon’s gone
way over the line – I know it, and everybody else here knows it.”
Low mutterings of “Yes” and “That’s right” could be heard up and
down the table.
“And if I could be so bold, I think you know it too, father. You know
Odysseus is a good man, and you know he’s being treated unfairly. In fact,
I think the only reason you don’t want to help him is because you’re afraid
of making Poseidon mad.”
“Well of course I am!” Zeus shot back. “Not only is he my brother,
not only is he the closest among you to rivaling my strength, but he’s
without question the most jealous and hot-tempered god among us. Could
you even imagine the fight he’d put up if one of us tried helping Odysseus?
The moment they stepped anywhere close to Calypso’s island – ”
“I know, father – I know. And that’s why I’m bringing this up today.”
She leaned in as if to share a secret, then pointed to an empty chair at the
far end of the table. “If you haven’t noticed, Poseidon’s not here right
now. He’s out feasting with the Ethiopians, way off on the far side of the
world – and he’s not going to be back for a good two weeks.”
“Whoa, now wait a minute,” Zeus scowled. “Are you suggesting that
we act on this behind Poseidon’s back?”
“Why not? We could easily have this done and over with before he
even knew what we were planning.”
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“Sure, but can you imagine the repercussions? I mean we’ve all seen
his tantrums. A territorial dispute over the most worthless dusty corner of
Greece is enough to get him storming around this place shouting and
slamming doors for weeks at a time. So if he were to come back and find
we’d actually freed Odysseus while he was gone...”
“Then I guess we’d have to put up with him pitching a fit for a while.”
Zeus responded by rolling his eyes and clearing his throat.
“Okay, okay…” Athena chuckled. “So maybe he’d pitch a big fit for a
really long time. But who cares?” Her voice resumed its intense urgency
as she pled her case. “Odysseus has spent ten years suffering the unjust
wrath of Poseidon. Should we now fail to help him just because we’re
afraid of how Poseidon’s going to react after the fact? We’ve never had an
opportunity like this, and we won’t likely have one again in Odysseus’
lifetime. If we let him continue to be held prisoner, separated from his
family after twenty years – just because we’re afraid of letting things get
uncomfortable up here – then what good are we as gods? We’d be
cowards; we’d be failing to uphold the most basic standards of justice. So
come on, father – even though he won’t be happy, you can contain
Poseidon. Things won’t be pleasant when he gets back, but they’ll be
manageable. We need to do this – and we need to do it now.”
Zeus looked up and down the table as Athena’s words sunk in. Deep
down, he’d always known this time would come. For years the gods had
all had an understanding about Odysseus; they’d all sympathized with him,
and they’d all, deep down, felt a certain shame in allowing Poseidon to
torment him. But it had always been an unspoken idea, one that most gods
had seldom consciously thought about, much less vocalized to each other.
But now it has been brought to the forefront, and as much as he dreaded
the upcoming confrontation with his brother, Zeus simply couldn’t, as the
god of justice, allow this to continue. And now, with all the gods
mumbling, shooting each other glances, all clearly in agreement with
Athena...
Finally he took a deep breath. “All right, then... So what would you
propose we do?”
Athena gave a terse smile and, obviously trying to contain her
excitement, took a seat next to her father. “Well obviously, the first thing
is to tell Calypso she has to let Odysseus go… Right?”
All the gods nodded their agreement.
Zeus took a break from massaging his aching head long enough to
manage a quick nod. “I’ll give the order for his release,” he mumbled.
“And while that’s being taken care of, I’d like to travel down to
Odysseus’ palace on Ithaca.”
“Ithaca?” Zeus looked up suddenly. “Why Ithaca?”
“Because while the rest of Odysseus’ journey may be treacherous,
Ithaca is where time is really of the essence. A few years ago, band of
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arrogant young noblemen converged on Odysseus’ palace, demanding that
his wife Penelope choose one of them to be her husband.”
An angry rumble broke out around the table.
“They claim that Odysseus is dead – and they insist that Penelope is
obligated to choose a new husband and king. They refuse to leave the
palace, and with each passing month they spend there, they put more and
more pressure on her – all the while becoming more demanding, more illmannered, even more violent. They consume Ithaca’s flocks and drink its
wine, depleting Odysseus’ stores to the point that, at the rate things are
going, I fear that Odysseus’ kingdom will soon be driven to ruin – or that,
at any time, Penelope could be pressured into marrying one of these
suitors.” She glanced at Zeus, then swept her eyes up and down the table.
“I don’t know if you all understood how fragile the situation is, but all may
soon be lost for Odysseus – even if he does manage to make it home.”
“And what would you do while you were there?” Zeus asked.
“I’d make contact with Odysseus’ son, Telemachus. He’s a strong,
bright young man – but he’s also untested and unsure of himself. If I were
to offer him a little encouragement, I’m sure he could step up and be a
great help to his kingdom and his mother in this difficult time.”
“Do you think he could drive away the suitors?”
“No, not likely. He was only a child when they arrived, and he’s
always been bullied and intimidated by them. Besides, he’s only one boy,
and the suitors number over a hundred. But he might, with the right
encouragement, fend off disaster for a few weeks until Odysseus gets
back.”
Zeus sat in stone-faced contemplation for a few moments… “Okay,”
he finally answered. “Go ahead and do whatever you need to do in Ithaca.
I’ll have Odysseus set free, and… And whatever’s going to happen with
Poseidon, I’ll just have to deal with it when he gets back.”
“Thank you, father!” Athena broke out into a bright-eyed grin, and
without another word dashed straight out of the hall.
An enormous eagle – with wings that spanned fifty feet, talons that
could snatch up oxen, and a beak that could crush boulders into powder –
was circling over an island that lay in the Ionian sea, about fifty miles off
Greece’s mainland. With quick, darting movements of its head, the eagle
studied the island, taking in every detail of its topography.
It was a small, hilly island – not the first place a king would choose to
plant a kingdom. Its ruggedness and small size carried no promise of
abundant resources, nor was it likely to be home to a massive population.
But what it did have was extremely well kept. Carved out of wooded
wilderness, a precisely placed arrangement of crops, vineyards, and
pastures rolled and wound with the hilly landscape – obviously well
designed and well kept to use minimal space to maximum effect. Even
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from such a high elevation, it was obvious that the kingdom was a
testament to the resourcefulness of whoever ruled it.
The longer the eagle circled, the lower it spiraled down toward the
island. As it glided in closer, it came within view of a palace that sat on a
bluff overlooking the sea – and of the surround structures that formed the
main “city” in Ithaca.
Just down the cliff from the palace was Ithaca’s port: a series of piers at
which a handful of ships and many more small boats were currently
docked. This harbor, while rather modest, was alive with activity – not
only with the unwinding of nets and unloading of fish, but with the loading
of chests and pots that signaled the beginning of a budding overseas
commerce.
Sprawling inland behind the palace was a cluster of temples, homes,
markets, and craftsmen’s shops. These buildings were densely packed
around city streets near the center, gradually thinning until they faded into
fields and forest at the edge. Outside that modest metropolitan cluster, the
island’s back country was dominated by a wilderness that was interrupted
only by scatterings of villages and farms connected by winding country
roads.
As the eagle continued to descend, it appeared to be zeroing in on the
palace itself. It built up speed, spiraling lower and lower, until finally it
swooped down toward a wooded grove just outside the courtyard gate –
and there it slowed itself with several brisk flaps of its wings, extended its
feet to prepare for touchdown…
And right as it was about to land, it abruptly changed shape, shifting
into the form of Athena before touching the ground.
There the goddess took a furtive look back over her shoulders – a
purely reflexive precaution, as she was certain nobody had seen her –
before sneaking through the woods toward the courtyard gate.
Right as she was stepping out of the grove, she changed shape once
more, this time taking on the appearance of a stout, gray-haired warrior –
one who was between fifty and sixty years of age but who still had the
muscular build and confident air of an aged warrior. For just a moment
she halted to work on her facial expressions – training her eyes to gaze
with an intensity tempered by a sparkle of ironic good-humor, training the
corners of her mouth to play up into the slightest hint of a smile.
Finally, when everything was just right, she stepped through the gate
and into the courtyard of Odysseus’ palace.
For the most part, the courtyard was just as Athena remembered it. It
had the same old layout of shade trees and fire pits and benches, the same
old fifteen-foot high walls running around its perimeter, the face of the
same old palace on the far side about seventy yards away. It was an
orderly layout – and while certainly not as spectacular as the courtyards of
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Mycenae or Sparta or the now-leveled Troy, what it lacked in splendor it
made up for with the precise use of space and a balanced, aesthetically
pleasing design.
But now something was different – horribly and very noticeably
different. While it had once been painstakingly groomed and scrubbed, it
was now a mess. Bones and scraps of food littered the ground. Cloaks
were tossed in corners or flung over benches. Trees that had once been
carefully pruned now had branches growing wild. To the extent that
servants had been trying to keep the courtyard clean, they had been unable
to keep up with whoever was making the mess.
What was worse, the courtyard was overrun by a crowd of brash, noisy,
rowdy-looking young men. Sprawled all across the yard, they sat around
casting lots, picking at food, and otherwise wiling away a lazy day. Some
gathered in small huddles, some lay snoozing on the skins of slain cattle,
some wandered from one conversation to the next… And all of them acted
like they owned the place – caring neither which path they blocked, which
doorway they were lounging in, or who may have been disturbed by the
ruckus they created with their nonstop laughing and shouting.
It was obvious at a glance that whoever ran the palace had no control
over them. They were lawless and unrestrained, their behavior suggesting
an undertone of potential violence such that no one in the palace wanted to
attract their attention. Any manservant whose business took him across the
courtyard dodged through with head lowered and eyes averted – and the
maidservants (save the few obviously cavorting with the young men)
avoided them at all cost.
Athena was able to surmise all this at a glance, for she had seen such
men before. She’d often found them roaming untamed country in
marauding bands, maybe working the docks on a rough-and-tumble
waterfront. But while these particular young men were of a different class
– noble by blood and by upbringing – they had obviously been ruined by
years spent with no check on their behavior. Day after day they produced
nothing, consumed everything, and openly flaunted their lack of
responsibility, until their conduct descended to that of common thugs.
For several seconds she, still in disguise, stood in the gate, waiting for
someone to greet her – but while custom called for a hospitable welcome,
the only reaction she got was the occasional bored, slightly contemptuous
glance from whoever happened to look her way. Obviously, none of these
men thought an old traveler deserved their attention.
But soon she saw someone making his way toward her – and she
immediately got the impression that he was not a part of the crowd. While
they couldn’t stop shouting over each other, he walked in silence. While
they were brash, his body language seemed timid. He stepped across the
yard gingerly, shoulders hunched, always shooting self-conscious glances
back and forth. And for their part, the others showed no interest in getting
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out of his way. Some looked up at him with mocking grins; some elbowed
their friends and pointed; a few even suck out feet and elbows or otherwise
tried to “accidentally” put themselves in his way. But in general they flatly
ignored him, so that he had to weave around them and take big, long, offbalance strides over them.
As the poor boy came closer, Athena could see that he was a handsome
young man, barely twenty years old – obviously well-bred and wellmannered. He had a soft complexion and a thin, youthful build that, while
not yet in its prime, was well on its way through the transition from boyish
beauty to the hardened muscular toughness of manhood. And he was
instantly familiar to Athena, who could recognize him by his eyes alone –
which, set above sharply angled cheekbones, were large and round like his
mother’s and bright and piercing like his father’s.
Finally he made it over to Athena. As the suitors mumbled and giggled
behind him, he forced a smile and extended a hand to his guest.
“Welcome, stranger! I’m Telemachus, son of Odysseus and prince of
Ithaca.”
Athena gripped his hand in hers. “And my name is Mentes, son of
Antiloches and king of the Taphians – and an old friend of your father’s.”
The front door of the palace led directly from the courtyard into
Odysseus’ great hall: a cavernous room built of fitted stone and reinforced
with cedar cross-beams. While not particularly spectacular by royal
standards, it had most of the typical furnishings one might expect: rows of
banquet tables arranged along the floor, built-in fireplaces, racks of spears
and shields – some ceremonial and some utilitarian – hanging from the
walls. Its decor, while not lavish, successfully combined the old treasures
of Ithaca’s hunting and gathering past (massive animal skulls, well-kept
skins, and other objects gathered by the kingdom’s forefathers) with the
new, more tangibly valuable treasures of its emerging future.
Telemachus and “Mentes” were seated together at one of these tables,
leaning in over the tabletop as they spoke to each other in hushed tones.
Telemachus had brought his guest in from the courtyard, first offering
hospitality in stiff, self-consciously precise motions – but it didn’t take
long for them to grow comfortable with each other, and within minutes
they’d begun catching up like old friends. Mentes* explained their
families’ histories together and told Telemachus old stories about the father
* In the previous scene, Athena was referred to by her own name (even in disguise)
because the scene was written from her perspective. In this scene, written from
Telemachus’ point of view, she is referred to as Mentes. This practice is followed
throughout this novel; since most scenes are written from the perspective of a specific
character (or group), disguised characters are named based on how that character
“sees” them.
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he’d never met. Telemachus, of course, answered all the expected
questions about how Ithaca had fared in his father’s absence. He recalled
his sketchy childhood memories of young men arriving – first as
individuals, then as larger and larger groups – with the intention of
marrying his mother. He told of how, over time, they grew more and more
audacious with the liberties they took in the palace, eating and drinking
whatever they wished. He explained what it was like for him to grow up
with the suitors in his house, recounting all the little ways that lazy,
drunken men could find to bully, intimidate, and otherwise torment a
fatherless boy. And finally he did his best to sum up the current political
situation in Ithaca, where the suitors were now well entrenched and free to
act with impunity…
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the slam of palace
doors flying open, and the hall was filled with the sound of a dozen
indistinct and overlapping voices. Both men turned to see that the suitors
were now flooding in through the door.
A quiet little breath escaped through Telemachus’ nostrils, and he
lowered his head in shame. He’d desperately hoped the suitors wouldn’t
follow them inside – but then of course the arrival of a guest likely
signaled the serving of a meal, and they weren’t about to stay out in the
courtyard without at least wandering in to check things out.
For a few moments Mentes watched the suitors out of the corner of his
eye – until he finally shook his head and said, “Wow, it must be rough
having this in your house.”
Telemachus nodded.
“Hm...” Mentes mulled over the situation for a moment. “Well… I
don’t mean to be presumptuous, but have you ever considered just having
them thrown out of here?”
“I’d like to,” Telemachus shrugged. His eyes were fixed on the table,
and he could feel his face slowly growing warm.
“Then why don’t you? You’re the heir to the throne, after all, and this
is your home. All you’d have to do is call the guards, and – ”
“I know, I know,” Telemachus cut in. “But it’s just never seemed that
simple. I mean they’ve been here since I was a boy, and it’s always
seemed like they sort of… I don’t know… like they sort of belonged.
They’re all from noble families, and many of their fathers are among the
prominent elders of Ithaca. You can’t just have them seized and tossed out
the door like common thugs.”
By now the suitors had filled the hall. Laughing, shouting, and banging
around chairs, they created such a ruckus that the two had to lean in even
closer and raise their voices just to hear each other.
“Sure, I get that,” Mentes replied. “But these guys basically are thugs –
regardless of their class. I mean it seems like it would come to a point
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where you shouldn’t have to put up with their behavior, no matter who
they are.”
“Well even if I were to try making them leave, it’s not as simple as
‘calling the guards’ anyway. Most people don’t like the suitors, but they
are well-established. With all the connections they’ve made around here,
it’s hard to know who’s on their side and who’s on mine. Besides,” he
looked up from the table and made eye contact with Mentes, “they do have
a good reason for being here. Whether I like it or not, my father is most
likely dead by now – and it’s perfectly legitimate for them to be here
seeking my mother’s hand.”
“Well actually it’s not…” Mentes glanced out at the suitors, then
looked at Telemachus with a serious, almost scheming look on his face.
“Because regardless of what these clowns say, I can tell you for a fact that
your father’s alive.”
“What??? Have you heard – ”
“No…” Mentes chuckled and shook his head. “I haven’t actually seen
him, nor have I heard any reports about him – and I didn’t mean to get
your hopes up by suggesting otherwise.”
“Oh…”
“But somehow I just know he’s alive.” Mentes drew a deep breath.
“It’s not that I’m any kind of prophet or anything, but you know how
sometimes you get this feeling that something’s true, and you just know it
came from the gods?”
Telemachus nodded, more to keep the conversation moving than
because of any strong familiarity with what Mentes was describing.
“Well that’s the feeling I have about your father. He is alive; I’m sure
of it. And soon he’ll be back here – ” The uproar in the hall grew louder,
and the two men turned to see suitors pushing a court musician named
Phemius out toward the center of the floor. “ – to drive these guys out of
here.”
They paused to watch as poor Phemius was swept out onto the floor,
dragging his feet and mumbling weak protests every step of the way. But
finally, finding himself out in the middle of the hall with a lyre thrust into
his hands, he gave in and began plucking away at the beginnings of a song
– bravely carrying on as suitors heckled, threw bits of food at him, and
shouted at each other across the hall.
The two turned back to face each other, and Mentes continued: “My
point is that things are still up in the air. On one hand you shouldn’t give
up hope of your father coming back – but on the other, you can’t just sit
back and wait for his return. You need to step up and take action. You
need to finally do something about the suitors.”
“Do something? Like what?”
“Well to start with, tell them to leave.”
20
“Oh really?” In spite of himself, Telemachus let out a quick chuckle.
“Just like that?”
“More or less, yes,” Mentes gave a quick nod. “Of course I’m not
saying it’s going to be easy, and I certainly don’t guarantee that the suitors
will take kindly to the idea. But you can still make an effective plea if you
set things up right… And here’s how you go about it: First thing
tomorrow morning, call a general assembly, so that you can stand before
the men of Ithaca and make your demand of the suitors. It may just be that
forcefully stating your case in public – especially with the suitors’ fathers
present – might put pressure on them to listen. But even if it doesn’t,
you’ve still taken an important step; you’ve made your desires known. I’m
guessing these suitors have always relied on a certain level of ambiguity.
People have some idea that they’re unwelcome guests, but I’m guessing
that nobody in charge has actually stood up and ordered them to leave.
Am I right?”
“As far as I know,” Telemachus answered.
“So you need to be the one to take that stand. If you do, then even if
the suitors choose to ignore you, it will be clear to everybody in Ithaca that
they remain here against your will. That might start turning public
sentiment against the suitors – which will at least be a move in the right
direction.”
“Okay…” For a few moments Telemachus sat and absorbed the idea of
what Mentes was saying. He had never confronted the suitors before – nor
had he called an assembly, spoken before his people, or in any other way
tried playing the part of king. And as he mulled over the idea, he began to
feel all the little details, all the little things that could possibly go wrong,
stacking up on him – until they felt as overwhelming as physical weight
pressing down upon him.
Mentes seemed to sense his misgivings, for he reached out with a hand
and smiled. “Don’t worry, young man. Everything will work out. The
experience may be frightening, and it might not all go perfectly – but
you’ll figure it out. It’s all just part of the growing up process.”
All Telemachus could do was give a weak nod.
“Once you’ve held the assembly, the next thing will be to sail over to
mainland Greece and see what you can learn about your father.”
Telemachus’ jaw dropped. The idea of the assembly was more than
enough for him – but to have another thing to worry about… “Leave
Ithaca?” he asked. “With things the way they are now?”
Mentes nodded. “Yep. I mean no offense, but let’s be realistic – your
presence isn’t doing anything to deter the suitors’ behavior. The best thing
you can do right now is get out there and see if anybody’s heard any
reports about your father.”
“But I’ve never left Ithaca before. Where would I even begin?”
21
“I’d visit some of his old companions from the Trojan War. Start with
Nestor; he’s the oldest and wisest of the Greek heroes, and his kingdom’s
just a short trip across the sea from Ithaca. After that you could go to
Sparta and speak with Menelaus. He spent seven years wandering the seas
after the war, so if anybody is going to have fresh news about Odysseus, he
will. Hopefully you can get some news that your father is alive and close
to home – and if so, you should be able to hold out for a few months or so
until he returns.”
“And what if I learn he’s dead?”
“Then you come back home, hold his funeral, and give your mother
away in marriage. It’s obviously not the ideal scenario, but at least you’d
be able to put this all behind you.”
There the conversation trailed off, as though both men recognized that
the discussion had come to a logical conclusion. In the long silence that
followed, the uneasy feeling inside Telemachus had only started to build.
Growing up in the palace, he had always gotten away with being a
passive victim, the young child cowering helplessly in the corner. But in
recent years he’d started feeling the eyes of Ithaca bearing down upon him,
waiting for him to step up and take action as the man of the house – and
now, finally, someone had openly called him on his responsibility. It gave
him so much to take in, left him with much to do. It was one thing to sit
here and collaborate with an old family friend, but to have Mentes
suddenly take off, leaving him on his own to find out where to start, how to
execute the plan…
Finally, in a moment of desperation, he heard himself ask, “Would you
be able to help me with the assembly?” Realizing what he’d asked – and
how pathetic it had to have sounded – he hurried to explain, “It’s just that
I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never appeared before the
elders, or – ”
Mentes shook his head and gave Telemachus a friendly smile. “Sorry,
son, but I really need to get going. I have a ship and a crew waiting for me
at the port – and truth be told I’ve already stayed longer than I meant to.”
Telemachus nodded. Then, partly as a joke and partly as a last-ditch
request, he chuckled, “And there’s no chance you’re headed toward Pylos
anytime soon, is there?”
“Once more, sorry,” Mentes shook his head, and his mouth curled into
a broad, ironic smile, “but I’m afraid this is a journey you’re going to have
to make on your own.”
“Okay…” Telemachus lowered his head.
“Don’t worry, young man,” Mentes clapped him on the back as he rose
to his feet. “You’re going to do great. I know this is all new to you, but
you’re as strong and as smart I’d expect the son of Odysseus to be. You’ll
find your way.” A few steps out toward the door, he turned and smiled.
“Good luck.”
22
And with that he departed.
Telemachus watched with a growing sense of awe as the “man” strode
away. He didn’t know when he’d figured it out, but sometime over the
course of their conversation he’d picked up on enough clues – from
gestures to tone of voice to those unnaturally blue-gray eyes – to recognize
that he’d speaking not to an old family friend, but to one of the gods. And
it took little imagination to guess that the god been none other than his
father’s longtime patroness and protector, Athena.
Athena, still in the form of old Mentes, stepped briskly out of the
courtyard gate. Taking a quick look around, she ducked into the grove of
trees, morphed back into a great eagle, and with several powerful beats of
her wings took flight and soared out into the distance.
“Guys? Hey guys, I need your attention for just a moment.”
The instant the words came out of his mouth, Telemachus knew he was
off to a bad start. His voice sounded weak and uncertain, and it had
cracked as he tried to raise it over the general murmur of conversation. A
few suitors turned and shot him amused grins, but the rest either didn’t
hear him or simply ignored him.
At that moment, everything inside him wanted to wither up and
disappear. But no matter how uncomfortable he felt, he knew that backing
down now would make him look more ridiculous than anything he could
say next.
So he tried again. “Excuse me… Guys?”
The second attempt was no better, but slowly the suitors began turning
and giving him their attention – even if they were elbowing each other and
giggling as they did so.
Telemachus waited for what seemed to be the appropriate length of
time, and with the majority of them staring at him, he said, “If you don’t
mind, I have a quick announcement to make.”
In response a voice blurted out, “Oh do ya’ now?” and a wave of
laughter swept across the hall.
“Yes, I do…” Telemachus tried his best to sound firm and decisive.
“Tomorrow morning I’m holding an assembly of all the men of Ithaca.”
“Oooooh, an assembly.”
“Wow! Big boy!”
“Sounds like somebody all of a sudden fancies himself a king!”
The comments soon broke down into an indistinct mocking rumble,
interwoven with spurts of laughter.
“We’re going to be discussing…” Telemachus said.
But he was drowned out by the roar that echoed through the hall.
Telemachus held up his hands and raised his voice, “If you don’t mind,
I…”
23
The laughter grew louder.
“Hey guys,” one of them mocked in a shaky falsetto voice, “if you
don’t mind…”
“Oh come on, guys… Please?” another added.
The suitors were now doubled over.
“Hey!” Telemachus shouted. His irritation was just starting to get the
better of his nervousness, but there was still a pronounced quaking beneath
his voice. “I have something to say, and I expect…”
“Oooh, he expects something.”
“Looks like we got a tough guy on our hands. Better listen up, boys!”
Some suitors kept laughing and jeering at Telemachus. Others turned
back to their tables and ignored him. But in general the ruckus that had
filled the hall continued, until…
“What’s going on down here?” a sharp feminine voice called out.
Suddenly the room fell silent, and all eyes turned to see Queen
Penelope coming down the stairs from the upper chambers to the hall.
Dressed in flowing purple robes, she descended with a perfectly crafted
grace, her head held high and each step so carefully measured that she
appeared to be gliding rather than walking down the stairs. Though well
into middle age, she still maintained the better portion of her earlier
beauty: her face was touched only by subtle lines of age, her hair still
showed no signs of gray, and her figure was still as slender and feminine as
in her youth. In other words, she was a plausible target not only for the
ambitions of young men, but for their lust.
Indeed, the hush that followed Penelope’s question was quickly
followed by an outburst of whistles and catcalls, as the suitors shifted from
ridicule of Telemachus to vulgar comments about the queen.
Telemachus strode over to her at once. “Mother, what are you doing
down here?” he demanded. His situation was awkward enough as it was;
the last thing he needed was to have his mommy coming to his rescue.
“I came to see what this commotion was all about,” she answered. Her
eyes made a slow, deliberate sweep of the room before resting upon her
son. “There are people trying to sleep in this palace, after all…”
“The suitors are always noisy, mother!” Telemachus leaned in and
lowered his voice to a whisper, trying to transition from public spectacle to
private conversation.
“Not like this,” Penelope shot back. “It sounds like there’s a full-scale
riot breaking out down here.” She spoke up just loud enough to direct the
statement as an accusation against the suitors.
“Look, mother – I can handle this, okay?”
“Oh really?” she raised one eyebrow, and a corner of her mouth
twitched into the beginning of an amused smile.
“Yes, really! So go on up to your room, and – ”
“What?”
24
“Look,” Telemachus held up his hands, “I mean no disrespect, but this
is no place for a woman.” He motioned back to the crowd of leering
suitors, who had lowered the volume of their obscene remarks just enough
to overhear the conversation between mother and son. “This is men’s
business – and you need to let men take care of it.”
Penelope’s eyes grew wide. For a few moments it looked like she was
ready to slap her boy upside the head and drag him up to his room for a
thrashing… But then she took a deep breath, and – no doubt sensing the
trouble brewing in the room and appreciating the protective gesture behind
her son’s demands – gave a curt nod before heading back up the stairs.
Telemachus then wheeled around and, red-faced, pointed a finger at the
suitors. His quick confrontation with his mother had gotten him past some
of his inhibition, and now he had the advantage of momentary anger.
“And you!” he barked, “You need to keep it down!”
The ruckus continued.
“QUIET!!!”
The suitors halted – not so much intimidated as surprised by
Telemachus’ sudden boldness.
“If you wish to remain guests in my house, then you need to show a
little respect. Go ahead – eat my father’s food and drink my father’s wine.
Enjoy all our house has to offer. But I have something to say, and I am not
going to have you shouting over me.”
“Wow!” a suitor called out. “Looks like someone’s suddenly getting a
little big for his britches.” The comment had come from Antinous, a
smooth, well-spoken, handsome young man from a powerful family. For
the last few years he’d been the informal ringleader of the suitors – and by
all appearances a frontrunner for the queen’s hand. But the evil gleam in
his eye and the perpetual half-smirk on his face hinted that he was the most
nasty, devious, and sarcastic of the bunch. “Very well then, boy… Go
ahead, say what you’re going to say.”
“Tomorrow I’m calling all the men of Ithaca to an assembly.”
“Yeah, you already said that,” a voice called out. A few laughed along
with him, but for the most part – largely following Antinous’ cue – the
crowd was silent.
“Yes, I know,” Telemachus answered. His voice was shaky and he
feared losing his momentum, but he stayed strong. “But apparently you
didn’t see fit to listen last time.”
“Okay, fine – so when will this assembly be held?” Antinous asked.
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Oooh, I’m not so sure about that,” Antinous winked at the suitors.
“We’re not exactly early risers, you know.”
“I don’t care,” Telemachus shot back. “This concerns you, so – ”
25
“It concerns us?” Antinous took a step forward, and with dramatic flair
put a hand to his chest. “Really? But what in the world could you possibly
need to discuss concerning us?”
“Your behavior at this palace, for one thing. The fact that you eat all
you want and drink all you want without giving anything in return. The
fact that you’re demanding toward my mother, abusive toward our
servants, that you – ”
Antinous chuckled. “Well now will you look at this! Looks like the
boy’s decided to shake things up a little. Looks like he’s got big ideas
about taking charge around here! Well let me tell you something, boy.”
He turned from the crowd to face Telemachus directly. “Taking over
daddy’s kingdom isn’t as easy as you might think – and commanding men
isn’t as simple as spouting off a few insolent remarks. So before you puff
yourself up and start strutting in front of us like a little rooster, you’d better
be sure you’re not getting in over your head.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Telemachus answered. “Yes, I’m young – and
yes, I’m inexperienced. But I’m also the head of this household, and as
Odysseus’ heir, I’m the closest thing Ithaca has to a king. So if I say to
show up at an assembly tomorrow, then you’d better be there.”
He issued his last command as sharply as he could, punctuating it with
a jab of his pointed finger. Then, heart racing, he wheeled around and
strode up the stairs toward his room.
Behind him he heard Antinous’ voice call out, “Whatever you say,
sweetheart,” followed by a fresh round of laughter.
26
Chapter 2
The Assembly
Telemachus slept fitfully through the following night. It had taken a
great effort to stand up before the suitors, and to maintain the appearance
of strength once he did. He’d had to fight to look the suitors in the eye, to
keep his voice from quaking and his hands from trembling.
And when it was over, when he’d finally dismissed himself to his room
and lay down in bed, he found his eyes wide open, his body wound up with
nervous energy, and his mind racing through questions:
Would the suitors even show up to the assembly?
Would he be able to control the crowd if they did?
What if they just refused to listen? What would he possibly do then?
Was he even up for this? Or would his sudden display of bravado just
crumble before all Ithaca, revealing him to be a bumbling, stuttering youth
who had bitten off more than he could chew?
He tried to envision the outcome, to anticipate what how the suitors
would act and how he’d respond in turn. His mind circled around endless
unsolvable problems and anxieties… And finally, after two hours of lying
wide awake, he settled into a restless sleep.
The quality of the crowd in the courtyard had improved considerably
by the next morning.
As he stepped through the palace doors, Telemachus was met by a
cluster of white-haired elders who looked him in the eye, nodded in
greeting, and stepped aside to clear a path for him – and as he made his
way to the seat usually reserved for his father, all around him kept their
faces lowered in silent reverence.
Looking over his subjects with head held high, he thought to himself,
So this is how people respond to a king? Never before had he imagined
Ithaca’s elders showing him such deference – and while he knew the
respect they gave him was quickly gained and tenuously held, he felt a
giddy rush of excitement wash over him. Maybe he was up for this.
Maybe he could perform the daily balancing act of maintaining power, of
keeping people in line…
Before he knew it, an elder named Aigyptios had stood to give him a
rousing endorsement, and he felt like he had the crowd in the palm of his
hand.
But when he turned his head to the right, he felt his stomach drop…
For there, hunched together on their own side of the assembly, stood the
27
suitors – whispering comments, sneering, shooting him sideways
glances…
Okay, so maybe this wouldn’t be quite so easy after all.
Nevertheless, he quickly composed himself and began: “I’m sure
you’re wondering why I called you here today…”
After a few moments’ pause, he was answered by the sound of mock
flatulence coming from somewhere in the area of the suitors. Young men
giggled, old men shot them disgusted but impotent glances, and
Telemachus stood flustered for a few seconds before starting back into
words he’d rehearsed in bed the night before.
“I’ve brought you together to discuss something that’s been weighing
heavily on my heart,” he continued, “something we’ve gone far too long
without addressing, and that we’ve already seen well illustrated here today:
the behavior of my mother’s suitors.”
Most of the elders responded with light nods that carried little or no
meaning. Most of the suitors responded with broad grins that carried
plenty of meaning.
“As you all know, these men have spent the last several years in this
palace as they contended for my mother’s hand in marriage. During that
time, my family has offered them every courtesy – putting no limits on our
generosity and demanding no explanation for what they used or took.
We’ve fed them, entertained them, and allowed them to sleep here when
they pleased.” Telemachus paused and let his eyes drift across the elders
circled around him. “Yet in spite of our kindness they’ve done nothing but
abuse our hospitality.”
In response, the suitors broke out into a chorus of low mumbling that
sounded slightly annoyed but mostly sarcastic.
Telemachus raised his voice to speak over them: “Every day, they
consume more of our wine and our cattle.”
“So? People have to eat!” Someone shouted. The mumbling broke
out into laughter, and a few additional comments were offered in a halfhearted defense of the suitors’ actions.
“They do nothing – nothing! – to help out or to compensate us for what
they’ve used. Instead they just lounge around harassing our servants and
making a mess of our home, with no thought other than their own
pleasure...”
The suitors were now growing louder, shouting Telemachus down.
“...and they do it all under the thin pretense of seeking my mother’s
hand in marriage.”
“Pretense?” one of the suitors called out. “You’ve got to be kidding
me!” Suddenly the suitors’ sarcasm turned to outrage – and soon the
courtyard reverberated with the roar of their voices as faces red, they began
screaming out a defense both of their honor and of the lifestyle to which
they’d come to feel entitled.
28
“You know it’s true!” Telemachus rose from his seat and shouted. “If
you had any real intention of marrying my mother, you would have gone to
her father and made your request. But instead you used your position as
‘suitors’ to throw an endless string of parties, living off the hard work of
others while…”
The suitors lurched toward Telemachus, shouting all the louder, until it
appeared the courtyard was going escalate into a showdown of escalating
voices – or maybe even explode into violence.
Finally Telemachus roared over the suitors: “SILENCE! This is an
assembly of the men of Ithaca, not a barroom brawl. If you don’t like what
I say, you’ll have your chance to respond in turn – but until then, as long as
we’re gathered before the gods in this palace, you will listen!”
The voices quickly died down. Even the suitors had the sense to
respect the sacred rites of an assembly – at least once overtly called on the
issue in front of their fathers – so they closed their mouths and took their
seats.
“Look at you!” Telemachus, now panting and red-faced with rage,
stared down the suitors. He couldn’t tell whether the severity of his
response made him come off as strong, or whether it made it look like he’d
simply come unraveled – but since he’d found a rhythm on the back of his
adrenaline rush, he decided to go with it: “You should be ashamed of
yourselves – the way you leach off my father’s kingdom, loitering around
here day and night without lifting a hand to help with anything. And now
you can’t even control yourselves in an assembly? Just look at yourselves!
It’s outrageous!” He took a deep breath and plopped back into his chair.
“I mean really, do you think you’re actually going to get away with this?
Do you think the gods aren’t watching, or that they don’t punish evildoers?
Because if that’s the case, you’re just plain stupid! Now sure, maybe I’m
out of my depth here. And sure, you might be able to get the better of me
for a while. But eventually you will face your day of judgment. Until
then, of course,” he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I guess
there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I know you guys laugh at me – both
to my face and behind my back – and I’m not stupid enough to harbor
illusions of being some kind of tough guy. But I’d hope you could have
the decency to leave my mother and me alone, to stop taking advantage of
us and give us a chance to grieve in peace.”
As he spoke, the measured sternness on Telmachus’ face had exploded
into rage, and then rage had melted into sorrow. By the end of his speech
he was slumped in his seat, tears flowing down his face. Yet in spite of his
vulnerability, he seemed to have captured the audience’s attention; the
crowd sat silent, their faces seeming to register something between pity
and shame as they stared at the floor and stole fleeting glances at the young
prince.
29
Antinous, however, stepped forward and with a broad, theatrical half
grin said, “Wow, that was quite a rant!” He threw a look back at the
suitors, and they all chuckled on cue. “I for one would like to thank
Telemachus for instructing us about how this whole thing with the gods
works. I never knew there was anybody living up on Mount Olympus –
and I certainly didn’t realize that whoever might be up there could possibly
have a sense of right and wrong. Yet here I was, running around incurring
their wrath, all because nobody had been good enough to warn me! Thank
you, Telemachus… Thank you so much for saving me from myself…”
Somewhere, barely audible over the suitors’ rising laughter, an elderly
voice mumbled the tentative suggestion that the gods’ wrath was serious
business.
“Oh, I know, I know...” Antinous broadened his smile and dismissed
the idea with a wave of his hand. “And being the good, reverent boy that I
am, I would never actually defy the gods – especially not if it involves
hurting the feelings of a precious little thing like him.” He pointed to
Telemachus, and the suitors laughed.
“Then why do so flagrantly you mock them?” Telemachus scowled.
“I’m not mocking the gods,” Antinous replied. “I’m mocking you. Or
not mocking so much as just teasing a little. I mean seriously, you should
see yourself right now – the way you’re running around waving your arms
in the air and foaming at the mouth. Like it or not, it is funny.” He turned
around to the other suitors, and they all nodded and smiled.
“Would it be so funny if it were your home that – ”
“You see the problem, son, is that you never let us know we were
bothering you.”
“How could you not have known?”
“Because you never said anything about – ”
“I was just a kid!”
“But if you were mad at us, you should have said something. How are
we supposed to know you’re upset if you just sit there seething?”
“Oh, so this is all just a misunderstanding, is that it? ”
“Well no, I’m not saying that… True, most of the issues between us
could have been solved through better communication – but there most
certainly is a guilty party in all this.”
Telemachus cocked his head to the side and looked at Antinous through
narrow eyes. He had the sense to know he was being set up for something,
so it was with the greatest caution that he asked, “And who would that
be?”
Antinous looked back with a deliberate sparkle in his eye. “Why your
mother, of course!”
“WHAT???” Telemachus tensed, ready to explode out of his chair. He
gripped the armrests as if to hold himself in place until it looked like his
knuckles would burst through the skin of his fingers.
30
“Now, now,” Antinous shook his head in mock regret, while his
shoulders heaved with silent laughter. He had gotten just the reaction he
was going for. “Don’t go getting all excited until you’ve heard my
reasons.”
“And what reasons could you possibly have for blaming – ”
“You see, the only reason we’re hanging around here is because we
think we have a realistic chance of marrying your mother. And the only
reason this many men,” he covered the dozens of suitors with a sweeping
motion of his hand, “could possibly all think they had a chance is because
she made them think they did.”
“And why would she do a thing like that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Because she likes the attention, of course!”
Telemachus drew a deep breath and, tensed, eyed Antinous and the rest
of the suitors. He didn’t know what to make of the accusation, or how best
to answer it – but finally, at a loss for anything better to say, he replied, “It
doesn’t seem that way to me.”
“Well duh!” Antinous laughed. “Did you think she’d actually be open
about it? Did you think she’d pat you on the head and tell you that, even if
we made you feel uncomfortable, you’d just have to put up with us because
she liked having us around? Or that she’d present herself before her people
and say, ‘Look, I know you really want a king, but I just need you to wait a
few years until I’ve finished having my fun’? Of course not! But I’ll tell
you what – any time she could get one of these men alone, she’d be all
over him. She’d bat her eyes at him, giggle a little, and whisper promises
and insinuations into his ear. And then as soon as she got to the next man
she’d do the same to him… She used all her cunning and feminine charm
to lead us on, one man at a time – quite a feat, I’ll admit – and she did the
job so well that she had each of us thinking he was the one she wanted, that
it was only a matter of time before he would win her hand… Now of
course it all seems silly when I look back on it, and I’d have to admit we
were a little foolish to fall for it. But that’s the way men are; we melt into
bumbling idiots the minute a woman makes eyes at us. But whether or not
we should have known better, make no mistake – we weren’t here because
we wanted to be here. We were here because she manipulated us into
staying.”
Telemachus flew to his feet and glared at Antinous. “Ridiculous,” he
shot back. He worked to keep his voice level and calm. “I could see you
falling for that for maybe a few months. But after all these years?
Seriously, wouldn’t you at least start asking questions after a while?”
“Good point,” Antinous nodded. “But in the atmosphere of secrecy and
competition she’d bred, your mother was able to play us off each other for
a remarkably long time. Eventually did start asking questions, though – we
aren’t stupid, after all – and that’s when she really started getting devious.”
“How so?”
31
“You remember the cloth she’d been weaving, right?”
“The one for my grandfather’s burial? Of course.”
“She started on that thing what, three or four years ago?” he looked to
the other suitors, who mumbled varying levels of agreement. Then he
turned back to Telemachus. “Around that time we had begun suspecting
that she was playing us – so several of us started getting together, two or
three at a time, and comparing stories. It was then, as we slowly
discovered what was really going on, that we started putting on the
pressure – first dropping hints that we knew what she was doing, then
eventually even openly confronting her – until the situation got so
uncomfortable that she couldn’t just ignore us. That was when she called
us all together and announced that, as much as she wanted to move on and
find a new husband, she couldn’t… or at least not yet. For Odysseus’
father Laertes was getting on in age, and she – playing the part of the good
daughter-in-law, of course – said it would only be proper if she made him a
burial shroud before she married. She locked herself up on her room and
started weaving away – until, before we knew it, her weeks at the loom had
turned into months and months had turned into years… And she still
hadn’t finished. Naturally we became curious about why it was taking so
long… Being innocent young men, of course, we assumed that your
mother was an honest woman – so we believed her when she said it was a
difficult and delicate task that she needed time to get right. After all, she
was weaving faithfully every day, so what else could be going on? We had
no clue – until one day one of her servants came to us and filled us in on
the extent of her deception. And do you know what we learned?”
Telemachus’ face was still as stone. He wanted to be angry but was too
dumbfounded to respond. So he just shook his head slightly.
“Your mother was undoing her own work! Every night, after we all
went to bed, she would set up torches in her room and start unraveling the
portion of the shroud she had woven that day. Of course she tried to be a
little subtle about it, to carry out her plan cautiously enough that we
wouldn’t notice the waxing and waning of its progress. It was remarkable,
really, the way she kept up the act, dragging everything out with her
skillful lies and manipulation. She said just the right words here, became
evasive there, turned on the charm when necessary… And only after we
confronted her about our discovery did she finally give it up and finish the
shroud.”
“Okay…” Telemachus’ eyes were now glued to the floor, “so let’s
assume that’s true. Let’s say – just for the sake of argument – that my
mother tricked you in the most appalling ways, robbing you of your
innocence and leaving you hurt and confused. Then that means the only
reason you stuck around is because she had you believing she wanted to
marry you, right?”
“Right,” Antinous stared right into Telemachus’ lowered visage.
32
Telemachus raised his eyes to meet Antinous’ gaze. “So then why are
you still here? You know she doesn’t want you, so why not just pack up,
go home, and leave us in peace?”
“Uh, uh, uh…” Antinous wagged his finger in Telemachus’ face. “It’s
not that simple, boy. Your mother led us on for years. For years! We
spent the best of our youth here, time we could have used doing things
like… Oh I don’t know… Tending to our father’s households? Or
starting families with women who actually wanted to marry us? But
instead we sat around here year after year, only to wake up one day and
discover that we’d been wasting our lives while the queen led us on. So I
hope you’ll excuse us if, after all that, we don’t just take off empty-handed
– not until she finally makes good on her promise to at least one of us.”
“Did it ever occur to you that my mother was just afraid? Did you ever
consider that she wanted to be faithful to my father – who may still be
alive, by the way – and that whatever deceit she used was just a tool to
fend you off? I don’t believe for a minute that you would have left if she
asked you to – ”
“And that’s something we could argue about all day long if we wanted
to, isn’t it? But the relevant fact is we aren’t going anywhere now. Agree
with the story I gave you or don’t. I really don’t care either way, because
we’re staying whether you like it or not, and there’s nothing you can do
about it.”
“So you’re just going to keep sitting around here ‘wasting your lives’?”
“No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to send your mother
away until she finally chooses one of us.”
“Send her back home to her father?”
“Absolutely. After all the trouble we’ve been through, it’s the least you
can do.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Telemachus spat back. “You guys sit
around here harassing my mother and driving my father’s kingdom to ruin.
Then just because you’ve come up with an absurd way to blame her for
everything, I’m supposed to kick her out of the house? Absolutely not.
Because unlike you guys, I actually fear the gods. My actions are inhibited
by basic standards of decency – if you can wrap your mind around a
concept like that. So no, my mother stays here. And while I might not be
able to make you leave, trust me: someday you will all pay for this.”
The suitors responded by chuckling and elbowing each other – but they
were cut off by a horrible screech that drifted down on gusts of wind from
above. Suddenly their conversation halted, and everybody looked up to
see the silhouettes of two eagles circling high in the sky.
“Eh,” Antinous shrugged. He looked around and grinned at all the
faces that were staring toward the sky in awe. “A couple birds… Big
deal.”
33
The eagles drifted lower, and it was with a nervous, strained chuckle
that the suitors tried to join his mockery… And when the birds suddenly
dived, extending their talons and swooping with fierce cries toward the
assembly, the young men cowered, threw their hands over their heads, and
screamed like the rest. But suddenly the birds extended their wings and
caught a gust of air – then rushed in on each other. They collided
violently, grappling with claws and biting at each other with their beaks.
So occupied were they with their battle that they gave up flight and started
dropping like rocks to the ground… But at the last minute they released
each other, spread their wings, and sailed off into the distance.
The crowd was still looking on with a combination of puzzlement and
awe when an elder named Halitherses shot to his feet. “Behold: a sign
from the gods!” he cried out.
Most of the assembly looked at him in stunned silence. But the suitors
just started giggling at the sight of the old man who stood pointing out at
the horizon.
“It is!” he protested. “And you young men would be well-advised to sit
down and listen to my prophecy – for as surely as those eagles circled
above you, trouble now looms over your heads…”
The giggling turned into jeering and loud whistles.
“Oh, sure!” one called out.
“Please stop,” another laughed out loud. “You’re scaring me, old
man!”
“Yes, yes – tease me if you must,” Halitherses growled, “but Odysseus
is soon on his way. And you are not going to want to be caught in his
palace when he gets here.”
“Oh, so he’s coming, is he?” Eurymachus, another suitor and Antinous’
right-hand man, rose to his feet and mocked. “After twenty years away –
ten of which he’s spent lost at sea – he’s going to miraculously show up
and put us in our place, is he?”
Halitherses pointed a shaky finger at Eurymachus and did his best to
force sternness onto his face. “Yes, he is coming. And while a bunch of
smart-alecs like you may think you’re too good to listen to an old man,
remember who you’re speaking to. I’ve been studying the flights of birds
since you were all in diapers – and if you have any sense at all, you’ll
listen to what I say. Get out of here. Go back to your homes while you
still can.”
“There are a lot of birds in the sky,” Eurymachus shot back, “and
they’re not all signs from the gods. So if you think we’re going to go
running scared the first time an old fart like you tries spooking us, you
have another thing coming. Go prophecy to your grandkids. See if you
can scare them into eating their vegetables and going to bed for their
parents. But we’re far too wise for your nonsense.”
34
“Wise? Wise? Since when is defying the words of the gods ‘wise’?
The way you boys act up is bad enough – but to actually thumb your nose
at the gods? Shame on you!” Halitherses turned and pointed to the
gathered suitors. “Shame on all of you!”
“Yeah, heap shame on us day and night; it won’t hurt our feelings!”
Eurymachus winked at the suitors, and laughter broke out anew. “So go
ahead, sit around flapping your gums if that’s what makes you feel better.
We’ll still be here in the palace doing our thing.”
“Ohhh!” Halitherses groaned and shuddered. “Is nothing sacred around
here? What has become of our home, our kingdom?”
“I’ll tell you what’s become of it!” Another elder, slightly stouter of
build and firmer of voice, stepped in. It was Mentor, the man Odysseus
had left in charge of overseeing Ithaca in his absence. “Decency has been
abandoned. Little brats of failed fathers run wild. All order and decorum
in this land has been tossed aside, and to answer your question,
Halitherses, no – apparently nothing is sacred around here anymore. But
I’m not interested in shaming these young men – if you wish to call them
‘men.’ If they think it’s a good idea to lounge around the palace betting
their lives that Odysseus won’t come back, they’re too stupid to have a
conversation with anyway.”
As Mentor spoke, the constant rumble of the suitors’ voices soured and
took on a harsh edge. Laughter started giving way to angry objection.
“Oh, you can just shut up, for all I care,” Mentor dismissed them with a
wave of his hand. “Who I’m really upset at is all of you!” He pointed at
the elders. “I can’t believe that you all just sat and watched as this
kingdom was overrun by these hooligans. Where are our leaders? Where
are these boys’ fathers? Forget those idiots,” he said, pointing out at the
suitors, “shame on you for letting this happen! And shame on you if you
keep letting it continue!”
For a moment the old men looked back and forth at each other and
mumbled in shame. Young men shifted in their seats and grumbled in
irritation.
Finally a suitor named Leocritus forced his anger into a quick bark of a
laugh. “Have you lost your mind, Mentor? What good do you think
you’re doing trying to turn these old men against us? Do you hope to raise
up a geriatric army to throw blankets at us and beat us down with their
staffs? Fat chance! Like it or not, we run things around here now. And
any old geezer who comes around thinking he’s going to paddle us into
submission will quickly find himself in a world of hurt.”
“Are you threatening us, boy?” Mentor’s eyes narrowed.
As if in answer, Leocritus just stood tall, puffed out his chest, and
spread a wide, nasty smile across his face.
“Oh, go ahead and laugh it up now. When Odysseus comes back…”
35
“If Odysseus comes back, then what? Is he going to take us all on by
himself?”
“Well, with the army – ”
“What army? We haven’t heard word of Odysseus for ten years – so
the odds that he’s alive at all are slim. But if an entire Ithacan army had
been wandering the seas for this long, the reports would be flying from one
side of Greece to the other. No… If Odysseus is alive, he has no army, or
we would have heard about it. He’s alone. And if he shows up here, one
man against all of us, we’ll kill him as easily as we could kill any of the
rest of you.”
A shocked hush fell over the assembly as elders and suitors glared at
each other.
Finally Telemachus stood and spoke. “Now really, let’s bring this
conversation back to reality. I don’t think anybody’s going to be killing
my father. After all,” he let a tone of irony slip into his voice, “these
suitors are only here because they want to seek my mother’s hand in
marriage – and they only do so under the assumption that my father is dead
and that they can rightly pursue his widow. They would never simply
swarm my home just because they can, right Antinous?”
He raised his eyebrows as if looking for an answer but got none.
“And I’m certain that, if these noble suitors found that my father had
returned, they would realize that their business here was concluded, and
they would go home. Right, Antinous?”
“I suppose,” Antinous gave a shrug and a smirk. “But I think we can
all agree that’s a bit of a long shot.”
“Or maybe I’m wrong,” Telemachus continued. “Maybe they’re just a
bunch of thugs leeching off my kingdom – and maybe, if the king showed
up, they would waylay him at the gates. But whatever their motivation, I
don’t think anything more will be solved by arguing here today – and if
they aren’t going to listen to me, then I won’t lower myself to sitting
around begging them to leave. So of now, I let my complaints rest before
these witnesses and before the gods.”
“So your plan is to do nothing, huh?” Antinous smiled. “Works for
me!”
“No, I don’t plan to ‘do nothing,’ Antinous. I plan on leaving Ithaca.”
“Even better,” Antinous laughed.
Telemachus ignored him. “As soon as I can, I’m going to sail out and
search for news of my father. If I discover he’s alive, then I’ll return and
wait for him to come clean you out of here. If it turns out he’s dead, I’ll
hold his funeral and then give my mother over to whichever of you she
chooses. But as for now, this useless assembly is over.”
Sitting at the edge of Ithaca’s docks, Telemachus let his feet dangle in
the water as he stared out across the expanse of dark, shifting sea. He had
36
made an awkward departure from the assembly, trying his best to hold on
to his composure and his dignity, while behind him suitors continued
mocking and weak old men sat around staring. And now, having faded
into the hustle and bustle of his kingdom’s harbor, he broke down and
wept.
There, with his tear-stained face looking out toward the sea – where
hopefully nobody could see it – he mulled over his attempt at holding an
assembly, at reining in the suitors. His performance had been stronger than
he’d expected, yes... But when he looked back on years spent fantasizing
about standing up to those foul, intrusive men, then thought of how quickly
he’d lost control once he finally tried, he wept aloud.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when he heard the
thud of sandaled footsteps approaching on the dock. He looked up to find
Mentor walking over to him.
“Pretty rough meeting, huh?” the older man said. He took a seat on the
edge of the dock next to Telemachus.
Telemachus wiped away his tears and nodded.
“Well don’t let it get you down.” He looked over at Telemachus with a
gentle smile – and with the same bright gray eyes Telemachus had beheld
in Mentes’ face yesterday. “That was a pretty tough crowd you had to deal
with. I’m not sure I could have done much better.”
“No disrespect,” Telemachus returned his gaze with a smirk he hoped
didn’t look bitter, “but I’m pretty sure you could have… goddess.” After
realizing that yesterday’s visitor was Athena, it took little imagination to
recognize that his visit from “Mentor” was another one of her
manifestations.*
Mentor shook his head and chuckled. “You are a sharp one, aren’t
you? Just like your father.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Telemachus muttered. “I never actually
got to meet my father, but I’m pretty sure he would have been able to keep
control of an assembly. I don’t imagine he would have let a punk like
Antinous get the better of him, nor that he would have walked away with
everybody laughing at him. And I know that he wouldn’t have run down
here and started crying afterward.”
“Okay, okay… So you’re young and untested. It’s to be expected.
Are you going to beat yourself up because you can’t yet measure up to one
of Greece’s greatest heroes?”
* Note that Athena takes on a second disguise here – this time as “Mentor,” Odysseus’
steward, versus “Mentes,” an old family friend from a nearby kingdom. Why Homer has
her take two different disguises with such similar names is unclear. Some textbooks and
children’s’ retellings change Mentes to Mentor in the first appearance to avoid
confusion, but for the sake of accuracy I didn’t want to make that change. Readers
should know that it was the real Mentor, not Athena, who spoke up at the assembly. This
is her first time assuming Mentor’s identity. Although Telemachus is aware of Athena’s
identity, he still sees himself having a conversation with Mentor, so that’s how I
described the scene.
37
“No, but…” Telemachus looked down at his open hands, then turned
to face Mentor. “But I did everything you asked… I called the assembly, I
stated my case to the best of my ability – but the suitors didn’t listen to me,
everybody else was afraid to help me, and the whole meeting fell apart
before my eyes. It was a complete disaster!”
“Not a disaster,” Mentor corrected him. “A setback. Sure, it didn’t go
the way you would have liked, but you have to be realistic about things.”
“Realistic? What do you – ”
“How easy did you expect this to be? Did you think that one meeting
would solve all your problems? That the instant you spoke up the suitors
would see the error of their ways and apologize? I mean, we’d known
going into this that they weren’t likely to listen to you.”
Telemachus shrugged. “Yeah, I know... But I’d hoped it would go
better than that.”
“Keep your chin up, young man,” Mentor flashed him a gentle smile.
“Things take time. After all, your father’s brilliance wasn’t a magic
solution to all his problems, nor did it produce instant results. As long as
I’ve known him, I’ve seen him falter plenty of times. I’ve even seen him
embarrass himself. And when he did he had to pick himself up and keep
going – just like you have to do now. Look,” he drew a deep breath, “the
assembly was only the beginning. You still have a long journey ahead of
you, and there will be many twists, turns, and struggles along the way.”
“You mean my journey to Sparta and Pylos?”
“Yes… That will be part of it, anyway.”
“But how will I even make the voyage without a ship or a crew? If
nobody in the assembly would rally behind me, then…”
“You can leave that to me. Give me the rest of the day, and I’ll get you
the fastest ship in the kingdom, along with a loyal and capable crew. Such
men may not volunteer before a public gathering of the suitors, but they are
out there – and I will find them. All you need to do is gather provisions for
the journey. You think you can handle that?”
Telemachus smiled and nodded.
Mentor patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a fine young man,
Telemachus. Don’t let yourself get discouraged when things get difficult,
and don’t worry about filling your father’s shoes. Few sons are a match
for their fathers, and few sons have fathers as great as yours. But I know
you’ll grow to become a good, strong man – and you will be worthy of
being called Odysseus’ son.”
“Thank you, goddess.” Telemachus bowed his head slightly.
Mentor grinned widely, gray eyes sparkling with good humor. “Of
course…” He paused and looked around cautiously. “Now let’s get to
work. We have a lot to do before tonight.”
“Hey look, it’s him,” a voice called out. “Here comes our hero!”
38
The moment Telemachus stepped through the gate, the courtyard broke
out into whistles and mocking applause, and Telemachus found himself
facing a crowd of laughing suitors. Instantly his face turned red, and he
hurried to dodge through them and into the palace.
But when he was half way across the yard, Antinous rushed up and
grabbed him by the hand. “Oh, come on, kiddo… Don’t be in such a rush.
We’re just having a little fun with you. Have a sense of humor!”
“A sense of humor? Really??? You’re ridiculing me to my face!”
“Ahhh, it’s not like that!” Antinous gave a mocking imitation of a
friendly smile. “You tried getting all big and tough with us, and it looked a
little funny, that’s all. So the taking charge thing doesn’t work for you.
No big deal… Why get worked up over nothing when you can just take it
easy and hang out like you did when you were younger? Eat all you want,
drink all you want – enjoy a life of boundless luxury. Is that so bad?”
“I’ve spent years standing by while you guys tore apart my house,”
Telemachus yanked his hand away. “And I’m not putting up with it any
longer. I’m going to do something about this.”
He turned and marched toward the door of the palace – with an outburst
of laughter behind him.
“Oh-ho-ho really!” one of the suitors called out. “Tough guy, eh?”
“Yeah, the big hero must be headed out on his overseas journey!”
“Oh crap! Wait a minute, guys – I think we might actually be in
trouble…”
“Yeah, what if he goes out and finds some kind of exotic poison to
sneak into our drinks?”
“Or gathers an army to drive us out of here?”
The crowd chuckled.
“Ah man… I’d never thought of that! How silly would I have felt
when shiploads of spearmen came running in here and found me passed
out drunk on the floor?”
Chuckles exploded into laughter.
“Yeah, fat chance of that. Do you think that kid’s actually going to get
a boat into the water – much less sail it all the way to the mainland? Or
that he’d actually accomplish anything while he was there?”
“Well hopefully he does scrounge up a boat… Then he can wander off
and get lost… Just like his dad!”
Laughter exploded into a roar.
Telemachus just kept walking, eyes pointed ahead, straight for the
palace hall. Finally the door shut behind him, and when the suitors’ voices
were cut off by its echoing boom, he leaned against it and took a deep
breath. He could still hear a muffled roar outside, but for now it felt like he
had put the suitors behind him.
39
Now was the time to forget them, forget their mockery, forget all of the
little self-conscious doubts that were running through his head. Now was
the time for action.
He hurried up the stairs and began searching through the women’s
chambers – darting from room to room with the quick, deliberate motions
of someone searching, yet also ducking and glancing around in the furtive
dance of someone trying to avoid detection.
Finally he found what he was looking for: an aged, round-faced woman
stepping out the door of one of the chambers.
“Eurycleia!” he rushed up to her and whispered.
“Telemachus!” Eurycleia clasped Telemachus’ cheeks in her hands
and looked him in the eye. She had been his nurse since childhood and had
loved him as if she were his mother. “Are you okay? With all the
disruption around here, and the way I heard you arguing with your
mother’s suitors…”
“It’s all right,” Telemachus assured her. “Things are a little crazy right
now, but it’s all going to work out.”
She gave a trembling nod, but he wasn’t sure whether she believed him.
“But I am going to need your help., Eurycleia”
“Of course, my dear boy. Anything you need!”
“Have the women gather some sacks of grain and some jars of wine.”
“Certainly, I’ll – ” Eurycleia paused, suddenly looking both worried
and suspicious. “But why?”
“I need to get out of here.”
Her jaw dropped, then quivered. “You’re running away?”
“No, of course I’m not running away!” Telemachus shot her a
reassuring smile. “I’m just taking a quick little trip to the mainland. I
want to get out and meet a few other kings – see if they’ve heard news
about my father.”
“And does your mother know about this?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“But you are going to tell her about it…” – she peered at him through
narrowed eyelids – “…right?”
Several seconds passed, and Telemachus answered simply: “No.”
“Telemachus!”
“I know, I know… But if I told her, she’d just try to talk me out of it.”
“As well she should!”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Telemachus chuckled. “Don’t worry about me.”
“But you – ”
“The gods will be with me. They’re the ones who sent me on this
voyage to begin with, and I know they’ll be looking after me. But I need
you to swear that you won’t tell my mother – or anybody else – about
this.”
“How could I – ”
40
“Please, Eurycleia… Just swear it. I need to do this for my mother, for
our kingdom… For all of us. And I need your support.”
Eurycleia looked at him with wide, frightened eyes… Then finally she
gave a nod. “I swear it.”
“Before the gods?”
“Before Zeus himself.”
“Thank you, my dear…” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the
forehead. “Now I need to go get myself ready. Once you gather the
provisions, just have some servants leave them down in the hall after dark.
I’ll take care of everything from there.”
Eurycleia nodded slowly, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
A hand gripped Telemachus’ shoulder and rolled him gently back and
forth.
“Get up, boy!” a voice whispered. “It’s time to get going!”
Telemachus was lying fully clothed in bed. Following his encounter
with Eurycleia, he had gone straight to his room, packed a small bag, and
put on his travelling clothes – then he’d crawled under his covers and
waited… And waited… And eventually he had fallen asleep.
“Come on, the ship’s ready!”
Telemachus rolled over to find the form of “Mentor” standing at the
edge of his bed. He gave a quick nod, then threw aside his covers, grabbed
his bag, and followed Mentor quietly through the door.
They glided past the bed chambers, then descended the main stairwell
with cautious steps – occasionally pausing and peering into the dim,
dancing torchlight of the grand hall to make sure nobody was lingering
there.
Usually one would see suitors and treacherous maidservants ducking in
and out, chatting and giggling late into the night – but fortunately the hall
was now empty; everything seemed to have settled down, and the only sign
of recent activity was the neat row of jars and the pile of sacks arranged
against the wall next to the door.
Telemachus paused to point and whisper. “Our provisions… My nurse
left them there.”
Mentor craned his neck and nodded, but kept walking. “We’ll come
back for that in a minute.”
Then he led Telemachus out into the courtyard.
The still night air was filled with snoring and light grunting, and by the
pale light of the moon Telemachus could see an indistinguishable mass of
bodies sprawled across the ground sleeping – for apparently a number of
the suitors had passed out drunk and fallen asleep right there. Telemachus’
heart pounded at the front of his chest as he and his guide tip-toed around
and over the snoozing suitors.
41
Finally, when they were finally outside the gate, he released a long-held
nervous breath.
“Over here.” Mentor motioned to a small grove of trees just outside the
gate.
Telemachus followed him into the grove, and there he spotted the faces
of twenty young men crouched in the shadows of the trees. They looked
up at their prince with eager eyes, apparently ready to leap at his first
command.
“Your crew,” Mentor explained.
Telemachus nodded, and in response Mentor just looked back at him
expectantly. Obviously it was Telemachus’ moment to take command.
“Follow me,” he said.
He led the men back into the gate, and they filed in after him. Within
minutes the group had slipped across the courtyard, loaded the provisions
onto their shoulders, and slipped back out – all with the quick, stealthy
movements of ghosts.
It was then that Telemachus’ nervousness started giving way to
excitement.
Mentor led the group away from the palace and down the road that
wound along the side of the hill to the harbor. As they walked onto the
docks, Mentor pointed to a small ship that was bobbing up and down in the
waves.
“There it is,” Mentor said. “It doesn’t look like much, but it’s the
fastest boat we have.”
The men loaded up the provisions, then stepped aboard and took their
seats at the oars.
“Ready?” Mentor asked.
Telemachus nodded, and they climbed in. As soon as Mentor untied
the rope from the dock, the men dipped their oars into the water with a
light splash and the boat began cutting smoothly through the harbor.
Telemachus filled his lungs with cool nighttime air as he looked out at
the horizon. The moon was low in the sky, its long reflection dancing and
sparkling in the waves. The scene was peaceful, beautiful. It gave
Telemachus a sense of freedom and of the excitement found in taking long
overdue action. What would he find tomorrow? What would it be like
speaking to the great Nestor? What news would he be able to…
It seemed Mentor could see the questions written across Telemachus’
face, for he let out a quick chuckle and patted the young man on the
shoulder.
“I know you’re excited, young man,” he said. “But try to lie down and
get some rest. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
42
Chapter 3
The Fate of Odysseus
Telemachus awoke to the sensation of rocking back and forth, of hard
wood at his back and a cool breeze on his face. Like so many travelers
waking up in strange places, he first felt the confusion of knowing that
something wasn’t quite right, that he obviously wasn’t home… And after
a few seconds he remembered that he was on the deck of a ship leaving his
home for the mainland.
He opened his eyes to the sight of an open blue-gray sky above him –
and to a gray-eyed Mentor, sitting at the stern and gripping the longhandled rudder.
“Good morning!” Mentor shot Telemachus a quick smile before he
turned his face back up and with focused eyes studied the waters.
Telemachus sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?”
“Look for yourself.” Mentor pointed toward the bow.
Telemachus threw aside his wool blanket and rose to his feet. Out
across the waters he saw a large, sandy beach looming across the horizon –
a broader and flatter stretch of land than he had ever seen before.
“The mainland?” he asked.
“Pylos,” Mentor nodded. “Home of Nestor, the oldest and wisest hero
of the Trojan War.”
“How long until we arrive?”
Mentor glanced up at the sail, still taut with wind. “Not much more
than an hour, if the winds keep up like this. Relax and have a bite to eat.
We’ll be there before you know it.”
Mentor and Telemachus stood atop a hill of reedy grass that rose from
the beach. Out toward sea, the hill descended sharply toward a small cove
where the crew waited with the anchored ship. Inland, the two men could
see a vast stretch of land where the sandy beach faded into a broad plain.
The vast landscape was in itself a curiosity to a life-long island dweller
like Telemachus. But it was the scene unfolding there that really took the
boy’s breath away.
Out on the plain was a sea of people. Telemachus couldn’t tell exactly
how many there were, but they were divided into nine distinct groups, each
of which contained a few hundred people. By quick figuring, Telemachus
estimated that several thousand people were present.
Peering more closely, Telemachus could see a mass of cattle at the
center of each gathering – Telemachus couldn’t tell how many – and from
43
these focal points the people spread out in an ever-moving swarm. Some
flowed inward with knives and axes; others flowed outward hugging
armfuls of bowels to their chests or lugging pieces of meat over their
shoulders. Here and there was a distant speck of brown movement as a
bull fell to its knees and rolled over; and at any moment in time at least one
– and often multiple – beasts could be heard letting out a violent lowing
sound. As their voices combined, as the level of noise rose and fell
depending on the number of cattle calling out, the whole scene took on a
musical quality, with the animals’ voices sounding like a deep-voiced
chorus of death.
Gradually the sound trailed off as one bull after another fell, and the
dark dot at the center of each crowd shrunk and was consumed. In
response, the shifting currents of human traffic grew livelier as people
busied themselves with carrying more and more animal parts – and one
after another, dozens of streams of smoke began to rise from across the
plain. Soon Telemachus could smell the savory odor of sizzling animal
flesh as it wafted up to the top of the hill.
“Sacrifices,” Mentor explained.
Telemachus gave a solemn nod. The whole display was awesome – but
there was more to it than sheer scale… To a boy who had grown up in a
kingdom in which sacredness and ceremony had been surrendered to
young men’s appetites, it was absolutely overwhelming. It stirred in him a
sense of awe – yet at the same time served as a deflating reminder of what
he had grown up missing. It was as if he were viewing Greek culture for
the first time – and the sheer intensity and beauty of the ceremony nearly
brought him to tears.
Telemachus watched in wistful silence as the sacrifices continued and
the voices of cattle were replaced by the rising voices of human singers, by
the strum of lyres and the deep bass beat of drums.
His eyes were still locked on the massive display when he finally
spoke. “So I’m supposed to go talk to him?”
“To Nestor? Yes.”
“But what do I say?” Telemachus’ voice seemed small, dwarfed by the
vastness of the space and the activity before him. “How do I even
approach this?”
“Just go up and introduce yourself.”
“But look at the size of this crowd. I’ve never appeared before so many
people, and certainly not before a king. If I couldn’t even address the
suitors in my own home…”
Mentor placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody could control an
assembly of the suitors – not without the threat of force. Trust me, this
will be different. And you’ll be just fine, I promise.” He turned to find the
boy’s face still full of doubts, and he added, “Don’t worry. Just go down
44
there with confidence – the words will come to you, and I know you’ll
make a good impression.”
Telemachus just gave a slight shrug.
“Ah, come on!” Mentor widened his smile. “This is what you’re here
for. Aren’t you ready to go find some answers?”
Telemachus nodded, and the two men began working their way down
the slope.
The instant they reached the edge of the crowd, Telemachus realized
his fears were unfounded – or at least exaggerated. The first people who
spotted them looked up from their sacrifices and met the two strangers with
warm smiles and outstretched hands. The pair was shuffled through a
gauntlet of well-wishing greeters, the crowd becoming more elderly, more
dignified, and more richly dressed as they made their way toward the
center.
They were finally brought to a circle of young men surrounding an
aged figure who was wearing purple fringed with gold – a man
Telemachus instantly knew was Nestor. His face was heavily worn by age,
his head topped by only the thinnest strands of white hair. His body,
though built with the toughness of former youthful strength, was now
stooped and weary. But his eyes shone with a bright spark of energy, and
his expression was not only animated but bursting with charisma.
A few of their guides stepped up and whispered to Nestor, and the old
king’s eyes instantly turned to Telemachus.
“Welcome, my boy!” he stood and walked up to the prince. “Welcome
to Pylos… Come, have a seat.” Nestor beckoned with a wave of his hand,
“Come on, don’t be shy! Join us!”
A few of his sons parted to make room, and Telemachus and Mentor
stepped up and took a seat in their circle.
“Well now this is unexpected!” Nestor began. “Visitors – dropping
onto our shores from out of the blue…” He cocked his head slightly.
“And so mysteriously, too. I have no idea who you are – but you’re
obviously Greek, and just as obviously from noble blood, and – ” He
stopped himself and shot an embarrassed grin. “But just listen to me…
Where are my manners? Here, eat.” He put two plates before his guests,
then added with a wink: “I’ll have plenty of time to pester you with
questions later.”
For several minutes they sat enjoying their food in relative silence.
Few men spoke, and when they did the conversation was kept quiet and
light-hearted – even as Nestor kept shooting them curious glances. It was
obvious that their silence was out of deference to the comfort of their
guests, and finally Telemachus guessed that it was up to him to initiate
conversation.
45
“I guess the first thing would be to explain ourselves,” he began. “I’m
sure you’re dying to know who we are and what we’re doing here.”
Nestor nodded politely. “Whatever you wish to share.”
“We’re from the island of Ithaca; we just sailed over last night. This is
Mentor, steward of the kingdom,” he motioned with a wave of his hand,
“And I am Telemachus, the son of Odysseus and presumed heir to his
throne.”
Any mouths that had been chewing stopped instantly. Any side
conversations were abruptly halted, and all eyes darted to behold the son of
the long lost hero.
Nestor rose to his feet. His face went slack with surprise, and his eyes
glassed over with something between sorrow and awe.
“You’re… You’re his son?” The old man’s voice grew hoarse. He
walked over to Telemachus and peered into his face with wonderment.
“Of course, of course… I can see it in your eyes, in your bearing… I’m
almost surprised I didn’t notice it the moment I saw you.”
“So you knew my father?”
“Knew him?” Nestor’s face stretched into a wide smile. “We fought
together for ten years! We schemed together, collaborated on the army’s
strategies. Sometimes it seemed like the two of us single-handedly held
the alliance together… ‘There was nobody as wise as Nestor,’ they used to
say, ‘and nobody as clever as Odysseus.’” Nestor’s eyes stared dreamily
into space, and his voice trailed off as he remembered days of old glory.
“Did you know, boy, that your father practically won the war himself?
Thought of that wooden horse, got us into the city… But enough about
that. Seeing you brings back so many memories – but you obviously
didn’t come to hear an old man prattle on about old war stories. So tell me,
boy…” Nestor stepped back and returned to his seat. “What brings you to
Pylos?”
“I came seeking news of my father,” Telemachus answered. “You see,
he still hasn’t returned from the war…”
“So I’ve heard,” Nestor nodded sadly.
“And I was wondering if maybe you’ve heard anything about what’s
become of him.”
Nestor shot a glance at the young men around him and gave a quick
flick of his wrist. Most of the circle cleared out, leaving a small group of
older sons and a few of what Telemachus assumed were the king’s trusted
advisors.
Nestor leaned in and answered with a low voice. “Sadly I haven’t.
Nobody’s seen or heard from him in years, as far as I know.”
Telemachus’ head drooped, and he felt his heart sink in his chest.
“But still, I could tell you what I do know. It’s been a long time, but if
I told you about my voyage home and about the last time I saw your
father… Well, it won’t be the whole story, but you might gather some
46
pieces of the puzzle, maybe something that would come in handy as you
start finding other clues. I mean, as long as you’re here…”
“I would appreciate it,” Telemachus nodded. “Anything you could tell
me would be wonderful.”
“Of course, of course…. But where to begin…” Nestor trailed off for a
moment. “I guess the best place to start would be the end of the war.”
Telemachus sat up straight and looked on with interest.
“It was an exciting time, the sacking of Troy…” Nestor leaned back
and stared off into space as though recalling old, dormant thoughts. “But
believe it or not, it was also a very troubling time.”
“Really?” Telemachus asked. “How so?”
“Well, it’s hard to explain, at least to someone who wasn’t there.
But…” He halted, and Telemachus thought he heard a slight tremor in the
old man’s voice. “You see, war messes with people. The constant toil
from sunup to sundown, the never-ending feeling that your life’s at risk,
the experience of seeing one friend after another cut down before your
eyes… It’s a strain you can’t begin to understand until you experience it –
and it wears on you until all you can think about is seeing the end of it.
Over time you begin to find yourself daydreaming about the day you get to
walk away and return to your family – probably with arms full of loot –
and you assume that, once that happened, all your problems would be
behind you… But when that time comes, you find that it’s not all that
simple. For too many of our men, the transition from warrior to civilian –
even though it’s what they had longed for – was not as easy as they had
thought.
“We should have seen the trouble coming, but we didn’t. We’d spent
so much time planning on how to get into Troy’s walls that we’d neglected
to think about what we’d do once we got there – but then finally, one day,
there we were. Our men were rushing through the gates, breaking into
Priam’s vaults, avenging the deaths of their comrades and the sins of Paris.
But even while it was happening, some of us kings felt the situation turning
sour. We could tell our men were taking things too far. They were starting
to act like simple vandals and thugs – and they were getting out of control.
“For the most part we decided just to let things run their course, to give
our men free reign to blow off steam. But things didn’t improve when they
were finished – and once the carnage was over, we found ourselves
standing on the beach with thousands of wound-up, testosterone-charged
men who didn’t know what to do with themselves. There was a feeling of
anarchy in the air. Men seemed restless, like wild dogs sniffing the air for
the smell of blood. They were all too used to violence, to the assumption
that there would always be another target, another outlet for their
aggression. But now there wasn’t – and so now they were lost. It got so
bad we feared they might start turning on each other in their confusion.
47
With no other enemies, they might start fighting each other over loot,
pride, or who knows what else…
“It was in this atmosphere that accusations and rumors began to spread.
Of course many were made out of simple spite – but even the wisest
among us secretly feared the sins that may have been committed by our
rampaging army. Might some of our men have offended the gods? Might
some soldier, hidden in some dark alley, have committed an atrocity
horrendous enough even to turn our patron gods against us?
“It turned out that it was even worse than we could have dreamed. An
unthinkable crime had been committed against the gods – not by our men,
but by one of our kings! As stories were corroborated and reports began to
solidify, we learned that Ajax had chased the Trojan princess Cassandra
into the temple of Athena – ”
“Ajax?” Telemachus asked with baited breath. “Really?”
Understanding the boy’s confusion, Nestor held up his hands and
clarified: “Not Ajax of Salamis – not the one they call Great Ajax. He was
already dead by that time. This was ‘Lesser Ajax,’ the king of Locris.
He’d pursued Cassandra through the city until she ran into Athena’s temple
for sanctuary. Now at that point it should have been over; Ajax should
have stopped at the door and left her alone… But no. I don’t know
whether he had flipped his lid or was just mad with lust, but he ran right in
after her and dragged her out kicking and screaming. In the informal
hearing that followed – it was more like an outbreak of shouting and
finger-pointing, to be honest – some men claimed he had raped her in
there. Those reports conflicted, but one thing was clear: Ajax had pulled a
suppliant out of a temple and over the course of the struggle had trashed
Athena’s altar. A man feels he’s in danger if the thought of such a sin even
enters his head – so to actually be in the presence of someone who had
committed it...
“Suddenly the eeriest feeling came over us – the feeling of sacrilege. A
fundamental rule of decency and order had been violated, and we could
feel the gods’ fingers pointing down upon us. It was then that we began to
notice dark clouds roiling over our heads, a chilly wind blowing off the
sea. Of course the weather may not have meant anything; in fact it may
have been there, unnoticed by us, since morning broke. But it was
horribly, horribly ominous. As we looked around, we could all feel our
hearts sink in our chests. There we were on a foreign shore, separated
from our homes by a vast sea and surrounded by wild men we feared we
couldn’t control – and we knew that even our most faithful goddess had to
have turned against us.”
“So why didn’t you punish Ajax?” asked Telemachus. “Wouldn’t that
have – ”
“Oh, we talked about it, of course. But by that time we feared the harm
had already been done… Besides, executing a king is horribly dangerous.
48
Not only can it spark civil war, but it’s a precedent you don’t want to set in
front of your men. So we let it go. We let it go, and we went back to our
camps with the deepest sense of doom and confusion looming over us.
“We’d spent a few hours piddling around at our tents, trying to shake
our feeling of unease, when we were called to an assembly – where things
only got worse. We arrived to find that Agamemnon and Menelaus, those
two inseparable brothers who had functioned as one throughout the war,
were now fighting violently over our plan of departure. Menelaus wanted
to leave then and there, but Agamemnon thought we should keep the army
at Troy until we could appease Athena with sacrifices.”
“Of course he would!” Telemachus blurted out. “It seems like the only
reasonable thing to do.”
“No!” Nestor shot back. “Agamemnon was being a fool – and in fact I
was one of the first to take Menelaus’ side in the argument.”
“But why? Wouldn’t it be prudent and reverent to – ”
“There was no amount of reverence that would make Athena happy
after that. We had let things go way too far, and the only thing left was to
get out of there as quickly as we could and hope we could race home
before running into trouble.
“Convincing everybody to do so was another story. Agamemnon was
as stubborn as ever – he wouldn’t listen to me or anybody else. And as for
the rest… Well, it’s just plain stupid to call an assembly in the evening.
The army showed up tipsy and smelling like wine, and as the evening wore
on their pleasant buzz faded and took on an argumentative edge. The
result was a mob of men standing around shouting slurred arguments – and
insults – at each other straight through the night. Of course we hadn’t
reached a decision by morning, and in the end we wandered away from the
meeting with eyes half-mast, grumbling to ourselves. With nothing
resolved, the army was split: half of the troops stayed behind with
Agamemnon, while I and others pushed off and sailed away with
Menelaus.”
“And my father?”
“He went with us.”
“So if you left together, how did you end up getting separated?”
“Our faction sailed to Tenedos, an island just a few miles off the coast
of Troy. There we stopped and made sacrifices – for once we came off the
heat of our confrontation, we realized that, while we might not appease
Athena, we should still show the gods due reverence before trying to cross
the sea. But alas, we ran into another disagreement once we set up there.
Several of the kings felt they had made a mistake in abandoning
Agamemnon – among them your father. So after another heated assembly,
I and several others continued toward Greece, while the rest sailed back to
Troy. And that, I’m sorry to say, is the last I ever saw of Odysseus.”
“So basically your story ends with him right back at the beginning.”
49
“Indeed it does, sadly enough. Unfortunately, I can tell you nothing
about where Odysseus is or even where he was headed on his way out from
Troy. But I hope that, by explaining the chaotic way in which we scattered
– as well as the direction in which the warriors sailed – I’ve given you
some information that might end up being useful later on.”
All Telemachus could do was look down and mutter a half-hearted,
“Thank you.”
“Those of us who kept going sailed on to Lesbos,” Nestor continued,
“where yet another fight broke out, this time over what kind of course to
take home. I and several others wanted to sail in a straight line across open
water. But Menelaus thought it was too risky. He wanted to say within
sight of land, even if it meant taking a slow island-hopping route – so we
left him there. In the end it turned out we were right… Or at least that our
gambit paid off. Diomedes, Idomeneus, and I, along with the surviving
members of Achilles’ army, set out together and caught a steady wind that
carried us straight back to Greece – and we were the first to get back home.
“Menelaus, though, ended up being blown off course, and I understand
that he spent seven years wandering the seas before he finally made it back
to Sparta. So if you’re looking for fresh news about your father, he would
probably be the best one to talk to.”
Telemachus nodded.
There was an unspoken understanding that the story had reached its
conclusion, and the men in the circle stretched and looked around as if
awaking from a dream. All around them, sacrifices and feasting were
winding down. Most members of the shrinking crowd were saying
lingering goodbyes as they packed up or pick at the last bites of food.
“Again,” Nestor said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer more information
myself. But whatever help I can give you is yours. Stay here tonight and
get some rest. After that, you may take a chariot and a team of my best
horses over to Sparta to meet with Menelaus. My son Peisistratus will
travel with you and guide you – and as for your ship, you can keep it
harbored here, and your crew can avail itself of our hospitality until you
return.”
Tears began building up in Telemachus’ eyes, so touched was he by the
old hero’s kindness. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say.
“Of course!” Nestor smiled. “Anything for the son of Odysseus.”
They continued visiting and swapping stories until sundown, when
Telemachus was led back to the palace and given a place to sleep.
Starting at dawn, the chariot had rolled across well-packed roads and
paths through the Greek countryside. It traversed flat, open plains that
sprawled like the sea. It passed fields of golden grain that rippled and
shifted like waves. It worked its way up and down rolling green hills and
through narrow passages that ran between craggy mountains.
50
In short, it took Telemachus on a tour of places he had never dreamed
of seeing. The young prince marveled at the scenery that rolled by. Sure,
he occasionally shuddered at the thought of being, for the first time in his
life, in open and untamed country where bandits could lurk behind any
rock or tree – but for the most part he was just overwhelmed by the feeling
of freedom. This was his journey. True, it was a tame journey – even
child’s play when measured up to his father’s voyage – but it gave him a
sense of taking action, of getting out and beginning to see the world. He
felt himself taking early steps toward becoming a man.
By late afternoon more and more huts and farms were appearing
alongside the road. And soon after, the chariot was rolling up to Sparta.
As they approached the palace, Telemachus looked up in awe at the
high, polished stone walls, at towers that seemed to rise to the clouds, at
cedar gates that looked less like doors than like massive moving walls.
Telemachus had long daydreamed of the great palaces of the Greek
mainland, and as he grew up he had wondered whether his imagination had
run out of control. It had not. Menelaus’ palace, at least, was more than he
could have imagined. Next to this, his father’s palace looked like an
elaborate hunting lodge.
His eyes still staring up at the tops of the towers, he turned his head and
whispered to Peisistratus, “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
He got no answer and looked over to find his companion staring with
wide eyes and low-hanging jaw. Obviously this was all as new to
Peisistratus as it was to Telemachus.
They pulled up to the gate to find a flood of people spilling out of the
apparently packed courtyard. An attendant rushed up to take their horses
for them – as if they were expected – and they climbed out of the chariot.
Immediately they heard the sounds of music from flutes and lyres
floating over the courtyard walls. They peeked through the gate to find
young people dancing in ever-shifting circles, and in trains that ran from
one side of the courtyard to the other. Amidst drifting ripples of laughter
and conversation, their parents and grandparents stood visiting off to the
side. All the while revelers wandered to and from tables to gather bites of
food. The sights, the sounds, the colors… It was all so beautiful, a more
genteel version of the lazy, piggish carousing of the suitors.
“So what’s going on here?” Telemachus asked the attendant.
“A wedding,” the man replied. He had unhitched the horses, who were
being led away to be watered by other servants. “Hadn’t you heard?”
“No,” answered Telemachus. “We just got here.”
“Oh!” the attendant exclaimed. “I apologize – I’d assumed that’s what
you were here for.” He leaned in with a wide smile, his face glowing with
the pride of someone who has the opportunity to share big news. “You
see, this is a great time of celebration here in Sparta. Not just one, but two
of Menelaus’ children are getting married. His son’s bride is on her way as
51
we speak, and his daughter is going to Pthia to marry the son of Achilles
himself! And you’re telling me you knew nothing about this?”
Telemachus shook his head.
“So then you’re not one of the wedding guests…”
“No, I’m afraid not. We’re travelers from far away…” Telemachus
paused, realizing how loosely he was using the term ‘far away.’ “The fact
that we arrived during this celebration is purely accidental.”
The attendant pursed his lips and looked the two young guests up and
down.
“Come… this way,” he said. “I think my master would want to meet
you.”
“Wow!” Telemachus exhaled.
Peisistratus just glanced at him and nodded.
They were in the great hall of the palace, where they had just been led
from the courtyard. Separated from the celebration that was taking place
outside, they stood in silence, their eyes sweeping across the grand display
of Menelaus’ wealth. The floor spread endlessly in all directions. The
ceiling was vaulted so high in the air that to look up almost made the boys
dizzy. Countless torches shone like stars all along the walls, illuminating
an astonishing array of wealth inside.
Telemachus couldn’t help but compare the sight to that of his own
home.
Where his hall was built from stones of gray and brown, this one
appeared to be solid, shiny white. Where his hall was decorated with a
mixture of animal skulls, hides, and displays of old weapons from his
ancestors – along with a smattering of precious stones and jewels – the
walls of this one seemed practically covered with pressed gold and silver,
carved bronze and ivory, jewels, statues… So much treasure from so many
corners of the world that it blew Telemachus’ mind to consider it. Sure,
his father’s house was wealthy beyond the dreams of common men. But
this… This was something altogether different.
“Astonishing.” Even Telemachus’ whisper seemed to echo across the
expanse of the hall, so that both young men stopped and look around,
feeling as though they were disturbing some sacred silence. Telemachus
leaned in and added, “Where could all this wealth have come from? I
mean, I don’t think even Zeus’ palace on Olympus could be this grand…”
“Oh, I’m sure it is!” a bold voice suddenly rang through the hall.
The young men jumped, as if they’d been caught breaking into the
palace, then spun around to find a figure walking down the stairs into the
hall. Though they had never seen him before, they immediately recognized
him as Menelaus – both by his kingly bearing and by the bold red waves of
hair that flowed from his head, framing in large, intense brown eyes with
which he regarded the youths.
52
“And while I’m pleased to see that you enjoy the sight of my hall, I’m
sure it pales by comparison to the eternal palace of Zeus,” Menelaus added.
“For nobody can rival the gods, either in possession or in deeds… Take
care to remember that, boys. Whether standing in awe of other men or
taking pride in yourselves, always remember that.”
The boys glanced at each other, then lowered their eyes.
“Oh, that’s all right – don’t worry about it,” Menelaus smiled. “You’re
my guests, and I didn’t mean to shame you. Come, sit down – why don’t
you join me for dinner?”
Even as he spoke, servants were rushing in to set up tables heaping
with stacks of fatty meat, fresh-baked bread, pitchers of wine… Even
butter and fresh grapes and olives. Telemachus knew better than to say
anything about it, but having glanced at the food outside, he knew he was
being served the best of the best that Menelaus had to offer.
Soon they were all sitting around a table eating together. The meal was
enjoyable, of course, but with the constant sounds music and voices
drifting in from outside, it seemed strangely quiet – almost forlorn – inside
the wide, empty hall. And watching Menelaus chew his portion in silence,
Telemachus couldn’t help but get the impression that his host was slightly
lonely… That there had to be something that drove him to retreat into this
cavernous silence while his family celebrated outside.
“No, my wealth could never rival that of Zeus…” Menelaus added
between bites. It seemed as though the thought had continued to nag at his
mind as they settled into the meal, and that he’d been waiting for an
appropriate time to complete it. “…nor can all the wealth in the world
alleviate the pain of a grieving heart.”
Telemachus and Peisistratus had no idea how to react to the statement,
so they just bobbed their heads and quickly took another bite.
“You know,” Menelaus motioned to his hall with a sweep of his hand,
“I’ve gathered treasure from all across the world… Oh sure, I was born
into a lot of this, and I married into more still. But the sheer volume of
treasure I carried away from Troy, that I gathered while wandering the
seas, is enough to blow a man’s mind.” He leaned across his plate and
added, “But let me tell you something. It all feels kind of meaningless
when I have to live with the fact that my brother’s been murdered. Or with
the fact that, while I get to enjoy this life of luxury, thousands of men are
now dead – and they died fighting my war. Or that, even now, the most
clever and faithful among them – the great Odysseus, the man who finally
won it all for me – is now lost out at sea. I’ll tell you, boys. Wealth is nice
enough for what it is. But it won’t compensate for sorrow… And it
certainly won’t compensate for guilt.”
As Menelaus went on about the tragedy of the war, about the loss of
Odysseus, Telemachus felt tears forming in his eyes. He tried to hold them
back. He tried lowering his face. But eventually he felt them welling up
53
and running over his eyelids, and he had to pull the top of his robe up over
his face to hide his weeping.
“Oh now look at what you’ve done,” he suddenly heard a woman’s
voice – sweet and melodious – call out. “My dear husband, can you bring
even one guest into our house without driving him to depression?”
Slowly, Telemachus lowered the fabric from his face – and through his
tears he looked up to see a sight so radiant that by comparison Menelaus’
hall faded into pale insignificance… A sight that had become legendary all
across the world, a sight that haunted the imagination of every man in
Greece but that precious few had actually beheld.
With butterflies exploding in his stomach and a quick breath of air
involuntarily fleeing his lungs, Telemachus found himself looking into the
face of Menelaus’ wife Helen.
As would be expected, he was instantly struck by her beauty – by a skin
that was white as ivory and soft as silk, by hair that flowed down her
shoulders like perfectly spun gold, by eyes that drew him in and captivated
him. Though ten years had passed since she left Troy, Helen showed few
if any physical signs of age, other than maybe a few creases that formed at
the edge of her eyes when she smiled. Telemachus knew she was well his
elder, but he found himself growing bashful at the sight of this legendary
beauty.
As enchanted as he was, however, he was even more captivated by the
sight of Menelaus and Helen sitting across the table from him, looking to
all the world like a happy couple. It gave him visions of his parents at long
last united. It helped him visualize what it would be like to sit around a
table with them, a complete and loving family. And his heart soared with
the bittersweet feeling of hope.
By the time Telemachus had cycled through embarrassment about his
tears, surprise upon seeing Helen, and the confused feeling of wonderment
that followed, the couple had discussed Menelaus’ choice of conversation
and begun shooting Telemachus glances, muttering quietly about him in
each others’ ears. At first it was just background noise at the edge of his
thoughts – but finally his mind drifted back to the present and he began
overhearing their conversation.
“…looks so much like him!” Helen was saying.
Menelaus nodded. “And you should have seen the way he wept when I
spoke of Odysseus.”
“Yes, I know,” Helen smiled gently up at her husband. “But of course
that may have been nothing more than your knack for making cheerful
conversation.”
Menelaus looked back down as though ready to banter back, then
stopped himself and shook his head with a grin. “But I’m sure it’s him.
Nobody could sound more like Odysseus – both in the tone of his voice
and in his manner of speech. And just look at his eyes!”
54
For just a moment, Telemachus grew uncomfortable overhearing
himself being analyzed, until finally his travelling companion spoke up.
“You’re right,” Peisistratus cut in. “My friend here may be too humble
to say it, and manners may restrain him from charging in here boasting of
his heritage, but yes – he is Telemachus, the one and only son of
Odysseus.”
“I knew it!” Menelaus pounded a sideways fist against the table, as if
he’d just made a key point in a heated debate. “He looks just like his
father…” He smiled and turned to Telemachus with a look of wonder.
“And trust me, son, that’s a compliment.”
“And you, young man,” Helen spoke to Peisistratus. “Who would you
be?”
“I am Peisistratus, son of Nestor.”
Menelaus raised his eyebrows. “The son of Nestor and the son of
Odysseus together, under my roof on the same night? To what do I owe
such an honor?”
Telemachus sighed. “I…”
“But where are my manners? I get you upset about your father, then I
start asking you about your business with night falling upon us and the two
of you worn out from your journey. Why don’t you join us here for the
night? Have a bath, get some sleep, and tomorrow we’ll feed you breakfast
and get to whatever business you came here for.”
As eager as Telemachus was for news, his day of travel followed by a
large meal had made him sleepy. He nodded his consent and Helen left to
start setting up their beds.
Rays of sunlight shone through the window as the men reclined
around a table. The hall had grown busier with activity as wedding guests
moved in from the courtyard over the course of the previous night, so the
three of them now met in a small upstairs apartment.
“So you were wondering about my journey home,” Menelaus said. He
remained the gracious guest, but as he trailed off in thought, it was obvious
that the pain of wandering and the guilt of surviving still gnawed at him
somewhere inside.
“Anything you could tell me would be very much appreciated,”
Telemachus answered.
“Well, let’s see… It sounds like Nestor had covered the end of the war
pretty well – right?”
“Unless there’s anything you think needs to be added.”
“No,” Menelaus shook his head. “Unless I were to try rehashing my
side of all those arguments – which I’m sure you have no interest in
hearing and I have no interest in sharing – Nestor told you everything up
until we parted ways at Lesbos. That’s where my tale begins. While he
55
was sailing straight back to Greece I took another course – straight into
storms that split up my fleet and blew me all the way down to Egypt.”
“Egypt?” Telemachus’ eyes grew wide. “What was it like there?”
“It’s a fascinating place, to be sure – full of colossal monuments,
beautifully crafted artifacts, and pretty much every other exotic wonder
you could imagination… But it’s far, far away from any corner of Greece
or any news of your father, so you probably don’t need me to carry on
about it – right?”
Telemachus nodded.
“So to make a long story short, I managed to set out from Egypt after
several delays – but as I headed north I found myself sailing straight into
rougher and rougher weather. We gave it our best shot, tried to push
forward. But after days of tacking and rowing into the wind, we finally
had to give up. We harbored at a small island called Pharos, which lay a
day’s travel off the African coast, and there we took in water and foraged
for food while we waited for the storm to blow over.
“Unfortunately, it didn’t. Day after day, the winds blew straight at us
from the north, and waves rolled in and crashed up against the shore. The
storm came at us with such ferocity that to either sail or row into it would
be impossible – if not suicidal. So we waited. We waited day after day
and week after week, as our supplies ran low and it grew harder and harder
to scrape by off the land. Frustration grew with each passing day,
weighing upon my heart… Until finally it just became too much to bear.
“One blustery evening I found myself standing out on the beach,
staring into the storm as the winds buffeted me and the spray of salt water
soaked me to the skin. ‘Why, gods!!!’ I screamed into the storm. ‘After
all I’ve been through, as close as I’ve come… Why must you continue to
frustrate me?’
“Receiving no answer other than the continuing howl of the gale, I fell
to my knees and wept… But after several minutes spent with my face
buried in my hands, I felt a gentle hand resting on my shoulder. I looked
up and discovered a goddess standing over me.
“‘Are you here to help me?’ I asked.
“She shook her head. ‘No… Not exactly, anyway. I’m but a minor
goddess – a sea nymph named Eidothea – and I have little if any control
over the sea.’
“‘So there’s no…’ My head slumped in despair.
“‘I can’t help you directly,’ She placed a hand on my cheek and raised
my gaze to meet hers. ‘But I can offer a suggestion… You see, my father
is Proteus, better known as the Old Man of the Sea. He’s a son of
Poseidon, and he has knowledge of practically anything that happens out
on the waters.’
“‘But if he’s willing to help, why hasn’t he answered me? I’ve already
called out to the gods, and…’
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“‘I didn’t say he’s willing to help. He has little interest in aiding
mortals, especially when it involves stepping into other gods’ quarrels – so
get his help, you’re going to have to capture him.’
“‘Capture a god? How…’
“‘My father’s a creature of habit. One of his most important jobs is
herding seals – and every day at noon, he drives hundreds of them out of
the water to sleep on the western beach of this island. Now the key to your
plan is that he always lies amongst them to rest once they’re in place. Of
course he’s extremely shy and difficult for mortals to approach, but here’s
what you can do…’ The goddess leaned in and whispered her plan to me.
“The next day found me lying on the beach, wrapped in the hide of a
skinned seal. It was a horrific experience – as hot, smelly, and
uncomfortable as you would imagine – but as Eidothea has predicted, I
soon heard a chorus of throaty barking all around me. I waited for the
sound to die down before lifting the corner of the hide and peeking out to
find the beach covered with sleeping seals… And among them, sprawled
out on the sand, was the half-human and half-fish form of Proteus.
Following Eidothea’s advice, I dashed out from under the skin, threw
myself down upon Proteus, and held tight.
“The goddess had warned me about what would happen next… But let
me tell you, there’s no preparing yourself for what I experienced. Proteus
awoke with a start, looked at me with startled eyes – and seconds later
morphed into the shape of a lion. He let out a deep roar, tried to wriggle
his ‘paws’ from my grasp… But as terrified as I was, as much as my every
instinct told me to let go and run, I held tight. Then Proteus morphed into
a serpent… And I held tight. He became a long-toothed leopard, a razortusked boar. Every wild animal you can imagine, Proteus took its form.
He growled, he hissed, he screeched. I found myself gripping fur, then
scales, then feathers. At times I swore I felt claws digging into my
stomach and giant teeth scraping my skull. At one point I even found
myself feeling like I was trying to hold on to water – like my arms were
slipping through Proteus and squeezing up against my chest. Yet even
then, no matter how confused my senses became and no matter how much
everything in my mind told me I had nothing to hold on to, I remembered
what Eidothea had said – that it was all an illusion – and I kept my eyes
squeezed shut and my arms locked tight.
“Finally everything grew calm and quiet, and I opened my eyes to find
myself looking into the eyes of Proteus. Panting, his face covered with a
mixture of disgust and resignation, he yielded to my will.
“He explained that the gods were upset because I hadn’t sacrificed to
them in Egypt. He said that if I were to return to that land and give them
their due, the storms would calm and I could return home. My heart sank
at the thought of having to double all the way back to Egypt… But at least
I had my answer. At least I had my way home.” Menelaus paused and
57
leaned forward. “Then it was time for my other dreaded question – the one
that had weighed on my mind in the years of isolation following my
separation from the fleet: What had happened to the rest of the Greeks?
“Proteus told me that almost all of them had made it back to Greece
and were now safe in their homes. Only three beside me, he said, had
suffered misfortune on the way back. When I asked who they were and
what had happened, he just looked up at me with eyes full of hesitation.
So I squeezed him tighter and commanded him to speak.
“‘Your brother Agamemnon,’ he finally told me, ‘was among the first
to make it home. He returned to Mycenae only to be ambushed, however...
Murdered by his wife and her lover.’
“Now I know the metaphor of the broken heart is so clichéd that it no
longer holds meaning – and honestly, after ten years of feeling my guts
churn at the thought of my wife in bed with Paris, I thought I had become
dulled to grief. But at that moment I felt a literal pain run down the center
of my chest like a bolt of lightning, splitting my heart in two. My body
deflated with a moan, and I released my victim, rolled over, and stared at
the sky for what felt like hours.”
Menelaus’ voice broke, and he trailed off. After a moment spent
looking blankly across the room, he snapped to attention. “I’d fully
expected that Proteus had escaped after I let go. Yet he must have pitied
me too much to leave, for when I regained my senses enough to turn my
head and look for him, there he was. I lay there for a few minutes staring
past him, blinking through my tears, before I finally brought myself to ask:
‘And the others?’
“He told me that Locrian Ajax – you know, the one who had started all
the trouble after the war – got shipwrecked when Poseidon blew his ship
into a jagged rock formation. Ajax just managed to clamber off the
wreckage and cling to the rocks for safety… And he may well have
survived – except for the fact that he had to respond by climbing to the top
of the formation, shaking his fist at the heavens, and boasting that even the
gods couldn’t kill him. Almost instantly, Poseidon grabbed his earthshaking trident and hurled it to the earth, shattering the rock. The part
Ajax was standing on slid down into the sea, and he drowned.
“‘And what about the third?’ I asked.
“And that’s when he told me about your father… He said that the great
Odysseus had spent years travelling across the seas, suffering countless
hardships and dangers along the way…”
“And now?” Telemachus blurted out. He fidgeted for a second, before
letting out an embarrassed, “Sorry…”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Menelaus smiled. “Your eagerness is quite
understandable. The last thing Proteus told me is that your father ended up
drifting to the island of Ogygia – and there he has lived, to this day, with a
sea nymph named Calypso.”
58
“Wait, so…” Telemachus felt his heart sink. “…so he doesn’t want to
come home?” After years spent wondering about his father, trying to form
an image of his character and personality, Telemachus had never
considered the possibility that he had just abandoned his family.
“Oh, he does – he does. Don’t you worry about that, young man. Your
father is being held prisoner, very much against his will.” Menelaus’ smile
grew wider. “But he is also very much alive – and just as soon as he can
break free from Calypso, he will make his way back home.”
Telemachus’ eyes brightened with a sudden spark of hope. “So if I can
just hold on a little longer…”
“Well I can’t say how much longer,” Menelaus cautioned, “and I hate
to make promises. But you have every reason to hold on to hope. All is
not lost.”
“Thank you!” Telemachus, in spite of himself, threw himself forward
and wrapped Menelaus in a bear hug. “Thank you… Thank you…”
After a moment he regained his composure, then pulled back and wiped
away tears of joy. “You’ve been so kind, so helpful. Now as long as
everything’s going okay back home…”
Odysseus’ courtyard was curiously quiet and empty, cleared of the
usual huddles of noisy young men. The constant roar of conversation and
laughter was hushed – and at first glance it would appear that the suitors
had left the palace.
But a closer look would reveal that they were not gone… They were
just pushed up against one wall, tightly packed and all staring across the
yard in tight-lipped silence. They all seemed to be anticipating something,
watching for something, and…
Finally one of them ran forward from the crowd, stopped short of a
chalk line that had been scrawled on the ground, and threw a javelin across
the courtyard… There were several seconds of silence as it their eyes
traced its flight, broken by an eruption of cheers, mockery, and backslapping the moment it hit the ground.
The suitors, as they did from time to time, had grown restless with mere
sitting around – and today they had decided to organize a javelin-throwing
competition.
The contestant shook his head and muttered some comment – his
apparently wasn’t the best throw of the day – and two more suitors ran out
with chalk to mark the distance of his throw and retrieve the javelin.
As they were returning, Antinous stepped up to take his turn – weapon
in hand and a ring of fellow suitors surrounding him. Those he knew well
chuckled and made light conversation along with him as they waited for
the courtyard to be cleared. Those who were mere fawning admirers
prattled on with premature congratulations about how well they expected
him to throw. He dusted his hands, balanced the javelin…
59
But before he could throw he heard the voice of someone pressing his
way into the circle, repeating the same question over and over again.
At first Antinous was just annoyed by the interruption. But then he
heard what the voice was asking – “Have any of you seen Telemachus?” –
and something clicked in his mind. It actually had been a while since the
little brat showed his face…
Antinous turned to find the question coming from Noemon – a young
man who had registered on Antinous’ radar only to the extent that he had
an impression of him as a useless dimwit – who was walking from suitor to
suitor, pestering them with his obnoxious inquiry.
Finally Antinous cut him off. “What do you mean have we seen
Telemachus?”
Noemon froze, as if caught in commission of a crime, and turned to
Antinous. “Well…” he halted. “You see, he borrowed my ship to sail to
the mainland… But it’s been several days since he left, so – ”
“He borrowed one of your ships?” Antinous barked.
“Yes, and now I need to transport some of my horses over to – ”
“HE BORROWED ONE OF YOUR SHIPS?” Antinous roared. His
voice boomed across the courtyard; he hurled his javelin to the ground and
took a step forward.
The crowd around him grew as suitors overheard the conversation and
gathered, mumbling their surprise and alarm.
“Yes,” Noemon answered. He apparently hadn’t picked up on the
relevant line of questioning, for he added, “And it’s fine that he still has it,
but as soon as he gets back, I really need to move these – ”
“I don’t CARE about your HORSES,” Antinous shouted.
Noemon’s mouth clamped shut, and his eyes darted about in surprise.
“I just… I…”
“What I care about is the question of whether the kid actually left
Ithaca.”
Noemon just stared back at Antinous, slack-jawed and dumbfounded.
“So DID he?”
“Well… Well yeah… I saw him leave myself.”
“But how???”
“He gathered a crew, sir, and – ”
“He gathered a… He WHAT???” Antinous clenched his jaw, took a
deep breath, and paced back and forth. Finally he calmed himself enough
to recognize the importance of getting Noemon away from the
conversation, and with as much courtesy as he could muster added, “No…
I’m sorry to say it, but no – we haven’t seen or heard from Telemachus
since he left.”
Noemon nodded and shuffled quickly out of the courtyard.
60
Once the extra pair of ears was out of hearing distance, Antinous
wheeled around and pointed a finger at the crowd. “Did any of you know
about this?”
The suitors shook their heads and disavowed their knowledge with
quiet mumbles.
“I have no idea how he managed to pull this off,” Antinous turned to
Eurymachus, who was standing next to him. “But this is not good… Not
good at all.”
“He actually has a following out there,” Eurymachus added. “And if
he’s capable enough to organize them into an expedition… Not only that,
but imagine the trouble he can make wandering around the mainland
talking to other kings. We might actually need to start taking this boy
seriously.”
Antinous nodded. “We’ve got to do something about this. We need to
deal with him, and we need to deal with him now.” He stood still in
thought for just a second… Then he beckoned to the suitors, and the
crowd pressed in as he added, “Here’s what we do…”
Penelope sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap. Her face
was blank, her eyes stared into the distance, and she exhaled a weak breath.
She had lived twenty hears without her husband – ten of those years
trying to navigate between false hope and despair, all the while having to
keep her feelings locked up inside while she fended off suitors. It was a
difficult existence, one that pushed the limits of her endurance. But she
stayed strong. She stayed strong because of the hope that one day her
Odysseus would return. And she stayed strong because of her Telemachus,
her only son and the only thing she had left to hold on to.
But now, as a mixture of rumor and fact was sweeping through the
palace, she felt she was reaching her breaking point. Her son had run off
half-cocked on some voyage to mainland Greece. The suitors – while
tight-lipped about their plans – were obviously growing restless.
The tenuous stalemate she had held on to for the last several years was
now starting to come unraveled. Everything was getting stirred up, and her
life, difficult as it already was, was being yanked out from under her.
A tear started running down her cheek, and she lowered her face into
her hands.
“Telemachus,” she wept, “what have you done?”
Just under a mile off the coast of Ithaca, a formation of rock rose up
out of the sea. Its base measured about a hundred yards across, and its face
of sheer jagged rock jutted forty feet into the air, so that it looked like the
tip of a mountain that had been buried under water. As far as islands went,
it was tiny, uninhabited – and to all appearances, totally useless.
61
It was no more remarkable than any of the other thousand rocks that lay
scattered across the sea, lying in wait to smash passing ships. And like the
rest of those rocks, the little island of Asteris wouldn’t have even had a
name, but for the fact that it sat right outside Ithaca’s harbor, and
practically every ship passed it on the way into or out of Odysseus’
kingdom.
On this perfectly calm afternoon, though, a ship was headed – directly
and with a purpose – straight toward Asteris. Its sails were down, and its
oars rose and fell with perfect timing as the ship cut straight through calm
waters and pulled up alongside the rocky face. There it slowed. The oars
on the right kept paddling forward, while the oars on the left pulled gently
back, so that the nose of the ship pointed toward the island…
Then the ship pushed forward into a small hidden cove, and
disappeared from sight.
Standing on the deck of the ship, Antinous stopped and took in his
surroundings. The ship now sat in a smooth, glassy lagoon. Sheer walls of
rock rose to the left and the right, with only the narrowest passage leading
out to sea behind it. Before it lay a beach of gravel and shale – nothing
more than a little shelf surrounded by more rock walls. Everything was
gray. Everything was dreary and lifeless and uncomfortable.
Antinous took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Perfect,” he whispered.
Then he turned around to face the crew of suitors sitting at the oars
behind him. “Get used to this place, boys,” he told them, “because we’re
going to be spending some time here. We’ll set up camp on this beach,
and one at a time we’ll take turns keeping watch from up on the peak,” he
pointed to one of the men, “starting with you. Keep a close watch on the
horizon – and send word down the moment you see the first sign of his
ship. But keep it quiet. The rest of us will wait on board, and as soon as
we’re close enough we’ll dash out to intercept them, board their ship, and
kill Telemachus.”
“Are you sure it will be that easy?” one of the men asked. “I mean,
they have twenty men, and we have twenty men, so…”
“True,” Antinous nodded. “But their crew will be exhausted from a
long day of sailing. And I really doubt they’ll be as well-equipped for the
encounter as we will.”
The statement prompted each of the men to glance down at the shield,
sword, and helmet that lay neatly at his feet, ready to be thrown on at a
moment’s notice – and Antinous, as though to punctuate his statement with
dramatic flair, picked up one of several long poles that lay on the deck.
The pole ran nearly the length of the ship, and it had a tip of bronze: a
straight point for killing and a hook for grabbing the other ship’s hull.
“Most of them will be dead before they can reach us.” He made a
mock jabbing motion with the pole. “And the rest will be easy enough to
mop up when we pull them in. Now I’d prefer to save the little brat for
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last…” He spread a grin across his face. “But we’ll just have to leave that
part in the hands of the gods.”
He paused, and the crew chuckled.
“After that we sink them along with their ship, then return to Ithaca and
play dumb… Everyone assumes he’s lost at sea, and our little problem is
solved, nice and easy.”
63
Part II
64
65
Chapter 4
Escape from Calypso’s Island
The gods were gathered around the table for breakfast – perfectly
happy, perfectly serene, ready for another day of perfect immortal bliss –
when they were interrupted by the angry slap of sandals against the marble
floor.
Somebody was walking into the Olympian hall. And somebody wasn’t
happy.
All the heads in the room whipped around to see who was coming.
Mouths involuntarily stopped chewing, then swallowed chunks of food
with a nervous gulp. Within seconds they spotted an armored figure
stomping between two of the pillars, mouth pressed tight and angry eyes
glaring out from a helmet.
It was Athena.
Zeus let out a silent sigh and muttered, “Oh, great.”
“So what’s going on?” Athena asked with a bitter smirk. “We all
having an enjoyable breakfast?”
Some of the gods mumbled or nodded. Most just stared at their plates.
“Oh, by all means, keep eating. Don’t let me interrupt… It’s not like I
have anything important going on or anything – at least nothing to trouble
a busy crowd like you.”
Her sarcasm went unanswered, and an uncomfortable silence hung over
the room. Nobody as much as moved, except for Ares, who looked right
back at Athena with a taunting gleam in his eye as he picked a huge bite of
ambrosia from his plate and shoved it into his mouth.
Athena ignored him. “After all,” she added, “Telemachus is still in
Sparta. The suitors are still waiting to kill him on his way home. And
Odysseus is still held captive by Calypso – because apparently somebody
who was supposed to set him free never got that far on his to-do list.” She
shot Zeus an evil look. “So go ahead, sit around and feed your faces. It’s
not like we still have unfinished business or anything.”
“Now Athena,” Zeus answered, “there’s no reason to get all dramatic
on us. You still have plenty of opportunity to step in and help Telemachus.
And I do plan on freeing Odysseus.”
“Really? Well that’s what you said three days ago – yet strangely he’s
still stuck on Ogygia. Any special reason you’ve just been sitting on your
hands since then?”
Zeus exhaled heavily. “You know as well as I do what a delicate
situation this is…”
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“Yes, I do. And I also know it’s not going to get any less delicate if we
dink around until Poseidon comes back.”
In reply, Zeus just stared off into a corner of the hall.
“So? Are you going to do something?” Athena pressed him.
“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Any reason you can’t just do it now?”
His eyes grew wide with something between exasperation and anxiety.
Though he had promised action – and was physically more than equipped
to deal with Poseidon – he had trouble bringing himself to crossing that
line and declaring war on his powerful brother.
“No…” The answer slipped between his lips with the utmost
hesitancy.
Still, Athena stared at him, hands on her hips and foot tapping the floor.
So Zeus turned to his son Hermes, who was off to the side of the hall,
leaning against a pillar with arms crossed – listing to the conversation with
the detached interest of a messenger who rarely got involved in Olympian
intrigue. He was slightly smaller than the other gods, his wiry build
designed more for speed than strength. At the mention of his name, his
beady, mischievous eyes glanced up at his father – and the wings on his
helmet and his sandals, which had been waving up and down in lazy,
sweeping motions, suddenly fluttered as if coming to attention.
“Hermes,” Zeus said. “I want you to go down to Ogygia. Tell Calypso
that she has to let him go.”
Hermes nodded, and in a blur of motion that whipped around the corner
of the pillar, he was gone.
For several moments the hall was silent. Athena gave a quick, satisfied
nod; Zeus slumped into his throne and let out a nervous breath.
Finally a couple gods around the table started breaking the ice, and the
morning’s banquet began anew.
Penelope is curled up at Odysseus’ side. Her head rests on his
shoulder and her fingers run in involuntary movements along the lines of
his chest.
“What are you going to do?” he hears her ask.
He takes a deep breath, catches the smell of her lightly scented hair –
then gives a shrug.
“I’m not sure,” he says.
It might be his imagination, but he thinks he can feel her shudder after
he answers. Odysseus has always had a plan for everything – so hearing
him express uncertainty has to be unnerving, especially at a time like this.
They both know the Greeks are coming. They’ve already heard that
Helen ran off to Troy with Paris, and they know what’s coming next.
Agamemnon and Menelaus will travel from city to city, an ever-growing
67
alliance behind them, to gather the kings of Greece. Each will be expected
to assemble an army and go fight at Troy – including Odysseus.
Odysseus wraps his arm tightly around his young wife and squeezes
her to him. He can guess at her insecurity and her fears, at the long years
of uncertainty she sees spread out ahead of her. His stomach sinks, and
his mind races for a plan.
But for the first time he can remember, he comes up with nothing.
…
The halls are dark, illuminated only by small, dim circles of flickering
torchlight. The lone figure of Odysseus stalks out of his room and quietly,
slowly closes the door behind him.
Still the Greeks have not come – but Odysseus knows his time at home
can only be measured in days.
The nurses had put Telemachus to bed hours ago, and there is no sign
that the infant is stirring. But Odysseus, as he often does, finds himself
missing his baby boy. Penelope, at least, is at his side through the night.
Telemachus, sleeping in another room, seems to be a world away – and
suddenly Odysseus aches to see him. For just a moment he wonders… Do
all fathers feel this way? Is it just parental instinct? Or is it the fact that
this could be the last night he will see his son – that he may very well wake
up tomorrow and have mere hours left before…
He walks into the nursery and lifts Telemachus out of the cradle. He
feels the little form squirm for a minute, and he hears a soft moaning
sound. But soon the baby curls up in his father’s arms and is fast asleep.
Odysseus sits in a chair next to the cradle and rests in the dark, feeling the
rhythmic movement of his son’s breathing against his chest. His eyes stare
out into darkness, and his mind tries not to wander.
…
At least a dozen ships are anchored in the harbor, and Odysseus knows
many more are nearby – yet nothing is happening. Everything’s curiously
still, and aside from a few people stepping out of their homes and gawking,
there’s very little activity. The ships just loom in the distance, an ominous
sign of things to come.
Odysseus stands atop the embankment outside his palace and looks
down toward the harbor. His stomach is twisted into knots, and everything
inside him wants to run into the palace, wrap his arms around his wife and
son, and spend his precious remaining moments holding them.
But he doesn’t. Instead he stays where he is – and suddenly, with a
bizarre-looking sense of purpose, he grips his sleeve and pulls at it, making
a long tear in the fabric. He does this over and over and over until his
clothes are in tatters – then he grabs dust by the handful and sprinkles it
over his head. With quick back and forth movements of his hand, he rubs
in the dirt until his hair is filthy and matted.
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He shoots one more glance down at the ships, then crouches and starts
running along the edge of the palace wall.
…
Agamemnon and Menelaus stand shoulder to shoulder, not much more
than fifty feet away.
Odysseus can practically feel their eyes on him. They’re examining
him, evaluating him, sizing up his every move. From time to time one of
them leans in to whisper, and the other nods. Odysseus has observed as
much through sideways glances out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t
dare turn to look at them. He knows they’re waiting for him to make even
the tiniest mistake – so he keeps his eyes glued straight ahead and pretends
to be oblivious to their presence.
He pretends to be oblivious to pretty much everything, in fact. He
mutters to himself, hums ridiculous off-key tunes to himself. He stumbles
along behind his plow, while up ahead his animals – one donkey and one
ox, hitched together in a comically ill-fitted yoke – jerk ahead of and
behind each other, yanking the front of the plow one way then the next as
they struggle to find a rhythm.
Odysseus shoots the animals an irritated look and grumbles at them for
so poorly executing their impossible task. Then he reaches down into a
seed bag, grabs a handful of salt, and flings it back into the zigzagging
furrow that forms behind him.
Agamemnon and Menelaus continue to observe his behavior with wide
eyes. Are they surprised? Simply incredulous? It doesn’t matter. Even if
they know his insanity is an act, there’s no way they can prove it.
Odysseus knows the limits of his intellect, and he knows the limits of their
intellects – and he knows he can outlast them. He can keep doing this,
without flinching, all through the day and straight through the night. And
the next day, when he’s finally too tired to keep going, he can curl up in the
dirt, sleep for an hour, and wake up to start again as if it were the most
natural thing in the world. They’ll never be able to prove anything, and
eventually they’ll have to give up and leave.
However, as Odysseus rounds a corner at the end of the field, he
catches a glimpse of a third man who has joined the two brothers. This
man has a different way of watching Odysseus; there’s a knowing look in
his eyes, a clever smirk on his face. From that quick glance, Odysseus can
tell that this man is trouble – and he feels a nervous burning in his stomach
as he drives his team back out across the field.
After what feels like an eternity, he wheels around at the far end and
approaches, still harassing his poor mismatched team, still flinging salt
into the soil with as much feigned conviction as before. The three men
grow bigger as he approaches. As he gets closer, he can tell by the vague
image in his peripheral vision that their posture is different. They’re not
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leaning in, whispering, or discussing. They’re still. They’re still and
they’re watching, as if they’re waiting for something to happen.
They know what’s coming, and Odysseus doesn’t. And as his mind
grasps for what he should be looking for, he experiences the strange
feeling of being at a strategic disadvantage to other men.
When the moment comes, it all plays out in a flash. Suddenly the third
man runs up onto the field, stoops down, and places something directly in
the path of Odysseus’ plow…
Odysseus tries to keep his eyes off the object, to keep them solely
focused on his animals and on his salt – to remain the tattered, soiled
lunatic in his own little world. But a complication arises. Whatever is in
front of him moans. He lifts his eyes slightly and can just make out the fact
that it is squirming. Then it begins crying…
His eyes dart up, and he sees Telemachus lying in the path of the plow,
crying, arms and legs flailing about in a newborn’s clumsy, twitching
motions. Odysseus’ heart flutters in his chest. His mind races for options.
Silently, he curses the man who would leave his one month old baby lying
helpless on the ground.
Telemachus is now screaming. Odysseus, thirty feet away, fights the
urge to run up and gather his son into his arms – fights with everything
inside him to let his eyes wander away from Telemachus and to keep his
hands on the plow.
The animals are now ten feet from Telemachus, and Odysseus keeps up
the act. He has no intention of running over his son, but he’s sure the men
are bluffing. He knows they would never actually let a baby die over this…
Or would they?
So it comes down to a game of chicken.
Odysseus grips the plow firmly. If he needed to, could he turn around
as if he thought he was at the end of the field? Could he yank on the plow
just enough to “accidently” swerve around Telemachus?
No. The men would see the intent behind either action.
Short seconds pass in a flash of images, and of options that are quickly
dismissed as wishful thinking. And before he knows it, Odysseus is spilling
his plow onto its side and running up to lead his animals away from
Telemachus.
He kneels down and picks up his wailing son. As he holds him to his
chest, he glares at the three men.
Odysseus resolves to learn the name of the third man – and to someday
deal with him.
…
Tears are rolling down Penelope’s face. Odysseus holds Telemachus
in one arm and envelops her in the other.
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The Greeks are clustered around. They have grudgingly allowed their
draft dodger a moment with his family to say goodbye – but they won’t give
him long.
He kisses the top of the baby’s head. He squeezes Penelope close. The
young husband and young wife try to think of what to say to each other, but
all they can do is stand in silence and hold each other.
It isn’t long before Odysseus feels a strong hand on his shoulder. It’s
time to go.
…
The memories ran through Odysseus’ head as they had for years –
images of longing, images of regret and of missed opportunities, images of
the family he had loved so intensely but that had been taken from him after
such a short time.
Sitting on the beach, he slumped back and propped himself up on his
arms, then looked out across the water and wept.
There was something tragic about the sight of him – something beyond
his obvious sorrow. He looked like a caged beast, one long ago robbed of
its wild vitality by cruel confinement. His eyes still had the same bright
blue gaze as before – but the spark of intelligence in them was dulled,
worn away by years of inactivity and quiet desperation. Between black
hair and black beard, his skin still showed signs of wear and tear from a
violent ocean voyage, but its creases and leathery toughness had long been
softened by years of pampering.
The seven years he had spent on Ogygia were perhaps the easiest of his
journey. Here he faced no danger, no hardship… No challenges of any
kind. In exchange for being a goddess’ lover he was protected and
sheltered, even spoiled.
And therein lay the problem.
When Odysseus was fighting in battles, planning strategies, or leading
his crew through danger, he at least had the benefit of distractions. Sure,
he had thought about his family since the moment he’d left Ithaca – but the
images of loving embraces and painful goodbyes were held at the edge of a
mind devoted to solving problems and staying alive.
Now, however, he had nothing to do but sit, day in and day out, as
images of his home meandered freely in and out of his mind over endless
hours of idleness – as a mind that thrived on challenges was forced to do
nothing but torture itself with memories… Then torture itself with the
thought that the wife and son he visualized today existed more as
constructs of his own fantasy than as real people… Then torture itself with
questions: Did his family as he knew it still exist now? Was his wife
waiting for him? Was she married? What kind of son had Telemachus
grown up to be? What kind of kingdom did Odysseus have waiting for
him back home?
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And so he sat staring at the distant horizon and wishing for home,
weeping until he felt he had no more tears, then feeling his stomach double
over on itself with sorrow and uncertainty and letting out a moan as the
tears flowed again.
Eventually his mourning was interrupted by the light, all-too-familiar
sound of sand being pressed under bare feet. Out of the corner of his eye,
he saw someone approaching, then taking a seat in the sand next to him –
not plopping down, as most clumsy mortals would, but instead settling
onto the ground as gently as a feather and as gracefully as a bird.
It was a slender figure, covered only by light and revealing robes – with
skin so unnaturally smooth and devoid of blemish that it almost seemed to
glow, with delicate curls of golden hair that fell over soft cheeks and rested
atop narrow shoulders. Odysseus didn’t even look into her face… For
while the face of the goddess Calypso was as stunning as any he had ever
beheld, he couldn’t look at her without a sick feeling of resentment mixed
with shame.
They sat side by side for several moments before she cut into the
silence: “What is it about her, anyway?”
“What?” Odysseus asked. He kept his eyes on the water.
“Why do you want to go back to her?” Calypso’s voice was sternness
that tried to mask hurt feelings. “Is she as beautiful as I am?”
Odysseus hesitated for a moment, then answered, “No.”
“Can she offer you endless carefree years of peace and luxury?”
“No.”
“Is she as good a lover as I am?”
“No.”
“Can she offer you immortality?”
“No.”
“Will she remain eternally youthful and beautiful?”
“No.”
Calypso turned and looked directly at Odysseus. “Will she grow old
and wrinkled and gray?”
Odysseus nodded slowly. “Yes…”
“Then I don’t get it,” Calypso threw up her hands. “I’m offering you
everything a man could ever want – and I’m offering it to you for all
eternity! So why in the world would you give all that up just to travel
home to a plain mortal wife whom you haven’t seen in twenty years, and
who’s already well on her way to getting old and dying? Why?”
In response, Odysseus – the man who was never at a loss in a debate,
who effortlessly strung together arguments that were elaborate in their
logic and flowery in their rhetoric – turned his sorrowful eyes to Calypso
and with a breaking voice answered simply: “I miss her.”
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Calypso turned as if to snap back – but then her shoulders slumped and
she let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that… It’s just not
fair.”
“I can’t help it. It’s how I feel.”
“No, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about the gods. Zeus,
Poseidon, Apollo… They all run around screwing mortal women left and
right whenever they get the urge – but as soon as a goddess takes a mortal
lover, then wow, suddenly those jealous old fools discover a sense of moral
indignation. Oh, so you think I’m exaggerating? Then think about it.
What happened when Dawn wanted to sleep with Orion? They had
Artemis shoot him full of arrows. And when Demeter made love to
Iasion? Zeus struck him with lightning. I could go on and on and on…
And now they see that we’re together here, so they send Hermes down to
tell me I have to let you go…”
Odysseus nearly jumped with surprise – but then he drew a deep breath
and let keen sense of skepticism take over.
“So I’m free to leave?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Just like that, no questions asked?”
“Yes, just like that. I know you don’t want me, so…”
“And you’re not mad?”
“No… Not at you, anyway. I guess… I guess I’m hurt, but not mad.”
“Hmph,” Odysseus grunted.
“Really, I’m not.”
“And how do I know that? How do I know that you haven’t gotten fed
up with my pining after my wife – and that you aren’t just sending me out
to get swamped in a storm and drown?
“Odysseus,” Calypso turned to place a hand on his arm. She peered
into him with deeply injured eyes. “I love you. I would never do anything
to hurt you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I mean it with all my heart.”
“Then swear it.”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving these shores until you swear an oath that you’re not
out to get me.”
Calypso lay down on the sand and stared up at the sky as tears welled
up in her eyes. The level of mistrust Odysseus was showing her was even
more painful than his departure. In her mind they were as close as husband
and wife. She had always taken the passion they shared as a sign of
reciprocated love – and even if Odysseus occasionally felt pangs of
longing for home, she’d thought this was where he wanted to be. She had
worked to convince herself that the man she loved loved her in return, so to
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find out her little pet was ready to leave as soon as she opened the door to
his cage – and that he viewed her with such suspicion and disdain…
Finally she sat up and forced a smile. “You are a clever one, aren’t
you, my Odysseus? You manage to think of everything… Well, if it
helps, I will swear – by the earth and sky, and by the River Styx, which
separates the living from the dead – I will do you no harm. I can’t promise
that you will make it home safely. If the gods have commanded me to let
you go, I will do so – but I won’t go so far as to give you passage. You
will have to make it by your own wit and cunning, and by the help of the
gods. But I myself will do nothing to get in your way.”
Odysseus nodded slowly, then turned to look at the goddess with
cautious, wordless gratitude.
The first rays of morning sunlight were just starting to peek between
the trees, shooting in long, angled shafts that cut into the forest shadows.
Odysseus was already sweating mightily. His muscles burned with
exertion, and his lungs drew deep breaths of clean morning air. To work,
to plan, to finally have a purpose – it awoke something inside him. To do
it all with the goal of going home made it sweeter than he could have
imagined.
Twenty long poles – freshly cut and de-limbed – lay about the ground.
Now Odysseus was standing over one of the logs, hewing it with an adze
and creating a smooth, flat edge along one side as he worked his way
down.
Halfway down the log he paused to wipe his brow. And standing at the
edge of the wood he saw a dreamlike figure with white robes and fair hair
bathed in golden light. He nodded to her, but she just remained still,
keeping ghostlike vigil over him.
Reminded of his purpose, Odysseus made a mighty swing of his adze.
Another slice of wood curled off the edge of the log, and Odysseus came
that much closer to getting home.
“I brought this for you.” Calypso’s voice was weak with sorrow.
They stood face to face on the beach. Calypso was surrounded by
heavy-looking leather sacks and by skins stretched tight with liquid. Next
to them, Odysseus’ newly finished raft rested on the shore, ready to be
pushed off to sea. Water washed up around it, and its sail slacked and
tightened with light gusts of breeze.
“I’ve packed up everything you should need for the trip – grain, salted
meat, dried fruits, wine, water,” Calypso said. “Of course you’ll want to
ration it. But if you do, you should have more than enough to make it
home.”
“Thank you,” Odysseus nodded. For the first time, he felt a tiny twinge
of guilt for leaving her behind.
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Without another word he went to work loading the supplies onto the
middle of the raft and lashing the bags to the sail. After pulling the last
rope tight, he walked over and stood awkwardly before Calypso.
“Well…” she said. Her hair flowed around her face in the breeze.
Brushing it aside, she looked over her shoulder to glance at leaves that
danced in the trees, then turned and looked out at the gently rolling waves.
“I think you should have good sailing today. And… And I hope for your
sake you make it home.”
“Thank you, goddess,” Odysseus repeated. He felt it appropriate to
leave on a friendly note, but the only positive sentiment he could sincerely
express to her was gratitude for her help.
“I guess this is where we say goodbye…” Calypso stood before
Odysseus for a second, then abruptly threw her arms around him and
hugged him tight. He could feel tears warming his skin as she buried her
face in his neck. She squeezed him, kissed him.
A combination of arousal and queasiness washed over Odysseus, and
he shuddered with the urge to squirm in his skin – but at least this was their
last embrace. He stood still as a statue before putting his arms around her
and going through the obligatory, mechanical motion of patting her on the
back.
Finally she pulled back and, hands on his shoulders, looked up at him
with red eyes. He just sighed quietly and gave her a quick nod.
With that he stepped away and shoved the raft out onto the sea. Water
splashed at his legs, and just as he was getting up to his waist he leapt up
onto the raft, grabbed the mast, and took a deep breath of salty air. It
wasn’t long before the breeze filled the sail and began carrying him away
from the island.
Calypso was right; it was a perfect day for sailing – and Odysseus
suspected that she had helped make it that way. A hundred yards out, he
turned back to see her lovely form standing on the beach. For just a
moment he thought of what was behind him, of what he was giving up –
then he turned to the horizon and began thinking of what was before him.
Parked atop the rolling mountains of Solymi was a gold chariot
rimmed in silver and studded with gems of deep blue lapis, dark blue
sapphire, topaz the color of the sky, and swirling opal the color of the sea.
Hitched before it were pure white horses – with the energy of barely tamed
power in their eyes and manes flowing as wild as the tips of crashing
waves.
A towering figure stood tall in the chariot – nearly as imposing as Zeus
himself – bulging with muscles and holding a massive trident in his hand.
His hair flowed out in wild, wavy strands that rustled lightly in the wind.
His brow was furrowed, and his stern blue eyes surveyed the expanse of
the sea below.
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It was Poseidon.
As he was travelling home from Ethiopia, he’d sensed that something
about sea was wrong. There was some influence, some pull of energy
outside his control. So he’d brought his chariot to a stop atop this
mountain, where he was now looking down at the calm seas, at waves that
lapped gently under a steady easterly wind. He noted that it was perfect
sailing weather. And he noted a single raft approaching the island of
Scheria.
Instantly he did a double-take. What was this? A sailor drifting away
from a shipwreck? Not likely on such a beautiful day. Besides, there were
no other signs of a crash nearby. So what was this raft doing floating on
the middle of the open sea?
His supernatural eyes zeroed in on the lone figure who sat manning the
raft’s oar – and he saw that it was Odysseus.
“WHAT???” His voice burst forth in an explosion of fury.
With one quick motion, the god leapt out of his chariot, stormed down
the mountain with trident raised, and thrust the mighty weapon down into
the sea.
After eighteen straight days of smooth sailing, Odysseus saw the
island approaching on the horizon – and he could sense everything finally
coming together.
He could easily land by nightfall. By his reckoning this island couldn’t
be more than a day or two from Ithaca, so if all went well he could make
landfall and get a good night’s sleep, then fill his skins with water and
freshen up his dwindling supply of food before setting off for the last leg of
his journey.
It couldn’t have gone more perfectly, he thought.
And that’s when everything fell apart.
Suddenly he looked up to find the sky roiling with black clouds. His
sail slacked as the breeze died down, then tugged as a fresh gush flooded
the sail with violent force – tipping the raft slightly forward and driving the
front end down into the water. Odysseus flexed his knees to catch himself.
Within seconds the raft righted itself, and he regained his balance – only to
find that winds were now coming at him all directions, crashing together
and swirling in chaotic eddies around his raft…
And then, like a massive rising wall, a wave was coming straight
toward him.
The raft began riding up the front of the wave. Odysseus crouched and
hugged the mast, trying to hang on as the floor beneath him tilted to a forty
five degree angle. It rose higher and higher – losing momentum, listing
more and more until it threatened to dump Odysseus into the sea. If only
the raft could keep going… If only it could ride this one out, slide over the
top of this wave, and…
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Something slammed onto Odysseus from above – and then he was
under water. His ears flooded, his eyes burned, and he made an instinctive
gasp for air – only to swallow a huge mouthful of briny water. With
currents tugging him from all directions, with no sense of up or down, he
thrashed about with his limbs – sometimes feeling like he was sinking,
sometimes feeling like he was sideways, never feeling like he was rising
toward the surface.
By conscious act of will he paused and looked around. Up, down, left,
right… Everything in all directions was nothing but a blurry blue – but he
noticed that in one direction the water faded to a deeper and darker blue
than in the other. Using the slightly brighter water as a reference, he
pushed with his hands to spin himself until he was oriented upright, then he
kicked for the surface.
Still he was under water. Still he kept kicking. He fought through the
panicked need to inhale, the feeling of never knowing when air would
come, if air would come…
Finally his head burst up above the surface. He coughed up a mouthful
of water and sucked in a mouthful of air – then gagged and vomited. With
delirious fascination he watched the mass of slime that gyrated and slid on
the surface, before he snapped back to his senses and started looking for
the raft. His head turned from left to right, and his eyes darted in all
directions – yet he saw nothing but an endless field of rising waves and
crashing breakers.
Then, finally, he glimpsed the tip of the mast occasionally peeking up
from behind the waves.
He flung himself toward it and started swimming for all he was worth.
His arms chopped at the water furiously, creating a rapid-fire series of
splashes about his head. His legs kicked until they felt they were on fire.
Yet for all his thrashing about, he barely seemed to be moving, as if he
were trying to swim up a river. Just keeping himself above water felt like a
struggle… And every time he paused to look up, there was the raft – still
bobbing up and down behind the waves, still just as distant before.
So again he lowered his head and swam. He thought nothing of how
quickly he was swimming, or how long he had been moving. He thought
nothing of the raft, worried nothing about his progress. Everything in him
focused solely on the continued movement of arms and legs.
Finally, after a seeming eternity, he looked up and saw the raft at the
top of the next wave. With several more strokes he raced up and grabbed
its edge – and with one last tremendous effort hefted himself up and rolled
up out of the water.
There he lay belly down on the raft, and finally exhaled. His fingers
held a death grip on the edge of the logs as the raft pitched back and forth –
one moment struggling up the edge of a wave, the next sliding down into a
trough at breakneck speed.
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Holding on was all he could do. Chasing down the raft had sapped the
rest of his meager strength, and he just knew that the moment he let go, he
was dead.
Odysseus had no idea how long his fingers had been gripping the
rounded, slippery edges of the logs. He had no idea when they had started
cramping or when he’d given up on thinking about how long he could hold
on.
He had lost all sense of time, had fallen into a delirious state of mind in
which his whole world was nothing but endless torrential rains, rocking
and sliding motions, and the occasional slam of a wave pummeling his
body. He no longer thought of his home. He no longer thought of why he
was holding on or even what the end result of holding on – whether the
approach of land or the end of the storm – was supposed to be. Like an
animal, he lived by instinct, with no other purpose than the moment’s
survival.
It was in this mindset that he heard a sudden splash and out of the
corner of his eye saw a form shoot up out of the sea, arc in the air for a
moment – almost as if hovering – and alight on the edge of his raft.
He turned expecting to find a large bird with a newly caught fish in its
beak – but instead found what appeared to be a woman perched on the
edge of his raft. His first thought was that he had started hallucinating…
So he turned away, blinked several times, and turned back to find she was
still sitting there.
She regarded him curiously with a cocked head, then looked around
and said, “Quite a storm we’re having, isn’t it?”
Odysseus just stared at her with wide eyes. He no longer thought he
was hallucinating. Now he thought he was crazy.
“Oh, I’m very real,” she said. “I’m the goddess Ino, and – ” A bolt of
lightning cracked across the sky, and she jumped into a crouched position
as if to brace herself. “Wow… I’m not sure what it was, but you must
have done something to tick off Poseidon.”
All Odysseus could think to do was nod.
“Poseidon’s a powerful god…”
The raft slid over the crest of a huge wave and crashed into the trough.
Odysseus felt himself sliding, and Ino placed a hand on his back to steady
him.
“And if he wants to raise the seas against you, there’s nothing I can to
do stop him. But I think we just might be able to get you through this
storm – if you’re willing to trust me. Here, take this veil.”
She reached out to him. In her hand she gripped a cloth that whipped
about furiously in the shifting winds. Odysseus looked at it with some
interest – but he didn’t dare let go of the raft.
“Come on, take it!”
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Within a split second Odysseus’s hand darted out, snatched the cloth
away, and grabbed for the raft again.
“Now here’s what you do… Strip off those clothes and wrap the veil
around your chest – then leave the raft behind and start swimming toward
land.”
“What???” Odysseus barked back.
“Oh, so it talks, huh?” Ino laughed. “Well don’t worry. This raft isn’t
doing you any good – it’s just going to drift aimlessly around the sea. And
your clothes are only going to weigh you down and drag you underwater.
But as long as you have that veil tied around you, you’ll never have to fear
drowning. Swim day and night as long as you want, and as long as you’re
wearing this you’ll be safe.”
“But – ”
“All I ask,” Ino interrupted, “is that you throw the veil back out to sea
once you reach land.” With that she leapt off the raft and made a smooth,
splashless dive into the water.
“Great,” Odysseus mumbled. He looked at the drenched cloth in his
hand, then out at the endless sea of stormy waves. Could he really put his
faith in this goddess, or in the silly-looking little piece of fabric she’d given
him? He knew that gods always took sides… How could he be sure that
she wasn’t an ally of Poseidon? How could he be sure she wasn’t tricking
him? And that’s assuming that ridiculous conversation just actually took
place…
The calculating mind of Odysseus weighed the two options. If staying
with the raft turned out to be a mistake, it would be one he could easily
remedy. The same could not be said for the mistake of leaving it behind.
He waited until the raft was relatively level, then stuffed the cloth down
the chest of his robe and held on tight.
Over the course of what felt like hours, the raft had lurched, tipped,
spun in circles… As deliberately as a wild horse could try to throw off its
rider, it tried to dump Odysseus into the sea.
Yet Odysseus held on.
He was nothing if he wasn’t clever; he always weighed his options
carefully, and he was always slow to trust others. Instant distrust was ugly
and useless, but the man who kept a seed of suspicion in the back of his
mind was always at an advantage – ready to react intelligently and to avoid
traps.
So even as the storm grew worse and he found himself more and more
often clutching at his chest to check for the veil – even when he’d become
almost certain that he would end up following Ino’s advice – he refused to
throw everything into a wager on her honesty. No matter what, he would
stay with the raft until…
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Suddenly the horizon disappeared behind a black wall of water.
Odysseus held on tight and braced himself to crest the enormous wave…
Yet even as he did so, he became aware that the wave was farther back
than he’d originally thought. The raft was atop another crest, and a deep
trough lay in front of him… Across that valley, the wave was already
breaking; whitecaps were forming at its peak, looming over him, and
before his raft would start climbing the wave, it would…
As if watching in slow motion, he looked up to see the tip of the wave
curling up above him like a giant hand, preparing to swat him. Then, in an
instant, water was crashing down on him from above with the force of a
waterfall.
First was the jarring impact. Then came long, drawn-out seconds of
downward current sweeping over him.
Despite the sheer force of the water hitting him, in spite of the
disorienting feeling of everything around him pushing, coming loose,
swirling in all directions, he clung to the one thing that remained constant:
the wood he gripped in his fingers.
But as the current died down and the wave dispersed, he found himself
clinging to nothing more than a single log, barely keeping his head above
the surface. All around him he saw other beams rocketing up out of the
water and landing sideways on the surface, where they drifted aimlessly
around him.
His raft had come apart.
The log he was now holding rolled frictionless in the water, slipping
from his hands as he tried to grasp it. But finally he steadied it, kicked his
leg over the top, and hefted himself up. Straddling the log, he stripped off
his robe and tied Ino’s cloth around his chest.
Then he let himself fall off the side. Doing the best he could to orient
himself toward the island, he began his long swim.
Poseidon watched as the last wave engulfed Odysseus. It wasn’t
likely that he’d been killed, but his raft was surely pulverized. There was
no way he would find his way to land now…
With a satisfied grin, Poseidon stepped back up into his chariot and
sped off toward Olympus.
It was absolutely astonishing. Sure, the swimming was difficult.
Odysseus’ limbs were fatigued, and it wasn’t long before he felt himself
pushing the limits of his endurance. But despite it all, he had a strange
sensation of being safe. It wasn’t anything as tangible as the feeling that
he could breathe underwater or just stop swimming and lay on the surface.
It was merely a vague sense that, as long as he kept kicking away at it, he
somehow wouldn’t sink. His progress might become slow at times, and he
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might even need to pause and tread water – but he felt he could traverse the
surface of the sea as surely and steadily as he could walk across a field.
Thus he continued plugging away, putting one arm in front of the other.
And finally, after endless hours of delirious labor, after two straight days
marked only by the rising and setting of the sun, he spotted a distant land
formation on the horizon.
A burst of excitement surged through his body. He swam toward the
island as fast as his tired limbs could move, occasionally looking up to see
land growing closer before putting his head down and swimming that
much faster. With each peek the island loomed larger before him; trees
slowly took shape on the horizon…
But then he began to hear a crashing sound – something more abrupt
and violent than the normal splashing of waves. He looked up, now in
alarm rather than excitement, for his well-trained mariner’s ear knew what
it was hearing, and he knew that it wasn’t good.
He could see that he was mere hundreds of yards from the island…
But he was approaching rocky cliff face – not much more than twenty feet
tall, but sheer enough and high enough to be dangerous – and between him
and the cliff, a gauntlet of jagged rocks jutted up out of the water, just
waiting to pulverize him.
There odds of maneuvering between them were astronomical. With the
currents pulling him in all directions and with hidden rocks lurking beneath
the surface, he could easily find himself pummeled or cut open before he
knew what had hit him.
So he flipped around and tried swimming away. But he quickly felt
himself working against the tug of a strong current…
The water was washing in toward the shore, pulling him with it.
There was nothing he could do to reverse course, even to significantly
slow his approach. So he turned around and allowed himself to be swept
inward. He watched the rapidly approaching rocks, trying to see if he
could somehow kick his way safely between them. But he soon found one
coming right for him at breakneck speed – but fortunately it grew slower
and slower as the current started to slack. Finally the water was calm, the
rock was still before him, and he could pause to breathe a sigh of relief…
But only for a moment, for he knew what was coming next. After the
current slacks, it always goes back out – taking him backward through the
same rocks he had just passed.
So he swam up toward the rock – a thin, sharp spire jutting out of the
waters – and threw his arms around it. Soon he felt the shift of the
reversing currents tugging at him with greater and greater force. But he
kept the rock wrapped in a bear hug, maintaining his death grip against the
tide’s pull, even as the jagged edges dug into his skin, scraping and cutting
at his arms.
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There was another pause, and he stopped to look back, to survey the
rocks he had passed – and that now lay between him and the relative safety
of open sea. But once again the current started building momentum, once
more washing inward, threatening to push him in and dash him against the
cliffs. He held tight, waited… His arms ached with fatigue and burned
with the knife-sharp feeling of rock on his skin.
Finally the water slacked again and began to wash outward. Now,
having estimated the safest possible course between the rocks, he let go
and allowed himself to be carried back out away from land…
Amazingly he made it. In one quick flurry of motion, he got flushed
out between the rocks, then kept swimming out until he was a good quarter
mile out from land. There, after a quick look back at the island, he turned
and began working his way along the shore. Hopefully he could find a
better place to make landfall.
Cliffs gradually gave way to hilly slopes, and the slopes leveled out
until the shore was flat. It was still dangerously rocky, but…
But then Odysseus spotted exactly what he needed: the mouth of a
river. If only he could maneuver into it and swim upstream just a little
way, he could bypass the rocks and find a safe place to beach himself.
Uttering a quick prayer to the god of the river, he made his last quick
dash. Fortunately he was approaching at high tide, so the river’s flow was
weak at the estuary. He swam in, worked his way a few yards upriver until
his arms could longer keep moving… Then, finally, he rolled onto shore.
Lying on the ground, relaxing his limbs for the first time in days, he
could think of little more than sleep. But two concerns still nagged at his
exhausted mind.
The first was a strange, delirious urgency about returning Ino’s cloth.
Staggering to his feet, he wadded it up and hurled it out toward the mouth
of the river, where the currents washed it out to sea.
Second was a sudden awareness of his appearance. He was in a strange
land, with no idea of who might inhabit it – and with all the dangers that
might present themselves to him, he found himself obsessed with the fact
that, covered in seaweed and salt water and slime, he had to be monstrous
looking. And more than that, he was stark naked.
With that thought in mind, he fell to his hands and knees and crawled
along the shore until he was hidden among the thick reeds there. He began
raking leaves over himself for warmth, but exhaustion overcame him in the
middle of his efforts, and he – finally, at long last – collapsed and fell
asleep.
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Chapter 5
In the Kingdom of the Phaeacians
It was late morning or early afternoon by the time Odysseus woke up –
or so he deduced from the angle of the sunlight. Rather than filtering
through the reeds at a gentle angle, it beat down upon him directly, bathing
his skin in warmth.
For several seconds he lay blinking his matted eyes. Coming off the
best sleep he’d had in weeks, he was groggy, disoriented. It took several
moments just to sort where he was and what had roused him.
He had the vague recollection of a scream – or no, not quite a
recollection as much as a mere impression that some sharp sound had
pressed at the edge of his unconscious mind in the seconds before he had
awakened.
Then, right as he was waking up, there’d been the harsh rustling sound
of someone – or something – crashing into the reeds nearby.
Odysseus jolted to attention. Rolling onto his hands and knees, he
crouched and tried to peer through the reeds.
What is this place? What kind of people live on this island? By now he
had grown alert enough to know that he had heard a scream – and that it
was a human scream. Are they aggressive? Violent? Barbaric? For all
Odysseus knew they could be cannibals.
The possibilities set his heart pounding violently in his chest. Sure, his
journey had pitted him against countless adversaries under countless
bizarre circumstances… But never before had he awakened in a strange
land without an army, without weapons – and completely naked. It was
without question the most helpless feeling of his life.
But after mere seconds he heard the screams trail off into an outburst of
giggling, and from somewhere nearby he could hear what sounded like
young women’s voices calling out amidst bursts of laughter.
“Oh, look what you did!”
“What I did?”
“How are we going to find it way out there? And without getting all
muddy?”
“I don’t know, but somebody needs to go get it!”
Odysseus turned his head to the left, where the crashing sound had
come from, and spotted a most curious object resting among the reeds: a
perfect sphere, formed from cut and fitted strips of leather. Based on a
vague memory – he had heard about such things and thought he might
have seen one before – he instantly recognized it as a ball.
The voices continued.
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“I am not going out there.”
“Well you were the one who threw it.”
“And you should have caught it!”
“I don’t care. It’s dirty and muddy over there – and who knows what
might be hiding by the riverbank waiting to grab us?”
The comment set off a fresh round of giggling and teasing.
But it made Odysseus’ stomach go cold with terror. What if one of
them did come down looking for the ball? They’d certainly find him if he
stayed where he was. So what if he tried to crawl away? A glance around
him revealed that there was nowhere to go – and if he tried, all he’d do is
make a racket rustling around in these reeds. One way or the other, he was
going to be discovered.
Thus the next question: What would be better? For a naked, crazylooking man to step out and present himself to these girls? Or for a naked,
crazy-looking man to be lurking in the reeds waiting to accost one of
them? The answer was obvious… So he rose to his feet – pausing only to
pull a thick, leafy limb from a nearby bush – and, shielding himself with it
in an attempt to preserve his modesty, began walking toward the voices.
No sooner had he glimpsed a huddle of beautiful young maids than a
dozen shrieks rang out, and girls were scattering like a herd of deer,
disappearing behind trees and bushes…
All except for one.
One young woman remained standing before him, making what looked
like a conscious effort to hold her ground in the face of the filthy, tanglehaired, naked stranger who had suddenly appeared from the riverbank.
Odysseus was instantly struck by what a lovely girl she was – a slight
young woman with a delicate face and wide hazel eyes. She was dressed
in fine linen, and her hair – while slightly mussed from manual labor – lay
in delicate braids. The poise she maintained before him was crafted and
practiced, and Odysseus guessed she was someone important.
Fortunately she didn’t seem too bothered by him.
So now came the question of how to appeal to her. Traditionally, he
would throw himself at her mercy by running up, kneeling before her, and
wrapping his arms around her knees as he requested her help. But given
the situation, there was an obvious risk of being misunderstood.
So instead Odysseus stayed where he was. Holding out his free hand in
supplication, he said, “Sorry about all this.”
“About what?” the girl asked.
The reason was obvious, but Odysseus was impressed by how well the
girl pretended it wasn’t.
“For startling you and your friends,” he answered. “I’m sure, for a
beautiful and well-bred young lady such as you, it had to have been
terrifying to have a wild-looking stranger come running out at you from
nowhere.”
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“Think nothing of it.”
Odysseus couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, young lady. I may
appear a simple vagrant, but I’ve just come off of twenty days stranded at
sea on a raft. I’m exhausted, I’m starved, and I’m totally lost – so your
understanding is very much appreciated.” He bowed his head slightly.
“But as much as I hate to do it, I am afraid I must ask for your help.”
“What do you need?” The girl looked him up and down, sizing him up,
before her eyes darted up and regained a conscientious lock on Odysseus’
face. Her cheeks flushed slightly. “Just ask, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re too kind,” Odysseus nodded. “And I really don’t mean to
impose. All I want to do is find my way back home – so if you could just
show me the way to a city and possibly suggest someone I could ask for
passage, you would have done me more service than you could imagine.
And… Well…” He gestured to the branch he was using to cover himself,
“If you could spare a piece of cloth – not much, but just a little rag I could
wrap around myself – that would be great too.”
All around them clothes were spread out on rocks and hanging from
limbs to dry. Apparently the girls had just finished doing laundry.
“A cloth?” the girl asked. She spit the phrase out as if the very words
left a sour taste in her mouth. “A simple cloth? I’d be ashamed of myself
if I came upon a poor naked stranger and offered him a cloth. I’m a
princess here – my name’s Nausicaa, by the way – and my father rules this
island. And as long as I have any say in the matter, nobody’s going to
wash up on our shores without receiving my family’s hospitality.” Turning
her head to the side, she shouted over her shoulder, “Now come back out
here, you silly girls. Do you really think this man’s going to hurt you?
Look at how he stands before me! Listen to how he talks! Sure, he might
be dirty, but this man’s no criminal!”
Heads peeked out from behind trees and rose above bushes. Slowly,
Nausicaa’s maids began making tentative steps forward.
“Come on, don’t be a bunch of little babies. Give this man a bath.
Prepare him something to eat and get him some clothes.”
Soon they’d converged on an ox-cart and started pulling out supplies.
And before Odysseus knew it, half a dozen women were walking toward
him holding jars of oil and perfume.
“Uh… Thank you,” Odysseus made a clumsy attempt at reaching out
with one hand to accept the jars from the girls – who actually weren’t
expecting him to take them. “Thank you, but I can handle this myself.
You… You go ahead and finish your laundry, whatever you need to do. If
you leave some clothes by the river I’ll go bathe myself and come back
when I’m dressed.”
The girls bowed gracefully and set the jars before him. Then Odysseus
grabbed them up, held them in place of the branch, and ducked around a
bend in the river to take his bath.
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Odysseus could feel the salt dissolving off his body in sheets. His skin
had almost grown accustomed to the dry, crusted filth that had coated it,
but to now feel it all washing away was absolutely invigorating. He
scrubbed at his skin, washed his hair… And as he worked, Athena added
to his efforts. She removed the last hint of grime and odor from him until
his body practically glistened. She ensured that his clothes fit perfectly,
that his hair fell into perfectly flowing curls. By the time he was dressed
and had rejoined the group, he was radiantly handsome.
A few feet away, the young women were huddled around a steaming
pot of food. In theory they were all helping prepare Odysseus’ meal – but
they seemed busier with giggling and leaning in for snatches of hushed
conversation. And all the while Nausicaa, with head lowered and face
trying to contain a wide smile, kept shooting Odysseus glances with
bashful eyes.
Finally they brought him his food and sat in a circle by him. But after a
few moments of silence – of himself trying to eat politely after weeks of
wanting to stuff his face, and of smiles from girls young enough to marry
his son – he took it upon himself to fill the uncomfortable space with
conversation.
“So your people… Tell me about them.”
“We are a sea-faring people called the Phaeacians,” Nausicaa
answered. She held Odysseus’ gaze for a moment before her eyes darted
off to the side and her face reddened.
“Hmm…” Odysseus trailed off. “I never knew that anybody lived on
this island – especially anybody advanced enough to be sailors. I mean,
Greeks don’t usually travel this far north, but I think we’re close enough to
Ithaca that I should have heard something about you.”
“True,” Nausicaa nodded. “But our kingdom hasn’t been here long.
And on top of that, we’re a very secretive people; we travel a lot and trade
a lot, but we don’t have – or invite – many visitors. Don’t get me wrong –
we’re not unfriendly. It’s just that… You see, we were driven from our
last home by a tribe of Cyclopes. So you’ll probably understand why we
don’t go out of our way to invite more attention than we need to.” She
stopped and looked Odysseus in the eye as if more explanation were
needed. “We’re great sailors, but we’re not warriors. The less we can get
tangled in other people’s messes, the better.”
Odysseus shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“But don’t worry,” she reached out with a reassuring hand. “We’re
gracious, and we fear the gods. I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re
treated well. But… Well, there is one consideration…”
“A consideration? What do you mean?”
“It might… Well, no offence, but it might be best if we didn’t go into
town together.”
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“Why’s that?” Odysseus looked up with sudden curiosity.
“You see… Well, the thing is it might get people talking. I can hear it
now, in fact. ‘Well now who is this stranger?’ ‘Why’s Nausicaa bringing
him into the palace?’ ‘Has the little daydreamer been out on the beaches
waiting for a husband to float in?’ ‘What’s wrong with the men we have
here? Is she too good to settle for a Phaeacian husband?’ And on and on it
would go.”
“Now really, I’m sure if you gave your people some credit…”
“No, no, no,” Nausicaa held up her hands and shook her head. “I love
them dearly, but I can also recognize their foibles. And make no mistake:
If they do have a fault – aside from being suspicious of outsiders – it’s that
they’re big, fat, out-of-control gossips.” She leaned in and lowered her
voice, as if the forest around them were full of eager ears. “So here’s what
we need to do… I and my maids will travel back to town on the cart. You
follow close behind us as long as we’re on the country roads – but as soon
as we approach the city, you need to leave us. You’ll see a grove on our
left as we start to approach the city gate; it’s a nice, shaded area we keep in
honor of Athena. Just dodge aside and wait among the trees for a few
hours, and as soon as enough time’s passed, you can make a casual
entrance as if you’d been traveling by yourself. When you come to the
palace, you’ll want to bow before my mother and plead your case.”
“Not your father, the king?”
Nausicaa smiled. “My father’s a great man. He’s strong and decisive,
and he makes the big decisions around here. But for the little things like
this, especially when it comes to first impressions and tugging on
heartstrings, you’ll want to appeal to my mother. If she finds you likeable,
you’re in.”
“Makes sense,” Odysseus nodded.
“I think that’s pretty much it,” Nausicaa climbed aboard the cart and
gave her oxen a quick command and a crack on the reins. “Just follow
along, and everything should be fine.” With a quick jerk the cart started
moving forward with Odysseus trudging along behind.
Athena had watched with interest as Odysseus – ant-sized from
Olympus – followed the cart down the winding road toward the Phaeacian
city, then broke off and escaped into the grove at the last minute.
Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly – but there were still a
lot of variables, a lot that could go wrong, with Odysseus wandering into a
new town. So the goddess bolted down from Olympus to the edge of the
grove, where she peeked into the trees to find Odysseus sitting against a
trunk. She threw her hands out to cast what appeared to be a sort of static
over him, so that his image fluttered, grew wavy, and faded from sight.
Covered by a mist of invisibility, he would now be able to travel
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undetected by the townspeople. Then she herself morphed into the shape
and size of a thirteen year old girl, and she waited…
At first, sitting in the cool shade of the trees had felt good. Despite his
night of sleep, Odysseus was still worn out, so the thought of having a
quiet place to stretch out and relax his fatigued limbs before meeting the
king and queen actually sounded perfect.
It didn’t take long for him to grow restless, however. More and more
people passed by the road or stepped through the grove, and he found it
more and more uncomfortable trying to pretend he had a legitimate reason
for loitering there. He got up, wandered around, and pretended to admire
the trees. He leaned against a trunk and snoozed. He knelt in silent prayer
to Athena – an activity more real and earnest than the rest. But he was sure
he didn’t look like he belonged.
Finally, with the reddening sun low on the horizon, he judged that it
was safe to start making his way toward the road. With any luck, he could
proceed unnoticed…
But no sooner had he come to the edge of the woods than he caught the
eye of a young girl carrying a water jar. Immediately he looked away,
trying to act casual, hoping that after an incidental glance she would pay
him no more attention. But she kept peeking over at him – obviously
curious despite his efforts at being inconspicuous – until he finally decided
that the best thing to do would be to acknowledge her.
Greeting her with a wave, he called out, “Good afternoon!”
“Good afternoon, sir,” the girl smiled and approached.
Odysseus knelt down and looked her in the eye. “Hey, I don’t mean to
impose, but I’m a little lost and I was wondering… Would you mind
helping me with something?”
“Sure!” The girl’s smile widened. “What is it?”
“Would you be able to point me to King Alcinous’ palace?”
“Okay…” The girl halted; for the first time she sounded hesitant. “I
don’t mind helping, but it seems strange that somebody would have to ask
where the palace is…” She cocked her head to the side and gave him a
strange look. “Are you not from around here?”
“No, I’m not,” Odysseus answered. Filling his voice with wonder and
excitement, he leaned in and whispered, “In fact I come from a faraway
land.”
Her eyes widened. “You do???”
Odysseus nodded.
“Well you know not everybody around here likes strangers, right?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Don’t worry, though.” Now the girl was whispering too, shooting
glances around them. “I have nothing against foreigners. And as for the
rest… Well, I mean it’s not like anybody’s going to attack you or anything
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crazy like that. But it’d be best if you didn’t go around trying to ask
questions or make conversation. Just keep to yourself and walk straight on
in to meet the king and queen. Here,” she gestured with a wave of her
hand, “Follow me. I’ll lead you there.”
She took off toward the city walls, and Odysseus followed. Their path
took them through high-arched gates into a city that bustled with the
constant buzz and movement of a thriving commercial society. Orderly,
efficient city streets led through rows of houses and public buildings,
occasionally opening up into wide-open marketplaces where elders sat in
circles and merchants peddled their wares. Then, where the streets skirted
the shore, Odysseus looked out to see docks that ran endlessly along the
entire coast. Row after row of the most sleek, well-made ships lined these
docks – and while he didn’t get close enough to see much more than masts,
sails, and the general lines of the hulls, he could quickly tell that they were
built with a level of technology and craft still not conceived of by his
people. So numerous were they that it appeared nearly every Phaeacian
citizen had to have owned his own vessel.
The girl interrupted his reverie by pointing up to some tall towers that
could be seen jutting up onto the horizon behind a row of houses. “There it
is,” she said. “It’s still a few blocks away, but it should be easy to find.”
“Thank you,” Odysseus smiled down at her, and she dashed away,
presumably toward home.
Odysseus continued on, navigating the city streets by the sight of the
towers up ahead. The sky was fading to dusk as the sun began setting –
but as he approached, he observed that everything was actually starting to
get brighter. He first assumed it had to have been his imagination. But as
he walked into the palace courtyard, he saw the explanation for the
phenomenon – and it took his breath away.
Top to bottom, from one corner to the next, the walls of the palace were
nothing but shiny, polished bronze. At the center were doors of solid gold,
guarded on either side by gold and silver dogs, statues that kept tireless
watch over the palace.
Odysseus took a deep breath and stepped inside to find a hall that was
every bit as grand as the exterior. The inside was also bronze, from the
floor up to the vaulted ceiling – were the walls solid bronze all the way
through? Odysseus wondered as he looked around – with red-cushioned
chairs running all along the edges of the hall. Over the chairs, gold statues
of young men held out torches to give the palace light. Every interior door
Odysseus could spot was gold with silver handles, framed in a mysterious,
shiny blue substance Odysseus didn’t recognize – enamel.
Were it not for the importance of his mission and his eagerness to
finally get home, Odysseus could have stood around gazing at the palace
for hours. Not only was it almost absurdly wealthy, but the level of
craftsmanship and the array of mysterious objects and materials hinted at a
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society so advanced as to be totally alien even to a well-travelled Greek
seafarer.
Finally Odysseus pulled his attention away from the wonders around
him and found the king and queen sitting at the head of the hall. After
taking a moment to gather his courage and still his heart, he drew a breath
and strode straight toward them.
The hall was dead quiet. The hundreds of murmuring voices – of
courtiers, of elders, of servants, and of nobles wandering in and out on
various forms of business – suddenly stopped. Once they did it became
obvious how much latent background noise the overlapping conversations
had been creating, and the sudden stillness was absolutely eerie.
It was especially unsettling to Odysseus, who was a lone outsider in a
sea of strange new people and who, per Nausicaa’s instructions, had
thrown himself before the queen and grabbed her knees. The second he’d
made the move he thought he’d heard everybody gasp – and that’s when
all conversation stopped. He could imagine their jaws hanging open. He
could feel all their eyes locked upon him.
He had no idea that Athena had covered him with her mist, nor that she
had lifted it as soon as he knelt before the queen. But he knew that he had
taken everybody in the hall by surprise, and that he now held their
undivided attention. His face staring at the queen’s lap and his arms
wrapped around her knees, he felt the uncomfortable tension of his
awkward position, and of time ticking away as he did nothing.
Finally he turned his face up to meet her eyes. “My dear queen,” he
began, “I hope I have not startled – or in any other way offended – you
with my actions. And if I have, I sincerely beg your forgiveness. I mean
you no harm, no imposition. It is only by an accident of fate that I have
washed up on your shores, and I enter your hall only because my
circumstances leave me with nowhere else to go. You see, I am a longtime
traveler, a wanderer who has spent years visiting strange lands and drifting
on unfriendly seas. I’ve been apart from my wife and son for literally half
my life, during which time I’ve watched my companions die cruel deaths,
falling one by one until I was left to wander alone – sometimes a prisoner,
sometimes a supplicant, sometimes a vagrant. Through it all I’ve scrapped
by on sheer wit and desperation, doing everything I could think of to return
home, only to find myself frustrated at every turn by the will of malevolent
gods. And now I find myself here – stuck and finally out of options, with
no choice but to throw myself at your mercy and ask that you might grant
me passage back to my homeland.”
Throughout his plea, he had looked the queen in the face. She was on
the older side of middle age – perhaps in her mid fifties – with eyes that
seemed soft and kind, but that revealed little of her sympathy or intention.
Did she believe Odysseus? Did she want to help? Odysseus could not be
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sure. It was as though her eyes, while they pitied the sight of Odysseus,
were careful to maintain a cold edge.
So Odysseus shot a quick glance at the king… But there he found a
countenance as stern as the harshest schoolmaster. His face, framed in by a
short and bristly beard, was etched with long lines that gave the appearance
of a severe, permanent scowl – one that was made much more intense by
fiery brown eyes that looked like they could drill holes through a man.
One look from the king and Odysseus let loose the queen’s knees and
slid to the floor. There he lay in a heap, face buried in the carpet, and
waited…
“Get up,” a gravely voice said. It was the king.
Odysseus lifted his eyes and looked into a face that had transitioned
from simple sternness to tough, patriarchal kindness – a face that measured
a man, evaluated him, and compelled him to add up… But a face that
would willingly bestow approval upon the one who met his expectations.
“No traveler is going to come into my home and be left lying on the
floor,” the king added. By the tone of his voice, Odysseus couldn’t tell if
the king was extending kindness or chastising him for his posture. But
then the king’s eyes glanced at the queen, who gave him an approving nod,
and he extended a hand. “Come, sit with us. Tonight you will be a guest
in our house. Join us for dinner, sleep under my roof. Then tomorrow,
when I can call a proper assembly, we will celebrate your arrival and let all
the elders discuss what to do about your departure. Unless you wish to get
right down to business now.”
“Good king,” Odysseus bowed his head slightly, “I have already
invaded your house and begged for your help – so I would not dream of
rushing you to a decision. This can wait until morning. Besides,” he eyed
the trays of steaming food that were being brought out, “as much as I’ve
suffered and as urgent as my purpose may be, my stomach won’t let me
think of anything until food. Once I’ve eaten and rested, I will be ready for
other business.”
“Well said,” the king answered. His thin lips curled into a smile, and
his chiseled face took on a kindly edge. “Now come, eat at my side and
enjoy my company.”
He reached down to help Odysseus into a seat, and they settled into
their meal.
Torchlight danced in the chamber – a warm but dim light that cast
ever-flickering shadows along the walls and allowing the corners of the
room to fade into darkness. The guests had gone home; the servants were
wrapping up their duties. Now Odysseus, King Alcinous, and Queen Arete
relaxed into the late evening hours before retiring to bed.
Odysseus took a sip of wine when, over the rim of his cup he noticed
Arete’s eyes glancing over him, looking him up and down. He could see
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that something was on her mind, and she was looking for a way to put it
into words.
“Those clothes,” she finally said. “Where did they come from?”
Odysseus was caught off guard. “These?” he blurted out.
“Yes, those,” Arete answered with a tight smile. “I hate to pry into
your business, but… Well, it seems a little curious that a man would wash
up out of the sea dressed like you are… And, to be honest, I think I
recognize the clothes you’re wearing.”
Odysseus froze for a moment, then let out a light sigh. “You’re right,
of course,” he said. “And you’re very observant. I actually arrived here
last night, stark naked, and spent the night on the banks of a river before
I…” He stopped to choose his words carefully. “…encountered your
daughter. She was doing laundry with some of her servants – and when
she saw me, she fed me lunch and gave me these clothes.”
“Hmmm…” Arete acknowledged his answer, then drifted off into
thought as she considered it.
“But wait,” Alcinous suddenly jumped in, “I’m confused. If you’d
already met Nausicaa, how did you end up coming into the palace by
yourself? She arrived late this afternoon, but you didn’t get here until – ”
“We travelled separately. She and the servants took the laundry back to
down, and I came in after them.”
The lines on Alcinous’ face deepened, and his expression hardened into
the same scowl Odysseus had seen before. “Thoughtless girl,” he rumbled.
He turned to his wife as though to discuss an ongoing discipline problem
with their child. “She finds a stranger, gives him a little help, then leaves
him to fend for himself? What kind of girl did we – ”
“No, no,” Odysseus cut in. “Don’t blame the girl. Her manners were
above and beyond what you could expect of one her age. Too many
youths these days are careless – but not your Nausicaa. She offered me
every kindness, was incredibly well-mannered. And in the end it was my
idea to travel back separately.”
Alcinous shot him a sideways look. “Your idea?”
“Yes, my idea. You see, I realized what an awkward position I had
stepped into. As a stranger in a new land, just waltzing on into your palace
was tricky enough – but to enter with Nausicaa? If your people were going
to view me with suspicion – which thankfully you didn’t – I didn’t want to
compound the problem by wandering out of the countryside alongside their
princess.”
The king peered into Odysseus’ face as if searching it for the truth –
until lines at the edges of his lips hinted at a smile. “You’re too kind, my
dear stranger,” he muttered. “Whether you’re telling the truth or simply
covering for my daughter…”
Odysseus opened his mouth as though to protest his honesty and
innocence.
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But Alcinous held up his hands, palms facing out. “No, no, don’t
worry about it. Either way, I admire both your discretion and the
consideration you’re showing my daughter. I can tell something about a
man by watching him. Not only are you well-spoken – that much is
obvious – but you seem to be a man of wisdom and restraint. You’re just
the kind of man I would like to see marry my Nausicaa… And honestly,”
he winked, “I think she’s a bit smitten with you herself.”
“I…” Odysseus started. Alcinous lips stretched and curled as he
watched Odysseus. Now he clearly was smiling – and he studied Odysseus
for a reaction, as if by his comment he had presented a real offer. “I’m
flattered, but…”
“But you want to go home,” Alcinous added. “And that’s no problem.
I would enjoy having you as a son-in-law, but I would never detain you for
that reason. Tomorrow we will hold our assembly, and tomorrow,” he
glanced over at Arete, “depending on what’s decided, we’ll make
arrangements for getting you home.”
“Thank you,” Odysseus nodded.
“But first I would like to know a little more about you, stranger. You
need not give me your name or tell me your whole story. But before we
meet tomorrow, I would like to know something of how you got here – for
example what your ship was doing in these waters, how it crashed, what
nearby land you had last visited… If you could share that with us tonight,
my wife and I would be able to privately consider your case – and maybe
be prepared to allay fears about how you ended up coming here – before
the assembly tomorrow. We could go a long way toward turning the
discussion in your favor.”
“And for your overwhelming kindness I thank you,” Odysseus
answered. He rolled over and sat up. “If it helps to understand my
purpose, I did not come here in search of your people, and in fact I knew
nothing of your existence until I arrived here. I first sailed to this area of
the world – quite by accident – seven years ago. My crew and I were
trying to make it home in the face of violent storms when lightning struck
my ship. The blast killed my crew, turned my ship into a useless hulk, and
left me to alone to drift across the sea, hoping against hope that I would
stumble upon my home – or at least find some kind of land.
“Finally, after nine miserable days, I spotted a small island on the
horizon. I didn’t know what to expect there – whether hospitable
foreigners, barbarians, monsters, or empty wilderness – but what I saw was
more astonishing than anything I could have imagined. As I was drifting
ashore, I found a stunningly beautiful woman standing on the beach – just
standing there watching, as if she’d been waiting for me. It was a sea
nymph named Calypso.
“She lived alone on the island in a well furnished cave – and she
immediately took me in, bathed me, fed me, and gave me everything I
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could need to be comfortable. But as the days passed and her intentions
became clear, I felt a bad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. At first
she had helped me the way any good hostess would help a harried traveler.
But over time her assistance turned into doting – and the doting became
more intense until it grew uncomfortable, then inappropriate… And then
finally, one day, she revealed her plans for me. She offered me
immortality, wanted me as her lover – and she would not let me leave. I
was trapped… And I would remain a prisoner on her island for seven long
years.”
Odysseus continued to tell the tale of his time on Calypso’s island, of
his difficult journey to the Phaeacian shores. The king and queen grew
more and more absorbed with every word of the astonishing tale, and by
the time it was finished they were looking on with a wide-eyed mix of
astonishment and pity.
Arete was the first to speak up. “If you can leave us now, my husband
and I will talk this over. We’ll see what we can do to help.”
By dawn, the courtyard was flooded with Phaeacian citizens. There
were all the elders and nobles who had been summoned. There were
young men, both those who had arrived with their fathers and those who
always came to assemblies looking to work their way up the kingdom’s
social ladder. There were gawkers who wanted a peek at the strange new
alien. There were xenophobes ready to stand up and shout the dangers
posed by the outsider, as well as the curious who had drifted in after
catching wind that something was going on down at the palace.
At the center of this swarm stood King Alcinous. His eyes swept
across the packed crowd, then lowered and settled for a moment on
Odysseus, who was sitting next to him. For the most part the gathering had
fallen silent as soon as the king rose to his feet, but there was still a light
buzz of mumbled conversation as people recognized, shot glances at, and
began pointing to Odysseus.
“My people,” Alcinous raised his staff in the air, and all remaining
noise was hushed. “You no doubt realize by now that the gods have seen
fit to send us a visitor. This man,” he pointed down at Odysseus, “washed
up on our shores yesterday, after years of wandering at sea, and presented
himself as a suppliant in my palace…” A fresh rumble grew, and
Alcinious silenced it with raised hands. “Now I know how cautious we
are about revealing our location to visitors – and no, before anybody asks, I
can’t tell you who this man is or where he comes from. However, I firmly
believe that he means us no harm. He is a kind and gracious man who has
presented us with no insult or threat, and who appears to be in desperate
need of assistance in getting home. Now the queen and I spent some time
talking to him last night, and for our part we believe that we should offer
him our help. So unless anybody objects…” Alcinous paused and looked
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over the assembly, waiting for someone to speak up, “I say we prepare a
ship and put together a crew to take him back to his homeland. We will
take precautions, of course; we’ll make him a bed down in the hold and
allow him to sleep through the voyage home, so that he won’t be able to
find his way back here. But before we finalize this decision, I want to
allow the elders a chance to speak. Do you have any further thoughts for
consideration? Any objections?”
Nobody spoke up.
“Okay, then,” Alcinous continued. “Then we’ll plan to put him on a
ship tonight. Have servants start making preparations – and in the
meantime, we’ll enjoy a day of celebration. There will be feasting, music,
games… Everything that would be fitting to send off such a worthy
guest!”
A sudden shock of excitement swept over the assembly. On cue with
Alcinous’ announcement, servants – obviously staged from the start –
began scrambling out with tables, jugs of wine, and pots of food. These
they assembled in a precise, well-choreographed dance. One servant set up
a table, while half a dozen more were right behind him to set it the moment
it hit the floor. Every servant knew were to be, and everything fell into
place perfectly.
Within minutes, the feasting had begun.
Reclining in his chair, Odysseus finished a bite of meat, then picked
up his cup and drained a generous swallow of wine. All around him the
assembly had gathered and was quietly enjoying its feast to the sound of
singing coming from the center of the courtyard. It was a thoroughly
relaxing experience, and Odysseus enjoyed the moment as he savored his
coming return to Ithaca.
The singer, a blind bard named Demodocus, was seated in a chair, his
clouded eyes staring out at nothing while his fingers worked the lyre with
amazing dexterity. His voice was rich and sweet, at one moment soothing
Odysseus and the next rousing him with excitement as he told tales of
heroes and grand adventure.
Soon Demodocus’ song turned toward Troy, and toward the battles that
had been fought beneath the walls of Priam’s grand city. It was an
inevitable development – for the Trojan War had not only shaken the very
foundations of Greece, but was the sole stage upon which an entire
generation had been tried and proven… But for one of the men who had
served there, it came as a shock. What was even a bigger shock was when
the name Odysseus came floating out of the singer’s mouth.
Odysseus’ eyes shot up, and his lazily listening ear tuned in. He heard
Demodocus singing of an old confrontation between himself and Achilles,
one of the many strategic disagreements had arisen when hot-tempered
aggression clashed with cool-headed calculation. The singer recounted the
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two men’s words – or at least the version of their words that had made
their way into legend through third and forth-hand accounts – in
astonishing detail, skillfully rendering them into poetry. Before the crowd
knew it, he had worked his way up to a shocking level of forcefulness, recreating the raw power of testosterone-charged fury until each member of
the audience felt as if he were at the actual confrontation. He pounded
away at arguments, letting them build and build until it felt their climax
could be nothing short of an explosion…
Tears began welling up in Odysseus’ eyes. So powerfully did the song
invoke his experience at Troy that it caused a surge of emotions to flood
over him. He felt the high emotion of Greek assemblies. He felt regret
over heated words uttered to men who were now dead. He felt a thousand
little pangs and longings, all of which, once brought back to the surface,
lead him back to years of loss and pain, to wartime bonds formed with men
he would never see again, to grief for the thousands whose bones lay
scattered across the Trojan plain…
Before he knew it he was weeping openly. He held a hand over his
face and tried to choke back sobs – and for the most part it seemed that he
went unnoticed by a crowd entranced by the performance. A selfconscious glance out of the corner of his eye, however, found Antinous
looking right back at him. Odysseus turned his face downward to hide his
tears.
But soon he heard the voice of Antinous calling out, “Good
Demodocus, I thank you for your amazing performance.”
The singing stopped mid-note, and Demodocus let the lyre rest in his
lap. A look that might have been irritation flashed across his face, but he
quickly buried it and cocked his head to better hear the king.
“But while I hate to interrupt you,” Antinous continued, “I think it’s
time to steer our celebration in another direction. Let’s all step out into the
field for some games!”
Young men leapt to their feet with excitement. Old men shrugged with
varying degrees of interest and apathy. Odysseus turned and nodded his
gratitude to the host who was sensitive enough to see his sorrow and offer
some relief.
“We’ve already shown our guest the extent of our hospitality. Now
let’s show him how well Phaeacians can run, jump, and throw!”
The courtyard burst into a deafening roar.
The afternoon was a rush of activities – of trim, fleet-footed young
men running neck in neck, pumping their legs as fast as they could and
finally leaning forward to fall across the finish line; of stout young men
grunting and grappling in the wrestling ring or pounding away at each
other in the boxing ring. They jumped, they threw javelins…
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Meanwhile the gathered crowd roared and cheered and taunted.
Restless youths stretched and boasted as they awaited their turns. Old men
sat in quiet huddles, measuring the current performances and exaggering
their own past feats. Mothers sat visiting, while their younger children
chased each other in circles and their older daughters – or so the competing
youths hoped – swooned with admiration at the prowess of the contestants.
And all the while members of the crowd shot Odysseus glances. Some
smiled. Some glared. Some simply looked on in mild curiosity. None
were overtly rude, but Odysseus could feel that he was very much the
scrutinized outsider.
Over time he found that it was the competing youths who watched him
more than the others. From little huddles, they leaned in and muttered to
each other; some looked over at Odysseus, while others gestured over their
shoulders at him as though he were the object of their conversation. There
was something in the air; Odysseus could feel that these boys were more
than idle observers – they were cooking something up.
Finally one of them, a son of Alcinous named Laodamas, strode over to
Odysseus with a spring in his step and a cocky half-smile across his face.
“So what are you up for, stranger?” he asked.
Alcinous looked up at his son, then over at Odysseus – but he said
nothing. It appeared he knew something was brewing but was going to
wait and let things play out.
“What am I up for?” Odysseus asked.
“Yeah. What are you good at? Are you a runner, a fighter? Come on
– why don’t you step up and take a stab at something?”
Odysseus dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. “Oh, I’m too old
for all that now.” He turned his eyes back toward the games as if the
conversation were closed.
But Laodamas stepped closer. “No you’re not. I mean look at him –
and him!” Laodamas gestured to a couple of the middle-aged men who, at
the prodding of their friends, had gotten up to show the youngsters that
they still had what it took to compete. “Some of them are at least as old as
you. So come on, let’s go…” He held out his hand.
“Yeah, yeah – I know,” Odysseus grunted. He shot Laodamas a
slightly irritated look. “I’m sure I could hold my own out there… But
when you’ve been through everything I have, games just don’t seem that
important anymore.”
“Hold your own, huh?” Laodamas laughed. “I’m starting to wonder if
you actually could. I mean if you were strong enough or fast enough, I’m
sure you’d take a moment to prove – ”
“Just quit bugging me!” Odysseus barked. “I’ve just spent weeks
shipwrecked at sea, and now I’m about to go see my family for the first
time in years. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little too preoccupied for your
games.”
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“Preoccupied? Maybe… Or maybe you just don’t want to embarrass
yourself.” Laodamas spread a grin from one side of his face to the other.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your type – some kind of businessman, I’m sure. Your
life is about money, about profits… Skill and strength means nothing to
you as long as the gold keeps coming in. And so you’ve lost your
competitive edge – if you ever had one – and let yourself go soft. Yeah,
but don’t worry about it. Not everybody can be a hero…” He let out one
last chuckle as he turned to walk away. “You just go ahead and watch.
We’ll show you how it’s done.”
Odysseus could hear the sound of laughter spreading around him. The
crowd was taking notice – for Laodamas had spoken with raised voice,
purposefully drawing them in. His eyes had darted around as he spoke, his
half smirk growing as he noticed the attention he was getting.
“All right, that’s it,” Odysseus shot to his feet. “I honestly couldn’t
care less about your games – but you’ve pushed me too far. You want to
provoke me into competing? Fine, I’ll play along. Choose your game.”
Laodamas turned back around. “Good! Now that’s more like it!” He
gestured out on the field, where the athletes were taking turns throwing the
discus. A pile of disks lay ready at the throwing line, and a scattering of
previous throws lay out on the field, ready to be measured. “How about it,
pops?”
Odysseus just grunted and stormed out onto the field. Without
stopping to warm up or even take off his cumbersome robes, he grabbed
the heaviest disk he could find, strode right up to the throwing line, and
with a quick swing hurled it out across the field…
It shot out at a perfect angle, flying upward just enough to maintain
flight time, yet straight enough to rocket out onto the field. There was a
collective gasp as the members of the crowd simultaneously drew a breath
– and as his throw sailed straight over all the other disks and landed near
the far end of the field.
A man from the crowd – actually Athena in disguise – ran out and
stood next to Odysseus’ disk. “Hah!” his voice echoed across the field,
“Why even measure this one? The stranger’s throw landed so far beyond
the rest that a blind man could declare him the winner!”
The crowd broke out into a cheer.
Odysseus strolled up to Laodamas and called out with a laugh, “What
now, boy? Do you want to see if I’m ‘up for’ anything else? Running,
wrestling, archery, spear throwing? You name the contest, and I’ll whip
the lot of you. I’ll throw a discus a lot farther than that, if you want to see
me actually try. I’ll step into the ring with two of you and wrestle one with
each arm. I’ll throw a spear farther than you can shoot an arrow.” He
looked around at the slack-jawed young men. “Anybody? Anybody?”
None of the boys responded, and the crowd began mumbling with what
may have been disapproval. Suddenly Odysseus wondered if he had
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crossed the line from redeeming himself to simple bullying – and if he was
wearing out his welcome.
But Alcinous rose from the crowd and walked over to flank Odysseus
and Laodamas. “My good stranger,” he called out, “you have certainly
proven yourself here today. My son was rash enough to taunt you –
foolish as young men can be these days – and when he wouldn’t quit
egging you on, you did the understandable thing and stood up for yourself.
But let us remember that Zeus gives different talents to different people.
Are my people especially strong fighters? No. Are we the best spear
throwers? No. We are not a race of warriors, nor do we proclaim
ourselves as such. But I would dare say there are no sailors in the world
better than Phaeacians! There are no better artists, musicians, singers, or
dancers. Our taste for and love of fine dining and culture surpasses that of
all other people in the world. So please, noble guest, before you judge my
people based solely on their athletic prowess, why don’t you see what we
can really do? Come join us in our hall – and witness a display of dancing
the likes of which you’ve never seen before and will never see again!”
At the center of the hall, Demodocus plucked away at his lyre with
astonishing speed, setting off a fast succession of notes that signaled the
coming of a light-hearted, upbeat song. The crowd began clapping right on
cue, and soon nine young men ran out, formed a ring around the singer,
and began dancing. Their feet tickled the floor so rapidly and with such
complexity that Odysseus couldn’t begin to follow their movements. At
one point, out of sheer curiosity, he tried focusing on one dancer’s feet –
but seeing nothing more than a blur of motion, he just sat back to enjoy the
show. He had no idea how they avoided tripping over themselves, how
they kept their bodies so perfectly balanced and still. But soon it got even
better… Soon they begun executing spins and twirls; they twisted their
torsos, tilting their bodies farther than Odysseus could have leaned with his
feet planted – yet still their feet moved as quickly as before! Odysseus
could only watch with baited breath and low-hanging jaw.
Finally Demodocus began singing – and his song was every bit as
whimsical as the prelude had promised. With a voice at once precise in its
tone, quick in the progression of its notes, and wavering with a hint of
laughter, he broke into a humorous rendition of a story about the gods.
He told of Hephaestus, the master craftsman of Olympus – and its only
ugly god – who had been given the stunning Aphrodite to be his wife. He
described the insecurities of the poor homely god – how he was all too
keenly aware his wife didn’t really want him, and that his marriage only
served to make him the butt of the other gods’ jokes.
Demodocus went on to sing of how Hephaestus learned from the
ancient sun god Helios that his wife had started sneaking the war god Ares
into their marriage bed. Naturally, Hephaestus was devastated. First he
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stormed about Olympus in helpless frustration, then moped in shame and
depression – but finally he came up with a plan. He went to his forge and
started crafting a net, weaving it with threads so fine as to be invisible.
Then he rigged it up above his bed so that just the right amount of motion
would trigger its fall – and once its victims were covered, any move they
made would only cause the carefully engineered net to squeeze them
tighter. There he left the net and told the gods he was headed to Lemnos.
But instead he wandered down the side of Olympus, hid for a few hours in
a craggy ravine, and sneaked back up to keep an eye on his snare.
As the scheme built toward its conclusion, Demodocus worked the
audience like putty in his hands. They were hanging on the edge of their
seats with suspense – all the while snickering to themselves, even as they
felt an underlying pang of sympathy for the jilted husband. The tension
built and built, rising until it seemed it would reach the breaking point…
Then Demodocus’ voice burst into full-throated vibrato as he belted out
the climax with a laugh. The audience roared as he described how the net
fell across Ares and Aphrodite, how they wriggled and protested in its
constricting grasp, how Hephaestus hobbled in howling a mix of
satisfaction and raw anguish, thus drawing in a crowd of curious gods who
ran in to point and laugh. By the time Demodocus – with the timing and
rhythm of a stand-up comedian – sang through the irreverent comments
made by Apollo, Hermes, Poseidon, and others, his listeners were falling
out of their seats and wiping tears from their eyes.
They were still trying to compose themselves when a herald led the
blind performer out of the circle to a round of thunderous applause.
The dancers, who had kept up their routine through the entire song,
parted to let him through – and once he was out, two of them stepped into
the center of the circle. They danced even more furiously than before, if
that were possible, while the seven who remained in the circle stomped and
clapped out a rhythm for them to follow. Soon the crowd had joined in and
the entire hall reverberated with the booming power of the beat. From
somewhere in the audience a ball was thrown into the ring. One dancer
caught it, leaned way back, and threw it nearly to the ceiling. As he did so,
the other leapt up, caught it in midair, and threw it back before his feet hit
the ground – and the first, now himself in the air, grabbed it, flipped, and in
one motion landed on his feet and set the ball gently in the center of the
dance floor.
The audience roared and cheered as the dancers bowed.
When the ruckus finally died down, Odysseus rose to his feet to address
the crowd. “Alcinous,” he said, “I may have bested your young men with
the discus… But WOW! I’d never have thought that the human body was
even capable of such a performance – forget claiming to equal it myself. I
must give credit where credit is due, both to you and to your people. When
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it comes to singing and dancing, you win without a contest. All I can do is
sit back and marvel at your skill.”
“Why thank you, Odysseus!” Alcinous replied. “Your praise is deeply
appreciated, and you have proven yourself quite gracious – a lot more
gracious than my boy, I’m sorry to say.” Turning to speak to his son, he
added, “Laodamas, you owe this man an apology. For where you offered
him insult, he’s been good enough to respond with praise. In fact, I think
you should bring him a gift – something to make up for the way you’ve
spoken to him… Actually, you know what?” He turned back from his son
to the crowd. “As far as that goes, I think everyone here should bring
something for our kind stranger. Come on! Just as we’ve demonstrated
our skill in the arts, now let us show off our legendary generosity!”
Odysseus remembered the next hour as an endless stream of people
bringing him gifts and wishing him well. It started with an apology and a
silver-studded, ivory sheathed sword from Laodamas. It continued with
clothes, gold, and many other valuable items – several of them mysterious
wonders to Odysseus – which were placed before the guest. It ended with
Nausicaa, who with a hint of sadness in her voice asked Odysseus to
remember her when he went back home. Of course Odysseus
wholeheartedly agreed.
Each gift was offered with graciousness. Each greeting was made with
a sincere smile. Between his own actions and Alcinous’ endorsement,
Odysseus appeared to have won over the hearts of this cautious but kind
people.
Finally the last of the gifts had been stacked around Odysseus, and he
took his seat next to Alcinous while the evening’s meal was being served.
“You are not only incredibly kind, but you are the most astonishing
people I have ever met in my travels,” he proclaimed. “I will remember
you all as long as I live. But I must offer special praise to your singer;
never before have I heard a performer with half your talent, Demodocus.
And I would love another chance to hear you sing.” He stood and took his
portion of meat – the tender, juicy back cut traditionally offered to guests
of honor – and carried it over to Demodocus. “In honor of your
performance I offer you the food from my own tray.”
The singer held up his hands in protest. “No, kind sir, I couldn’t – ”
“Please take it,” Odysseus insisted. He laid the meat before
Demodocus and positioned the singer’s hands to accept it. “Your skill
with the lyre is every bit as marvelous as Achilles’ skill with the spear.
And while a warrior may win greater glory with his deeds, your talent is
just as great a blessing from the gods – and for it you deserve this honor.”
“Thank you, sir,” Demodocus nodded.
“But I must admit that while my praise is sincere, it comes with a
request.”
“Whatever you ask, kind stranger.”
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“I would like you to sing us another song,” Odysseus said. “Sing of the
wooden horse that was devised by Odysseus to defeat Troy. Sing of how
the Greeks used it to sneak inside the walls and level Priam’s proud city.
Such a rousing tale would serve as the perfect closing for the night’s
festivities, and were you to sing it, I would spread your praise the way you
praise Greece’s heroes.”
Demodocus accepted, and Odysseus settled in to enjoy the
performance.
After years of living under siege, the Trojans awoke one morning to
the most astonishing sight: The Greek camp that had been spread out
along their beach was gone. The tents were dismantled, provisions were
packed up, and the thousand Greek ships had apparently sailed away. But
still one object – a strange, solitary structure – towered over the otherwise
empty beach.
The reaction was swift. Priam barked out commands, elders scurried
about to execute them, and within half an hour a scouting party had raced
out to beach and returned with the news: The Greeks were indeed gone.
Not a single trace of their camp remained, save for a large wooden horse
they had left behind.
Not long after, Troy’s army and Troy’s elders were out on the beach,
staring up at the horse. Some looked on in wonder; some scratched their
heads in confusion; others sat back and carefully pondered this unusual
development.
And soon the discussion ensued.
Some suggested either hacking it apart or dragging it up and pushing it
off a cliff – for it was the last thing left behind by the Greeks, and the
safest thing for Troy would be to rid themselves of it as quickly as
possible.
Others suggested that it was a gift from the gods, and that Troy would
be best off showing the gods honor by displaying it inside their city.
It didn’t take long for the debate to grow heated. Thoughtful discussion
gave way to shouting, and as men continued raising their voices and
shaking their fists, one of them made a point by throwing his spear into the
horse’s belly. But when a serpent from Poseidon darted up from the sea
and swallowed that man alive, all argument was silenced. Within minutes,
the Trojans were hitching teams of oxen up to the horse to drag it back to
Troy…
Inside the horse, a team of elite Greek warriors, among them Odysseus
and Menelaus, breathed a sigh of relief. They crouched and held their
breath, watching through small cracks as the horse made the long, bumpy
journey across the field and into Troy’s gates. They wore hopeful smiles
as the Trojans celebrated their “victory.” Their smiles grew as the revelers
drained cup after cup of wine. And by the middle of the night, when the
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light hum of snoring filled the air and passed out drunk Trojans littered the
streets, Odysseus gave the signal, and a hatch in the horse’s belly was
opened.
The Greeks slid down a rope, sneaked through the streets of Troy, and
opened the Scaean Gates. And through the gates rushed thousands upon
thousands of soldiers – for the entire Greek army, which had feigned
retreat, had actually just sailed its ships to the other side of a nearby island
to lay in wait…
Demodocus sang out a rousing rendition of this plot, and of the
decisive victory that followed. As he sang, Odysseus felt his heart race
with the thrill of the tale – and, he had to admit, swell with pride in hearing
his own heroism so dramatically chronicled.
However, with the flood of memories came a flood of emotions, and
Odysseus again found himself trying to avert his face as tears flowed down
his cheeks.
Once more, Alcinous watched as Odysseus cried. And once more
Odysseus tried to hide his tears.
But this time things were different. This time, it was obvious that
Alcinous was not merely catching an accidental glance at Odysseus. He
was watching him. And this time Alcinous did not go out of his way to
deflect attention from his guest.
Instead he stood to his feet and said, “Demodocus, stop…” A sour note
echoed through the hall as the singer fumbled midway through plucking a
string – then the air was silent. Alcinous continued: “I hate to interrupt yet
another of your performances, but it would seem that not everybody is
enjoying this song.”
A curious, almost hurt look crossed the singer’s face. A light murmur
broke out across the hall as members of the audience expressed their
surprise and dismay. The very thought that someone could dislike
Demodocus’ singing was almost scandalous, and the sound of Alcinous
vocalizing the idea grated on their ears like mild profanity.
“Now don’t get me wrong,” Alcinous spoke out over their mumbling,
“I don’t think anybody could fault Demodocus’ performance. As always,
it was absolutely perfect. However, our guest seems strangely affected by
it…” All eyes turned to Odysseus, who lowered his hands to reveal red
eyes and a face dripping with tears. Alcinous peered at him through
squinting eyelids – curious, as if trying to find the missing piece to a
puzzle – and continued, “…and I’m not sure why.”
The suggestion hung in the air for several silent moments. The only
sound in the hall was a light sniffle coming from Odysseus. The only
movement was of him reaching up to wipe away tears with the back of his
hand.
“Stranger,” Alcinous said with a direct, level voice, “I think it’s time
you came clean with us about who you are.”
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“I…” Odysseus began.
“Now please understand – as your host, I would never be pushy about
getting you to reveal your identity, and I don’t fault you for keeping it
private. You’re my guest, and I extend my hospitality to you freely, asking
nothing in return – including information. However,” the king took a deep
breath, “we have shared a lot with you, and you have shared a lot with us.
You and the members of this house have become fast friends… Yet as
quickly as we’ve gotten to know you, there’s one conspicuous thing
missing: your name. Please, stranger, tell us who you are – not because I
demand it, but as a kindness to your new friends.”
Odysseus took a deep breath.
Alcinous spread a warm smile across his face. “Calling you ‘stranger’
is just starting to seem inappropriate,” he said. “Besides, we’re going to
have a hard time getting you home without knowing who you are!”
“Okay,” Odysseus gave a slow nod. “I…” He hesitated, turned his
head to look over the crowd. “My name is Odysseus.”
A gasp broke out in the hall, followed by a rumble of conversation, as
the man before them was instantly transformed both into a celebrity and a
tremendous curiosity.
Their voices quickly died down as Odysseus continued: “I am the son
of Laertes and the king of Ithaca. Believe it or not, I was once a great
leader of men, a hero of the Trojan War… And yes, true to Demodocus’
song, the one who engineered Troy’s fall. But now I have been reduced to
the status of a lonely traveler – a man who would give anything just to get
back to family and his home.”
“Astonishing,” Alcinous replied. “To think that all this time the great
Odysseus has been a guest under my roof – and I didn’t even know it! But
still… By giving us your name, you leave us with many more unanswered
questions. How could a hero like you fall to such pitiful circumstances?
How did you end up washing onto our shores all alone? Please, good
Odysseus, could you explain what brought you here in this condition? Can
you tell us the story of your journey?”
“The story you ask for is a long one, full of danger and of sorrow, and
it brings back so many bad memories – memories of tragic things, things I
would just as soon forget…” Odysseus stared blankly out across the hall
for a moment before finally snapping back to reality. “But after all the
kindness you’ve shown me, telling you my tale is the least I can do – if you
want to take the time to hear it.”
Alcinous nodded.
“Then let’s begin…
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Chapter 6
Danger and Temptation
As a hall full of Phaeacians looked on in wonder, Odysseus began his
tale:
With the rubble of the fallen city still smoldering behind us, my men
shoved at our ships, pushing and grunting until the hulls finally slid into
the water and away from that cursed Trojan shore.
Oh, you should have seen the energy and excitement with which they
worked! Even today, I can still picture them clambering into their
positions, rowing out onto the sea, and rigging up the sails. In a way it felt
like we were already home. At that moment I could practically see my
long-lost Ithaca, could begin to smell those familiar scents – of wind
drifting across Ithaca’s vineyards, of fire crackling on the hearth, of food
cooking in the hall – all those smells that were just slightly unique in their
flavor, and that in their uniqueness carried a haunting feeling of home.
Everything about that moment made it feel as though Ithaca were just
around the corner – and, assuming smooth sailing and a straight course, it
was.
But alas, a series of arguments over our route home resulted in our
doubling back to Troy and having to begin our journey over again. And if
that weren’t bad enough, we departed Troy the second time only to be
caught up by swift winds that carried us northward out across the
Hellespont. Within a couple short hours we were blown to the north shore
of the Aegean near Ismarus.
There we spotted a city – a cluster of houses centered around a small
shelf of beach and sprawling up the slopes of the hills not far behind. It
was small, with a population I wouldn’t have estimated above a couple
thousand people. Yet it appeared reasonably prosperous… And almost
undefended.
Standing on the deck of my ship, I quickly sized up the situation. This
town had no walls, no towers. Sure, its population would certainly
outnumber the six hundred who traveled with me, but after taking women,
children, and the elderly out of the equation, we would be looking at men
of fighting age who maybe matched us in number. Not only that, but we
were well-drilled and hardened by our years fighting beneath Troy’s walls.
Assuming they could arm several hundred men, they still couldn’t begin to
match us in skill and organization – even if we didn’t have the element of
surprise.
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I looked out at the city, then down at my men who were laboring at
their rowing benches. The setback we had suffered was minor, but to men
looking for release after endless warfare, it was frustrating… And I didn’t
know how many more obstacles we might yet face. I could see the
weariness on their faces, the way they eyed the city and all but licked their
lips.
These men needed an easy victory – so I decided to give them one.
I issued the command in the loudest whisper I dared, and the signal was
quickly passed from ship to ship. Within minutes our ships were pushed
up onto the beach, and our men were sprinting into the city, shaking their
spears with a mighty roar.
Heads peeked through open doors. A few scattered men ran out and –
in a futile, instinctive gesture – tried to stand between us and their families,
and we blew right through them.
A few eventually did manage to piece together an coordinated defense,
but it was totally haphazard. The “battle,” such as it was, flew by in a
frenzied flash of their men being cut down, followed by several seconds of
them turning and running. Within the blink of an eye, they had scurried
away like rabbits and we were left standing in the town – totally alone,
except for those who were being rounded up at spear point or who cowered
inside their homes.
After so quick a fight, it appeared the labor of gathering loot would be
more arduous than the battle itself – but my men proved to be well up to
the task. They slaughtered sheep and cattle. They hauled sacks of gold in
one hand and jugs of wine in the other. They laughed, patted each other on
the back, and prepared for a long night’s celebration before the next day’s
voyage. In other words, they were as relaxed and content as they could be
with the spoils of their victory.
I wasn’t.
While they were celebrating, I was observing – watching people scatter
before us, looking around at the shut-up houses and suddenly empty
streets, gazing up at the mountains to watch the enemy retreat… Now the
retreat – that was the really weird part. I noticed that the men didn’t
regroup to discuss a counter-attack. There was no hesitation, none of the
backward glances one would expect of men abandoning their wives and
children. They just raced away. And as I watched them, I was plagued by
the feeling that something about the situation was horribly, horribly wrong.
So I scrambled around and started gathering my men. “Fall back!” I
cried out. “Back to the ships!” They just glanced at me apathetically.
“Come on! Take what you have and load it up – it’s time to get out of
here!”
But they didn’t listen. Their bellies filled with food and their heads
swimming with wine, they staggered through town taking whatever they
wanted. I rushed up to one, and he just pretended I wasn’t there. I grabbed
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another, and he jerked his arm away and went back to his business. Finally
I got a measure of one group’s attention and directed them back toward the
ships – but as soon as I left them to gather someone else, they drifted away.
Now make no mistake: I had a fine group of men who, through ten
years of war, turned on a dime at my command. But trying to gather them
when they were drunk was as fruitless as trying to scoop together leaves in
a windstorm.
So finally I gave up. I joined a few of them around a fire, grabbed a
piece of meat, and tried my best to enjoy myself – just hoping my
misgivings were unfounded and that everything would be okay.
We all took up quarters in the homes of the Cicones – which, I
learned, was the name of the people we had conquered. So I awoke the
next morning in a strange house in a strange bed.
And I awoke to a deep booming sound coming from outside.
At first I assumed it was thunder. But where thunder would have
trailed off and echoed, this sound continued – more like a rushing river, but
still different… Different in a way that I knew was unnatural.
Startled, I threw aside my covers and dashed outside. There I found
several of my men already standing in the streets looking around for the
source of the noise. Finally we spotted it.
Atop the hills behind the city we saw silhouettes of men – thousands of
men standing thick as a forest from one side of the horizon to the next.
The Cicones had returned, and apparently they’d brought friends from
neighboring tribes to help them.
As their fearsome war cries rang down and echoed through the city, our
men wandered out of houses one by one and stared slack-jawed at the
horizon.
“Form ranks!” I shouted. “FORM RANKS!!!”
We scrambled together to stand shoulder to shoulder on the beach on
front of our ships – and there we watched the enemy come pouring down
the hill, their army as massive and noisy as a landslide. They flooded
through the town and ran screaming right toward us, ready to drive us into
the sea.
We braced ourselves for the impact. Taking advantage of our
experience and our defensive position, we dug in our heels as they ran up
against our wall of shields and bristling spears. They fell at our feet by the
hundreds – and even as the sun grew high and hot with noon’s approach,
we held our position.
Over time, though, I noticed us shifting. Our formation was beginning
to crack and buckle as their endless waves of men pushed up against us.
And finally the inevitable happened: In a sudden surge of strength,
they broke through and split our formation in two.
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I and my captains shouted frantic orders, herding our men into pockets
of resistance. We were falling apart. Our men were dying. The battle all
but lost, all we could hope to do was fend off the inevitable slaughter long
enough to push our ships into the water. Our forward guard kept its face to
the enemy, each man holding off ten Cicones. The rest scrambled to gather
possessions, rig up ships, and shove off.
Finally, miraculously, our fleet was floating away – the last of our men
clambering over the sterns of their ships as the Cicones roared and taunted
impotently from the beach.
The retreat was in itself an amazing feat. But it was with heavy hearts
that we sailed out toward open water. Each ship counted its missing, and
captains shouted out their totals. All said we lost seventy-two men – an
average of six per ship.
I watched my men laboring at their rowing with tears in their eyes and
decided there was no reason to lecture them for their foolishness.
So we finally began making our way west across the Aegean.
Before evening, we felt winds picking up behind us. First they filled
our sails and sent us gliding smoothly along our course. But over time
they picked up speed and started shifting in different directions, until
eventually we found a gale-force storm tugging at our rigging, threatening
to tear at our sails – and more and more with each passing moment,
blowing us south as well as west.
Finally we removed our sails to save them from damage and hunkered
down to weather the storm. It was blowing us off course, and we knew it.
But all we could do was let it take us where it would and hope to survive.
After nine long days of blowing rains, dark skies, and an endless
struggle to keep our ships afloat on heaving and crashing seas, we spotted
land.
With a sudden burst of energy, my men rowed for all they were worth
until finally our ships nosed up onto the beach.
Our encounter with the Cicones had left us a little skittish about
venturing into strange lands – so rather than charging into the countryside
brandishing weapons and shouting war cries, my men climbed out of their
ships in silence. They wandered off only far enough to gather wood and
water, then returned to the beach and huddled around fires for dinner,
shooting wary glances inland as they chewed their food.
While there was clearly wisdom in proceeding with caution, my men
were petrified to the point of uselessness. We had to do something, but it
was obvious they weren’t going to move until I ventured a suggestion: “I
think we need to send out scouts.”
Their only response was a quiet round of mumbling. A few looked up
at me like I was crazy.
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“No, really,” I insisted. “We’re going to want to camp here, at least
overnight – and as long as we’re here, we need to know who’s lurking out
in the countryside. It’s better than just sitting around waiting to be
ambushed.”
A few men muttered their agreement, but I could tell their hearts
weren’t in it.
“Besides, we’re totally lost – and we’re a long way from Greece.
Hopefully there are people here who can give us an idea of where we’ve
landed.”
With that I picked three of my best men to go explore. They stepped
their way gingerly into the forest and with a quick glance over their
shoulders soon disappeared behind the thick foliage.
Sitting on the beach and looking into the forest, we felt every second
of our companions’ absence drag by. And as seconds turned into minutes
and minutes turned into hours, our imaginations began to run away with us.
Any minute, a swarm of natives could come bursting out of the trees to
slaughter us – possibly wielding our scouts’ heads on pikes… Or we could
just sit there forever, staring into the trees and waiting for the return of men
who had been swallowed up by the forest, never to return.
Just as dusk was setting in, however, we heard rustling coming from
the woods. Our eyes shot up; we froze…
Three figures were approaching through the trees, and we quickly
recognized them as our scouts. But while they had walked out tense and
alert, they returned with a casual gait, almost stumbling toward us. Their
faces were blank – their jaws slack and their mouths relaxed, their eyes
delirious and vacant.
As they stepped up before me, I asked, “Did you find anybody?”
One of them looked up at me, startled by the sudden awareness of my
presence. “Yes…” he answered. “Actually, there are a lot of people out
there.”
His speech was lethargic. I looked him straight in the face but couldn’t
seem to lock on to any meaningful eye contact. It was as if he were
looking right through me to something vague, distant, yet infinitely
fascinating.
“A city?” I asked.
“No… Not… Not exactly a city.”
“So then they’re barbarians?”
“No… I wouldn’t call them barbarians… Or at least not exactly.
It’s… I think maybe they don’t need a city. I think… Or maybe… It’s
just kind of hard to explain.”
He appeared to be drifting off, growing bored by the conversation. I
had to snap my fingers in his face to get his attention.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
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He just stared at me, as though he didn’t know what to make of my
question.
So I rephrased it. “Did they hurt you?”
“No…” His mouth twitched into a smile. His eyes grew even more
wistful than before. “No, they would never hurt us. They were very nice
to us, and… Well here, look…” he held out his hand and showed me a few
small round pieces of fruit. “They gave us these.”
A chill shot through my stomach. “And did you eat them?”
“Yes. Everybody eats them. You’d be crazy not to. Here,” he thrust
the fruit out toward the other crew members, “try one. It’s called a Lotus.”
I could hear a few whispers and the rustle of tentative movement
coming from my men behind me.
“Stay back!” I called back over my shoulder, holding my arms out as a
barrier to my crew, “and don’t you even touch that fruit.” They replied
with a rumble that sounded unnerved and instantly compliant.
But my scout wrinkled his brow, unable to comprehend why I would
make such a suggestion. “Why not?” He swung his arm out and pleaded
his case to the crew. “It’s good. It tastes like honey, and… And oooh, it’s
just so…” He trailed off. There was something he loved about that fruit,
something he was dying to describe – some sublime quality so profound he
couldn’t even identify it, much less put it into words.
“Come on,” I reached out to him, “it’s time to go. Get back aboard the
ship.”
“NO!” he cried. A look of concern crossed his companions’ faces, and
they began to protest as well. “We want to stay here!”
“You don’t want to go home?”
“No! This place is just so… It’s just so beautiful! And so lovely!
And there’s all the Lotus you could ever want, and the people are so nice,
and they share more than you can ever…”
It had become clear that there would be no reasoning with them, so I
turned to some of the stronger members of my elite guard. “Get these men
aboard the ship – do whatever you need to. And the rest of you,” I shouted
to the crew, “pack up and start getting ready to go. We leave tonight!”
The majority proceeded with stiff, frightened obedience. But the scouts
flailed about and screamed as my bodyguards manhandled them. They had
to be physically forced to the ground, and their arms twisted and held
behind their backs. Finally, lying on their stomachs with a knee pressed
into their backs, they gave up and began weeping.
“Get some rope and tie them up,” I ordered. “Each of you, stuff one of
them under your bench and keep him there – even once we’re out at sea.” I
looked at their tear-covered faces, watched them whimper and snivel. “I
have a feeling these men would drown themselves trying to swim back
here.”
The guards nodded and dragged the men into the ships.
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We finally departed, rowing away to the music of their cries and
screams. We were still exhausted; we didn’t know where we were or what
dangers might lie ahead on our journey. But the strange people we would
only know as the Lotus Eaters were behind us.
As long as we were putting distance between ourselves and that eerie
place, we would face whatever was to come.
For once on our journey, the seas cooperated with us – so we were
able to start working our way north, based on the vague understanding that
we had been blown to the southern shore of the sea. We didn’t know
exactly where we were going, but we thought that our course would take us
somewhere in or near Greece. With any luck we could orient ourselves
and work our way over to Ithaca from there.
But as we sailed on, we found ourselves headed into a fog. It started
out as a light haze, but the longer we sailed, the thicker it got – until finally
we had nothing to orient ourselves by. During the day we could see
nothing but pure white. At night the moon and the stars were blotted out
by darkness. We held our rudders as straight as we could and by shouting
out maintained our proximity to the other ships – but with nothing to
navigate by, we had no idea where we were going. For all we knew we
had doubled back south or were even travelling in endless circles across
the open sea.
After all we’d been through, it was horribly frustrating. And the longer
we sailed through that mess, the more we felt that the gods were
determined to thwart our every move at sea.
However, one god must have been looking out for us. For suddenly,
out of the blue, we felt our ships slide to a stop and heard the familiar
sound of our hulls scraping up against sand. Peering through the fog, we
spotted trees a few yards in front of our bows, confirming our suspicion
that we had made a safe – and very fortunate – landing.
One voice called out – then another and another as one ship at a time
hit the beach. We returned their calls, and after much shouting back and
forth we confirmed that all twelve ships had landed along with us.
We still had no clue where we were at, but at least we were safe. That
night we slept aboard our ships and waited for the fog to blow over.
The next morning the air was clear, and a glance to the left and the
right showed the eleven other ships lining the shore in a neat row.
I gathered my commanders together and we quickly decided to scout
out the surrounding country. It took only a couple hours for us to discover
that we were on a tiny island, however – and if I’d had any doubt that a
god was helping us, what we found there confirmed it beyond question.
The island was peaceful and totally uninhabited. Rich with black soil,
it was grassy in some areas and wooded in others, and in several spots my
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men found springs bubbling with cool, clean water that ran in streams
down to the shore. Even better, the island was just crawling with wild
goats. Grazing without competition, these creatures had filled out to
become nice and tender and fatty – and isolated from predators, they were
so complacent that we could walk right up and pet them. Even as we cut
them down and began to butcher them, their neighbors just twitched their
ears and shot us lethargic glances.
Needless to say, we ate well that day. As we sat in the shade filling our
bellies with meat, we felt real rest and contentment for the first time we
could remember.
From the far side of the island, however, we soon made another
discovery: More land – a long stretch of shore lying less than a mile across
the water from us in three directions. Apparently our tiny islet sat at the
entrance to a large, open bay.
Naturally, this development had gotten our attention. Once we had set
up camp and had a good meal, my advisors and I gathered in a half circle
on the far beach where we sat sizing up this distant landscape.
Most of the area near the shore was open grassland that rose to gently
rolling hills in some places, and sharp rocky peaks in others. Farther
inland we could see the beginning of thick forests. In other words, this
landscape promised topography was as varied as it was vast. But most
intriguing of all we saw columns of light gray smoke rising from behind
the hills – and once in a while, when the winds shifted back toward us, we
caught indistinct echoes of shouting men or bleating sheep that carried
across the water.
The land was inhabited.
For nearly an hour we sat looking at it in near silence, my advisors
voicing nothing beyond obvious observations and tentative speculation,
none of which suggested anything in the way of action.
So finally I spoke up: “I want to go over and have a look.”
Nobody replied, but they all turned and looked at me in mild surprise.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before,” I explained, “and I’d
like to get some idea of who lives here.”
Their continuing silence – and their eyes that remained locked on the
ground – indicated that they weren’t altogether satisfied with my reason for
wanting to explore.
Finally one of them ventured to mutter, “I’m not sure that’s the best
idea.”
“Yeah,” another added more boldly, “the last time we went to get some
idea who lived somewhere, three of our men ate mind-altering fruit. And
the time before that we lost seventy men in an ambush. You’d hope we
could eventually learn a lesson about exploring where we don’t need to
explore.”
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The others nodded and mumbled their agreement.
“But if the people there are helpful…” I tried to persist.
“That’s a big ‘if.’”
“Yes, but think of how much easier they could make our journey if they
were. We’ve spent days drifting through fog, so if they could tell us
anything about where we are…” I trailed off. I was obviously
rationalizing my curiosity, and everybody knew it.
“All I’m saying is we should be a little careful,” one of them chimed in.
“I agree completely. We should be careful.” I took a moment to pause
and look my men in the eyes one at a time. “I mean it’s not like I’m saying
we should all just go rushing over there without a plan. In fact you all can
stay here if that makes you feel better. I’ll go over alone – just my crew
and my ship – to scout things out and try to get some help. At the first sign
of trouble we’ll run to our ship and come back to join you.”
“And if you’re followed?”
“We won’t be. If the people over there had ships, they would have
settled – or at least harvested – this island ages ago.”
My advisors remained silent. I could tell my plan made them uneasy,
but my mind was made up, and they knew there was nothing they could do
to deter me.
I stood up and dusted myself off. “Come on,” I smiled broadly. “What
can go wrong?”
Then I walked away to gather my crew and prepare my ship for
departure.
The ship cut through the water smoothly and quietly, my crew rowing
at an easy pace as they watched the shore creep by.
Here we passed a hill. There we passed a serene pasture littered with
grazing sheep. It all seemed so peaceful, so harmless – like a larger and
more varied version of the island upon which we had camped…
Except, of course, for the smoke. We could still see the streams of
smoke rising up from behind the hills.
And so my crew continued with caution. Nobody spoke a word; they
all just eyed the shoreline and dipped their oars into the water slowly and
cautiously, fearful of making the tiniest splash.
We had traveled past the edge of the bay rather than into it – and soon
we’d rounded a cape and were proceeding along the back side of what was
beginning to look like a vast island.
And that was when we saw the cave.
We’d already seen a couple caves overlooking the water from the rocky
hills, and my men had already whispered their speculation about whether
or not they’d housed the island’s inhabitants. But without question, this
cave served as somebody’s home. The vegetation around the cave looked
like it had been haphazardly trimmed, the exception being thick vines of
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laurel that hung over the top as if left in place to serve as a curtain for the
entrance. And worn paths revealed that someone or something had been
regularly travelling into and out of the cave.
Now of course that much was speculative. The paths may have been
made by animals, and the short vegetation may have been the result of
grazing rather than upkeep.
But there was one undeniable sign of habitation: a series of rocks that
had been dragged out in front of the cave and placed side by side to form
an irregular sort of courtyard wall around the entrance. It was crude
construction, but it was deliberate.
And it was enormous. The cave entrance must have been twenty feet
high and just as wide, and the rocks were so large that several oxen –
performing a full day of hard, grunting labor – would have been needed to
drag each into place.
My men all gasped at the sight.
“Whoever lives there must be huge!” I heard a voice behind me rasp.
“Maybe,” I turned and answered with a smile, “or maybe he just likes
living in a big cave.”
Nobody laughed. Nobody as much as smiled.
I gave the command to make landfall, and it was with dead silence that
the ship turned and began inching toward the shore.
We’d beached the ship in a small cove just down the shore from the
cave. Twelve hand-picked men were going with me, while the rest were
left back at the ship.
With the help of a crew member, I lugged a huge skin of wine that had
been given to me by a priest of the Cicones after I spared him during our
invasion. It was a secret he had kept even from his own family – wine so
potent that a single cup diluted with twenty cups of water would still taste
amazingly rich and sweet – and now I carried it with me as a gift for my
potential host.
My men shuffled toward the cave with slow, nervous steps. Gradually
the entrance grew larger and larger, until its huge gaping black mouth was
looming high over us. Only then did we truly grasp its sheer size – along
with that of the courtyard that sprawled around us and the boulders that
cast shadows over us – and we began to feel like miniature versions of
ourselves, like rodents at the mercy of whoever lived in this ridiculously
sized place.
My men nearly stopped, and I practically had to start herding them
forward with my hands.
“Are we actually going in there?” one of them whispered.
“Of course!” I answered. “We’re here to meet people, after all. If we
don’t go in, then what’s the point?” After a few more steps forward they
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froze in their tracks. Turning to shoot them a grin, I motioned with a wave
of my hand, “Come on!”
Like lambs to the slaughter, they followed me inside.
The cool, black vastness of the cave did not surprise us. Nor did the
fact that both the back wall and the roof were so distant that they faded into
darkness. We’d fully expected to feel lost, to have the vague sense of
entering a huge, cold, drafty underworld that seemed to extend forever
around us.
What we didn’t expect was the array of structures and furnishings we
found inside.
Looking to our left, we saw the cave wall lined with wooden pens full
of sheep. The construction of the pens was crude; they were nothing but
rough-hewn boards lashed together at odd angles using woven tree shoots
as twine. But a closer look would reveal that a great deal of care had been
taken in arranging the sheep. The oldest ewes were nearest the entrance,
and each pen progressed to younger and younger groups down to yearlings
and finally, at the very back, the tottering newborns.
Against the wall on our right were stacks of wooden trays so large that
they looked like the scaffolding used to construct city walls. Each level
held cheeses so massive that the thirteen of us could have stuffed ourselves
until we were ready to burst, and still not finish a single one. These were
organized from top to bottom – some still freshly curdled and drying, while
others well set and looking deliciously aged.
And near the center of the cave, between the raw materials on the left
and the finished product on the right, we saw the workspace where it was
all processed: Scattered along the center of the cave were a stool and
several buckets, all dripping with watery whey left over from milking and
cheese making. The stool was so large that we could have turned it into a
crude hut by draping canvas over it, and the buckets came up as high as
one of our chests. If one of the buckets were full, we could have jumped in
and swam in milk.
Stepping forward cautiously, one of my men stood next to the opening
of a tipped bucket, put his hand on the top of the rim, and peered inside. “I
could curl up and sleep in this thing,” he said.
Another stood, jaw slacked and lips pursed as if ready to let out an
astonished whistle. “I’m pretty sure this settles it,” he exhaled. “Whoever
lives here is huge.”
I ignored them and walked over to the cheese. “This looks good.
Come on, let’s try some!”
I drew my sword, then sliced off some pieces and began passing them
out. The men were hesitant – just being here was audacious enough for
them – but once I thrust the pieces under their noses and the pungent
fragrance filled the air, their eyes grew wide and their mouths began
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watering. Soon a couple accepted, and it wasn’t long before others were
stepping up to break off chunks themselves.
Such was their first tiny step toward getting comfortable making
themselves at home.
While they were nibbling away, I wandered around and found a huge
fire pit next to the milking area. There I ignited some kindling, threw on
some logs – there was a huge stash of firewood at the back of the cave,
most of it made of full uprooted trees – and tossed in a few pieces of
cheese as a sacrifice to the gods. One by one the men joined me, and we
all huddled around to warm ourselves and settle into a meal. The cheese
was rustic – even a bit crude – but it had a nice tangy flavor and was an
enjoyable change from sea rations and wild game.
But even as the men sat enjoying it, I could see their eyes drifting
across the cave, usually darting to watch the entrance. They were tense,
anxious – and soon their trepidation began to surface in the form of
nervous chatter.
“Whoever lives here – I’m not so sure he’s civilized.”
“I know he’s not civilized. Trust me, I used to travel the outlying roads
back home, and I’ve seen caves like these. This is the home of a backcountry shepherd.”
“And those shepherds and hunters… They aren’t all law-abiding
people. They do whatever they want, with no fear of the gods and no – ”
“Yeah you’re right. The only difference is those shepherds aren’t a
hundred feet tall.”
“Now now…” Their panic was escalating with each added comment,
and I was determined to squelch it while I still could. “We haven’t even
seen the man who lives here. We don’t know how big – ”
“Sir please!” one of the men cried out. My crew rarely if ever
interrupted me like that; the outburst caught my attention, and I looked
around to see all twelve eyeing me pathetically. “We don’t know how big
he is, but we know he’s big. And we don’t know how he’s going to treat
us when he finds us here. Please, sir… Let’s do the smart thing, the
cautious thing. While we still have the chance, let’s grab some cheese and
maybe some sheep, and let’s run back to our ship. Let’s shove off and sail
away from this horrible place before we run into – ”
“No,” I shook my head. “We came to find out who lives here, and
we’re staying until we do.”
They obviously didn’t like my order, but they signaled their obedience
by hunching over and quietly nibbling away at their cheese.
After about an hour of unnerving silence, we finally heard a noise
coming from outside. First it sounded like some kind of crying or yelling,
but as it grew louder we recognized it as the bleating of sheep. In response
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to the sound, the lambs in the pens perked up and began looking to the
entrance – and so did all my men.
Within seconds a massive flock of sheep came flooding into the cave…
And behind them we heard a voice – deep, raw, and gravely, with some
kind of barbaric-sounding accent – prodding them along. “All right, let’s
go,” it boomed. “Get on in there, now, and…” The voice broke into a
low, indistinct mumbling before finally articulating, “Oh, no – not you.
You guys stay outside.”
It had grown louder and clearer until it was obviously coming from
right outside the entrance.
In a panicked flurry of activity, my men stomped out the fire and
scrambled back to the rear of the cave. I followed them, and soon we were
watching the entrance from behind stacks of logs and leaning trees. I saw
ewes continuing to scramble inside, and through the entrance I could just
glance rams milling around in the courtyard.
“Yep, that’s right. Girls inside, boys outside.” As powerful and
dreadful as the voice was, it addressed the sheep in a tone that sounded
strangely affectionate, almost gentle. “Good, good. You guys just wait out
there. We won’t be doing nothing but milking in here – and I don’t guess
I’ll be getting anything out of you… Heh heh heh…” It trailed off with a
light chuckle.
The last few ewes had apparently filed into the cave when we saw a
giant silhouette step into the half-circle of blue light. His right arm was
crooked around an enormous bundle of wood, and he rested his left hand
on the top of the cave’s mouth to steady himself as he stooped – yes, he
had to duck! – to get inside the cave.
He tossed his bundle on the floor, and the logs tumbled with a terrible
crash – as loud and violent as an avalanche – that caused us to wince and
cover our ears. Then he lifted a boulder from the front wall of the cave and
set it in the entrance.
With a sudden boom, the feeble light in the cave was blacked out, and I
drew a sudden nervous breath. The rock was enormous, dwarfing even the
stones set in the courtyard outside. Twenty teams of oxen couldn’t even
begin to budge it – so I knew there was no way we were moving it.
We were trapped.
Soon we heard a chipping noise – as horribly magnified as all sounds
made by this giant – and in the darkness saw a single spark. There was
another noise and another spark. Then another… Until finally one of the
sparks sustained itself then floated down to rest on kindling and burst into
flame. Then the massive shadowy figure set aside his flint and stone and
began laying logs across the kindling – until the flame grew into a roaring
fire that cast a soft orange light across the cavern walls.
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Thankfully we were still hidden behind our woodpiles as, by light of
the fire, we got the first full view of a host who was every bit as ruggedlooking as we had expected.
His body was huge – built of hardened muscles, covered by leathery
skin, and clothed only by a roughly sewn patchwork of skins draped over
one shoulder. His face had a harsh, nearly animal look about it, with skin
lined and lips slightly cracked by exposure to the elements. Tangles of hair
fell in long, untended curls down the sides of his head, and his beard was
dirty, unkempt, and probably populated by lice. When he by habit let his
thick, slimy tongue snake out to lick his lips, he exposed a mouth full of
chipped and crooked teeth from which undoubtedly reeked a dizzyingly
sour breath.
To that extent he looked like any other barbarian from the countryside
– except for two important features that set him apart: First, he was larger
than my entire party put together, so tall that a normal man wouldn’t even
come up to his knee. Second, he had but a single large eye centered above
his nose.
Given your people’s history and the tales you’ve undoubtedly heard
from your grandparents, you probably don’t need me to tell you that he
was a Cyclops.
No, you don’t need me to reveal what he was – but until you’ve laid
eyes on a Cyclops yourself, you have no idea what it is to behold one.
They say the eyes are the window to a person’s soul, and we by habit
assume we can look into a pair of them to get a sense of who a person is
and how they feel. So to see blank space where you’d expect to see eyes,
to see a brow set several inches above the nose and from beneath that brow
a single huge eye, gazing out at you with an intensity that feels almost like
a physical pressure… It’s so unnatural, I almost shudder now just to think
of it.
So imagine being trapped in a cave with such a grotesque looking – not
to mention tremendously powerful – creature, able to do nothing more than
huddle behind a pile of wood and pray to the gods that he doesn’t find you.
Indeed we did nothing but watch, trembling, as he went about his work.
One by one he brought each ewe forward, reached underneath it with two
massive fingers, and squeezed milk into boat-sized bowls, stopping only to
empty the bowl into a bucket once it was filled. He repeated this process
over and over again, patting and talking to each sheep by name as he
milked – and once the last ewe was finished, he reached down and guided
them into pens with their young. Then he curdled the milk, set aside the
curds to dry and age, and put the whey into buckets.
He did all this with a singular attention, his eye roving methodically
from sheep to bowl to bucket as he worked. Once in a while his eyes
swept across the back of the cave, and we all ducked our heads and lay on
the floor, our hearts racing. But he said nothing, didn’t seem to have
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noticed us. And within minutes curiosity always compelled us to peek our
heads back out just high enough to see what he was doing.
He was setting aside full buckets and wiping his hands on his clothes,
when his eye darted up to glance in my direction. I fell to the floor once
more and looked around to see all my men crouched along with me…
“Ah, don’t bother,” his voice boomed through the cave. “You know
I’ve seen you, so there’s no use hiding.”
Still we remained planted on the floor, too petrified to move.
“Let’s go, up with you. If you’re gonna sneak into my home, at least
be man enough to stand up and account for yourselves. Come on, come on
– up and at ‘em, tell me what you’re doing here. Are you guys traders?
Pirates? Have you come to raid my cave? Because if that’s the idea,
you’ve picked the wrong guy to steal from, I’ll tell you that right off.”
I rose slowly to my feet and looked out from behind a log. All around
me my men were still lying still as death.
“No, my good sir,” I answered. “We are not pirates. We mean you no
harm, nor have we come to take anything from you.”
“Good sir…” He mocked with an angry chuckle. “Hmph! Don’t
‘good sir’ me – not now. Not after you’ve broken in here and gotten
caught lurking at the back of my cave.”
“Please, sir, hear me out. We’re Greeks…”
“Greeks?” His face pressed into some kind of sour, wrinkled look, but
I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant.
“Yes, we’re members of Agamemnon’s army, travelling back home
from our victory at Troy.”
“An army?” the Cyclops thundered. He looked up from a sheep he had
been stroking and focused his terrible eye upon me. “You’ve brought an
army here to my shores? An invasion of tiny little men to – ”
“No sir,” I stepped from behind the logs and held out my hands in
supplication. “We are but a small part of that army, a group of men who
have long ago lost sight of our comrades and can’t find our way home.
We’ve been blown off course and have no idea where we are – so as
helpless travelers, we throw ourselves at your mercy, begging your
hospitality and asking that you might – ”
“HOSPITALITY???” the Cyclops let out a quick, violent cough of a
laugh. “What use would I ever have for hospitality?” He articulated the
word slowly, as if it were a confusing or distasteful old concept that he had
to drag up from a dusty corner of his memory. “And what would ever
motivate me to offer anything to a bunch of puny little runts like you?”
“Because…” I halted, confused by his lack of understanding. The
virtue of hospitality was so engrained in my mind that it had never
occurred to me to try putting into words – so I had to stop for a moment
and think about how to explain it. “Because when a traveler needs your
help, it’s only right to – ”
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“To what? Put up with whoever just happens to wander into my cave?
Offer him whatever he wants from my hard-earned stores of food, just
because he asks? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much,” I shrugged.
“But WHY?”
“Well I’d hope that decency would compel you to help people who – ”
He greeted my suggestion with grumbling chuckle at the back of his
throat.
“But even lacking a sense of decency, it seems you’d at least fear Zeus
enough to treat a guest with kindness and – ”
“ZEUS?” The Cyclops now bellowed out laughter. He doubled over
where he sat, pounded the floor with the side of his fist as his chest heaved
uncontrollably. Finally he calmed his laughter to a light snigger and wiped
a tear from the corner of his eye. “Are you serious? First you ask me to
help you out of the kindness of my heart, then you say I should do it so big
bad Zeus doesn’t get me?”
“Are you crazy?” The sheer audacity of his last question enboldened
me to step forward and blurt out, “Even an idiot knows enough to show the
gods the respect they’re due.”
“Yeah? Or what? Or they’ll destroy my crops? Strike me with
lightning?”
“I would – ”
“Let me tell you something, tiny. You and your pathetic friends might
fear the ‘almighty’ Zeus, but I don’t. We Cyclopes take care of ourselves.
We don’t rely on the gods for help, and we don’t worry about what they
supposedly want us to do – so if for some reason I decided to offer you
help, it would be because I felt like it, not because I was caving in to your
stupid threats.”
His words sent a cold feeling shooting up my spine. For the first time I
realized what I was dealing with – and how much trouble we were in.
“But you know,” he continued, “maybe I do feel like helping you after
all.” His voice softened into a pantomime of rationality, and he raised his
eyebrow and nodded his head – obviously cooking up something he
believed was clever. “Yes, maaaayybe… But if you’re to be my guest,
you should share with me as I share with you. Yeeessss… Let’s see, you
know where I live, right?”
“Yes,” I nodded. It was an obvious question, and I had a strong feeling
I knew where he was going. Nonetheless, I decided to follow him on his
childish journey down the path of deductive reasoning.
“You know where I live, but I know very little about you.” He
scratched his temple and peered into the middle distance. “So we’re on
uneven terms, right?”
I shrugged. “I guess you’re right; it would seem we are.”
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“And the way I figure it, that’s just no way to start a friendship. So to
straighten things out a little, shouldn’t you tell me where your ship is?”
“I guess that would only be fair.”
“Then could you please tell me?” He hunched slightly, and I could see
him ready to drum his fingers in excitement as his little scheme unfolded.
“I wish I could,” I answered. “But even I don’t know where it is.”
The Cyclops narrowed his eye and peered at me skeptically. “Now
that’s just goofy. How could you not know where your own ship is?”
“Because it’s lost at the bottom of the sea. Poseidon raised a storm
against us and smashed our ship against the rocks. Those of us here now
were the lucky few who managed to survive.”
“Hmmm…” The Cyclops rolled his eye back as though deep in
thought. “But if that’s true… And if you were telling me all that stuff
about being blown off course… If your ship really got sunk, wouldn’t you
have mentioned…” There he sat, mumbling the beginnings of questions as
he thought back over my story.
I for my part just stood and waited for him to sort out his thoughts and
continue interrogating me…
But he asked nothing more. Instead he suddenly sprang forward and
grabbed two of my men from their hiding places. Gripping one in each
hand, he lifted them up next to his head and inspected them like little
puppies as they squirmed and groaned and protested in his grasp. Even
now my heart breaks at the thought of their pleading as I stood by
helplessly, as the Cyclops only responded to their pleas by tightening his
grip.
Finally I resolved to do what I could – I took a step forward and forced
a commanding strength into my voice. “Let them go,” I said.
He just shot me a wicked glance, then swung both men down and
dashed their heads against the floor of the cave – and suddenly both voices
were silenced.
I tried not to look at the pulpy chunks of brain scattered across the
floor, nor at the dark puddle of blood that slowly expanded around them. I
tried not to look at the tangled hair, thick with sticky red, that lay atop soft
and flattened skulls. But I couldn’t avert my eyes as the Cyclops set down
one body, held up another, and with two fingers pinched and lifted a limp
arm. His face tensed into a tight smile as he plucked off the arm with a
sickening pop – as if he were pulling the drumstick off a chicken – and
stuck it in his mouth.
The crunch of bone grinding between that monster’s teeth, the sight of
my companion’s hand sticking out of his mouth before he sucked it in, the
look on the Cyclops’ face as he savored human flesh as if it were a
delicacy… It was so sickening that I finally just had to look away.
But I couldn’t escape the horrible sounds: The sound of skin tearing
and joints popping as one limb after another was pulled off… The
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crunching and slurping noises punctuated by groans of “mmmmm…”
Then, once he was finished with the limbs, the sound of him wolfing down
the man’s trunk, trying to shove the whole thing into his mouth at once,
organs squishing inside a pressed ribcage, no doubt starting to get squeezed
out the bottom of a severed trunk before he took a finger and pressed them
back in…
Then he started with the other body.
One by one I heard the rest of my men starting to call out, their voices
eventually joining into a wailing chorus of pleading, praying… And
before I knew it I had joined them.
“Zeus, Zeus!!!” We all chanted, faces turned to the roof of the cave,
and raised our hands in supplication. We asked the god to take pity on us,
to rescue us, to avenge these terrible crimes.
But the Cyclops just looked at us with a sneer and grunted out what
sounded like a chuckle.
Finally, at long last, it was over. As my men’s voices died down, I
heard a light sound of wood banging around, and I raised my eyes – ever
so tentatively – to find him hefting a bucket of whey. Tipping it back he
washed his dinner down with big, loud gulps. Once the bucket was
drained, he slammed it down and wiped the mess of milk and blood from
his beard with a backward swipe of his hand.
Then he laid down and fell asleep.
The cave was almost totally dark. By the dim red light of dying
embers, I could just make out the mountainous form of the Cyclops curled
up on his side, his shoulders rising and sagging as his snoring echoed
through the cave.
All around me, my men still cringed against the back wall behind the
wood; even with the monster sleeping, they were too shocked or frightened
to move.
I, however, was ready for action. As soon as I was sure our “host” was
sound asleep, I rose to a crouching position and reached for the hilt of my
sword. The Cyclops might be big, but a cold piece of bronze slid into just
the right spot between his ribs would kill him as surely as any other man.
And with him lying there unconscious, his back exposed to us…
I had already planned out the best path for a stealthy approach. Now I
began tip-toeing, thinking through the angle and placement of my blade,
and… And then I stopped in my tracks.
I’d wondered why the Cyclops had been foolish enough to fall asleep
without first killing us, restraining us, or at least taking our weapons…
But then a cold realization swept over me: Killing him would be as good
as suicide – for once he was dead, there would be no way for us to move
the boulder from in front of the door. We would be trapped, left to sit in
the dark and await starvation.
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I had no idea if the Cyclops realized this, or if he just slept in front of
us out of sheer stupidity. But I did know one thing: If we were going to
get out of the cave alive, we would somehow need his help to do it.
Releasing the hilt of my sword, I stepped back and joined my men.
I laid down and closed my eyes to the sound of their agonized moaning.
There was no course of action but to wait and find out what the Cyclops
would do to us in the morning.
After hours of tossing and turning, I heard the Cyclops stir. I rolled
over and peeked between the logs to find him beginning his morning’s
routine.
Like before, he stacked logs and started a fire.
Then he took his ewes out of their pen and, like before, milked them
one by one.
And like before, he stalked over to us with a hungry look in his eye,
licking his lips in anticipation.
My men quivered, tried to bury themselves in some little niche in the
back corner. Some, I’m sorry to say, clambered over each other in the
hope that he would pick someone else besides themselves.
But ultimately there was nowhere for them to go.
While they were all on their bellies crawling for a place to hide, he
pinched two of them by the legs and dragged them out screaming. I need
not give you any details of the ordeal that followed, other than to say it was
as horrifying as the one from the night before.
Soon, though, we heard a massive shifting sound, felt the floor tremble
beneath our feet – and opened our eyes to see a most beautiful sight, one
we had fantasized about through the seeming eternity of our captivity: the
big blue half-circle of daylight at the entrance to the cave.
The Cyclops had moved the stone.
But the sight represented only a far-fetched and fleeting hope – we
knew that even at the time. For as soon as the Cyclops drove his flocks out
of the cave and toward pasture, he picked up the boulder and set it back in
place, leaving us trapped and alone.
We had no idea how much time had passed. Without the light of day
to orient us, we had no clue whether it was still morning or whether the
Cyclops had been out through the evening. We couldn’t even say whether
a night had passed and the next morning had dawned – for so exhausted
were we that even our own urge to sleep didn’t tell us anything about the
time of day.
We’d spent our time tending the fire to keep some form of light in the
cave. Those who’d worked up enough of an appetite stole a few bites of
cheese; at least one walked off into a corner and vomited his back up.
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As far as taking action, we had few options. A couple men left to probe
the edges of the cave in the vain hope of finding an exit, and there’d been
talk of slaughtering sheep as a last-ditch act of revenge – but any
discussion of survival or vandalism quickly fizzled out, and we all found
ourselves sitting around staring at each other in deflated silence.
Until suddenly, out of the blue, I blurted out, “I’ve got it!”
The men nearly jumped, and their eyes darted over and gazed at me
eagerly.
“You think you can get us out of here?” one of them asked.
“Yes…” I trailed off, deep in thought. Walking over to the back of the
cave, I ran a hand up and down a pole of fresh green olivewood that was
leaning against the wall. It was high and thick as a ship’s mast – but for
the Cyclops it would have been a perfect walking stick once it had dried
out. “Yes, this will be perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“We’ll cut off a section of this, smooth it out, sharpen it…” I nodded
as I inspected the pole. “One good strong jab from this, and…”
“But sir, we can’t kill the Cyclops. You said so yourself.”
“No,” I turned to my men. “No, we’re certainly not going to kill him.
We’re going to use him to get us out of here. Now here’s what we’ll
do…”
They all gathered around me in an eager huddle, and I explained my
plan.
A grinding sound echoed through the cave.
By instinct we all turned and looked toward the entrance – and as soon
as we saw a sliver of light coming from behind the shifting stone, we
ducked and took our hiding places behind the logs.
Lying on the floor next to us was the result of our recent labor: A sixfoot long stake cut from the olive pole. My men had worked its shaft until
it was perfectly smooth; I myself had chopped and shaved at the end until
it was sharpened to a deadly point – then we’d stuck it in the fire and
rotated it, carefully seasoning its green wood until it was hard as stone.
Now we all shot a quick glance at this one hope, at this symbol of a
salvation we’d thought would never come. Then we looked at the entrance
to see the stone removed and sheep rushing into the cave.
This time, unlike last, the Cyclops did not stand back as his sheep ran
through. He stood right in the entrance, sweeping his watchful eye back
and forth across the floor – obviously guarding against our possible escape.
And this time he brought in all his sheep, including the rams that had been
left out in the courtyard the night before, and sealed the door behind him.
As usual, he milked each individual ewe, stroking its back and
mumbling sweetly to it before placing it in the pens with its lamb. It was a
strange thing to see from such a cruel creature. But what was worse was
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the dreadful wait – the long hours of sitting there watching him perform his
mundane task while knowing what was probably coming next.
And indeed, what we had feared again came to pass. He reached in
past the log pile to start fishing around with his hand – how we hoped he
wouldn’t find our stake! – and eventually found two men. What followed
was as grisly and horrifying as before, but now much, much more cruel.
To be grabbed by that monster, to know you’re about to be eaten alive… It
had to be terrifying. But to be taken right after we’d discovered a vague
glimmer of hope? Tears rolled out of my eyes as I heard the screams of the
chosen men.
By conscious act of will I choked back my sobs and walked out from
behind the woodpile. I presented myself before him, dragging the skin of
wine along with me and forcing a look of sternness onto my face.
“Look at you!” I spat. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He just looked down at me with a half grin and shrugged – then tensed
up his face and forced out a loud belch.
I had to wince under the gust of warm, stifling breath, reeking with the
smell of human flesh, that flooded the air around me. “Ugh, you filthy
savage!” I shot back. “Men present themselves in your house asking for
your help – and what do you do? Do you help them? No. Do you send
them away without assistance? No. You actually eat your guests! What
kind of fool, what kind of absolute monster would ever – ”
“Yeah, yeah – shame, shame, shame on me,” the Cyclops grunted.
“I’m a fool, I’m a monster, Zeus will strike me down – so on and so on.
See if it hurts my feelings.”
He obviously wasn’t going to budge on the topic of his own behavior,
so I decided to get to the point: “But I’ve come to realize something:
Even if you’ve failed us as a host, I’m bound to fulfill my obligation as
your guest.”
He shrugged, and his mouth curled into a casual half-smile. “Whatever
works for you.”
“Even if I get nothing in return, even if I’m going to die here in this
cave, at least I’m going to die knowing that I did what was right –
regardless of how I was treated.” I stopped and pointed to one of his
milking bowls and asked, “Do you mind if I borrow that?”
“I guess not,” the Cyclops answered. He picked it up and set it before
me.
“This is wine from our ship.” I opened the skin and began pouring the
sweet red drink into the bowl. “I had brought it here as a gift, hoping we
could make a friendly and honorable exchange as guest and host. But
while that’s obviously not going to happen, I still offer this to you…” I
carefully topped off the bowl, then lifted the edge of the skin and tied it
off. “…the best wine from our stores – the best wine I’ve ever tasted, in
fact.”
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The Cyclops peered down at the bowl and licked his lips. Bending
over to smell it, he let out an involuntary “Mmmm…” But then he sat up
abruptly and eyed me with a furrowed brow. “But wait… How do I know
you’re not trying to poison me?”
“For the same reason I didn’t kill you in your sleep last night,” I
answered. “Because if you’re not alive to let us out of the cave, we’re
trapped.”
“Hmmm,” he still eyed me suspiciously.
“It should be obvious we have no interest in seeing you dead… But
still, if you don’t trust me,” I reached for the rim of the bowl and began
pulling on it as if to drag it away, “I guess you don’t have to drink this.”
“No, wait a minute…” His face was still wrinkled with a vague
concern, but his eye lingered greedily at the surface of the dark red liquor.
He had probably only tasted the crudest of fermented drinks – and he’d
certainly never seen or smelled wine like this. After but a moment’s pause,
he lifted the bowl and drained it in one quick gulp.
“Good?” I asked.
When he set the bowl down, his eye was wide. “Wow… That’s
great!” He gave me an eager look – a look I was now well familiar with,
one that signaled that a simple kind of scheme was forming in his mind.
“You’ve really outdone yourself with your gift. And you know,
considering how nice you’re being, I actually feel a little a little bad for
how I’ve treated you so far. Maybe we should be friends after all… Here,
I tell you what…” He leaned in and pursed his lips cleverly. “You tell me
your name, pour me another bowl of that wine, and I’ll give you a gift in
return. Yes… What I did before was wrong, but now I want to do right by
you as your host.” He set the bowl before me.
“Okay…” After a moment of pretending to hesitate, I dropped the lip
of the skin and poured another bowl full.
“Mmmmm…” He drained it just as quickly as the first and slammed
the bowl back to the floor. “So your name?”
“My name,” I said, emptying the rest of the skin into the bowl, “is
Noman.”
“Noman? I’ve never heard of a name like that before.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? It’s the name my parents gave me.”
“Hm,” he said, lifting the bowl to his lips. He chugged down the wine,
then flung the bowl off to the side. “Okay then, Noman…” he broke out
into a wicked grin. “In exchange for your kindness, I offer you a gift.”
“And what would that be?”
“ I’ll save you for last.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded – but I already had a pretty good
idea.
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“I mean that I won’t eat you until after I’ve finished all your
companions. A fine gift, wouldn’t you say? And worthy of a
distinguished guest like you.”
His face tensed and his mouth spread into a wide smile, while his
shoulders heaved with laughter at his infinite cleverness – an abrupt burst
of activity, but one that quickly wound down. He was still in the middle of
congratulating himself when his muscles relaxed, his head lolled as if he
were dizzy, and he collapsed onto his back. There he laid, his head turned
to the side.
I walked right up to his face, waved my hand around in front of his
closed eye. He was snoring lightly, and he kept burping in his sleep – and
each time a little wine, mixed with stringy pieces of chewed human flesh,
dripped out of the corner of his mouth.
I shuddered at the sight – but I didn’t let my men see my disgust or my
horror. Turning my head to them, I let out a loud whisper, “Okay, he’s out
cold. You ready?”
Three men on one side and four on the other, we seven survivors held
our tremendous stake with its tip in the fire, rotating it to keep the heat
even. Slowly the tip began to glow until it blazed red hot and a tiny flame
shot out from the point.
I turned around to nod at my men, and we lifted it from the fire.
We carried it over to the face of the sleeping Cyclops, and there we
paused. For just a few moments I watched the glow from the tip cast a dim
light over his massive, disgusting face. The stake was shaking – so hard
were the men behind me trembling – yet still we held our courage.
Finally I turned and whispered, “NOW!”
With practiced efficiency – we had often handled battering rams the
same size as this stake – we swung back and thrust the tip straight into the
Cyclops’ eye.
Everything that happened after that came in a sudden, violent flash of
activity. There was a hiss, a loud popping sound – and I found myself
covered with the gush of fluid and blood that sprayed out of his eye socket.
The Cyclops leapt up and released a booming roar.
We’d scattered the moment the stake left our hands – and from behind
the logs we saw him rise to his feet, bellowing out incoherent shouts
punctuated by various profane curses to the gods. He flailed about with his
arms and stumbled back and forth before regaining his footing and groping
for the stake – then he yanked it out of his eye.
Blood gushed from the empty socket and ran down his face in thick
streams, and he released a piercing scream, gripping the side of his head
with his hands.
He carried on for several minutes, banging against the walls, feeling the
ground around himself in a flustered and ineffective attempt at grabbing us.
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Between his screams we eventually heard voices shouting from outside.
The Cyclops noticed them too, and he lowered his voice to a wimper,
cocking his head to the side to better hear them.
“What’s going on in there, Polyphemus?”
“Shut up, will you? You’re waking everybody up.”
“Hey, take it easy, everybody. Give him a minute – he might actually
be hurt. Is everything okay, Polyphemus? Are you being attacked in
there?”
The voices grew louder and louder as Cyclopes came over from
neighboring caves, gathering to see what the noise was about.
My men turned to me, their eyes wide with alarm. Apparently they
hadn’t foreseen this eventuality.
But I just looked back at them with a half-forced smile. “Don’t worry,”
I whispered. “Watch this…”
“Uhhhhhgggg!” the Cyclops groaned. “I’m… I’ve been… Ohhhh…
Yes, I’ve been attacked!”
“What? Who did it?”
“It was… It… Noman attacked me!”
“Well wait a minute – no man attacked you? Then what are you
carrying on about?”
“Ohhhh, my head!” the Cyclops cried.
“No man attacked me either!” a voice from outside chuckled. “And
boy am I glad!” Several voices laughed along with him.
“Yeah – and I hope no man attacks me tomorrow…”
“No!” the Cyclops cried. “You don’t get it…”
“You’re hurt?”
“YES!!!”
“But you said no man attacked you?”
“That’s what I keep trying to explain! Ohhh, my head… My eye.”
“And your head hurts?”
“Yes, it’s killing me.” He tried to rise to his feet, but he tottered and
stumbled with a mighty crash. “I can’t… I’m dizzy… I can’t get up.”
“Then it sounds to me like someone needs to sleep it off!”
More laughter broke out.
“Come on, guys. Let’s leave him to recover in peace.”
Amidst the fading voices of departing Cyclopes, one voice called out,
“Easy on the grog, Polyphemus.”
Then all was silent, save for the moaning of the Cyclops as he lay on
the floor, propped up on his left elbow and holding his forehead in the
palm of his right hand.
After about an hour, the Cyclops worked up the motivation to take
action. First he crawled about on his hands and knees, feeling at the floor.
At first the idea made my men nervous, but his movements were
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ponderous and clumsy. Even when he did start to approach us, we could
easily see him coming and move before he got too close.
Finally he recognized the futility of his efforts and decided to try
something else – just as I’d planned. He fumbled his way to the mouth of
the cave, then moved the boulder aside and sat in the entrance, sweeping
his hands back and forth to catch anyone trying to leave.
“Come on!” I motioned to my men, and they followed me to the sheep.
There I led three rams out of the pen and lined them up side by side.
Then I grabbed some strands of braided willow bark that I had stashed
nearby – they were basically crude pieces of twine used by the Cyclops to
weave a sleeping mat – and began tying the rams together.
“What are you doing?” one of my men asked.
“Shhh! Just watch,” I whispered.
After I was finished I lined up three more rams and tied them together –
then repeated the process until I had six different groups of sheep
“bundled” together in threes.
I took one of my men by the hand and led him over to one of the
groups. “Here,” I explained. “Climb under the middle one; grab on to its
fleece and hold yourself close to its belly.”
“Are you mad?” the man whispered. “Why would I – ”
“Because soon the Cyclops is going to have to let these sheep out to
graze – and when he does, they’re going to carry us out to freedom.”
They were getting the picture, but still they were curious. “But why are
you tying them together?” another man stepped up and asked.
“So the Cyclops doesn’t notice you. I’m sure he’s going to pat these
sheep down to make sure we’re not riding them. He’ll feel their backs, and
maybe even down their sides. But he probably won’t reach far enough
around to find you in the middle of three sheep. That’s why I rigged up six
groups – one for each of you.”
One by one the men crawled under and clung to the undersides of their
sheep, and I strapped them into position with more willow cords. The
sheep, while small in proportion to the Cyclops, were about the size of
small cows, so they were able to support us with no trouble.
“And what about you?” they asked.
I walked over to the largest ram. “I’ll take this one. I think he’s big
enough to carry me alone.”
They nodded, and I heaved myself up and held on to the ram’s belly.
Then we waited.
We waited as long hours began to pass. We waited as my muscles
grew sore and my fingers began to cramp. We waited until finally my
hands started trembling so badly that I had to wrap them tighter in my
sheep’s thick fleece – causing it to bleat in mild protest.
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I shot a panicked glance at the Cyclops, but he just sat at the entrance,
melancholy and lethargic looking, still dragging his hands back and forth
across the floor.
My sheep kept bleating. I tried relaxing my grip a bit, but every time I
shifted he just cried out that much more. Soon the other rams caught on
and started calling out as well, until the Cyclops turned his head in our
direction and asked, “Oh, what’s the matter, boys?”
The ram cried out again, as if in answer to his master’s question, and
my heart started racing.
But the Cyclops just smiled. “Ah, don’t worry, I’ll be letting you out
soon enough.”
Slowly the dark sky behind the Cyclops turned gray, then the rays of
early sunlight began to appear. Apparently the Cyclops could feel
something changing in the air – or otherwise sense the approach of dawn –
because right on cue he fumbled his way over to the sheep.
“Come on, now – time to go outside,” he said. His voice was quick and
abrupt. He slammed the pens open, then raced over to the entrance and
resumed his position at the door. Crouching so that the sheep had to file
through a narrow passage between his feet, he patted their backs and sides
with one hand and groped at the ground with the other.
He was obviously still very interested in making sure we didn’t escape.
His process of inspection forced the sheep to pass through slowly. But
after a mind-numbingly long procession – one that was torture for my
trembling arms and legs – the sound of bleating faded. Hanging upside
down beneath my ram, I dropped my head back to see that all the sheep
had cleared the cave entrance.
Then my sheep start lumbering forward, until finally we were between
the Cyclops’ feet. He reached down and felt the ram’s back, and his voice
came alive as he recognized the creature.
“Oh, what is it, old boy?” he asked. “Last one out today? That’s odd –
usually you’re right there at the front!” He rubbed the animal’s head, felt
along its sides. “So what’s going on? Decide to bring up the rear for
once? Or just feeling bad for your master, blinded by that evil Noman…”
I cringed and pulled myself closer to the ram’s belly as the tips of the
Cyclops’ fingers nearly brushed my skin. But finally he withdrew his
hand. “Well, off with you, old boy! I guess we’ll just have to wait until
tonight to find them.”
The sheep ran out through the door and for the first time in too long I
was bathed in blessed daylight.
Once we were a safe distance away, I let go of the sheep; I looked back
to find the Cyclops moving the rock back into place.
“See how they like another day sitting in the dark… Then tonight
maybe I’ll bring back one of my neighbors, and Noman will realize he’s
not as smart as he…”
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I didn’t wait to hear the rest. Racing from sheep to sheep, I untied all
my companions – and once they were free, we dashed back to our ship,
herding as many sheep as we could safely take.
The Cyclops may have thought he heard something awry, for he cocked
his head and listened carefully to the sound of his sheep. But for all he
knew his flock was just scampering about in the courtyard. So he just
settled down outside the cave hunched over with one finger exploring the
rim of his eye socket.
There I left him – and I turned and ran for all I was worth.
Our shipmates were watching for us from the bow of the beached ship.
The moment they spotted us they called out to us with joy – but their
voices quickly took on a concerned edge before breaking down into cries
of grief. Obviously the six survivors, who’d arrived at the ship ahead of
me, had told the others everything that had happened.
For several moments everybody just stood weeping and wailing while
sheep milled around them…
“Load up!” I shouted as I ran down to the cove. “Get those sheep
aboard and let’s get out of here!”
The men snapped to attention and began hefting sheep up onto the deck
of the ship. Once the last animal was aboard, we clambered in after them
and pushed off.
The ship plowed out to sea as fast as my men could move their oars.
We darted straight out into open water instead of following our return
course along the coast; our journey back to the island could wait until we
were a safe distance from shore.
Finally we were several hundred yards from land – far enough out that
even the giant Cyclops couldn’t wade out to catch us.
We were safe.
But as I watched the beach fade into the distance, watched the
mountains become mere landmarks on the horizon, I grew restless.
Something in my gut told me this wasn’t resolved. I had defeated the
Cyclops, yes – to the extent that I had escaped and punished him with
blindness. But still we’d been sent scurrying away like mice. Still, in a
way, it felt like he had the upper hand, that he had unmanned us…
Unmanned me.
I looked around to see my men hunched over on their benches,
trembling, looking lucky just to be alive – and thought of the six men who
hadn’t been so fortunate… Is this what you call victory? I thought.
No… Something about the whole situation was just intolerable… And
something else just had to be done. I itched with the urge to thump my
chest at the Cyclops, to boast in my triumph – to make it clear to him that
he had been bested, and that it was I who had bested him.
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Before I knew what I was doing I found myself stepping up to the stern
of the ship and shouting, “Hey Polyphemus! Polyphemus!!!” After a
minute I saw his distant form crawling up a mountain. There he perched
near the peak and turned his ear to the side, confused, trying to figure out
where my voice was coming from. “Yeah you, you big one-eyed idiot!”
He turned to listen out in our direction. “Or should I call you a no-eyed
idiot? It’s me – yeah me, the one you called ‘Noman.’”
He cocked his head, as though confused.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I laughed, “Not only did I blind you, but I escaped
from your cave, right out from under your nose… And I took my men –
and your sheep – with me. So I guess size isn’t everything, moron. I guess
this tricky ‘little’ man ended up being more than a match for you, you big,
stupid, brutish…”
Suddenly I heard my men gasp behind me. There was a great, grinding
rumble coming from land, and I closed my mouth long enough to turn and
see the silhouette of the Cyclops gripping the top of the mountain. It
looked like he was about to pull himself up to the peak – but instead he
ripped the top off the mountain and hefted it above his head.
He wound back just slightly, then hurled it toward us.
I winced. Behind me, my men let out involuntary yelps as boulder
grew bigger and bigger, eventually blotting out the sun as it cast a shadow
over our ship. The Cyclops’ aim was astonishing; even blinded, he’d
managed to throw straight toward us.
All in unison we threw ourselves to the deck, closed our eyes, and
waited…
There was deafening splash in front of us. We all looked up and saw
that the ship was intact, saw that the rock had unfortunately missed us. But
unfortunately, it had landed just inches in front of our bow, creating an
enormous wave that was now pushing us backward.
My men scrambled to their benches and began pulling at the oars with
all their might. But they hardly had the chance to put up a struggle before
we were flushed back and our ship was pushed up onto the shore.
All my men looked up toward the mountain with wide eyes, expecting
to see the Cyclops running down toward us.
But I just leapt back, picked up a pole from the deck, and with a mighty
grunt shoved us back into the water.
“Row!” I rasped.
They quickly complied.
Once more we were cutting briskly out to sea. I looked back to see the
Cyclops still atop the mountain, turning his head back and forth as if still
listening for us.
“Hah!” I called out once more. “Nice throw, Cyclops.”
“Sir!” one of my men called out to me. “What are you – ”
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“Don’t worry about it,” I looked back at him with a grin. “We’re at
least twice as far away as we were last time. There’s no way he could
reach us now.”
“But why do you need to antagonize him? Let’s just get out of here
before he – ”
But I had already turned back and was shouting, “Hey Cyclops, guess
what? My name isn’t really Noman after all! I am Odysseus, son of
Laertes, king of Ithaca, the sacker of Troy. So if anybody ever asks who
blinded you – who defeated you – then you know what to tell them.”
“Odysseus, huh?” the Cyclops called back. “Okay, well now that I
have your real name, why don’t we start over? Yeah… No more of that
hiding in the back of my cave pretending to be someone else. Come
present yourself to me like a man; give me a real greeting instead of
sneaking around stealing stuff and waiting to attack me. You do that – you
actually live up to this idea of hospitality you like to preach about – and
maybe I’ll see fit to offer you another gift, a better gift … Maybe I can
even get my father – the storm-stirring, earthshaking Poseidon – to help
you make it home. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Are you serious?” I laughed. “Why would I ever go back there, you
idiot? I’ve already gotten my revenge. I won and you lost, plain and
simple – and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Unaccustomed to any level of powerlessness, the Cyclops looked
skyward, lifted his hands, and let out a frustrated, inarticulate growl – one
that he eventually managed to shape into words: “Poseidon, my father! If I
am truly your son, help me now in my time of distress. Bring your
vengeance down upon this ‘Odysseus,’ this thug who has so cruelly and
treacherously blinded me… Frustrate his voyage at every turn. Send
winds and waves and rain against him… If, that is,” he reached down and
pulled another piece off the mountain, “I somehow don’t manage to smash
him myself.”
He spun a full circle, swinging the rock around and releasing it toward
us. Once more it flew straight at us. Once more it nearly hit us.
But this time it landed right behind us, barely missing our rudder – and
instead of washing us back to shore, it pushed us over a mile out to sea.
I ventured quick glances at my crew. Their faces were hard set,
frustrated. Here and there I caught them stealing harsh looks at me, and I
could practically hear the barely contained criticisms that were ready to
burst from their mouths.
Yet we were safe. And so – keeping a safe distance from land – we
continued to work our way back to the smaller island to meet the other
ships.
We were greeted with the expected mixture of sorrow and relief. Men
grasped each others’ hands and threw their arms around each others’ necks.
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Tears were shed. Retellings of our misadventure were cautiously kept free
of complaints about my leadership – at least in my presence.
That evening we divided the sheep for a feast, and I sacrificed the large
ram to Zeus.
The next morning we set sail at sunrise, keeping our ships headed
north. Hopefully we would find Greece – and soon after our blessed home
of Ithaca.
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Chapter 7
Circe
Our eyes were glued to the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of land –
with each passing hour trying harder and harder to convince ourselves that
we saw something other than an endless expanse of sky meeting an endless
expanse of water.
When hours turned into days, however, we resigned ourselves to the
quiet process of waiting. We consoled ourselves with the fact that for once
the weather was reasonably good, and at least – so we thought – we were
pointed in the general direction of Greece.
But finally we heard the shout we had been waiting for: “Land!”
I rushed to the bow of the ship – and the instant I turned back to give
my men a nod, they scrambled up out of their rowing benches to join me.
Before us we saw what appeared to be an island on the horizon. But as
we sailed closer, something about it began to strike us as rather odd – and
for several hours we looked at it, pointed at it, analyzed it. Eventually
ships maneuvered along side each other for shouted discussions between
the captains. And gradually, as the black spot grew in our vision, our
inclination that something was “wrong” with it took on tangible form:
We began to notice that the island was totally flat. There were no
jagged mountain peaks, no slopes of rolling hills, and no rough edges to
indicate the tops of trees. Where we should have seen those patterns
silhouetted against the sky, we saw a straight line that ran as level and as
smooth as a polished floor. It gave us a sense of something artificial, even
– in the minds of our more imaginative men – otherworldly.
Yet after brief discussion, we continued to sail toward it.
Within a couple hours our ships were floating next to the “island” –
not beached on it, because it had no beach.
Instead we found ourselves up against a brazen wall that rose straight
out of the water. Top to bottom, it appeared boundless. When we peered
down to see to what depths it ran, it faded into the darkness of the water.
When we craned our necks up for a glance at its heights, it seemed to rise
eternally up to the sky.
All around me was a flurry of questions.
“What is this?”
“What do you think is in there?”
“Who could have built this thing?”
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None of these questions were answered with anything more than awed
silence or ridiculous speculation – until finally one of my men stepped up
to me and whispered, “Aeolus.”
“What?” I asked over my shoulder.
“The god of winds,” he answered.
“Yes, I know who he is, but – ”
“They say he lives on a floating island. They say it’s surrounded by a
giant bronze wall, just like this one. I never thought I’d actually see it,
but… But if I had to guess what this is, I’d say…”
He trailed off and joined the crew in scanning the length and breadth of
the wall.
After a few minutes, I gave the order: “Back to your benches, men;
oars in the water, nice and easy. We’re going to work our way along the
edge and see if we can find a way inside.”
The signal was sent to the other ships, and we proceeded.
We rounded two corners and were greeted by nothing more than a
continuation of the dark, monolithic surface. But finally we rounded the
third to find huge gate at the center.
To our surprise, it began to creak open at our approach. I gave the
signal, and we entered through the widening entrance.
After three straight encounters with dangerous populations – and the
loss of nearly eighty of our friends – we had obvious reservations about
bringing our ships into this strange structure. My men rowed in grim
silence, wide eyes looking up at the gaping gate that was swallowing us,
greeting our entrance into an unknown oblivion.
Yet in spite of its strangeness, this turned out being the most benign
and fortunate encounter we’d had.
Inside we found a beautiful palace sitting on an island of perfectly
manicured gardens. We beached our ships, set out on foot…
And before we could even make it to the door, we were greeted by
Aeolus: a flamboyantly joyous-looking god whose eyes sparkled with
good humor and whose mouth always seemed pressed into a smile. With
booming voice and broad sweep of his hand, he welcomed us to take full
advantage of his hospitality.
We were quick to oblige. For a full month we enjoyed endless feasting
and relaxation. We joked and laughed with Aeolus, along with his six sons
and six daughters. We told tales of the Trojan War and of our wanderings,
and they returned the favor with stories of their own. Not much need to be
said about our time there, save that it was a wonderful experience, a
welcome respite from our endless wandering and suffering.
But eventually it had to end. One evening, after the month had passed,
I approached Aeolus in a quiet corner of his hall.
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“Good sir,” I leaned in and muttered, “I appreciate all you’ve done for
us. This,” I motioned toward my men, who were swept up in another night
of feasting, “has been incredible. I’ve enjoyed your hospitality more than
you could know…”
“But?” he asked.
“But it’s time for us to go. As nice as it is here, we have families; we
have a home we haven’t seen in far too long. We need to continue on our
journey.”
Aeolus looked at me and took a deep breath. His eyes were still bright
and kind, but they seem to flicker with a melancholy look. “I’ll be sorry to
see you go,” he sighed. “But I certainly won’t keep you longer than you
want to stay…” For a moment he trailed off. But then, as if an idea had
just clicked in his head, he abruptly rose to his feet and offered me his
hand. “Here, follow me.”
I accepted, and he helped me up and led me to a back room.
His movements we so brisk that when he turned around I felt
compelled to say, “I hope I haven’t offended – ”
“Just wait here,” he ducked away and left me standing alone. When he
returned he was carrying a large leather bag – half my height and just as
wide – which he thrust out toward me. “Here, take this. It’s a gift to
commemorate your departure.”
It felt strangely light in my hands when I took it.
“What is it?” I asked.
His mouth curled into a mischievous grin. “Wind.”
I scowled, puzzled. “Wind?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “and after all the storms you’ve suffered at
Poseidon’s hands, I think you’ll find it a most valuable gift. I’ve taken all
the winds that blow across the ocean and sealed them in this bag – all of
them, that is, except the wind that will carry you to Ithaca.”
“So you mean…” My eyes grew wide. My eyes began to well up with
tears of joy and gratitude.
“I mean that as long as that bag stays shut, you won’t have to worry
about any more disruptions on your way back home. Keep a close eye on
this bag, my friend, and your journey will soon be over.”
“Thank you!” I burst out into tears and threw myself at his feet.
We set out the next day, and as Aeolus had promised, we enjoyed easy
sailing. Our sails were held taught by pleasantly brisk winds that swept in
behind us, so that my men barely had to touch an oar. My helmsman just
sat and held course as we cut smoothly through the water, and a glance
around revealed that the rest otf my fleet was lined up in perfect formation
on either side of us.
It was without a doubt the easiest leg on our voyage. Yet through those
nine days and nights I scarcely allowed myself a moment’s rest. I was
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always tending the sails, watching our course, shouting out for reports
from the other ships. It was exhausting, but it was exciting – and I
remained bolstered by a giddy urgency to get home.
Finally the tenth day dawned. With the sun just peeking out over the
eastern horizon, we spotted a small island lying dead ahead.
I watched it the way I always watched a newly approaching land
formation – studied its size, its topography, the possibility for food and
water and harbors… But as I sized everything up, I felt there was just
something about it – something that made me shake my head and blink my
eyes before taking a second look. This island was so familiar, that…
I peered out at it, my eyes squinting against the glare of the morning
sun on the water. I had never approached from this direction, but… It
looked so…
I dashed to the edge of the ship and, leaning over the rail of the deck,
pointed to the island and called out, “Ithaca!”
The shouts spread from ship to ship. Men forgot themselves and ran up
to the bows for a glance at their home.
I looked up at my sail. The wind was holding steady, and our pace was
as brisk and sure as before. At the rate we were going we would make
landfall by early evening.
“Keep her steady, boys!” I said. “We’re almost there.”
A feeling of euphoria washed over me – replacing the edge of excited
energy that had bolstered me through nine sleepless days and nights – and I
finally let myself relax. I felt my body deflate, felt the weight of fatigue on
my limbs, felt my eyes growing heavy.
It was going to feel good to get home – but it would also feel so good
to sleep. Besides, my drowsy mind began to reason, I didn’t want to show
up at my long-awaited homecoming feeling this tired. If I could just close
my eyes for a few hours…
I wandered over to my bench – beneath which my bag from Aeolus was
carefully stowed – and lay down. The instant my head hit the bench, my
eyes began drooping with sweet slumber.
I’ll do my best to tell you what happened when I was asleep, but I have
to confess my understanding is vague. I had to piece everything together
after interrogating my men – and I’m certain there was a lot of evasion,
blame shifting, and outright lying in the reports they gave me.
Setting aside questions of who did what, here’s the gist of what
happened:
As our ships worked their way to Ithaca, my men noticed me sleeping
on the bench. They also noticed the leather sack I had so jealously guarded
on our trip from Aeolus’ island – and safe from my listening ears, they
began to voice questions that had been stirring in their minds.
“So what do you think it is?”
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“I have no idea.”
“Me either. He won’t tell any of us what he’s hiding in there – and I’ll
bet you he has no special plans of sharing it, either.”
“Doesn’t share much of anything, does he?”
“Got that right. Everywhere we go, he piles up the gifts. He gets the
kings’ share at Troy. He gets that wine from the priest at Ismarus…”
“Everyone we meet is just soooo in love with him.”
“They pile on everything they could possibly give him…”
“And when he leaves they’re just sad they weren’t rich enough to give
him more.”
“Well you know… To be fair, he is a good leader – ”
“Sure, but we’ve been there every step of the way, suffering right along
with him. So why should he come back with heaps of loot while we’re all
empty-handed?”
“Good question. And here’s another puzzler for you: As much as
we’ve seen him get, how much more might he be hiding from us?”
“No clue. But whatever’s in a bag that size – whether gold, silver, or
jewels – it could set us all up for life.”
“Yeah… Or wait, here’s a better idea! Maybe it could gather dust in a
corner of Odysseus’ palace while we struggle to eke out a living on our
farms.”
Bitter, angry laughter broke out across the ship.
“Well sit there and joke about it all you want.” One of them stood from
his bench and began walking toward the back. “But I’m going to find out
what he has in there – right now.”
“Are you crazy? He’d kill you?”
“He can’t kill us all. Besides, I’m not saying we should rob him of his
share. We just need to make sure we get ours too – and as close as we are
to home, we’re running out of time to divide the spoils.”
The bag was dragged out from under my bench. A hand reached down
to untie the silver cord that had fastened it shut…
I awoke to find my men scrambling around the ship, screaming in
panic. Winds were howling. Our sails were flapping about wildly while
loose rigging swung in all directions.
“What happened?” I shouted.
I got no answer.
I ran to the edge of the deck and looked out to see our ships pointed in
all directions, spinning and listing on the waves.
“Take down the sails!” I shouted. They were now doing nothing but
carrying us out to sea, and the winds were threatening to tear them apart.
A couple of my men scrambled up the mast to untie them. The rest
manned their oars and began rowing as hard as they could against the
winds.
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But it was no use. No matter how they struggled, they couldn’t even
alter our course as the storm pushed us out toward sea.
Only then did I chance to look down to see Aeolus’ empty bag lying
limp on the deck. Silently cursing my men, I turned my eyes out to sea and
watched as my beloved Ithaca grew smaller and smaller, then faded from
sight.
“How did you end up coming back here?” Aeolus asked.
We were in the same private chamber as before. He was standing,
pacing about like an anxious – or frustrated – parent, while I sat on the
edge of a stool, hunched over with my elbows resting on my knees.
“I…” I began with a shrug.
“I mean, we took care of everything you should have needed. I
contained the winds, practically pushed your ship straight to Ithaca for
you.” He paused and peered at me with squinting eyes. “Did another god
interfere?”
“No… It was…”
“Then how could this have happened?”
“I was guarding the bag, just like you told me to. Everything was
going perfectly – we sailed along without a hitch for nine straight days.
But then we got to Ithaca, and… Well, I got tired and… And I fell asleep.
And when I did, my men’s curiosity overcame them, and they opened it,
and…”
“They opened the bag? How could you have let that happen?”
“I don’t know… I was just so tired, and…” I paused, stared at my
hands. Then finally I looked back up at him and pleaded, “I know it was
stupid; I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. But I was just so tired, and – please,
it was just one mistake, and it could be fixed so easily if only you could
help me this one more time.”
Aeolus glared at me. The sparkle in his eye had turned fiery with
anger, and he pursed his lips and pointed to the door. “Get out of here,” he
boomed.
“But please… If you’d only give me another chance…”
“Do you realize what a big favor I did for you? I actually maneuvered
against another god for your sake – against Poseidon! Seriously, do you
even know what a big deal that was? Most Olympians wouldn’t defy
Poseidon… Yet as far as I stuck my neck out for you, you couldn’t even
stay awake and guard a bag?” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I’m
finished with you. Go ahead and try to find your own way home.”
I left his palace with heavy heart and hanging head.
Following our visit, Aeolus sent us a curse that was almost as bad as a
blowing storm: dead calm. Without a breeze on the sea, my men labored
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fruitlessly at their oars, struggling to keep us crawling along for six straight
days.
On the seventh we spotted land, and we approached to find high rocky
cliffs looming over us. They ran in both directions as far as we could see,
but after rowing up and down their length for a couple hours we discovered
a small inlet carved into the rocky face.
It was a tricky little harbor to be sure. The opening leading into it was
so small only one ship could maneuver in at a time, and it was surrounded
on all sides by sheer rock walls. However, it was a perfect place to moor
ships. It was completely shielded from wind, and the water inside was
smooth as glass.
So we decided to secure our ships there. It was a tight fit; as the ships
settled in to drop anchor, they had to line up so close to each other that two
neighboring crews would find themselves crossing oars like swords if they
tried to row at once. Thus one ship had to move in and retract its oars so
that another ship could squeeze in alongside.
I held my ship in position at the harbor’s entrance as I guided the
eleven others through their tedious maneuvers – and once they were
finished, I found them so tightly lined up inside that I decided not to cram
my ship in as well. Instead I took the small risk of leaving my ship
exposed to waves and wind, and I anchored outside the harbor’s mouth.
After settling in, we climbed up the cliffs to have a look around. Atop
the plateau was a flat shelf covered with thin grasses. Through it ran a
brook that flowed to the edge of the cliff, where it dispersed into a misty
waterfall that sent a spray drifting down toward the face of the sea.
Scenery aside, there was nothing spectacular about the place, and it
provided little in the way of resources. However, it was a pleasant enough
spot to camp out and enjoy the luxuries of solid ground and fresh water –
so we all sprawled out and pitched our tents across the little plain.
But there was a complication: Smoke… Dozens of columns of gray
smoke drifting up from across the surrounding countryside. The land was
inhabited, apparently by a thriving population that was simply too large to
ignore.
We’d already suffered so much; we’d lost far too many men, and we
were all too aware of the fates that had met our scouting parties thus far.
But to camp there without investigating would be to leave ourselves totally
vulnerable – so with heavy hearts we sent three men out, and with obvious
trepidation they trudged inland. As they disappeared into the distance, we
prayed to the gods that the people would be friendly – or at least harmless
enough that we could remain safely camped here for a few days.
“Run!” the scouts shouted. They were sprinting back to us – or at
least two of them were – faces red and mouths gasping for air. “RUN!!!”
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“Come here, come here…” I motioned for them to join me, hoping they
could explain the situation privately before panic spread. “What
happened?”
They stopped next to me and doubled over with hands on their knees as
they caught their breath.
“Giants…” one of them exhaled. “This country’s full of giants.
They’re called the Laestrygonians, and their leader is a king named
Antiphates… And they’re… They’re huge – almost as big as the Cyclops.
And there are hundreds of them…”
“And where’s the third man?”
“They ate him!” the scout said. “We presented ourselves in their court,
and while we were still introducing ourselves Antiphates grabbed him and
started butchering him right in front of us. He and his wife put the body on
a spit and… It was horrible! We managed to duck slip out of the palace,
and… And as we were running he started shouting to his people, calling
them to chase us. Please, sir! We’ve got to get out of here! As soon as
they regroup…”
By now the others had started overhearing our conversation. Alarmed
faces began turning our way, and before long we had a small crowd around
us.
“Clear out!” I yelled. “Pack up and let’s get back to the ships!
NOW!!!”
We scarcely had time to start taking down our tents before we heard a
growing roar. I turned and saw a horde of men – every bit as large as the
scout had claimed – running toward us. Some carried thousand-pound
rocks. Some held pikes the size of ships’ masts.
“Leave everything behind and run! Every man for himself!” I cried.
It was the most unnecessary order I had ever given. My men were
already racing en masse toward the ships – pushing and shoving and
clambering like an out-of-control mob, heading for the edge of the cliff like
lemmings. Fortunately they didn’t push each other off – and those at the
ledge stopped and began gingerly working their way down the rock face.
But what happened farther inland was as horrifying a sight as I’ve ever
seen. As the Laestrygonians began catching up the rear of the crowd, they
stabbed at my men with their pikes, skewering them through the backs as
they ran. And as soon as each giant speared his man, he turned around and
started taking his “meal” back home. One by one, men were snagged up.
One by one I heard them scream, then saw them being hauled back on the
pikes – some limp and bleeding from the mouth, some wriggling about,
crying out, kicking their feet and grabbing onto the spike that stuck out of
their stomachs.
As the pike-carrying giants thinned out the men at the rear, the rockcarriers dashed forward, kicking and trampling men as they ran. Many of
my crew made it down to the ships – but the Laestrygonians, close behind,
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stopped at the edge of the cliff and began hurling their boulders down upon
our fleet.
From down in the harbor I heard captains shouting ovelapping orders. I
heard the confused cries of men trying to maneuver their ships around each
other – a difficult task to carry out slowly and an impossible task in a rush.
Oars slapped against each other. Hulls collided as the vessels banged back
and forth in their fruitless attempts at maneuvering. Worst of all was the
crash of splintering wood and splashing water as rocks rained down like
hail upon the trapped fleet.
As all this was happening, my own crew and I were working our way
down the outside cliffs to our ship.
Finally we managed to pull up our anchor and start rowing away – and
as we did I ventured a quick peek through the rock passage at the chaos
inside.
“Keep your eyes forward, men…” They’d already been through
enough; I didn’t want them seeing what I’d just seen. “…and keep rowing.
All we can do now is save ourselves.”
Slowly, the sound of screaming and crashing faded behind us. With
that one fateful stroke, eleven of my ships – and nearly all my men – were
lost forever.
My men barely had the strength to row. As they went through the
weak, mechanical motions of pulling on their oars – usually barely
skimming the top of the water – our lonely ship plodded pointlessly along
a long, meandering course. But at last we made landfall on a small
wooded island, where they finally climbed overboard and collapsed on the
sand.
For the next two days they did little but lie about groaning and
weeping. When they got cold and windblown, they did a half-hearted job
of propping up tents. When they grew hungry, they nibbled at stale crusts
of bread. But it seemed that was all they could accomplish under the
weight of their exhaustion and grief.
By the third morning I resolved that something finally had to be done –
so I left my men and hiked up a nearby hill for a look at the surrounding
landscape. At first, a continuing spread of green foliage seemed to indicate
that the island was uninhabited… But after a few minutes I spotted the
telltale sign of life: Smoke.
My heart skipped a beat. So far on our journey, smoke had been a sign
of danger. It had meant that we shared the land with large and usually
brutal populations…
This time, however, there was only one column of smoke, a faint trail
that quickly drifted off and dispersed in the wind. It was most likely
produced by a small fire – and indeed, when I followed it down to its
source, I found that it came from a single cottage sitting at the middle of a
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clearing. The building was tiny – certainly not large enough to indicate the
presence of a city or even a minor tribe – and were it not for the smoke, I
would have never noticed it between the trees.
It looked so quaint and harmless that I almost set out to go explore it
right then and there. But after taking my first step I decided that
wandering off by myself would be a pointless risk. It would be better to
meet back up with my men and come up with a plan for scouting things
out.
But how to raise their spirits? That was the question… So on my way
back to the beach I took a wide, meandering path through the woods,
giving me plenty of time to consider what to do for my demoralized crew.
Was there any kind of comfort I could provide for them? Any kind of
luxury or provision that might, for at least a moment, distract from their
current circumstances?
Fortunately, as I was tromping through the woods, a god provided me
with an answer: A huge, wide-antlered stag, which stepped out from
between the trees and presented itself broadside in front of me.
In one smooth motion, I swung my spear around, hefted it over my
shoulder, and planted my feet…
As I stumbled back to camp with the carcass over my shoulders, I saw
my men’s faces come alive with interest for the first time in days. By the
time it hit the ground they were all huddled around it licking their lips in
anticipation. Sure, they were still worn with sorrow. But the universal
fascination with such a large kill – it was the biggest deer I’d ever slain –
helped them snap out of their depression. The the prospect of gorging on
fresh meat didn’t hurt either.
The next morning they looked like new men – so as they sat around
chewing on the remains of the last night’s feast, I decided to call them
together and see if I could rouse them to action.
“Okay, guys, look…” I began. “I know we’re in a tough spot here.
We’re down to a fraction of our numbers, the few survivors of a miserable,
endlessly harassed army. We’ve endured unthinkable hardships, working
ourselves to the bone, with absolutely nothing to show for our efforts.
We’re as lost today as we’ve ever been before – and after what we saw
happen to our friends back there… I know you feel like you have nothing
left, and I’m sure it’s tempting to just give up.”
The men grunted through mouthfuls of meat; I wasn’t sure exactly what
they meant.
“But we still need to find our way home – and our best bet is to see if
there’s anybody on this island who can help us.”
The men’s eyes grew wide. They nearly gagged on their food in
surprise.
“What?” a few of them burst out.
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“No disrespect, sir,” another added, “but I’d hope that by now we’d
have figured out what happens when we go poking around on strange
islands.”
“I know, I know…” I held up my hands to silence them. “And I’m all
too aware of the risks of exploring. But on the other hand we have no clue
where we are or how to get home – so what other options do we have? Do
we just sit here on this beach? Whatever’s lurking out there would
eventually come looking for us anyway. Do we pick a random direction
and go sailing off toward the horizon? That could actually lead us away
from home – not to mention bringing us to more unknown dangers.
Listen…” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “You may not be aware of
this, but I’ve already had a pretty good look at this island, and I have
reason to believe this is as safe a place as we could explore. You want to
know what I found out there?”
They nodded their heads, still eyeing me skeptically.
“I found a single house sitting out in the middle of the woods. One
little house! Listen, guys… This island isn’t full of giants! There’s no
army waiting out there to attack us! At most there’s one household
huddled out there in the forest – probably just a solitary hermit.”
The men sat up and started paying attention. I could see a measure of
relief on their faces.
“I spent a lot of time thinking about this last night, and I’ve come up
with a plan: We’ll divide into two groups, so that half of us can stay here
on the beach, while the other half goes in to investigate. That way we’re
sending in enough men to overpower whoever they’re likely to find out
there – but then if there is a trap, we’re not all walking into it at once.”
“And how do we decide who goes and who stays?” one of them asked.
“We’ll put it in the hands of the gods,” I answered. “Here…” I pointed
to my trusted lieutenant Eurylochus, who was at the opposite side of the
gathering from me. “The twenty-two of you who are sitting closer to
Eurylochus, go gather around him. The twenty-two who are sitting closer
to me, come over here.”
After only minor confusion, counting, and shuffling around, they
settled into similar-sized groups. I moved a couple over to round out the
numbers.
“There… Now all we have to do is cast lots.” I held a helmet out
before the men and dropped my ring in it. Then I walked over and offered
it to Eurylochus, and he did the same. “If my ring falls out first,” I said,
shaking the helmet, “my group goes exploring. If Eurylochus’ falls out,
his group goes.” I shook the helmet harder, and finally a ring went flying
out and landed silently in the dirt.
The men tensed; I could tell they all wanted to run up and have a look.
I strode over, nonchalantly picked it up, and held it out before them.
“Eurylochus, I guess you’re scouting for us today.”
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Eurylochus’ party trudged through a mile of thick forest before they
saw the clearing open up in front of them.
Most of the men stayed back several yards, while a handful of the
braver ones tip-toed up to the edge of the wood and glanced out cautiously
from behind the trunks of trees.
“What in the world?” one of them muttered.
Spread out before them was a clearing a couple hundred feet across,
covered with short grasses and beds of well-tended flowers. In the middle
was a stone house – a reasonably simple country dwelling, but neat and
well-built enough to suggest a fairly civilized inhabitant. With polished
and perfectly fitted stones, latching wooden doors and shutters, and a tile
roof, it appeared out of place sitting alone on a wooded island.
But what really got the men’s attention was what they saw lying out in
front of the house… Animals. And not the sheep or cattle one might
expect, either. Scattered across the manicured lawn, some sitting and some
sprawled out asleep, were several dozen wolves and lions.
The men at the front turned back and motioned to those behind them.
“Come up and look at this!”
The rest stepped up to join them, letting out gasps of alarm as they saw
the animals.
“Who would keep wolves outside their house?” one asked.
“Maybe nobody ‘keeps’ them. Maybe they’ve eaten whoever used to
live here.”
“Sounds like the best explanation to me… I think we can safely go
back and tell Odysseus that there’s nothing worth seeing here.”
“No, no, no…” Eurylochus stepped up from behind them, holding out
his arms as though to herd them forward. “We’re going in.”
“But these animals probably overran this place years ago. How do we
even know there’s anybody – ”
Eurylochus pointed up toward the roof. “The chimney, you idiot. It’s
smoking. Besides, somebody’s obviously been tending the yard. Now pull
yourselves together and let’s go.” He took a couple soft steps forward,
then turned and whispered over his shoulder, “Of course you will want to
be careful. Keep your hands on the hilts of your swords.”
They wandered out into the clearing. Everything was eerily silent; the
only sound was the sliding metallic ring of swords being pulled from
scabbards.
Slowly the animals took notice. They propped themselves up, turned
their heads for a look around… Finally a few got up and started
approaching the men, and in a flash all swords were drawn.
“Steady, boys…” Eurylochus muttered. “I have a strange feeling about
all this. Be on guard – but give it a minute before you go swinging at
them.”
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With Eurylochus in the lead – by instinct each man tried walking
slower than his neighbor, so most of them faded back – a lion began
ambling forward. Hunched slightly over, it looked up at Eurylochus at it
approached. And soon it was standing right before him, watching him
expectantly – yet totally still. Eurylochus reached a hand down… The
lion remained still. Eurylochus began scratching it behind the ears, and the
lion cocked its head and leaned forward slightly.
“Guys…” Eurylochus called back. “I think it’s all right.”
Wolves began stepping forward with tales wagging. Lions approached
with low rumbles that sounded like purring. All these animals presented
themselves before the men, sitting and looking up pathetically at them as if
begging for attention or a treat. As the groups grew comfortable with each
other, a few animals started bounding playfully between the men.
“They seem harmless,” a man said. “But it’s just so… So weird.”
Another added as he rubbed the scruff of a wolf, “Yeah, it is. But so
was Aeolus’ island, and that ended up being the best stop on our trip. I
guess as long as they’re nice…”
Their conversation came to a halt when they heard the sound of singing
floating out of the window. It was a sweet female voice, drifting up and
down in the playful tune of someone singing along to her housework.
“Well now what’s this?” Polites, a member of the crew, broke out into
a wide grin. “A woman lives here? We’ve all been standing around here
crapping ourselves over a woman?”
“Shhhh…” Eurylochus cautioned him.
“Shhhh?” Polites chuckled. “What’s shhhh? We have a peaceful little
country cottage, with a woman singing inside and gentle pets out in the
yard. I think we’re going to be okay.”
“Yeah, probably,” Eurylochus answered. “But it never hurts to be
careful.”
“Ahhhh, let’s just go meet the pretty little thing. Come on, guys…”
Polites walked over to the cottage, and the others followed eagerly.
They all stood before the door and waited as Polites gave three sharp
knocks.
“Come-ing!” the sing-song voice called out from the house.
The door swung open, and a woman stood in the entry and greeted
them with a high-toned “Yeeesss?”
The men could only stare at her in awe. Her eyes were deep dark
brown, with thick long lashes that fluttered playfully when she blinked.
She had soft and shiny jet black hair, pulled straight to the back of her head
and held in place by barrettes, so that it flowed down her back like a
shimmering wine-dark waterfall. When she spoke, her ruby red lips
seemed to dance to the music of her voice in a rhythmic series of curling,
twisting, and puckering gyrations so delightful that they seemed deliberate
– and the man who wasn’t held captive by her eyes found himself
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entranced when she spoke. She was at once delicate and strong, possessing
a vulnerable air that was carefully crafted, and that only thinly covered a
commanding level of confidence.
“Well?” She smiled widely at the men, her eyes dancing from one to
the other. “Come on, don’t be shy! Tell me, what is it you want? What
brings you to my little island?”
It was Polites who finally spoke. “We’re just humble travelers who
have lost our way, and – ”
“You’re lost?” the woman cried. “Oh, how terrible! Come in, come
in…” She swung the door wide and stood off to the side. “Make
yourselves at home!”
The men shuffled in after her, shooting each other quick grins and
muttering about their good fortune…
All of them, that is, except Eurylochus. As the rest were led through
the door, he ducked back into the woods.
As soon as he heard the door close, he crept back out into the clearing.
Hugging the ground and ducking behind shrubs and plants, he found a spot
where he could peek through the open shutters of a window.
There he saw the men gathered around the woman, laughing as she
waltzed from one to the other pouring wine into their cups, then sprinkling
in bits of cheese and barley before topping it all off with a drip of honey.
The men sipped at their beverages, nodded in approval, then lifted them
and guzzled. Before long they were swaying on unsteady feet and staring
off into space with dreamy eyes.
To Eurylochus it looked almost like they were drunk. But there was
something weird about it. Something just… Wrong.
The increasingly senseless men milled about the house holding out
open cups for their hostess to fill, and once more she glided from one man
to the next. But now she regarded them with a narrow grin and a gleam in
her eye – and instead of pouring drinks into their cups, she touched each
man on the head with some kind of wand.
As she did, the men began to convulse. Their skin started twitching,
the hair on their heads slowly receded, and their complexions began
turning pink.
Eurylochus gasped, and against his better judgment he stumbled
forward a few steps for a better look.
He could just make out the faces of a couple men as their features
started shifting. Their jaw lines bent and their brows squished until their
heads had rounded out. Their noses flattened and rounded, and whiskers
grew from either side.
Eurylochus’ heart dropped in his chest as he realized what was
happening: His friends were turning into pigs.
One by one they squealed and tipped forward out of sight – falling onto
all fours, Eurylochus guessed from the clop of hooves on the floor.
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The woman tipped her head back and laughed. Then she walked out of
sight, and Eurylochus heard the door open.
He dashed away to watch from the woods. There he saw her driving
her new pets from the house with sharp little commands and swats with a
staff, herding them into a pigsty in a yard. She closed a gate, then reached
into a bag and began scattering acorns into the sty.
“Eat well, little pigs!” her now horrid-sounding sing-song voice called
out. “Eat well!”
Tears building in his eyes, Eurylochus turned and ran.
As soon as we saw the lone figure jogging toward us, we assailed him
with questions.
“What happened?”
“What did you find?”
“Where are the others?”
Tears were running down his cheeks. He just stared at us vacantly,
opened his mouth as if trying to talk, and shook his head.
“Come on, Eurylochus,” I walked up and put a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
Again he opened his mouth, only to choke on a sob. Finally he paused,
swallowed it down, and told us the story of his encounter, just as I relayed
it to you.
My breath grew quick as he spoke, and I could feel my face growing
hot with anger. As he finished his tale, I leapt to my feet.
“Come on,” I reached down and offered him a hand. “Show me the
way back to the house. We’re going to take care of – ”
“No, please!” he looked up at me with wide eyes. “Let me stay here.”
“But what about your friends? Would you just – ”
“I can’t go back there again!” he dropped to the ground and wrapped
his arms around my knees. His face was buried in my legs, but I could just
hear his voice – muffled and choked up by sobs – crying, “I just can’t!
Please, Odysseus…” Finally he pulled back and looked up at me. “For
your own sake, I would advise you not to go go. But if you insist on facing
that terrible woman, I beg you – leave me here!!!”
I looked down at his tear-drenched face and sighed. “All right… You
can stay.”
“Thank you, Odysseus, thank you…”
“But as for me, I’m going to go deal with this woman – whoever or
whatever she is.”
I slid my sword into its scabbard, then grabbed a spear and stormed off
into the forest.
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A rapid succession of leaves brushed at my face. I yanked my feet
through tangling undergrowth and slapped wildly – but haphazardly – at
branches as I tromped through the woods.
After all my men had suffered, after all the friends they had seen die, to
see someone pull such a nasty and unnecessary stunt on them… It was
more than I could handle. For the first time I could remember, strategic
calculation gave way to blind rage as I thought of my men turned into pigs
and caged up in a muddy pen. I didn’t care that it was a woman. I put no
thought into planning my approach. I was ready to rush up to her with
sword swinging and…
Before I knew it I had practically run into a man who was standing in
the woods.
I scrambled to a stop and, startled, took a few steps back to have a look
at the figure before me. He was slender but muscular, and he had a
youthful face. In his right hand he held what appeared to be a spear – but
as my eyes darted instinctively toward the weapon, I noticed it was
actually a silver staff, rounded at the top, with two gold serpents entwined
around it. I quickly recognized it as the caduceus. And following a glance
at the wings on his sandals and helmet, I recognized him as the god
Hermes.
He looked at me with mischievous eyes, and his mouth curled into a
humorous smile. “Well now where you off to in such a hurry?” he asked.
“I’m going to avenge my friends.” I lowered my head slightly and
began to duck past him.
“Whoa there!” he laughed. He held out an open hand to stop me. “And
how do you plan on going about that?”
“I’m going to kill the little whore who – ”
“Who what? Killed your friends?”
“No, she didn’t kill them. She turned them into pigs.”
“Ohhhhh!” Hermes gave a slow nod of realization – but it was obvious
I wasn’t telling him anything new. “Okay… Well then I see two problems
here. First, your friends are still alive, so helping them would probably be
more constructive than ‘avenging’ them at this point. Wouldn’t you
agree?”
I nodded. “Sure…”
“And second, have you given any thought to the fact that this woman
might just turn you into a pig as well?”
“Maybe, but I – ”
“Let me explain what’s happened here. Your men have been enchanted
by a witch named Circe – and trust me, they’re not the first poor souls
she’s turned into animals. You rush up to her waving a sword, and I
guarantee you’ll be on all fours rooting through the mud before you reach
her… Unless you show up prepared.”
“And how do I do that?”
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“Take this,” Hermes held out a hand and offered me a small plant. It
had broad, flat green leaves with a white flower and black roots. “And
stick it under your tongue.”
I inspected it only briefly before popping it into my mouth. Its bitter
taste made me shudder, and I almost spat the thing back out onto the
ground.
Hermes laughed. “Not the best tasting thing in the world, but that herb
will protect you against all Circe’s spells.”
It took a moment, but finally I got to the point that I could endure it
without puckering or wincing.
“Now when you visit Circe, you need to act friendly; keep your sword
sheathed and accept whatever hospitality she offers you. She’s probably
going to feed you a dish stewed in wine – it’s going to be drugged – and at
some point she’ll start waving a wand around your head. Play along with
her games long enough to get into her house… Then once you’re there,
pull out your sword and threaten her. She’ll be startled enough that you
can probably convince her to release the spell on your men.”
“Simple enough,” I nodded.
“But there’s one more thing… If Circe tells you to sleep with her – and
knowing her, she probably will – then you should comply.”
“What?”
“I know, I know,” Hermes held up his hands. “But she’s the only one
who can save your men – so I guess it’s a choice between that and letting
them live out the rest of their lives as pigs.”
I scowled and let the thought roll around in my mind for a moment…
Then Hermes’ wings gave a quick flutter, and he sped away in a flash.
The house was exactly as Eurylochus had described it. For just a
moment I stood at the edge of the clearing and surveyed the serene little
landscape with its neat gardens, its calm wolves and lions – and its pen full
of pigs.
With far more deliberation than before, I considered my situation and
planned my approach. I propped my spear up against the side of a tree and
shambled over to the house as casually as possible. Pausing at the door, I
drew a deep breath before giving a quick knock.
“Com-ing!” the voice floated out through the windows. I could tell
why the men found it so enchanting – but to me it was sickening in its
devious sweetness.
The door swung open, and I saw Circe’s face peeking through at me.
“Oh, hello!” She eyed me up and down for a moment. “And who
might you be?”
I had to work to make my answer sound convincing, considering the
odds of a second random traveler walking up to her door… But then I was
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sure she knew who I was anyway. So I began, “I’m a shipwrecked traveler
who – ”
“Oh, come in, come in!” she cut me off. She swept back from the
doorway and pulled out a seat for me. “Don’t worry about the particulars
of your story – I can tell you’ve had a rough time of it. Just make yourself
comfortable, my handsome stranger, while I prepare you some
refreshment.”
She glided to her cupboard and picked up a large golden goblet – and
into this she prepared the same wine-based drink she had given my men.
I accepted the cup from her and drained it with feigned greediness,
slowing only to make sure my carefully held herb was not drained down
my throat. I licked my lips, held out the cup as if asking for more.
“Oh, a hungry one, huh?” She smiled, and I could see her eyeing me,
waiting for her potion to take effect.
She poured more in, and I began to drink. Half way through I set the
cup down and found her watching me with a narrow smirk of a smile.
“Enjoying your meal?” she asked.
“Very much so, thank you,” I nodded.
“Now, my poor weary traveler, all we have to do is find you a place to
rest… But oh!” She made a grand show of looking around the interior of
her cottage, as if she were actually discovering something new about it. “I
have no spare bed in here, do I? So whatever shall we do?” Her smirk
grew into a wide grin. “Perhaps we can find be a place for you to sleep
outside?”
With that she began waving her wand around my head. Several
seconds passed, and she waved it more. She furrowed her brows, looked
down the length of the wand as if inspecting it for some defect, and waved
it again. Still nothing happened, so she tapped it against the tabletop and
started swinging it so furiously I thought she might take out one of my
eyes.
Finally I’d had enough. In one motion I leapt out of my seat, drew my
sword, and held the length of its blade up against her neck.
“What?” She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. She took a slow
step backward, and I stepped forward right along with her.
“Who are you?” she asked. “How – how did you… How could
anybody…”
“Thought you had me at a disadvantage there, huh?” I glowered at her,
gave a wide, toothy grin. “Apparently whatever you had planned for me
didn’t work out so well, did it?”
“Please!” she shrieked. She now fell back several steps until her back
was against the wall, and I stepped up so that the cold bronze of my blade
remained against her throat.
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“Oh yes, you want mercy now, don’t you, you little wench? But how
much mercy were you going to show me? How much mercy did you show
your little pigs out there?”
“I know, I know!” Her voice began to crack, and a trail of tears ran out
of the corner of each eye. “I’ll confess, I like to take advantage of inferior
men. It’s a strange compulsion I have, and yes, maybe it’s wrong of me.
But you’re… You’re not like all the rest – I can tell. And we… People
like us belong to a completely different class. And if only you could
forgive my mistaking you for a common man, then you’d see that together
you and I could be something really special.”
I relaxed the blade just enough to give her some breathing room.
“You and me, we shouldn’t be wasting our energy fighting! We should
be allies. We should be friends! Imagine our potential if we teamed up
together instead of opposing each other – if we approached each other with
trust instead of suspicion?”
I shook my head and scoffed. “You turned my men into swine – ”
“But they’re not like you! They’re just morons!”
“And not two minutes ago you tried doing the same to me. I’d say trust
is a pretty tall order right now.”
“I know we started off badly,” she looked up at me and placed an open
hand on my chest. “But we can get past that… I had no idea what manner
of a man you are. And trust me, you know nothing about the kind of
woman I am.” She slid her hand up my chest and around the back of my
neck, then pulled me closer. “So why don’t you come to bed with me and
find out,” she whispered
“What?” I pulled back slightly.
“Let’s go back and start things over… Give me another chance to
make a first impression.”
The whole thing was absurd. Yet I remembered the advice Hermes had
given, so I nodded my head. “Okay,” I said. “But I’m not just jumping
into this head first – not without certain assurances…”
Circe closed her mouth and let out an irritated breath. “Fine, what is
it?”
“I need to be sure that you’re not going to ambush me the moment I’ve
set aside my sword and my clothes. Swear an oath that you’re not going to
be pulling any of your little tricks on me – no magic, no tricks, no harming
me in any way.”
She pursed her lips, stared silently off to the side for several moments.
Finally she forced out a grudging “All right…”
Then she swore her oath, I sheathed my sword, and she led me back to
her room.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” Circe peered at the side of my face.
Suddenly, after she’d maneuvered me into her bed, I was “my dear” for
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some reason. “You’ve just been sitting there staring out the window for
hours. Is something wrong with the food?”
I looked down at the untouched plate of meat and bread that sat before
me. “No, of course not.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Certainly you didn’t find me to be a poor lover…”
I let out a quick breath of a chuckle. “No.”
“Then what is it, my dear? I’ve given you everything a man should
want, and you have my solemn oath that you’ll be safe. So what could
possibly be wrong?”
“What do you think is wrong? I have everything I could want – but
what about my men? How could I sit here enjoying myself while they’re
all out there wallowing in the mud?”
Circe cocked her head and gave me a confused look. “It’s that
important to see them free?”
“Of course it is!” I blurted out. I took a breath, calmed myself, and
added, “And if you care anything about me – if this isn’t all some game –
you’ll release them from your spell.”
“Wait just a minute,” Circe rose to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
Minutes later I was past my ankles in mud. The “pigs” were all
gathered around me, sitting and looking up at me with the same
melancholy look I had seen in the eyes of the wolves and lions when I
arrived.
Circe was right behind me. I turned to find her wading comically
through the sty, one hand grasping the hem of her robes to keep them out
of the mud, while another held a small jar at the end of an outstretched
arm. Now and again she nearly toppled, let out a little screech, and
regained her balance by tilting her arm and making a series of quick steps.
I considered holding out a hand to help – but I didn’t. Soon she was up
at my side giving me an exasperated look that I thought had a playful edge
to it.
She lifted the lid off the jar and handed it to me. Then she walked up to
each of the pigs, scooped a little touch of creamy balm from the jar, and
smeared it on their heads.
Slowly the bristles on their heads softened and filled out into a head of
hair, while the bristles on the rest of their bodies shrunk away and receded.
Their front flanks widened and turned into shoulders, while their necks
shrunk and their limbs took the shapes of arms and legs. Finally their
features morphed back into those of men, and I found myself looking into
the familiar faces of my crew.
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Immediately they all fell to embracing each other and weeping. For
several minutes all they could do was tremble with shock, shed pent-up
tears, and occasionally mutter their gratitude to me through their sobs.
But as they pulled themselves together, their mutual consolation
hardened into determined chatter, and from their huddles they started
shooting Circe dirty looks over their shoulders.
I knew it was only a matter of time before their understandable fury
exploded into violence, so I stepped in to diffuse the situation. Moving
away from Circe to join their conversation, I tried to steer them toward a
friendly interpretation of her actions. I bent the truth to the breaking point
in characterizing her ambush as a mistake, and in attributing benevolent –
and voluntary – motives to her decision to restore them. By the time I was
finished, I had them more or less convinced that she was an innocent party
to a misunderstanding.
Once it looked like she was in the clear, Circe worked up the courage to
make her way over to us. She lowered her head in an impressive display of
sheepish regret, then swept her big eyes across the men and said, “I am
terribly sorry for the way I have received you into my home… As a
woman living all alone out here, I have no idea what kinds of men might
be entering my cottage – so I must use the tools at my disposal to protect
myself. But in your case the measures I took were unnecessary. And since
they were unnecessary, they were also cruel.
“All I ask is that you grant me the opportunity to attone for my lack of
hospitality. Please, stay with me as here as a guest. Relax in my home, eat
and drink to your hearts’ content – rest your weary bodies for as long as
you’d like, and leave only when you feel like resuming your journey. And
if you wish to bring back the rest of your crew, the offer stands for them as
well.”
“You want us to what???” Eurylochus exploded.
Leaving the men back at the cottage, I had returned to the beach to
gather the others – and now they were all standing before me at the bow of
the ship. Most of them were cautiously intrigued by the idea of visiting
Circe, but Eurylochus was obviously not.
“Go back and stay at Circe’s home,” I answered.
“And why in the name of the gods would we do a thing like that?”
Eurylochus demanded.
“It would be a good time for us to rest and recover. She’s offered us
her hospitality, and – ”
“And I’ve seen more than enough of that woman’s ‘hospitality,’ thank
you very much.”
“But now she’s willing to make up for what she did before.”
“Oh, I’m sure she said she is.”
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“And to show that she means it, she’s changed them back to human
form. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Not if it’s just a trick to get the rest of us back there.”
“Come on now, Eurylochus,” I implored him with arms outstretched.
“There’s a time to be cautious, but there’s also a time to avail ourselves of
opportunities. And after limping out here in our last remaining ship, we
could really use her help. Look… I know this is a difficult situation, and
the things you’ve seen out there are horrifying. But I’m a pretty good
judge of character, and I really think Circe has changed.”
“You’re a good judge of character? Really?” Eurylochus raised his
eyebrows, and his face came alive with a mix of horror and mocking
incredulity. “Or can you just not resist the temptation to go looking for
trouble? Most men, when they see danger, turn and run the other way –
but somehow you’re drawn to it like bees to honey.”
“What!!!” My face began turning red, and I took a step toward
Eurylochus.
“I don’t know if you have a death wish or if you just get bored when
we’re all safe, but – ”
“I’ve put everything I have into leading these men safely home,” I
jabbed a finger at his face, “and don’t you try to imply otherwise. I kept us
from becoming ensnared by the Lotus Eaters. I got as many men as I could
out of the Cyclops’ cave.”
“But why were they in the cave to begin with? Because you brought
them there. Because you just had to go find out what would come from
sneaking around the home of a giant barbarian. And now that we’ve
discovered a powerful sorceress, what do you want to do? Sail away? No!
You want to take us all over to stay at her house. Are you ever going to
steer us clear of disaster? Or are you just so bound and determined to get
us killed that – ”
The rest of the crew must have seen the way I glared at Eurylochus.
They must have seen me inching toward him, hand on the hilt of my
sword, ready to pull it out and take off his head – for they all rushed up
around me, grabbed me by the arms, and started pulling me back.
“Don’t worry about him,” I heard them muttering in my ear. “If he just
wants to sit around by the ship, that’s his loss.”
“But the rest of you want to come with me?” I turned and asked.
They all nodded.
After making sure the ship was secure, we gathered our supplies and
began heading off into the woods toward Circe’s house. A quick glance
over my shoulder revealed that Eurylochus was following along behind us.
We enjoyed long days of lazy revelry. We ate and drank to our
hearts’ content. We slept late in to the morning, napped whenever we
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wished, and lounged around talking or playing games. When we got bored
of that, we explored the island and hunted.
Less and less often did we go back to check on our beached ship – until
eventually it sat all but forgotten.
Through it all we suffered but one tragedy, which occurred when a
young man named Elpenor fell to his death after getting drunk and
climbing up onto Circe’s roof.
Other than that our lives felt nearly perfect. Over time our days of
idleness ran together, eventually flying by until we lost all track of time.
But one day, out of the blue, I found myself surrounded by several of
my most trusted advisors. They had called me out to the woods at the edge
of the clearing, and after a few uncomfortable moments of shifting their
feet, staring at the ground, and shooting each other uncomfortable glances,
they worked up the courage to speak.
“Sir,” Eurylochus began, “I think it’s time we got ready to leave.”
I raised my eyebrows and glanced from Eurylochus to the rest of the
group. “Already?” I asked.
They all gave tentative nods of their heads. It seemed like there was
something else, another detail they didn’t quite know how to bring up…
until finally Polites added, “It’s been a year, sir.”
“A year?” I asked.
Polites nodded. “It was spring when we got here. We’ve lived through
summer and fall and winter, and it’s spring again. And well… Sir, I know
you like it here… We all do. But we need to remember what we’ve been
striving for all this time. It’s time to start planning our return home.”
I stepped back in shock, feeling like the butt of a spear had hit me
between the eyes – but whether it was because of my men’s suggestion or
because I had actually forgotten myself there for a full year, I couldn’t say.
“The whole reason we came out here was to find help getting back to
Ithaca,” Eurylochus added. “Do you think you could…”
He looked at me expectantly. All the men were looking at me, their
homesick faces begging me to take action.
My chin resting in my hand, I nodded slowly. “Give me just a few
minutes,” I said. “I need some time to think.”
Then I turned and walked away.
Circe was sitting in her bed with knees drawn up to her chest, her face
bathed in warm torchlight. She looked vulnerable as she huddled against
upcoming change she seemed to see coming.
“What do you need, my dear?” her voice wavered on the verge of
cracking.
“My men,” I answered. “They say it’s time to go home.”
She stared off into the distance. Torches reflected like tiny stars in her
wide, glassy eyes. “And what do you think?”
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“I… I agree. It’s time to get home to my family.”
Circe took a quick breath, then let a tight smile form on her face and
turned her eyes to meet mine. “That’s fine,” she said.
“Fine?” I cocked my head and eyed her suspiciously. This just felt too
easy. I had expected more resistance – and now, for the first time in a year,
I felt a twinge of fear in her presence.
“Yes,” she answered. Her smile softened, and her eyes grew friendly.
She placed an open hand on my cheek. “I love you, my dear Odysseus.
But I knew this day was coming. I did my best to prepare myself for the
fact that you would leave me – and I resolved that when you wanted to go
home, I wouldn’t stop you.”
“Thank you,” I answered.
“But there’s something else – isn’t there?”
I hesitated for just a moment, then gave an imperceptible nod. “Yes…
We need your help.”
She turned and scooted to the edge of the bed. “With what?”
“We’re lost. We have no idea where we are, and we need help finding
our way home.”
“Hm… I could point the way back to Ithaca. That part is simple. But
avoiding the pitfalls that await you on the way to your kingdom – and at
your kingdom – is going to be a lot more complicated… And to succeed,
you’re going to need a lot more advice than I can give you. You’re going
to need the help of the world’s greatest prophet.”
“Calchas?”
“No – not the greatest prophet in the world today. I mean the greatest
prophet of all time. You’re going to need the help of Teiresias.”
“Teiresias? But he’s – ”
“Dead? Yes, I know.”
“Than how can I – ”
“You and your men will have to travel to the Underworld to find him.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. Suddenly this dim nighttime
rendezvous, which had started as a bittersweet goodbye, had turned
horribly creepy. I glanced around the dark corners of the room, already
sensing ghosts lurking about me, and fought the urge to shudder.
“But… The Underworld? That’s impossible!” I blurted out. My voice
was sharp with the energy of surprise – but more than that of mounting
horror. “Even if I could find it, living men aren’t able to go down there. It
goes against the laws of the universe… I mean, things just don’t work that
way… It’s just… It’s…” I stammered for several moments, taken back by
the very suggestion. Not only did the gods forbid it, not only was there no
known way to do it, but the very act of crossing from earth to the
Underworld was in itself the act of dying. Circe’s words just didn’t add up
– it was as nonsensical as saying a man could die and not die at the same
time. I tried furiously to wrap my mind around the idea, even to
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understand it well enough to articulate a rebuttal… And finally I gave up
and came full circle back to my original assessment of the situation: “It’s
just impossible!”
“For most people in most situations, yes – yes it is,” Circe explained in
an eerily casual tone. “But it can be done… And I can tell you how.”
I reacted with silence. I stared past Circe, chewed on the inside of my
cheek.
“I can understand why you’d be afraid. And I’ll tell you right now it
won’t be easy. But it’s the only way for you to end your trouble with the
gods.” She peered into my face for a few moments, then asked, “Are you
up for it?”
Finally I nodded, and with a frightened, hollow voice answered,
“Yes… I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” she leaned in and whispered, “then listen carefully, because
I’m only going to explain this once…”
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Chapter 8
Shadows of the Dead
The next morning we sailed out from Circe’s home. We had a fair
wind behind us, but everything was gray and plain, the sea and sky
extending endlessly out into a flat, uninterrupted expanse that met on an
unbroken horizon.
I had never sailed so directly and deliberately out onto open sea – and
while nothing about it was supernatural per se, there was definitely
something strange about it. It was the kind of sight that feeds the germ of
superstitious thought that’s always planted at the edge of a sailor’s mind –
the kind that makes him so acutely sense the presence of a mermaid or of a
monster or of the edge of the world. Rarely does he ever see these things,
but his mind is so in tune with their presence that he can always feel them
lurking over the horizon or just beneath the waves. So as we felt land
fading away behind us and felt the endless sprawl of open water opening
up before us, we all just knew something bizarre had to be coming.
And finally it did.
Suddenly we came to a place where the currents in the water changed –
changed so abruptly that we could see the boundary as clearly as a line
drawn in the sand. On one side – the side we were on – water sloshed and
crested and crashed in the familiar rhythm of the sea. On the other side –
just before the bow of our ship – the water swept swiftly from left to right
in front of us. Its flow was as quick and as clear as that of a river.
And in fact, as we lowered our sails and held position before this
bizarre phenomenon, we recognized that it was a river: The River
Oceanus.
At that point we knew that we were literally reaching the end of the
universe, that body of water that flows in an endless circle around land and
sea to encircle the world. After only slight consideration we put the sails
back up, and my men gave up on their holding pattern and began rowing
forward.
The bow of our ship was pushed quickly to the side as it caught the
current. Soon we were swept up and started bearing to the right, struggling
to maintain our straight course. But as unnerving as it was, I knew we
would be okay.
For Circe had told me to expect this.
The sky grew darker as we made our way out across Oceanus. But it
wasn’t the darkness that came from day fading to night. Instead it was
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what seemed to be a permanent darkness sitting on the horizon out at the
world’s edge.
First it appeared as a small black band sitting low across the distant
waters. But it slowly grew larger and larger, covering more and more of
the sky until we were blanketed by darkness – and could only see the
smallest band of blue sky behind us when we turned around. Finally that
last little bit of light was gone, and only by lighting torches could we see
anything on board our ship – and just barely make out the black waves
splashing about down by our hull when we leaned over the edge of the
deck.
I don’t know how long we were sailing, for the darkness persisted even
as shifts of men fell asleep, woke up, and fell back asleep again. I can only
tell you that we went on for what had to have been days of sitting in the
maddening dark, the helmsman leaning against the rudder in a nonstop
fight against the current, while oarsmen on the port rowed backward and
oarsmen on the starboard rowed forward in order to keep the bow tilted
upstream.
Eventually we spotted what appeared to be a drifting white mist on the
horizon. As we sailed closer we saw that there indeed was a mist – a thin,
ghostlike haze hovering a few feet in the air. Beneath it the black waters
gave way to dark gray ground, and from that ground the trunks of trees
rose straight and branchless as poles, bleached-white and lifeless as bones.
Mist, ground, and trees were dimly illuminated as if by the light of the
moon – though neither the moon nor any other light source seemed to be
present. All I could tell you was that the front of the beach was most
visible; the rest faded back into utter darkness.
To stand on the beach was to be at the gateway of some bizarre realm
more frightening than death. To walk into the trees was to fade away into
black nothingness and disappear.
We all shot each other quick looks and shuttered as our ship’s bow hit
the sand.
It was all I could do to drag my men out onto the beach. Only with the
slowest, most tentative movements did they climb off the deck and slide to
the ground – with every move afraid of disturbing the eerie silence of the
place, afraid of whatever strange ghostly essences permeated the air around
them, afraid of what they might find as they peered inland into mist and
darkness.
“Do we have to go out into that?” one of them asked. His was the first
voice we’d heard since landing, and we were all struck by how flat it
sounded. It didn’t echo, didn’t seem to carry at all. As if he were speaking
into a pillow, each syllable just stopped dead the moment it was spoken.
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I looked out into the trees and shook my head. My face was grim, but I
tried to keep it free of fear. “No,” I answered. “If Circe was right, the
dead will come to us.”
From the looks in the men’s eyes, that wasn’t much consolation.
They all just stood gawking uselessly as I took a few steps forward and
went to work according to Circe’s instructions: First, dropping to one
knee, I took the blade of my sword and scraped at the sand, digging out a
hole two feet square and just as deep. Into this pit I poured jars of honey,
milk, wine, and water – and when all those jars were empty, I turned back
and nodded to Eurylochus and Perimedes.
The two men walked forward, each cradling a sheep in his arms like an
overgrown baby. Usually men had to drag a sheep, writhing and bleating
and protesting, over to an altar and wrestle it down before slaying it. But
these sheep just lay docile against the men’s chest; it was as if, like the rest
of us, they felt the death around them and were resigned to a fate they had
already half suffered anyway. Even as Eurylochus and Perimedes held
them over the altar and pulled on their heads to stretch out their necks, they
remained still. And when I slid a blade across their throats, they just gave
a little shudder with the first surge of fluid – more a reflexive twitch than
anything – then stared at me with big indifferent eyes as the blood flowed
from their bodies into the pit. Finally the stream slowed to a drizzle and
the carcasses were set aside like emptied wineskins.
Then, with the hole nearly filled with sticky crimson fluid, I rose to my
feet and stared out into the darkness as I waited with my men.
Within minutes we saw movement coming from amongst the trees.
First it just looked like a shifting in the mist – but then we began to see dull
colors, and the colors began to take individual shapes. It didn’t take long
to recognize those shapes as human.
They moved toward us – not walking, but gliding like fog carried on a
light breeze. Their faces looked drained of blood and life. Their eyes were
wide open with a look between hyper-alertness and terror, so large and
round that it appeared their eyelids had shriveled and receded. They made
no noise, but their jaws were slack, their mouths open ovals that were
ready to release a moan. As I watched, their shapes and sizes seemed to
shift slightly. Sometimes they seemed to have solid form, and sometimes I
could see through them. Sometimes I could spot color on them, and
sometimes they were as pale as the landscape around us. To try to see
anything permanent and tangible on them was like trying to see something
permanent and tangible on a flickering flame or a rushing river’s surface.
They came at us in masses, each suddenly appearing from somewhere
back in the distant darkness and floating out from between the trees.
And all of them, like moths to a flame, drifted toward the pit of blood,
eyeing it hungrily. Circe had told me that ghosts craved blood. As hollow
spirits long denied fleshly form, they hungered for the lost feeling of
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permanence, solidity, and vitality – so they were drawn to blood with an
intense animal instinct. It was a tangible manifestation of the life that had
been drained from them, a small window of warmth in an endlessly cold
and dark existence.
Soon they had pressed in close and were swarming the pool – but I held
my sword over the surface, and they shifted a few feet back, their terrible
wide eyes locked onto bronze blade with something between fear and
disgust. And there they stood in a wide semi-circle, some eventually
falling back to drift away while others moved forward to take their place.
With the utmost care, I watched the faces of those who appeared – and
finally I saw one I recognized, struggling to peek over the rest of the
throng.
“Elpenor?” I asked.
The ghost nodded.
“Come forward, come forward,” I gestured to him.
My throat began to tighten with sorrow as he drew nearer. Others
began to approach with him, but I made a wide sweep of my sword to drive
them back.
“I’m surprised to see you here already,” I said. “How did you get here
so quickly? We sailed here as swiftly as we could on our ship, and – ”
“For the dead the trip is instantaneous…” Elpenor’s voice was a light,
low, breathless moan. “I remember falling off Circe’s roof… I remember
the intense shock of pain when my neck snapped… Then the light and the
pain faded, and I opened my eyes to find myself here.”
“I’m so sorry, Elpenor. If there were any way I could go back and…”
“It was my fault,” he nodded sadly. “I got drunk and did something
stupid – and it wasn’t your job to sit there watching me day and night.
Besides what’s done is done…” He stopped, then looked up at me eagerly.
“But still… There is something that needs to be taken care of.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Anything you ask.”
“I need you to bury me.”
My heart sank in my chest. Suddenly the image of the young man
where I had last seen him – lying lifeless on the ground outside Circe’s
house – flashed back to me, and I remembered that we had forgotten his
funeral in our preparations to set sail from the island. I tried to answer, to
apologize… But I was so mortified by the realization that I couldn’t bring
myself to speak. Even barbarians take the time to bury their dead…
“Like I said,” Elpenor reached out a hand. “What’s done is done. All I
ask is that you bury me when you return to Circe’s island.
“I will,” I answered. “I promise.”
Elpenor gave a slow nod and slid back through the crowd.
Still I knelt on one knee, and still I held my blade steady across the
pool of blood. After Elpenor had drifted back and faded into darkness, my
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eyes turned to the faces of the ghosts hovering just feet away from me –
and I saw a second recognizable face.
At that instant I felt my heart burst. Tears began to build in my eyes
and I nearly broke down into uncontrollable weeping. The face was a
familiar and comforting sight I had known since childhood, yet it shifted
with the same ghastly distortion as all the others…
Many people have time to prepare themselves for the death of a loved
one. For others, the news comes abruptly. To my knowledge, I am the
only person in history who made the discovery by seeing the person’s face
in the Underworld. The abrupt appearance of the ghost set off a whirlwind
of emotions – one that after mere seconds culminated in the knowledge
that this person had died since I last saw her…
Before I knew it I found myself crying out, “Mother!”
She didn’t react.
“Mother!” My voice was a shrill shriek. My shoulders trembled as I
began to sob.
But she just stayed back with the others. The only expression on her
face was a slight shifting that gave me the impression she was licking her
lips. Her eyes just hovered eagerly over the pool of blood.
I wanted so desperately to withdraw my sword, to allow her in for a
drink. But still I kept my guard up… For I couldn’t let the other ghosts
consume the blood until I had drawn out Teiresias.
After what felt like an eternity of crouching before an endless gray sea
of ghosts – and of the tragic specter of my mother looming over me – I
finally saw the prophet Teiresias.
He came forward with a commanding aura that distinguished him from
the other ghosts, and in his hand he held a golden scepter. He was
disfigured and tortured, of course – but he also, somehow, seemed more
aware, more self-possessed than the rest. His eyes, while wide and eerie as
the others’, locked onto me with a distinct look of recognition.
“What are you doing here, Odysseus?” he asked. “What could bring a
living mortal down to a place like this?”
“I’m lost,” I looked up and answered. “And I’ve come to you for
advice on how to get home.”
“Mmmmm…” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Your
troubles must be horribly severe to lead you to a place like this…” His
voice drifted into silence as if carried off on the wind. I watched for a sign
of humor on his face, but he just returned my gaze with the same morbidly
distant intensity as the rest. After a moment his eyes shifted from me to
the blood. “Move your sword; let me drink. After I’ve had my fill I’ll tell
you everything you need to know.”
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I sheathed my sword, and he swooped down upon the blood. With a
surprising lack of dignity he stuck one hand on either side of the hole,
shoved his face down onto the surface, and slurped away like a dog.
When he rose back to his feet I instinctively expected him to take a
deep breath and wipe a mess of blood away from his beard – but of course
he did neither.
Instead his eyes just stared right into me as he pronounced, “If you
wish to get home, you still have a long and arduous journey ahead of you –
for you turned a god against yourself when you blinded Polyphemus.”
“What, that oaf?” I wrinkled my brows in surprise.
“Yes… Polyphemus may just be a simple barbaric Cyclops, but he is
still a son of Poseidon – so by harming him, you’ve put yourself in the
unenviable position of having to sail across the sea with the sea god
opposing you.”
I checked his face for a hint of playful irony but found none.
“You will find no friendly seas,” he went on. “You will find no easy
sailing. Every inch of progress you make across the waters will be a
tenuous and laborious one; it will be as if the sea is a huge living creature,
assaulting you from all directions as Poseidon does everything in his
considerable power to fight you… But you may still manage to make it
home – if you follow my advice. So are you ready to hear it?”
I nodded eagerly. “Of course.”
“First is a warning regarding the flocks of the sun god Helios, which
you will encounter on the island of Thrinacia.” He held his arms wide and
looked upward, in the grand gesture of a prophet uttering the words of the
gods. “You will know them instantly, for they are the fattest, sleekest,
most tasty-looking animals you’ve ever seen – but you must not eat them,
for Helios is jealous of his flock. Suffer temporary starvation if you must,
but leave these animals alone, and you will eventually come out of your
plight alive. But harm a hair on just one of these animals,” he now spoke
sternly and directly to me, holding up a finger for emphasis, “and you will
suffer the terrible wrath of Helios.
“If you and your men resist temptation on Thrinacia, I predict that you
will make it safely home. But the end of your journey will only lead you
to more trouble – for by the time you get back, suitors from all over the
countryside will be trying to woo your wife and take your kingdom. These
are vile young men who care nothing for your royal position and who
would sooner kill you than step aside and let you retake your throne. You
must be prepared to drive them out of your hall by force or trickery.
“You will think all is well once you have taken back your kingdom.
But in order to find any peace, you will still have to assuage the wrath of
Poseidon – and here’s how to do it: Pick up an oar from one of your ships
and start walking inland toward non-seafaring people. Keep up your
journey – always hauling that oar over your shoulder – until somebody
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stops you and asks what kind of winnowing shovel you’re carrying. At
that very moment, stop and stick the oar handle-first into the ground – then
gather the local people together and sacrifice a ram, a bull, and a boar to
Poseidon. After that you can return home to live out a long and peaceful
life. When you do finally die, it will be of natural causes. You will settle
into your bed for your final slumber surrounded by a loving family and a
prosperous kingdom.
“Such is the prophecy I have for you – and it can all come to pass
depending on your cleverness, your resourcefulness, and the reverence you
show the gods.”
“Thank you, Teiresias,” I answered. “Your words give me
encouragement and hope, and I pray I can avoid the pitfalls you have just
described… But I must ask you one more thing.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“My mother – I’ve seen her here among the dead. She hovers over this
blood like all the rest, yet she doesn’t seem to know who I am. Tell me,
prophet – how can I get her to recognize me and speak to me?”
“That much is simple. She – or any of these ghosts – will speak to you
if you allow them to drink of the blood.”
With that he drifted back behind the other ghosts and was gone.
I had withdrawn my sword just enough to let my mother access the pit,
and she’d pounced upon the blood and started lapping it up as quickly and
unceremoniously as Tiresius.
When she was finally finished, she looked up at me with a pained,
horrified recognition.
“My dear son!” she cried out. “Oh, my Odysseus, what are you doing
here?”
“I ran into trouble,” I answered, “so I came seeking the advice of
Teiresias.”
Her eyes grew wide in response to my answer. Her face twisted with
agonized confusion, her mouth opening into a wide, dark, toothless cavern
as she sang out in a screeching moan, “But to come here? Oh, Odysseus…
What suffering could be so bad that it would drive you to…” She halted
and looked at me, as if her train of thought had been interrupted by the
sheer strangeness of my presence. “Odysseus, you’re still alive… And
we’re all… This place is… Odysseus, you just don’t belong here! You
need to get out of this place!”
“I know, mother… But I so desperately needed help. I’ve spent years
wandering the seas, contending with strange tribes and monsters. Nearly
all my men are dead, and now I’m stuck at the far corner of the world, as
lost as I ever was and opposed by the mighty Poseidon! I had no hope… I
had no other place to turn.”
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“Ohhh…” she moaned. Her form pushed forward slightly as if leaning
up to whisper to me. “I’m sorry, my son – I really am. But… Have you
spoken to Tiresias?”
“Yes, mother, I have.”
“And you got what you came here for?”
“Yes, I did.”
She looked back over her shoulders at the other ghosts – almost as if
watching for some fearful presence behind her. “Then get out of here, son.
Your presence here is so unnatural, so wrong, and you need to – ”
“I know, mother, I know… But before I go, I just have to know –
what happened to you? You were alive and well when I left, and…” My
voice began to break, and tears flowed down my face.
“Oh, son…” Her eyes stared vacantly into the distance, and her form
appeared to deflate as with a sigh. “It was all just too much for me to bear.
Year after year of waiting through the war, never knowing if you were
alive or dead… An old woman just isn’t meant to handle that kind of
constant strain.” Her eyes turned to me with a vaguely apologetic look.
“Please know, son, that I did my best to hold up. I tried to be strong for
you and for the family – I really did. But when the war ended and still you
didn’t come home – that’s what finally broke me. My heart finally gave
out, and I collapsed with sorrow. Now son…” She snapped out of her
revery and once more threw urgent glances over her shoulder. “…get out
of here, now – I mean it. A living mortal isn’t mean to see any of this, to
hear the voices of long passed ghosts or to know things the dead can tell
them. There’s too much you can search out; you can get lost trying to
discover things you aren’t meant to know. And that’s just one of the many,
many dangers… Odysseus, you need to leave this place before it
overwhelms you, consumes you.”
“I will, mother, I will… But I just need to know one more thing: How
is Penelope doing?”
“You mean has she married anybody else?” my mother asked. After a
short pause, she decided to indulge me one more time. “No… Men have
started showing up and asking for her hand, but she was still faithfully
waiting for you when I departed – and I have a feeling she’ll be hanging on
until the end.”
“And the baby?”
“Telemachus?” I though I saw a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, not
exactly a baby anymore. He’s almost a young man now… And as far as I
can tell he’s doing just fine. Not all Penelope’s suitors like him, and some
treat him a little harshly. But no harm has come to him, and he still holds a
place of honor in your court.”
My heart soared with pride to imagine what my boy had become. “I’m
sure father’s been a big help to him, right? Somebody has to keep the kid
in line, train him up to…”
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“No…” My mother’s eyes drifted down to the ground. “I’m afraid
your father’s not doing so well.”
“Really? What…”
“The poor man’s pretty much given up on life. Soon after you left he
wandered off to live on his farm. He came down to the palace so rarely
that I had to go up there to see him and… Oh, Odysseus, it’s so sad… He
dresses in the same stinky old rags every day. He sleeps in the dirt – all
night and through half the day – and when he does get up, all he does is
tinker with his farm or sit there staring into space. He doesn’t have much
left, Odysseus; he’s just wasting away, waiting for the end to come…”
Her face had melted into an infinitely sad expression as she spoke – and
now, as her voice trailed off, she began fading. At first it looked like she
was growing smaller, but then I noticed that she was moving backward,
sliding away from me. It was as if the sorrow of talking about my father
sapped whatever strength it took for a ghost to project itself before me, and
her essence simply began dissolving back into the darkness.
My tears began to flow anew, and with an involuntary cry I lurched
forward to embrace her – but my arms just slipped through empty air and
folded into my own chest.
I looked up, and she was gone.
For the next several hours – or days or weeks or whatever had passed
in that dark and timeless place – I knelt and watched the flow of spirits
approaching and then fading before me. My mother’s warnings echoed in
my head, and the horror of the place still chilled me to the bone. But there
was something infinitely fascinating about watching the dead, about
waiting to see who would approach from the darkness.
Over time my waiting paid off, for I was able to witness a procession of
the most famous and noble women from Greece’s past. I don’t know why
these particular women came – whether they had been summoned forth by
some unknown force, or whether I had simply waited so long that they
were bound by chance to come – but one by one they paraded forward to
the hole, sipped the blood, and spoke briefly to me.
I saw Tyro, from whom descended many great heroes including Jason,
the first man to sail through the Hellespont and into the Black Sea. I saw
Alcmene, the mother of Hercules, and Megara, his wife. I saw Iphimedea,
mother to the giants Otus and Ephialtes – over fifty feet tall when they
were still children – who threatened to overthrow Olympus but were killed
by Apollo before they were old enough to succeed.
I looked on in horror as I was approached by Jocasta, who without
knowing it had committed deeds more monstrous and unnatural than any
other woman in history. Perhaps it was my imagination, but her face
seemed more contorted than the rest, as if twisted by the agonizing reality
of who she was and what she had done… And it seemed that her neck was
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still scarred and misshapen by the rope she had used to hang herself after
learning that her husband Oedipus was actually her son.
Soon after came Leda, mother of the twin boxers Castor and Pollux. I
gazed at her for what felt like hours, lost in wonder at the haunting shadow
of familiar beauty. For in her ghostly and distorted visage I recalled a face
I would never forget, though I had beheld it only briefly – the face of her
third child, Helen.
Those were just some of the more famous women who passed before
me. But while I could spend hours listing the others, I’m sure I’ve carried
on long enough – this is probably as good a place as any to cut my story
short…
The Phaeacians stared at Odysseus in silent awe. The sights he had
seen and the things he had done… One would expect that a man who
wandered into town calling himself Odysseus would be branded a liar on
the spot. Certainly, by the time he claimed to have gone to the Underworld
and met every historical Greek figure he could rattle off the top of his
head, he should have been laughed – or shouted – out of the palace as a
big-mouthed idiot.
But such was Odysseus’ bearing and such was the conviction with
which he spoke that not a person in the hall doubted his story, even for a
second.
So they all sat, transfixed, still under the spell of Odysseus’ tale as
King Alcinous rose to his feet and said, “You don’t have to list all the
women for us, but please, tell us… Did you meet any of your fellow heroes
down there? Any of those who had fallen in the Trojan War? If so, I
would just love to…” He paused, embarrassed at his own child-like
eagerness. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy. If you’re tired, you don’t
have to keep going. But there’s just so much left untold, and I – along with
everyone else here, I’d assume – would love to hear the rest of your story.
We can always sleep later – but never again will we be able to hear of
adventures like the ones you’re recounting… And certainly not from the
mouth of the man who experienced it all firsthand!”
Odysseus nodded and gave a weary but flattered smile. “If you wish to
hear the rest of my tale, I would be honored to tell it. Now to begin by
answering your question, Alcinous – yes, I did meet many of my fellow
soldiers who had fallen in Troy…”
After countless encounters with famous women, I spotted a man
standing near the front of the crowd.
Eyes wide with surprise, I called out to him: “Agamemnon!”
He seemed to recognize me, and when I tilted my sword out of the way
he stumbled down onto all fours and began to lap away at the blood.
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When he was finished he looked up and tried reaching out out to me.
But his arm trembled with the effort of trying to lift his hand above his
head – until finally it dropped. His head hung low, his body convulsed,
and it looked like he was ready to collapse into a fetal position on the
ground.
The sight of this once great man crouching prostrate before me nearly
broke my heart, and I stooped to look into his face. “What happened to
you, Agamemnon?”
He turned and opened his mouth as if trying to speak, but no words
came out.
“You were alive and well when we left Troy!” I exclaimed. “How…”
“Yes, I know…” Agamemnon rose to his feet with the slow, heavy
movements of a crippled old man. After tottering for a moment, he gained
his balance. “I know. And to think, after all I’d been through… I made it
through ten years of war, along with the difficult voyage back across the
sea – surviving only to come back and be murdered in my own home.”
“Murdered???” I blurted out. My face went slack with shock.
“Yes, murdered,” he spit the word out with the utmost disgust. “The
moment my ships arrived in port, I was greeted with all the pomp and
fanfare I could have hoped for. My people rushed around me and cheered
me. My wife Clytemnestra stood in the doorway of my palace, not quite
running up to me yet, but looking on with a wide, warm smile.
“As soon as my chariot came to a stop, she welcomed me back into my
home, talked about how hard it had been waiting for me and how
absolutely wonderful it was to have me back. I and my officers were
brought into the hall, where a grand banquet was already waiting us. We
all sat down along the tables and prepared to eat…
“But before I could take my first bite, I felt a stabbing pain – then
another, then another… I let out an involuntary yelp – and all around me I
heard other voices crying out in pain. I heard slamming and crashing,
chairs scooting and the thud of bodies hitting the floor… Once I’d
recovered from my initial shock, my first thought was of worry for my
wife. I wondered where she was, if she was okay… But I hadn’t the
strength to look for her. As the blood oozed down my back, I felt my face
growing cold. My ears started ringing, my head began to sway back and
forth. Within seconds I had slumped out of my seat and was lying face-up
on the floor – and there was Clytemnestra standing over me, staring down
on me with a cold, calm look… She knew this was coming – in fact the
whore had planned it. Soon my cousin Aegisthus was standing with an
arm around her, his eyes bearing down on me and his lip curled into a
wicked sneer… And at that moment all the pieces came together in my
mind.
“I tried to reach for my sword, to cut them down with my last spasm of
strength. But my arm wouldn’t move, and my body just convulsed with
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the effort. And Clytemnestra… The woman just looked down at me and
laughed.
“I felt the tunnel of darkness closing in around me. With the world
fading, with my life ebbing, the last thing I had to look at was my
treacherous wife and her disgusting new lover. I stared at her pathetically,
expecting – or at least hoping for – some little flash of pity, some small
kindness from this woman who had for so long shared my home, my bed,
my life… But she didn’t even bother closing my dying eyes. With my
eyes wide open and my mouth agape, she just turned her back on me and
walked away.”
“Wow…” I answered stupidly. Never in all my life had I expected to
hear something like that. Given my current situation, it was an especially
chilling scenario to consider.
“Yes, ‘wow,’” Agamemnon echoed my reply with bitterly sarcastic
emphasis. “It’s shocking – absolutely shameful. She’s a disgrace to every
woman who’s ever lived…” With mounting fury he spouted his series of
proclamations aimlessly into the open air – but quickly he paused, regained
his composure, and looked me in the eye. “Don’t ever trust a woman,
Odysseus… Not even your own wife.”
I returned his gaze and began weakly, “Well now, I’m sure Penelope
would never…” But I trailed off, realizing that discussion over the general
trustworthiness of women was usually fruitless – one man would view the
other as hardened and bitter, and he would in turn be viewed as naïve and
overly trusting. Besides, to be honest I was just speaking to hear my own
reassuring words.
“Oh, you’re probably right,” Agamemnon finally replied. “Penelope’s
a good woman, and I don’t think you should have anything to worry about
when you get home. But then I never would have thought the same of my
wife, either. Would you have?”
“No…”
“All I’m saying is keep your eyes open and be careful. Love your wife,
but don’t tell her everything that’s on your mind. Always be just a little
guarded, and play a few things close to your chest, just in case. At the very
least, be careful of how you return home. Don’t go sailing right into port
with flags flying and trumpets blowing. Find some way to sneak into a
back harbor; if you can, snoop around the island in secret and get a feel for
what’s been happening in your kindgom. Then announce your arrival on
your terms, when you’re good and ready – so if you do have enemies,
whether or not your wife is one of them, you can surprise them instead of
being taken by surprise yourself.”
He stared at me eagerly.
Finally I gave him a quick and polite, “Thank you. I’ll keep that in
mind.”
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We stood around for several minutes, sometimes chatting idly,
sometimes standing in silence, and occasionally catching up on whatever
random bits of information we could offer each other.
In the midst of it all I noticed a third figure standing on our flanks.
Unlike many other of the ghosts, he seemed as strong and confident in
death as he had been in life. Unlike Agamemnon – I never knew whether
his weakness was due to the recency of his death, the treacherous way in
which he’d been killed, or simple lack of personal vitality – this character
stood tall and straight. And he stepped up and greeted me with an air of
charisma so strong I practically expected him to break out into a smile and
grasp my hand.
“Odysseus!” he called out. “What brings you down here?”
“Achilles!” I smiled as I greeted him back. “It’s good to see you again.
I…”
But before I could begin he shook his head and said, “Boy, what won’t
you think of next, Odysseus? Of all the plots you’ve cooked up, to actually
travel down to the Underworld alive and well – I don’t know what kind of
scheme this is part of, but wow!”
“Thank you, Achilles,” I answered. “And it doesn’t look like you’re
doing so bad yourself. But then again death can’t be all bad for someone
like you. You were the greatest and most renowned warrior of our time –
maybe of all history! Surely you’ve been rewarded with all the honors you
could – ”
Achilles held up a hand to stop me. “I appreciate the sentiment, but
let’s get one thing straight: there is no joy after death. It would be better to
live as the lowest servant mucking around with the pigs of the lowest
master up on earth than to be the greatest of rulers down here. I mean, just
look at this place, Odysseus,” he held out his arms in a general gesture to
the world around us. “It’s awful. And if it seems bad to you, imagine
being stuck here for all eternity, condemned to drift aimlessly as a lifeless
shade. Forever and ever and ever this is all I will ever see. And forever
and ever, I will never be anything more than this,” he motioned to his mistlike form. “Try, if you can, to get your mind around that.”
My stomach turned – both with pity and with the vague dread that all
mortals feel when they contemplate their eventual fate.
“But hey…” Achilles must have sensed my mind going to a dark place,
and he mercifully stopped me. “There’s no need to stand here wallowing
in self-pity. Why don’t you tell me about my father, Peleus? Have you
heard anything about him? Is his kingdom still holding together?”
I bowed my head slightly and answered, “Sorry – I haven’t heard
anything from him. I’ve been far from Greece these last couple years.”
“Well then what about my son, Neoptolemus? Hopefully you’ve seen
him – for if he’s really my boy, he’d have joined the war as soon as he
could lift a spear.”
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“Yes, he did. In fact I was the one who sailed back to get him.”
“Really? And what kind of fighter was he?” Achilles leaned in eagerly.
I could see in his eyes sorrow for his own aborted glory – along with a
spark of joy at the potential for what his son had become. He had lived for
combat. And now, impotent as a fighter, his tortured soul could exist for
nothing more than the tales of his offspring’s exploits.
I gave him a bright smile. “No man was braver. He was always
running out past the front lines, killing as many Trojans as he could get his
hands on. And he never looked back. In fact, he was one of the few I
brought with me in the wooden horse. Once we were dragged inside the
city, our small squad surrounded by thousands upon thousands of Trojans,
most of the men trembled in fear – but not Neoptolemus. The whole time
he kept grabbing at his sword, just dying to race out the hatch and start
hacking his way through the enemy… Rest assured, Achilles – you have
every reason to be proud of your son.”
Achilles gave the closest thing to a smile I can imagine on the
miserable face of a ghost. As I had spoken, more fallen heroes – Patroclus,
Antilochus, and others – began to gather around us. They all leaned in to
hear of Neoptolemus’ exploits – and when I was finished they all began
with questions of their own.
But my attention kept drifting to a figure that was standing apart from
our huddle. He seemed to be trying to listen in on our conversation but
was purposefully keeping his distance. Even then I thought I knew why.
“Ajax!” I called out to him. “Come on, over here! Don’t be a
stranger!”
He turned his face to look at me but refused to draw closer. As to why
he wouldn’t respond… It was hard enough to catch broad expressions on
the elusive faces of the dead – so to parse out such subtle emotions as hurt
and anger on a withdrawn and stone-faced expression was nearly
impossible.
But I had a pretty good guess at why he wouldn’t speak to me… And a
hollow feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I recalled Ajax’s
last days on earth.
Soon after Achilles had fallen in battle, Ajax and I had arisen as the
prime contenders to inherit his divine armor. With the coveted gear
propped up before us and an assembly gathered around us, we each
pleaded our case before the Greeks. We engaged in numerous contests,
pitting my cunning against his brute strength. And finally, after a long
process followed by protracted discussion, the Greeks decided to give me
the armor.
As I was being handed my shiny new toys of bronze, silver, gold, and
tin, I happened to look over at Ajax – and saw him sitting silent, his jaw
clenched, his face pressed into a look of agonized fury as it turned
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impossible shades of red. At first glance his reaction appeared childish,
nothing more than poor sportsmanship. But then…
As much as I enjoyed my prize – or wanted to – and as much as I
gloried in my own cleverness, the fact of the matter was that Ajax deserved
the armor. Even then, deep down inside, I knew it. Throughout the war,
the man had fought perhaps more courageously than any other two Greeks
combined. Rarely had he broken out across the battlefield in a blaze of
glory, but instead he served as our workhorse, taking on the thankless
missions that nobody else wanted to – or could – complete. All too often
had he single-handedly stopped a surge of Trojans, holding together a
section of the Greek line that was on the verge of crumbling. He was the
first to step up, shielding himself from a barrage of arrows and spears, to
rescue a slain or injured comrade. How many battles had the Greeks won
because of him? How many of the men in that assembly had enjoyed
breathing room behind the wall of his protection? How many of them
were only sitting there that day because they had personally been dragged
back from the Trojans under the protection of Ajax’s shield? Yet they
couldn’t see fit to give him this simple token of their esteem? This bear of
a man had stood up, day after day, and given everything he had, only to
have a wily fox come in at the last minute and snatch up his reward – with
the Greeks looking on, approving the decision… And probably laughing
at him behind his back.
Something must have snapped in his mind as he stormed out of the
assembly that day. For he quickly descended into a fit of madness – one
that ended with him shaming himself before the army and ultimately taking
his own life.
So as his ghostly apparition glared at me, my heart nearly broke with
sorrow. Of all the pains and regrets I felt on my visit to the Underworld,
nothing haunted me more than my remorse for the part I had played in the
death of this brave and noble man.
“Ajax, I’m sorry!” I called out. “I didn’t realize… If only I could go
back and do it all over again, I would…”
I ached for a chance to speak to him – for some kind of understanding,
some kind of closure…
Ajax gave me one last look in the eye, then shook his head, turned his
back on me, and walked out into the darkness.
One by one the remaining Greeks drifted back and faded from my
sight, the rest of the ghosts following them. And when they left, it felt like
the entire place left with them. I’m certain the beach and the trees must
have remained – but they were only an obscure background that I’d taken
for granted as I watched the procession of ghosts around me. The spirits
were everything. They were the world I inhabited. So when they all
suddenly withdrew into darkness, it looked like the entire universe was
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falling back away from me, growing smaller and smaller until it shrank to
the size of a pinprick at a distant point in my tunnel vision before vanishing
– leaving me surrounded by nothing but blackness.
What happened after that is difficult to describe – at least in any logical
way. While the events I’ve laid out so far may have been strange and
unworldly, at least they fit within a certain consistent framework of time
and place. I could latch on to the fact that I was on a beach of sorts. I
could make sense of the fact that phantoms, while they moved about in
ways that were elusive and surprising, still followed a certain sequence of
“coming” and “going.”
But there was no such consistency to what occurred next. The things
that came to me in the blackness vacated by the ghosts all swept by me like
a dream… Or either they came and went, or I came and went. I can’t say
which was which, but I know that I saw certain things, and I know that
from time to time I walked as if touring different places. But how those
places came to be on this beach, how I could have traveled to them all by
walking, and how much time and space passed is impossible to say. I’ll go
no farther in trying to explain it other than to say that there really were no
“rules” governing how I saw what I saw – and to compare it all to a dream.
It filled the big dark canvas surrounding me, so I took it for what it was.
First I saw the interior of Hades’ courtyard. Inside his gates an endless
sea of dead were gathered around a throne. And upon that throne sat
Minos, a son of Zeus who had been given authority by Hades to judge the
dead. One by one they stepped up from the crowd and stood before him –
and one by one he held his golden scepter over each ghost and pronounced
his judgment, assigning each a place of honor or of punishment based on
his deeds in his life on earth.
After that I saw Tityos spread out across the ground, his hands and feet
outstretch and bound to the rock beneath him. He was a tremendous giant
– so huge his body sprawled across nine acres where he lay. Two vultures
were perched next to him, one on each side, to take turns digging into his
side and ripping out his entrails – which healed themselves and got dug out
again – over and over and over, relentlessly, for all eternity. Such was his
eternal punishment for attacking Zeus’ lover Leto.
I turned in horror from that sight and came upon Tantalus: the man
who, in response to the gods’ kindness, had butchered his own son and
tried to trick the gods into eating him. He was now standing up to his neck
in water, with fruit-filled branches hanging low over his head. Each time
he tried to lower his head for a drink, the water receded so that it was
always inches from his lips. Whenever he lifted a hand to grab a piece of
fruit, winds blew the branches up out of his reach. Thus never-ending
hunger and thirst – all within sight of food and water – were the penalty for
his crimes.
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Then I came to a hill, where Sisyphus was rolling a huge boulder up the
slope. He shoved and grunted for all he was worth – always trying to reach
under the rock for a better handhold, for better leverage – all for the sake of
keeping the rock from rolling backward and, occasionally, with an
explosive burst of effort, gaining an inch of ground. I could see his
muscles tense, then spasm, then cramp with the nonstop strain. I could see
sweat pouring down his face. I could tell that he was just dying to wipe the
stinging salt from his forehead before the next drip fell into his eyes – but
that he didn’t dare release a hand from the rock. Of all the punishments I
saw, I spent the most time watching this one. I stood for what seemed like
days as the rock ground up the hill at the rate of a growing tree, part of me
silently hoping the poor man – in spite of all his treacherous crimes against
his guests and the tricks he pulled against the gods – might succeed. But
just as he was about to reach the top, his strength gave way, and he had to
jump out of the rock’s path as it rolled back down the hill. With a weary
grumble he followed it back down to start his task again – just as he had
down thousands of times before and would do again and again for the rest
of time.
The sight of Sisyphus faded from before my eyes, and I blinked as if
waking from a dream. I regained my bearings and realized that I was back
on the beach – or else that the illusion of my “travels” had faded from
before my eyes. I looked across the eerie but now familiar landscape of
sand and pole-like trees, then glanced over my shoulder at the comforting
sight of my ship resting on the shore.
And when I turned around I saw Hercules standing before me. He was
an astonishing sight – a tremendous pillar of strength even in death. While
not necessarily as large as Ajax, he was rounded out with muscles so
massive that they looked ready to burst from his skin. In one hand he held
a strung and ready bow, and in the other an arrow an arrow rested between
two fingers. He looked ready to fire, and when his eyes swept across the
landscape, glaring out from beneath his low-set brow, the dead around him
scattered. One glance at him, and I could just about believe the rumors that
he had strangled gods with his bare hands.
My encounter with him was brief. He’d lived a generation before my
time – so while I’d heard first-hand stories about him from Nestor, the two
of us had never met in life, so now we had little to talk about. After short
exchange in which I told him of the misery of my travels and he shared the
famous tale of his twelve labors, he wandered back into the darkness.
I stayed on the beach for a few more hours, hoping to catch sight of a
few more heroes from ages past. But as waves of ghosts came and went,
my fascination somehow gave way to fear. My eyes opened to the reality
of where I was and what I was seeing, and in a sudden surge of panic I
trembled and ordered my men back to the ship.
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They readily agreed. We climbed aboard, dropped sail, and unhitched
the mooring cable. Soon we were swept up in Oceanus’ currents and
began sailing through the darkness back toward the land of the living.
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Chapter 9
Running the Gauntlet of Monsters
A few yards down the beach I could see my ship resting safely where
we had dragged it up onto shore. My men were sleeping peacefully
beneath a makeshift shelter set up against the hull, and just inland was the
burial mound that we had erected over the body of poor Elpenor.
Circe and I were sitting before a fire. She was just staring into the
flames while I, having just finished telling her of my journey to the
Underworld, was leaning forward to place a stick across the fire.
Finally she let out a sigh. “I guess this is it,” she said. “This is
goodbye.”
I didn’t know what more could be said on the topic, so I just nodded
and watched the bark on the fresh stick retreat from the flames and wither.
“But I guess there’s no use in carrying on and whining about it.” She
steadied her voice and put on a brave face. “It’s time for you to go back
home to your family, and that’s that… But before you do, there are some
things I need to tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Things you need to know to get safely home.”
“Teiresias already – ”
“He told you how to appease the gods. But I can offer you more
immediate and practical information about dangers that lie between here
and Ithaca.”
I sat up abruptly. For the first time, this conversation really caught my
interest. “Really? What kinds of dangers?”
“Monsters,” she replied. “Horrible monsters – creatures much more
terrible even than your Cyclops – that lie in wait for passing ships.
They’re quick, powerful, ready to take you by surprise. They could easily
destroy you and your crew before you knew they were there – unless
you’re prepared, of course…” She turned and peered into my face. “Do
you want to hear more?”
“Of course,” I answered.
“The first you’ll come to are called Sirens. They’ll be sitting on the
shore about here,” she pointed to a crude map she had sketched in the sand
with her finger. “These Sirens are part woman and part bird – and they’re
beautiful singers. Their song is so lovely, in fact, that it will instantly
bewitch the mind of whoever hears it. Imagine the physical beauty of
Helen and the effect it had on Greece’s men,” she paused and gave me a
vaguely jealous look in response to my implicit agreement. “Now multiply
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that by ten, and you understand something about what the Siren’s song
does to a man’s heart.”
“And that’s bad?” I asked. My face twitched with the hint of an ironic
smile, but Circe shot back a stone-cold serious look.
“It’s bad when it draws sailors off course. It’s bad when the sailors
lose control of themselves, steer their ships right toward the Sirens, and
crash into the rocky shore. Make no mistake, my dear – those Sirens don’t
sing for your benefit. They use their voice as a weapon, and they use it
every bit as effectively and remorselessly as other monsters use claws or
fangs or brute strength. If you don’t believe me, just look at the beach
around them. It’s littered with the bones of men who didn’t have the
benefit of the information I’m giving you now. So trust me, you don’t
want to take my advice – or the Sirens – lightly.”
My smile faded, and I responded with a solemn nod.
“The next threat will meet you here,” she pointed at another spot in the
sand, “in this narrow passage. On the left-hand side you’re going to see a
huge cliff that seems to run to the sky. Half way up that cliff is a cave –
and in that cave lives a monster they call Scylla. She’s a horrible sixheaded creature with three rows of razor-sharp teeth in each mouth. From
high up on her perch she feeds herself by reaching down with her heads –
they are at the end of long, tentacle-like necks – and grabbing fish or
dolphins from the sea… Or, if a ship happens to pass by, she’ll happily
grab six members of the crew from off its deck.”
“So how do I avoid her?”
“You don’t avoid her. In fact you’ll want to stay on the left-hand side
of the passage, hugging her cliffs as tightly as you safely can.”
“What?”
“As strange as it might sound, trust me, it’s the safer of your two
options. For on the right-hand side of the channel – at the base of a much
shorter cliff, just below an overhanging fig tree – is another monster, an
underwater creature called Charybdis, who feeds by sucking down water
and digesting whatever happens to be in it. Three times a day she sucks
down tremendous volumes of water, and three times a day she spits it all
back up into the air. And if you’re anywhere nearby when she does this,
your ship will end up being pulled down to the bottom of her whirlpool.”
“And there’s no way to avoid them both?” I asked.
“Nope – it’s one or the other. Either you lose six men to Scylla, or you
lose your ship, yourself, and your entire crew to Charybdis.”
“But if I were to arm myself and try to fend off Scylla’s heads?”
“It would be useless. Scylla’s a terrible, immortal creature. Trying to
fight her would be like trying to fight the gods.”
I sat in silence like a child whose desires didn’t match up to reality.
And like that child, who keeps pressing his parents for the impossible, I
blurted out, “But – ”
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“You have my advice,” Circe snapped. “It’s six men or your entire
crew – you make the choice.”
I don’t know whether my insistence irritated her or the emotion of my
departure had her on edge, but suddenly she seemed to tire of the
conversation. With a quick annoyed breath she signaled that she was
finished with her explanation, and the rest of the night passed with tense
silence.
My men and I set out early the next day with a light steady breeze
blowing behind us. By mid-morning Circe’s island had faded from sight,
and we began working our way along the mainland.
I gathered my crew around me and began explaining the dangers of the
upcoming Sirens. As I spoke I sliced pieces from a chunk of wax that I
had found in the hold – then I worked each piece into a ball, rolling and
kneading it until it was soft.
“Each of you will pack your ears tight with this wax. It’s vital that you
remain deaf, for if even one of you hears the Sirens’ song, he could disrupt
the course of the ship or else kill himself trying to swim out to them.”
The men readily agreed.
“You’ll know the Sirens when you see them,” I added. “Keep rowing
for at least half a day after we’ve passed their beach – just to be sure we’re
out of earshot. Then you can take the wax out of your ears.”
Most of the men just responded with obedient nods. But Eurylochus
regarded me carefully with narrow eyes.
“What about you?” he asked. “Where are you going to be when this is
happening?”
“Why, I’ll be in the ship with the rest of you,” I answered. I tried to
play dumb, to pretend it was an obvious answer – but I knew what he was
getting at.
And of course he persisted: “But if you’ll be with us, why would you
need to give us instructions for taking the wax out? Why couldn’t you just
decide for yourself when to do it?” His eyes narrowed further and he
thrust his face forward slightly. “What are you cooking up, Odysseus?”
I sighed and gave a slight half-smile to Eurylochus, then to the rest of
the men. “I plan on listening to the Sirens’ song.”
The crew let out a gasp that trailed off into silent grumbling.
Eurylochus shook his head and shot me a weary look. Of course you
do, his face seemed to say. You’ve found an opportunity to do some crazy
thing no other man has done, and you just have to go for it – no matter
how useless it is, no matter what the risk.
He didn’t say the words, but I could tell he was thinking them. And of
course he was right.
“After we’ve plugged your ears,” I leaned in eagerly and explained, “I
want you to tie me to the mast of the ship. Bind my hands and feet, wrap
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rope around my body until I can’t move a muscle. No matter how I beg,
don’t let me loose – and if I seem to be getting out of control, just tie me
up that much tighter. Once we’ve passed the Sirens and you’ve unplugged
your ears, then you can release me.”
Eurylochus muttered something that sounded like, “Maybe we will and
maybe we won’t.”
I don’t stop to ask whether I had heard him correctly.
Once their ears were sealed, I went from man to man and personally
checked their work. I pushed in any wax that looked loose. Wherever I
saw the slightest hole or crack, I scooped of an extra dab with the tip of my
finger and filled it in. When in doubt, I added more.
Finally, with all the men facing forward in their benches, I walked to
the back of the deck and started shouting. I hollered commands for them
to start rowing, and they remained still. I jumped up and down and
screamed that the ship was sinking, that a monster was about to swallow
us, that I had fallen overboard and was drowning – yet not a single man as
much as turned his head.
That satisfied me, so I walked over to Eurylochus and Perimedes and
signaled that it was time to tie me up. They did the job quickly and
efficiency – though it seemed that Eurylochus may have tugged on the
ropes just a little harder than necessary – and once I was bound tight to the
mast, the crew began rowing forward.
By early afternoon I heard the first flutters of female voices carrying
from far across the water. I caught only snatches of their sound: the echo
of a single sweet tone, or maybe – just every once in a while – a sustained
voice holding a clear, clean note for a few seconds… This first taste of
their singing, fragmented as it was, sounded like little more than any other
group of women singing as they worked. But as is the case when a sailor
suddenly hears female voices from his ship, lovely voices carried the
promise of lovely women. And it set my heart to racing.
As we drew nearer, their singing became clearer. I could make out
their high, clear voices – somehow fragile and strong at the same time –
that dipped and rose in a smoothly flowing, heartbreakingly sweet melody.
Everybody here knows the power a song can have on a person. It can
transport you to another time and place. It can wrap you up so thoroughly
in an emotion that all other cares and considerations fade away, and for
that one moment, you find yourself caring deeply for nothing other than
the subject of the song. Add to that the seductive sweetness of a woman’s
voice – then somehow multiply your understanding of the notion countless
times over – and you can get some idea of the draw the Sirens’ singing had
on me. You can begin to understand why I lurched and pulled in my
bonds, why I screamed and shouted at my men to change course, why
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everything inside me yearned to jump overboard and start swimming
toward shore.
Of course the logical side of my brain would have told me that the ship
would only crash on the rocks if we turned. It would have told me that the
odds of my swimming safely to shore were desperately slim. Once I saw
the Sirens – they had women’s faces and bodies, but their shoulders
extended into flat flaps of skin that in turn branched back into feathered
wings, and they had the yellow, crusty, scaly legs of birds – I should have
found them visually repulsive… And I should have been able to reason
that no rewarding – or even reasonably palatable – experience would have
awaited me if I did manage to get to them.
Yet none of those thoughts occurred to me. All I could understand was
the flood of emotion that the song brought to my heart, and the yearning to
somehow experience it more deeply.
Thus I continued screaming at my men to let me go – raving on and on
at their deaf ears, until finally I gained the presence of mind to realize that I
needed to send a visual signal. I turned and over my shoulder contorted
my face into agonized expressions in hope that my crew would understand
just how thoroughly necessary it was that they release me…
But all they knew was cold, stupid logic. When they looked toward
shore, they could see nothing but disgusting bird-women perched above
countless dead men’s bones. So Eurylochus and Perimedes – following the
absurd instructions I had given them earlier! – just walked up, wrapped
extra layers of rope around me, and went back down to their benches.
Soon the Sirens were behind us. As we sailed away, their voices
gradually faded from the all-important center of my universe to the vaguely
seductive sound of women’s voices and finally to a haunting memory.
Shaken and drenched with cold sweat, I slumped back and relaxed in
my bonds. It was amazing how I could go into an experience repeating
Circe’s warnings to myself, fully expecting to be seduced – and still watch
as my own power of rational thought crumbled around me. No man, to my
knowledge, has ever had his mind so thoroughly transformed and lived to
remember the experience. It was a fascinating thing to look back on and
analyze. And for that reason alone, it was all worth it.
With that thought in my head, I made myself as comfortable as possible
while I waited for a half-day’s sailing to pass.
For the rest of the evening following my release, we continued on just
as before, with the shoreline creeping by on our left and open sea to our
right.
But by late the next morning we found land coming up on our right as
well – and as we pressed forward it seemed we were entering some kind of
strait or a harbor. The beaches on either side of us grew increasingly close,
funneling us into an ever-narrow passage.
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Circe had told me that the land on the right was an island, and that
keeping this course would lead us through a channel and back out into
open sea. But I refrained from sharing this information with my men, even
as they pestered me with their speculation that we were sailing into a deadend bay – for I didn’t want to have to explain what we would find at that
channel. I couldn’t decide how – or what – to tell them about Scylla and
Charybdis.
Finally the two beaches pinched us into a channel that was no more
than five hundred yards wide – and up ahead I saw the cliffs Circe had
described. The one on our left was a sheer stone wall that towered nearly
half a mile above us. The one on our right was scarcely taller than our
ship’s mast. As we drew nearer I could just make out the fig tree, its roots
tenaciously gripping the top of the cliff and its trunk sticking out over the
water before twisting toward the sky to right itself.
I peered out at the approaching scene for a few moments, then turned
around to face my men. “See!” I pointed out toward the channel. “There’s
our way through to – ”
Before I could finish, a terrible spout of water geysered up from the
right hand side of the channel, throwing a plume nearly to the top of the
higher cliff.
My men froze with horror.
“What is that?” one of them asked.
“That…” I paused to turn around and watch the mist drifting back
down toward the surface. “That’s the next monster we have to get past.”
“Another one?” Eurylochus blurted out. “Had Circe warned you about
this one too?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“So then when were you planning on letting us in on the secret?”
Eurylochus stood from his bench. The other men looked at me with
demanding eyes, and a few of them started grumbling to each other.
“Now calm down,” I held out my hands and patted downward in a
signal for them to take their seats. “There’s nothing to worry about. I had
to tell you about the Sirens so we could plug your ears and give you
instructions. But this one… There’s nothing we need to do – or even can
do – to prepare for this one.” Another blast of water shot up into the air,
and we all instinctively turned around to watch. “This one puts on a big
show, but it’s actually easy to get past.”
“Okay, so then what is it?” Eurylochus demanded. “And how do we
get past?”
“It’s a sea monster called Charybdis. She lives on the floor of that
channel, where several times a day she sucks down sea water and spits it
back up into the air. In doing so she drains half the water in the channel,
and if our ship gets too close to her, we’ll get pulled down to into her
whirlpool and drown.”
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The men gasped. Eurylochus shot me an evil look.
“But the nice thing about Charybdis,” I quickly added, “is that she’s
immobile. She’s planted on the right-hand side of the channel, right next
to the smaller cliff. So all we have to do is stick to the left side – just keep
steady and hug the edge of that tall cliff, and we’ll all be fine.”
I had decided not to tell them about Scylla, for the simple reason that
they had nothing to gain from the knowledge. All it would do was rattle
their cages – and I was afraid that if they lost their nerve, they would either
drift into Charybdis’ whirlpool or just cower on deck as Scylla picked them
off one by one. No, they needed steady hands and calm minds to navigate
the channel.
My men, it seemed, more or less accepted my explanation about
Charybdis and began rowing toward the cliffs. As we entered the channel I
kept busy trying to hold everything together. I urged my helmsman to
keep us tight against the cliff. I walked up and down the deck and with a
calm, level voice assured my crew that everything would be all right if
only we held course – putting all I had into maintaining the tense, edge-ofthe-razor morale that would keep their arms going through the mechanical
motion of rowing, even as their hearts quaked… even as oars scraped and
slapped at the cliff on one side and Charybdis’ currents began tugging at
the water not thirty feet away from us on the other… even as the whirlpool
opened wide, swallowing up half the channel, and we began to feel the tug
on the bow of our ship… even as the horrible sucking sound, coming from
the center of a roar of rushing water, echoed through the canyon. They all
kept looking toward the sound out of the corner of their wide eyes, but they
all kept rowing. And I kept encouraging them, even as I myself stared over
our narrow ledge of water and down into the vortex.
Guiding the ship, worrying about my men’s state of mind, choking
down my own panic… It all demanded so much energy and attention that I
forgot about Scylla – and was caught by surprise when I heard several
voices crying out behind me.
Startled, I spun around to find six seats empty. My eyes darted
skyward to find six pairs of feet kicking back and forth above me, six arms
flailing and grasping at the empty air, six bodies writhing like fish caught
at the end of a line. I caught but the briefest glance of tentacles running
like ribbons from an unseen cave before the men shot up out of sight.
Then there was nothing more than tortured shrieks echoing down from
the sky as the men were being eaten alive.
For a moment I stared helplessly up toward the cliff – then turned back
to find my crew was doing the same. Their faces were turned skyward,
their oars dangling uselessly in the water as our ship bobbed in place.
“Row!” I shouted. Most still looked up at the cliff. A few snapped to
attention and looked at me. But all were too shocked to move. “Row, you
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idiots!” I ran up and down the deck slapping the backs of their heads.
“Come on – ROW! If we don’t get out of here…”
Panicked inaction gave way to panicked action, and within seconds
oars were splashing away at breakneck speed. Not all the motion was
fruitful, but the ship lurched forward and worked steadily along the edge of
the cliff.
Within minutes we’d cleared Charybdis’ whirlpool and were shooting
out of the passage toward open water.
The setting sun was low over the waters when we came upon an
island. It was relatively small and relatively peaceful. By all indications it
appeared to be a perfect place to land and regroup – and a glance back at
my crew revealed a pathetic band of men pushed to the edge of endurance
by exhaustion and grief. These men needed a break.
Yet I was cautious. I ordered my helmsman to bring us in closer,
which he did. We rowed along the edge of the shore – and past several
perfectly good harbors – for over an hour without making landfall.
And that was when I heard what I was listening for: The deep lowing
of cattle coming from inland.
“All right, men,” I said. “Pick up the pace and get ready to set sail.
We’re getting out of here.”
A ripple of weary, exasperated grumbling ran up and down the length
of the deck, punctuated by a few utterings of “What?” and “Oh, come on!”
“Men, please!” I raised my voice to make myself heard, while at the
same time racing for the right words and the right tone to win them over.
But as I looked at my bone-weary crew, I knew it may have been an
impossible task. There are times that men have been pushed so far that
reason and rhetoric can only backfire – and this looked like one of those
times. Yet I persisted: “Please, listen… This looks like a good place to
stop, but it’s terribly dangerous – perhaps more deadly than anything
we’ve faced so far.”
My efforts reaped only incredulous groans.
“I know, it seems strange,” I pleaded. “But have I steered you wrong
so far? I told you about the Sirens, and we made it safely past. I told you
about Charybdis, and we were able to – ”
“You didn’t tell us about that thing that grabbed our friends back
there,” Eurylochus cut in.
The men nodded. The tone of their grumbling shifted – rather than just
resisting what I was saying, they were now falling into line behind
Eurylochus.
My face melted into a pained look of sympathy. “I know,” I cried out.
“And if I had any other choice – ”
“You did have a choice!” Eurylochus rose from his bench and strode
toward me.
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I normally would have ordered him to sit back down, but given the
climate on the ship it would probably not have been a successful – or
helpful – gesture.
“No,” I shot back. “I didn’t. If I’d told you about the other monster
you’d all have panicked – and we’d all be dead right now. I made the
choice I had to make. It was a hard choice, but it got us all through alive.”
“Kind of makes me wonder what you’re hiding from us now.”
Eurylochus looked down at his fellow crewmates and they all nodded.
I shot Eurylochus a cold look. “I’m not hiding anything from you. I
was warned by Teiresias not to eat the cattle on this island – for they
belong to Helios.”
The men didn’t seem duly impressed by my warning.
“Okay, so we don’t eat the cattle,” Eurylochus replied. “But that
doesn’t mean we can’t at least stay here tonight.”
“To even set foot on this island is to flirt with danger. Look… I know
you’re tired, but we’re almost home. If we just keep sailing for tonight, we
can try to find someplace tomorrow where we can – ”
“Are you joking, Odysseus?” Eurylochus shouted. “I’m sorry, but you
can only push your men so far. We’ve rowed all day through difficult
conditions and unspeakable danger. We’ve seen six of our friends
snatched up from our deck. And now we’re exhausted – exhausted,
Odysseus. Yet you won’t let us stop for a meal and a night of sleep?” He
stopped, took a deep breath, and leveled out his tone. “I’m sorry,
Odysseus. It’s not that we won’t go on. It’s that we can’t. We have
nothing left, and I’d hope you could trust us enough to spend one night on
that island without getting into trouble.”
I paused to take in Eurylochus’ words. My better judgment told me to
stay away from the island, and the sound of lowing made my stomach
churn with fear. But I knew Eurylochus was right. In theory, staying away
from the island was the best plan – but it was a plan that ignored the
realities of my crew and what it could handle.
“Okay,” I answered. “We can make landfall – but you all need to
swear that you won’t as much as get within a bow’s shot of Helios’ flocks.
As soon as we get onto shore, you can set up camp and make your dinner –
from our own provisions – and get a good night’s sleep. Then we’ll set sail
first thing tomorrow morning.”
I walked from one man to the next, and each one individually swore his
oath.
Then we turned and began rowing our ship toward the beach.
The dim gray light of dawn found us standing on the shore, packed
together in a tight semi-circle and staring at our beached ship.
I had awakened my men an hour earlier, when the sky was still dark
and only the faintest pale light was peeking over the eastern horizon. They
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had rolled out of bed with lazy grumbles. But a warm meal and a night’s
sleep on solid ground had blunted their desperation and eased their
thoughts of mutiny. So they’d dutifully packed up camp, crammed
leftover food into their mouths, and joined me by the ship.
And now, just as dutifully, Eurylochus stepped up to my side and
muttered, “Should we push her into the water, sir?”
I looked out across waves that lapped in toward the shore, then up at a
sail that was pressed back tight against the mast and yard. A strong, steady
breeze was blowing in from the sea.
“No,” I answered. I stopped to listen for a shift in the breeze, to wait
for the slightest slackening of the sail. But still the wind came in at us,
blocking our departure. “There’s no way we can sail out into this.”
“But if we were to row?” Eurylochus suggested. He knew as well as I
did that it wouldn’t work. I suspected he was simply brownnosing – that
he had woken up, recognized the extent of yesterday’s insubordination, and
decided to lay on the display of helpfulness before we got back to Ithaca.
I shook my head and played along. “Rowing into this would be like
rowing up a river. You’d collapse with exhaustion before we’d inched out
of the harbor – and even if you didn’t we’d be fighting it all the way
home.” I looked out across the waters for a few more minutes, then
exhaled heavily. “No… We have no other choice. We’re going to have to
stay here until this lets up.”
I could hear my men release sighs of relief – then mutter to each other
about the possibility of sleeping in, taking the day to relax, maybe having
another night to…
I spun around and cut them off with a pointed finger. “But as long as
we’re here, not a man leaves my sight. If you get hungry, eat what’s in the
ship. If we need fresh water, we all go get it together. If you need to take
a crap, you do it down the beach where I can see you. The moment we see
a shift in the winds, we jump on board and get out of here.”
I peeked my head out of the tent to take a look at the ship. We had
long ago taken down the sail, but a small flag placed at the tip of the mast
still waved steadily inland – showing that the winds were still blowing in
from the sea.
They had been blowing relentlessly every day for a full month. Every
day I had gotten up to find our flag pointed in the same direction, and
every day I could see choppy waters coming in to slap up against the
beach. For the first week and a half we’d chipped away at our dwindling
provisions. After that, we’d combed the island for everything that could be
hunted and foraged. And for the past several days, when the last wild
animal was killed and every plant we could find had been stripped of
berries, we’d dug for roots and chewed on edible-looking leaves. All the
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while my men were growing increasingly weak – and I was growing
increasingly nervous.
It was obviously a bad situation. Every morning I’d felt my heart drop
just a little lower at the sight of the backward-blowing flag.
And by this morning I just knew what I had always suspected: Our way
was being purposefully and maliciously blocked. A god was using the
winds to pen us in, and until we did something to change that, we weren’t
going anywhere.
Once my men had finished waking up and crawling out of their tents, I
repeated my tired old warnings about Helios’ cattle and walked inland to
pray for relief.
I have no recollection of falling asleep. All I remember is waking up
with a start under the shade of a tree.
I had sat down there to pray to the gods. Although I had nothing left to
sacrifice to them, I’d spent hours appealing to them fervently and
forcefully, begging them for help and promising to offer whole flocks to
them once I got home, if only they would let me off this island.
Apparently they’d rewarded my prayers by letting me doze off.
As I worked my way out of my slumber, the reality of my situation
came flooding back to me – and I jumped to my feet and ran down to the
beach to rejoin my men.
I was still dashing through the woods when I first caught the first whiff
of melting fat and roasting meat. I felt an explosion of butterflies in my
stomach. The back of my throat grew dry with terror, and my knees slowly
grew so weak that I nearly stumbled as I ran.
The instant I burst out onto the beach, all my suspicions were
confirmed. My men were huddled around cooking fires, each in various
stages of preparing or eating juicy slabs of meat. Surrounding them was a
feeble, almost mocking attempt at atoning for this crime: A few altars upon
which they seemed to be trying to appease Helios by burning a small
portion of his own cattle as an offering.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I screamed.
They all stared at me like guilty children. They had to have known
they were going to be caught, but they looked totally startled by my sudden
appearance.
“I…” one of them began. “I’m sorry, sir, but we were just too hungry.
Eventually your stomach just gets the better of you, and…”
“But these flocks belong to a god!” I shrieked. I pointed back to the
piles of bones and waste, and to the living creatures still ambling lazily
along the edge of the beach. “Eating them is death! You know that!”
“Yes,” another said, “but Eurylochus told us that the gods might be
merciful – if we planned on making it up to them later.”
“But Teiresias was very clear that – ”
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“I know, sir… But it was our only chance. If we don’t eat, we die. If
we do eat, there’s a small chance that Helios will have mercy – and even if
he doesn’t, it would be better to die suddenly at the hands of a god than to
sit here and wait to starve.” The crewman took another bite. After a
moment of hungry chewing he added through his mouthful, “Just ask
Eurylochus. It was his idea, after all – so I’m sure he could do a better job
of explaining.”
My face stretched into a thin, humorless smile as I watched them turn
back to their food, each man taking refuge in the fact that someone else
was the ringleader. “Wait a minute, wait a minute – were you all afraid of
me?” I let out a rough, growling laugh. “Were you sitting here waiting to
make excuses to me? Because if that’s the case, you have this all wrong –
I’m the last person you need to be worrying about right now. You’ve just
brought the gods’ wrath down upon yourself – upon us all! And fingerpointing, hiding in the crowd – none of that is going to do a thing to make
any of you safe. All we can do now is race home and hope – just hope –
that we can somehow slip back to Ithaca before we run into more trouble.”
I pursed my lips and glared at them – but for all my frustration, there
was nothing more I could do. I couldn’t reassemble the cattle they’d
killed. Punishing them would be pointless. The deed was done, so my
only option was let them enjoy their ill-gotten feast before facing up to the
gods’ wrath.
For six more days they ate. On the morning of the seventh, I looked
out of my tent to see our flag lying slack atop the mast.
I rushed out to rouse my men and get them aboard our ship.
After a few hours rowing in the relative calm, the breeze began to pick
up again. At first it provided welcome help to my men’s tired arms – but
before long it grew stronger, tugged violently at our sails, and built into a
growing storm. Soon we found ourselves beneath a covering of black
clouds, whipped by blowing rain and shoved about by shifting winds and
crashing waves.
My men glanced around nervously. I tried to keep my face locked in a
look of grim determination – yet still I shared their sickening feeling that
this was the gods’ wrath, that we were all teetering on the edge of doom.
Then, suddenly, the stormy darkness was ignited by a flash of white
light. A crashing boom blasted at our ears, and I found myself being pelted
by a shower of flying splinters.
Sulfurous smoke was thick around me – but through it I could see a
huge gaping hole in the deck of the ship. And at that moment I knew that
we were in trouble. We had been hit by a thunderbolt – and that meant that
not only was Helios angry, but he had enlisted Zeus’ help in punishing us
for our crimes.
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I staggered about the shattered deck, calling out to my men. But my
own shouts were only muffled sounds beneath the ringing in my ears – so
even if one of my men were yelling at me from ten feet away, I probably
wouldn’t have heard him. I spun in all directions, looking for signs of life.
I looked all over the deck, then ran along the ledge and peered out across
the dark waters. But I found nobody.
Finally I resigned myself to the fact that I was alone. Turning away
from the waves, I went right to work rigging up repairs on my ship. I
lashed together broken pieces with rope and strips of oxhide until the
smashed-up hull was as stable as I could make it. It was worthless for
sailing, but it would more or less hold together.
So I settled in and prepared to finish my journey alone.
When I finally regained my sense of direction, I realized that the ship
was drifting back the way we had come – which meant I was headed back
to the passage between Scylla and Charybdis.
Soon I saw the cliffs approaching behind me – and as I made my way
toward the passage, it became clear that I was drifting closer to the shorter
cliff than the larger one.
My mind raced through options. There was nothing I could do to steer
my dead hulk of a ship. If I grabbed a plank of wood and jumped off, I
would still keep floating in the same direction. No matter what, this boat
was going to be swallowed up by Charybdis’ whirlpool, and…
Finally I sprung into action. I hefted up the mast, which was still lying
broken across the length of the deck. Hand over hand I worked my way
under it, tilting it upward as I went. By dropping the base into a hole and
securing it with rope, I managed to keep it propped up reasonably straight.
Then I clambered up to the top and waited.
Soon the sideways currents were pulling on the hull. It began spinning,
drifting in circles as the whirlpool opened up. I inched upward until my
body extended above the mast and only my thighs, squeezing tight, held
me in place. I prepared to reach out, hoping that if the ship was positioned
just right…
My eyes were locked on the fig tree that was hanging over the edge of
the cliff. The closer I came to the center of the whirlpool the closer I got to
the tree. And finally I pressed my feet against the side of the mast for
leverage, sprung with my legs, and jumped.
My hands just managed to grasp the trunk of the tree. Hanging there
thirty feet above the water, I looked down to see Charybdis’ whirlpool
open up, widen, and swallow the rest of my ship.
I maintained my grip for hours, watching the water below me for signs
of movement. When Charybdis finally regurgitated, I would be exposed to
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an explosive burst of water and mist… But she might also spit out enough
of my ship for me to grasp on to and float.
Eventually the waters trembled, then burbled… Then a stream burst up
from the surface, missing me by mere feet and soaking me with its residual
spray.
Cupping one hand over my eyes, I peered down at the surface – and
there I saw a few planks darting up into the air and splashing back down to
bob around on the waves.
I dropped down into the water. As soon as I could grab a board I
kicked with all my might until I was out of Charybdis’ range.
Then I drifted. I would drift for nine days before reaching the island of
Calypso, where I was held captive for seven years until I could finally
escape and make it here.
But I’ve already told you that part of the story, good king and queen.
So I guess there’s no reason to bore you by repeating it.
Thus Odysseus concluded his tale. Once the last echo of his voice
faded, the hall was dead silent – until Alcinous rose to his feet, both to
heap more praise upon Odysseus and to suggest that the Phaeacian lords
heap more wealth upon him.
All agreed, and the fascinated but exhausted crowd filed out to catch a
few hours of sleep. Morning would be coming soon.
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Part III
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193
Chapter 10
Odysseus Departs
Outside, a procession of servants extended from the ship in a long,
winding line that ran from the deck out across the length of the dock and
eventually out onto the beach. Each held a chest, a bag, a cauldron, or a
tripod, and the line slowly inched forward as one by one they stashed their
treasure aboard the ship that would take Odysseus home.
Insid the palace, Odysseus waited through yet another day of feasting –
Alcinous had insisted that Odysseus’ departure called for it, and Odysseus
wouldn’t dream of questioning his host’s generosity – following the telling
of his tale. It was a lavish affair in which wine flowed freely, food was
presented in an endless procession of heaping platters, and the Phaeacians
were as generous with their praise as they were with their provisions.
But in reality, Odysseus cared little for any of it. The treasure was
enough to set a man up for life, but it also kept his ship held up in port.
The celebration was extravagant, but it kept him bound to his seat through
endless toasts to his honor. He appreciated it all, to be sure – and he
wanted to enjoy it. But all he could think about was getting home.
He’d been told that the ship would depart at nightfall. So as the day
dragged on, he found himself shifting in his seat, sneaking glances through
windows to catch a glimpse of the sun’s position in the sky – until finally,
after an agonizingly long journey to the western horizon, it faded to a light
orange glow and settled behind the mountains.
When the tip of its disk had dipped out of sight, he began to look
expectantly at Alcinous.
“All right, all right,” the king chuckled. “I think we’ve held you up
long enough… Now let’s get you home.”
Standing side by side on the deck of the ship, Alcinous and Odysseus
prepared to say their final goodbyes, as the crew around them scurried
about arranging oars, setting the sail, and untying and stowing ropes.
“We’ve set up a bed for you beneath deck,” Alcinous said. “Come on,
follow me.” He led Odysseus to the hatch leading down into the hold.
“You should be able to sleep pretty well down there. Just lay down, relax,
close your eyes – and by the time you wake up the trip will be over.”
“Thank you,” Odysseus nodded. He said nothing about the fact that the
arrangement helped keep the Phaeacians’ location secret.
The crew continued to work around them as the sky overhead grew
increasingly gray and everything around them faded into dusky obscurity.
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Finally the ship’s captain stepped up next to them. “We’re all ready,
your majesty. Just give the command and we can depart.”
Alcinous gave a quick nod, and the captain withdrew.
“I probably won’t see you again, will I?” Odysseus turned to look at
Alcinous.
The king shook his head with a broad, good-natured smile. “No, that’s
not too likely.”
“Well I’ll never forget all you’ve done for me. You’ve been incredibly
kind.”
Odysseus extended his hand, and Alcinous grasped it. “In your way
you’ve given us more than we could ever give you. And we’ll certainly
never forget you. Goodbye, Odysseus.”
“Goodbye, Alcinous.”
Odysseus mounted the ladder and retreated down into the darkness of
the hold. He found the stack of rugs and blankets that was to serve as his
bed and eagerly settled in. As his body warmed beneath the blankets, he
quickly grew drowsy.
Above him he heard the last few footsteps of sailors finding their
positions and non-sailors stepping off onto the docks. Then came the
rhythmic creaking and splashing of oars, and he felt the tug of the ship
pulling forward.
His eyes drooped shut, and he fell into a deep, euphoric sleep.
The first thing Odysseus noticed was the slit of bright light as his eyes
slowly opened. It’s morning, he thought. Then, just as quickly, he realized
something much more inexplicable: And I’m not in the hold of a ship…
He sat up with a start and began looking around. He was still in the bed
the Phaeacians had made for him – but his bed was spread out on the
ground. He was lying outdoors next to a serene little harbor, surrounded
by landscape of rolling, grassy hills and occasional rocky cliffs.
It was all very beautiful, but... Where’s the ship? Odysseus’ eyes
darted from one side of the harbor to the other; he leaned to peek through
the entrance out toward the sea.
The ship was nowhere to be seen.
By the looks of things, the Phaeacians were long gone – and Odysseus
was all alone. The only sign of civilization was a narrow, rocky path that
wound down from the hills to run along the harbor and into the valley.
As he took it all in, a panicked thought ran through his head. Where am
I? He had the same eerie feeling he’d felt upon waking up on the
Phaeacians’ shore – except that he at least understood how he’d gotten
there. His appearance here was totally inexplicable. He had no crash, no
approach through a storm-swept sea by which to make sense of his arrival.
And what happened?
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He took a deep breath and allowed his mind to begin working. Okay,
so it wasn’t a shipwreck; that much was clear. He had obviously been
lifted from the hold of the ship, bed and all, and transplanted here on the
shore to continue sleeping. Somebody – almost certainly the Phaeacians –
had carefully and deliberately set him here.
But that answer only led to many more questions: Why would the
Phaeacians have left him in a place like this? Why show him so much
kindness, only to turn around and abandon him in the back country of some
strange land?
A cold feeling settled in Odysseus’ stomach as he recognized a simple
but important fact: Alcinous had shown him kindness – but Alcinous
wasn’t aboard the ship. Is it possible that the ship’s captain, sent away
with a sleeping passenger and a king’s ransom in treasure, had found
temptation too much to resist? Maybe he and his crew had dropped
Odysseus on a random island and…
But then Odysseus spotted all his treasure stacked neatly around a
nearby tree – so no, that idea was out of the question.
Then was this some kind of joke? A mistake? Or maybe Alcinous’
decision to help Odysseus had been more controversial than Odysseus had
thought – and a xenophobic crew, lacking their king’s desire to help a
stranger, left him out of mere spite. But even that explanation failed to
explain why they would leave him all his treasure...
Finally Odysseus shook his head and stopped speculating. He could
waste all kinds of energy on questions of “why” – but what he really
needed to find out was where he was, what kinds of people lived here, and
how he could best size up his situation and avoid danger.
The first thing was to get out of sight – so he gathered his bedding,
ducked behind a tree, and thought for a moment about how he could
possibly hide all his treasure. After all, all it would take was a roving band
of thugs, and...
Suddenly he heard a distant crunch of footsteps on gravel, and he froze.
Crouching low to the ground, he leaned around the base of the tree and
ever so carefully stuck his head out to get a peek at who – or what – was
approaching.
It was a young man walking down the path from the hills. He was
spry, agile-looking, and he carried a spear in his right hand – and to that
extent he looked like he could be trouble.
But on the other hand he was ruddy, beardless, and rather slight of
build – more a boy than a man. Not only that but he was no killer. After
years spent fighting at Troy, Odysseus only needed a glance to size up how
comfortable someone was with a weapon. And judging by the way this
boy handled the spear, it only had three purposes: it served as a walking
stick, its butt-end could be used to goad sheep, and its tip fended off
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wolves (or, in a dire emergency, bandits). Based on his posture and simple
country garb, Odysseus easily pegged him as a shepherd.
Of course there was always a danger in approaching a stranger in a new
land – but based on his estimation of the young man, Odysseus decided it
was worth the risk.
So he stepped out from behind the tree and called out, “Hello!”
Startled, the young man stopped in his tracks and nearly fumbled his
spear. But once he’d regained his composure, he looked Odysseus up and
down and broke out into a friendly but slightly nervous smile. “Well hello,
there!”
Odysseus couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “Sorry to scare
you,” he said. “I don’t usually go around accosting strangers like this,
but... Well, I’m new here. I don’t know who I can and can’t trust, and to
be honest I really need some help.”
“Really?” The young man’s smile melted into a sincere look of pity.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He turned away from the path and started
approaching. He appeared intent on helping, but Odysseus could see him
tightening his grip on the spear, just in case an ambush was waiting behind
the tree.
Odysseus took several steps into the open and held his hands out for the
young man to see. “Please understand, I mean you no harm. I’m unarmed,
helpless, alone – in fact, I have no idea where I am right now.”
“You don’t know where you are?” the stranger let out a tense little
giggle. “How could you not – ”
“I come from a distant land, far across the sea. On my way home I was
abandoned here by people who had offered me passage.”
“Oh...” The stranger’s brows wrinkled in a combination of curiosity
and pity.
“I hate to impose upon you, and I don’t ask for much. If you could just
help me find a place to hide this treasure,” he motioned toward the tree,
“then tell me anything you can about the people here...”
“Like what?”
“Well first off, are they seafaring people?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“And are they hospitable and god-fearing? I mean, if a stranger
approached asking for passage, would they help?”
“Hmmm...” A pained look crossed the stranger’s face. He cocked his
head to the side and scratched his jaw as if struggling for an answer.
“Well... To be honest, that’s a tough one,” he sighed. “By tradition, this is
– or should be – as safe and hospitable a place as a stranger could ever find
himself. But it’s recently fallen to lawlessness, and... Well, you might be
able to find help here, but I’d be careful about who I ask.”
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“That’s too bad...” Odysseus trailed off for a moment – but then
something clicked in his mind. “Now wait a minute – your language, your
accent...” He looked the boy straight in the eyes. “Are you Greek?”
“Yes.”
“So is this a Greek kingdom?”
“Of course!” the stranger smiled widely. “Where did you think you
were?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know...” Odysseus’ heart started racing, and a
tear began forming in the corner of his eye. The thought that he had finally
reached civilization, that he could now orient himself, find his way back
home – that he was past the days of wandering through strange lands
plagued by monsters and barbarians... “I’ve been gone so long, wandered
so far away from Greece. I’ve seen things in faraway lands that you
couldn’t imagine, and...” He snapped out of his reverie and, looking ready
to burst with excitement asked, “So this is a Greek kingdom, right?
The stranger nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes!” The stranger laughed, then reached out and gave Odysseus a
reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Trust me, this isn’t something I could
easily be mistaken about. This may not be the richest or famous place in
Greece, and it’s a little out of the way, but...”
“Okay, okay!” Odysseus cut in. “I’m sorry – I don’t mean to be
impatient, but I need to know... Where exactly am I? Which kingdom is
this?”
“Why...” The shepherd’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “You’re in Ithaca!”
The instant he heard the name of his home, Odysseus felt an explosion
of butterflies in his stomach. His heart thudded in his chest, his breathing
grew frantic... It took all his self-control to calm himself, to slow down
and keep everything in perspective.
Could he trust this young man? As far as that went, could he even
believe the story that this was Ithaca? Of course he didn’t know why
someone would make up something like that; it would be a bizarre and
strangely specific lie to randomly tell a stranger…
But on the other hand, the land around Odysseus looked totally alien.
Sure, he had been away for a long time, and he was obviously more
familiar with some parts of his kingdom than with others. But he should
recognize a harbor like this. He had circumnavigated Ithaca countless
dozens of times, starting when his father first sent him out to practice using
a sail and a rudder. He knew every cove where a boat could be safely
moored; he was familiar with every outcropping that needed to be given a
wide berth, every stretch of coast riddled with sub-surface rocks, every
corner around which waited a village or a country farm. Even now, all
those places came flashing back to him, each accompanied by its own
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string of vivid memories… But this bay was not one of them. Odysseus
had no sense of direction here, couldn’t say what lay over any of the hills
around him. For all he knew, he could be standing at the far side of the
world.
“So, stranger,” the shepherd cocked his head and furrowed his brows
quizzically, “I’m curious…”
“About what?” Odysseus asked.
“About how a Greek could land here without having some idea of
where he was. Even if you got lost, even if you were abandoned, to land
here with no sense of direction… It just seems a little odd – so if you don’t
mind my asking, where are you from?”
Odysseus kept his face set still as stone, but his eyes actively studied
the young shepherd’s expression. From the very beginning, he’d had a
gut-level feeling that there was something strange about the boy – and now
he could feel the tone of the conversation taking a turn. It seemed that he
was starting to analyze, probe, and fish for answers in a way that was just a
little too sophisticated for a back-country shepherd. Odysseus didn’t know
what it was yet, but something about this situation was just so puzzling…
So he decided to take the cautious approach – which meant lying.
“I’m from the island of Crete,” he answered.
“Crete?” The shepherd raised an eyebrow. Odysseus couldn’t tell
what the gesture meant. “Really? And what brings a lone Cretan all the
way out here?”
“Like I said, I got lost, and – ”
“Yes, but even taking that into account, you’re still a long way from
home. Something other than getting lost had to bring you to this side of
Greece. What was it?” His mouth twitched into the hint of a mischevious
grin. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Odysseus scowled. This stranger was pushing just a little too hard –
and he knew way too much for a shepherd boy. For one thing, his
knowledge of geography shouldn’t have extended beyond a ten mile
radius. And even then, the questions he was asking...
Finally he answered: “If you must know, I had to flee after killing the
son of Idomeneus.”
“You killed the king’s son?” The shepherd’s eyes grew wide.
“Why?”
Once Odysseus had put forth the first two general lies, his mind raced
to improvise on the specifics: “The boy may have been a prince, but he
was also a lousy, low-down thief. He tried cheating me out of my share
the loot from Troy, so I... I lost my temper. Things got out of hand, and
before I knew it the prince was dead and I was down at the harbor,
frantically paying some Phoenician merchants to take me to Pylos.”
“Okay... But why would they abandon you here? Ithaca’s twice as far
from Crete as Pylos. It would have made sense to leave you somewhere
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that was on the way – but to actually take you farther than you paid to go
and then leave you... It just doesn’t add up.”
“Boy, you’re a smart one, aren’t you,” Odysseus chuckled
uncomfortably and shot the boy a suspicious glance. “Well the thing is, I
don’t think they were planning on leaving me – at least at first. But we got
caught up in storms that blew us westward, out past Pylos. For a while
they tried working their way back to drop me off, but after a couple days of
fighting the winds they gave up and left me here.”
“Hmmm… You’re actually pretty clever yourself,” the shepherd
nodded and gazed thoughtfully into Odysseus’ face, “aren’t you,
Odysseus…”
Odysseus’ heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. “What?”
The shepherd smiled. “No man’s ever getting the better of you, that’s
for sure. No matter who you meet, you’re always prepared with some
trick, some fabrication to keep him at a disadvantage.” The smile widened,
then opened to let out a chuckle. “But if you’re really that smart, shouldn’t
you know a goddess when you see one?”
“What? You’re…”
The shepherd’s body stretched and expanded until he had grown a foot
and a half taller – and as it did so his form morphed into that of a beautiful
woman clad in armor.
“Athena!” Odysseus gasped.
Her eyes sparkled as she nodded.
“At long last!” he cried. “It’s so good to see you again! But... But
where have you been all this time?” He took a step back and gave her a
cautious, slightly wounded look. “Where were you when I was being
blown across the sea? When I was being harrassed by monsters and
barbarians? When my men were killed and my ships dropped to the
bottom of the sea?”
Athena placed a hand on his cheek and looked him in the eye. “Oh,
I’ve been there, Odysseus. You haven’t always seen me, but I’ve been
helping you every step of the way.”
“Helping me??? But my journey’s been nothing but heartache and
misery. What kind of help – ”
“I know it wasn’t easy, Odysseus. But remember that even as a
goddess, I can’t solve all your problems. There are other gods, including
my powerful brother Poseidon, with whom I had to contend on your
behalf. Yet even then, despite the number of things that went wrong, think
of all that went right. When you were shipwrecked and had to swim
through rocks to get to land, I was there guiding you. When the
Phaeacians welcomed you into their home, I was there turning their hearts
in your favor. Think of how many times you found yourself in a nearly
impossible spot, yet somehow – somehow – always managed to squeeze
through. Shouldn’t it be obvious? Every chance I had to sneak in and
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assist you, I came to your aid. And now here I am yet again – ready to
help you return to your palace and take back your throne.”
“Okay…” Odysseus took another look around. “But still… This
doesn’t look anything like Ithaca. I’d like to believe you, but it’s just so...”
“I know. And I wouldn’t expect you to recognize this place – for I’ve
covered your eyes with a mist to make it all look unfamiliar to you.”
“Really?” Odysseus’ face wrinkled with puzzlement. “But why? Why
would you want to do a thing like – ”
“I didn’t want you to get excited and go rushing home before the time
was right. I thought if we met up here, I could explain the situation in your
palace and help you plan a strategy for your return… But if you don’t
believe me, then here,” she stepped up onto a rock and motioned across the
bay with a broad sweep of her arm, “take another look. You were actually
quite familiar with this harbor, believe it or not. You considered it to be
sacred – the property of the Old Man of the Sea. And that olive tree…”
she pointed to the mouth of the harbor, and Odysseus could see an ancient
tree – a thick and twisted trunk that expanded into a broad, leafy bush at
the top. It looked as ancient and as permanent as the land itself, as if for all
time it had been standing guard over this inlet. “How many times have
you kept your eye out for that tree, knowing that when you saw it, safe
harbor was around the corner? And that cave there, sitting right next to
it… Don’t you remember it? Ever since the day your father pointed it out,
it’s been a source of mystery and awe for you – a place holy to the sea
nymphs, possibly even a home to some of them. How many times, once
you were old enough to sail alone, did you sneak up there and almost
venture a peek inside? How many times did you actually go in and look
around – and just swear that you felt the presence of Naiads who had
scattered at your approach? This place is yours, Odysseus. This place is
you. Sure, it’s on the back side of your island. Sure, you didn’t come here
often. But you know this place, Odysseus – just have a look around…”
He had followed her gestures, listened to her explanation. And as he
did, each object she pointed out grew familiar, took on meaning, and
brought back a flood of memories. It was a strange experience, a change in
mindset as drastic as that brought on by the Sirens’ voices. Athena was
lifting the divine mist from his eyes – and as she did, it felt like pieces of
his memory were coming back to him, or that he was awakening from the
influence of some powerful deception.
But it all happened too fast for him to understand. All he knew was
that, for the first time in twenty years, he was experiencing the feeling of
being home. With tears flowing down his face, he collapsed and kissed the
soil.
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He didn’t know how much time he’d spent curled up on the ground
weeping. But suddenly he was aware that Athena was placing a hand on
his back.
“It’s time to get moving,” she rocked him gently back and forth.
“Come on… There will be time for emotion later, but right now we have
things to do.”
Odysseus rolled into a sitting position. Athena offered him a hand and
pulled him to his feet.
“Now here’s the thing...” She leaned in and spoke urgently. “You may
be home, but Ithaca’s still a dangerous place – even for you. You’re going
to want to lay low and plan your moves carefully.” She glanced at the base
of the tree, then looked up and down the length of the footpath. “Now the
first thing is to get this treasure out of sight. Haul it back into that cave up
there,” she pointed to an opening in the rocky slope of a hill, “and we’ll
decide what to do from there.”
Odysseus quickly complied. As soon as everything was stashed,
Athena picked up a boulder that was ten times her size – or at least ten
times the size of her currently manifested form – and placed it over the
entrance of the cave.
When it was all finished, they sat together beneath the tree and started
plotting.
“Now for all practical purposes,” explained Athena, “your kingdom is
being run by a band of violent young men.”
“The suitors?”
Athena nodded. “So you’ve heard… Now you can rest assured that
your wife has remained faithful. For years she managed to keep them at
bay by offering vague promises and playing them against each other. But
now they’ve caught on to her tricks and are demanding that she pick a
husband from among them. And I’m not sure if she can hold out much
longer.”
“Well there’s no choice to make once I show up.” Odysseus took a
deep breath. His chest puffed out, he looked like a man ready to storm into
his home and take charge.
He started rising to his feet, but Athena held him back.
“If you just ‘show up,’ they’ll kill you. These are not sincere suitors
courting a woman they believe to be a widow. They’re lawless men
looking to steal a man’s wife and usurp his kingdom. They have no regard
for you or your position – and while they don’t think you’re coming home
they wouldn’t let your arrival get in the way of their ambition.”
“Wow…” Odysseus’ face went slack. For several minutes he sat
stunned before adding, “If you hadn’t warned me, I would have come all
this way just to walk into a trap.” He looked Athena in the eye. “Thank
you, goddess.”
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“Of course,” Athena answered. “Now the first thing to do is to find
allies. The suitors are more or less in charge around here – and most of the
population is either loyal to them or afraid of them. You need to find a few
good people will be true to you no matter what.”
Odysseus shrugged. “There were people I trusted twenty years ago.
But it’s been a long time…”
“Start with Eumaeus.”
“My swineherd?”
Athena nodded.
“So that old guy’s still around?” Odysseus couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes. And while he might just be a simple pig herder, he has a good
head on his shoulders. He hates the suitors and waits every day for your
return – and he lives far from the palace, which is a plus.” With a
mischievous gleam in her eye, Athena added, “You still know where to
find him, right?”
“It’s up in those hills – right back up the path you came down.”
“Good. You should go meet up with him – but don’t reveal your
identity right away. First you should test out his loyalty and see what
information you can get from him.”
“Test his loyalty? I thought you said – ”
“I know, I know... He’s almost a sure thing, but it never hurts to be
cautious.”
“Okay,” Odysseus nodded.
“While you’re doing that, I’ll head out to Sparta to fetch your son.”
“Telemachus is in Sparta?”
“Yes,” Athena answered. “I sent him out to meet with Menelaus and
Nestor, and to ask them if they’d heard any news about you.”
Odysseus furrowed his brows. “But why? Why send him out across
the sea to learn what you could have just told him?”
“It wasn’t about getting information. It was about letting him strike out
on his own. It was about giving him his first small taste of adventure and
letting him make a name for himself on the mainland. But don’t worry
about him right now – he’s sitting in Menelaus’ palace, safe and sound,
and I’ll take care of getting him home. What we need to focus on now is
you. And before we turn you loose on this island, we need to get you into
disguise.”
The two stood up, and Athena started pulling out some filthy, tattered
old rags – though from where she was producing them, Odysseus couldn’t
be sure. She held them up to his chest to size them, then cocked her head
and said, “Yep… Perfect.”
Odysseus pulled back and nearly retched. The rags smelled like they’d
ridden the back of a vagrant through ten years of sweating, sleeping in dirt,
spilling rancid food, vomiting, defecating, and – most obviously – riding
up into every reeking nook and cranny of his unbathed body.
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“Where did you get these?”
“We gods have our ways of finding what we need.”
“And you want me to wear this?”
“Of course! Sure, it’s not the most attractive – or pleasant – clothing,
but it’s just what you need. Now put it on.”
Odysseus stripped off his old robes. He oriented the rags until he found
what he thought were the proper holes for his head and his arms – and,
holding his breath, he rolled them up, pulled them over his head, and let
them drop down his body.
“Okay, that’s almost it,” Athena looked up and down her developing
masterpiece. “But to complete the picture, you need to mess up your hair.
Dirty it a little.”
Odysseus grabbed handfuls of dust and rubbed them onto his head.
Athena hovered over him, supervising his work and making sure
everything fell into place for just the right effect – so that his hair not only
looked knotted and matted, but thinned and mangy as well.
“Much better…” Athena said. “But you’re still not going to pass as a
beggar – not standing like that. Your posture’s too aristocratic, too well
trained. You’ll give yourself away in a heartbeat if you go strutting into
your palace like you own the place. You need to consciously forget you’re
a king. Lower your shoulders.”
Odysseus hunched over slightly.
“No, more. Bend your back and…” Athena produced a twisted old
staff and handed it to him. “…lean on this. Act like every bone in your
body aches, like your joints creak every time you move. There, good…
But more than that, act like you’ve given up – like the pressure of people
looking down at you has weighed so heavily on your shoulders that dignity
isn’t even a consideration anymore.”
Odysseus stooped even lower and let his body lean heavily against the
staff. Athena busily darted around him, again adding all the finishing
touches. By the time she was finished, the effect of rags, dirt, and posture
made him look weathered and weak.
But still she wasn’t satisfied.
“Your eyes,” she said. “They’re too proud – and not only that, but
they’re too sharp, too observant. Try to make them lazy and passive. Let
your gaze drift instead of darting. If they ever do pick up a spark of life,
make sure it’s because you smell the possibility of a morsel of food or a
small copper coin.”
Odysseus kept his face lowered and looked out pathetically at Athena.
“Excellent… I think that does it. Now all we need is this…” She
threw a deer hide over his shoulders. “…and you’re all set!”
The hide felt warm and heavy against Odysseus’ skin. As it fell over
him, it wafted a thick smell not only of beggar’s body odor, but of rotting
flesh – the hide was obviously untreated – and of exposure to reeking
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smoke from garbage-fueled campfires. The combination of suffocating
stench and the growing feeling of filth against his skin made Odysseus
shudder.
“With every step you take, with every word you speak, remember the
role you’re playing,” Athena said. “I’m sure if anybody can pull this off,
you can. Any other questions?”
Odysseus shook his head.
“Then you’d better get moving! I’ll be back to help you just as soon as
I can go get Telemachus.”
Athena sped away in a flash, and Odysseus began the hike up the path
toward the swineherd’s house.
“ZEUS!!!” Poseidon stormed into the Olympian hall, face red and
muscles tensed with rage.
Most gods knew that Poseidon was on Olympus – as well as why he
was there – and had strategically positioned themselves outside the main
hall. Those few who were caught off guard scattered at the sound of his
voice, leaving Zeus and Poseidon alone.
“Yes, Poseidon?” Zeus answered coyly.
“Don’t ‘Yes Poseidon’ me!” the sea god roared back. “Not with
Odysseus sitting safely on Ithaca waiting to – ”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” Zeus shook his head and let his voice
hint at a chuckle. “You’re still carrying on about Odysseus? Now really,
Poseidon, you knew all along that he would eventually make it back
home.”
“He blinded my son! He maliciously snuck into his home, ate his food,
and – ”
“I know, I know. But fate is fate, and there’s nothing even I can do to
stop it. Odysseus was destined to return safely to Ithaca.”
“Yeah, but not like this!” Poseidon boomed. “The fates may have
declared he’d make it back, but they didn’t say he’d be given a nice
comfortable ride and set peacefully on Ithaca’s shores! I’m not stupid; I
know I couldn’t stop him from getting back. But you know very well that
my point was to make his journey as miserable as possible, and – ”
“And I think you managed to do so quite effectively. Few mortals have
suffered as much as Odysseus. You ran him from one side of the sea to the
other, making his life a living hell – ”
“Until those Phaeacians stepped in!” Poseidon’s facial muscles
strained to the breaking point, and his eyes bugged out until they looked
ready to burst. He peered into Zeus as if to demand a reaction to the
obviously heinous crimes committed by the Phaeacians.
“All they did was show mercy to a lost traveler,” Zeus answered.
“Should I punish them for an act of kindness and hospitality?”
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“You should punish them for interfering in something that was none of
their business. They knew why Odysseus was being punished. He told
them the whole story! Yet they purposefully helped a cruel and
treacherous man avoid divine retribution – and in doing so they defied a
god. Is that a simple ‘act of kindness,’ Zeus?”
Zeus sat silent.
“Tell me, brother, what’s worse? Refusing to take in a visitor – or
helping a mortal thumb his nose at Olympus?”
Zeus stared off to the side and took a deep breath. Punishing his most
highly regarded virtue – hospitality – went against every inclination, every
conviction inside him. Besides, Poseidon’s line of reasoning was just
foolish – a transparent attempt at rationalizing an arbitrary grudge. But
still…
Zeus had spent years dreading the climax of this no-win situation. Act
on Odysseus’ behalf, and he would enrage Poseidon. Fail to act, and he
would enrage Athena. He had done his best to navigate between the two,
but he had always done so knowing that the inevitable explosion would
have to happen sometime. But perhaps now he had a way out. Perhaps
now he could walk the middle line and escape what he thought had been an
inevitable confrontation.
“So what would you have me do?” He kept his visage lowered, looked
up at Poseidon with purposefully weary eyes. “Odysseus is already on
Ithaca. There’s no way to take that back now.”
“The Phaeacians,” Poseidon growled. “I know I can’t hurt Odysseus
anymore, but we can still teach the Phaeacians a lesson about respecting
the gods.”
“Hmmm…” Zeus rolled his eyes, glanced evasively around the room,
and pondered possible solutions. Finally he leaned in eagerly and said,
“All right, now you can’t go wiping them out over something like this…”
“Okay…” Poseidon eyed Zeus skeptically.
“So if the Phaeacians offended you by interfering in your domain – the
sea – make sure the ship they used to do so never sails again. Turn it to
stone.”
Poseidon nodded. He seemed to think it was a reasonable option – but
then he narrowed his eyes and added, “And…”
Zeus sighed. “And you can cut them off from the sea. Raise up
mountains around them to confine them to their little island. Show them
that nobody who so flagrantly dishonors Poseidon can continue to sail on
his seas.”
Poseidon smiled widely. As far as was now possible, he had won.
Zeus, his almighty and all too imperious tyrant of a brother, had caved in.
It was all a hot-headed and egotistical sea god could ask for.
With an elaborately – and almost mockingly – formal “Thank you,
Zeus,” Poseidon bowed and backed out of the great hall.
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Zeus released a long-held breath. Poseidon was happy. Athena only
cared that Odysseus was home. The Phaeacians meant well, and he
honestly loved them for the kindness they showed Odysseus – but serving
them up as a sacrifice was a small price to pay for a way out of his
quandary.
At least now there was peace in Zeus’ house.
Hordes of Phaeacians were gathered at the beach, and the air was alive
with the nonstop rumble of curiosity and concern that could soon ignite
into panic. Eyes were wide. Jaws hung low. Fingers pointed out toward
the middle of the harbor, where a ship – now a solid gray piece of rock –
sat completely immobile. Everything down to sails, ropes, and cables were
frozen in place, right where the winds had last blown them before as they
were being turned to stone. It looked less like a ship than an ancient statue
that had been planted in the harbor as a monument.
Alcinous, standing in the crowd, realized that it actually was a sort of
monument – a monument to the anger of a god, to the consequences of
being kind to a traveller who had incurred an Olympian’s wrath.
“It’s Poseidon!” he cried out. “We’ve made him angry!”
This was an incredibly bad omen – but what would follow would be
much worse. Alcinous knew the old prophecies. He knew that one day a
god, angry at the Phaeacians, would turn a ship into stone – and soon after,
he would surround their island with mountains.
With his eyes turned to the horizon, he spun in a quick circle expecting
to hear the deep rumble, to feel the earth tremble beneath his feet, to see
sharp rocky peaks rising up out of the water to wall his people in forever.
In a quick flash of panic, his mind tried to process the enormity of the
implications. His people were explorers at heart. They were naturally
curious. And they had grown accustomed to both the wealth and the exotic
goods that seafaring had brought to their shores. What would sudden
isolation do to them? How would they take to a simple existence spent
eking a living out of the soil? What would life be like living in shadow
from morning to night – with maybe just a glimpse of sunlight at noon?
More immediately, what cataclysmic effects would accompany the
mountains’ sudden rise? Alcinous could only imagine the earthquakes, the
rockslides, the tidal waves, the lava flows, the ash choking the air…
“This is only the beginning!” he screamed. “If we don’t win
Poseidon’s favor…”
So he continued. His mind full of apocalyptic visions, he raced through
the assembled crowd, urging them on to pray, to make sacrifices, anything
to assuage the wrath of Poseidon.
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Chapter 11
At the Home of the Swineherd
After winding its way up out of the valley, the path ran through miles
of thick forests along the top of the hill. Odysseus hiked through the trees
for at least an hour before the forest thinned and a grassy clearing opened
up before him.
There, in the middle of the clearing, he spotted a stout and sturdy little
stone building – the swineherd’s hut.
It was a humble place, but it looked busy. Off to one side of the
building was an extensive courtyard surrounded by stone walls, and
outside those walls was a fence made of split stakes. Extending from this
courtyard were several winding and crisscrossing several paths where the
green of the clearing was worn brown with foot traffic. It was obvious that
pigs were being driven in and out of here on a regular basis – and even
now, Odysseus could hear nonstop snorting and squealing behind the
walls.
Odysseus smiled. The operation was alive and well – and if memory
served him, the stake fence had not been there before. So not only had the
swineherd kept things running in his master’s absence, but he had taken the
initiative to make improvements.
Keeping his distance, Odysseus circled around to the left until he found
the swineherd sitting outside the door of the hut. His hair was just starting
to gray – he was just a touch older than Odysseus – but he was still the
same leathery, weather-beaten, dirty, but stout and earnest servant
Odysseus remembered. He was in his own little world, singing to himself
as he cut what appeared to be a pair of sandals from some leather, and he
didn’t seem to notice Odysseus.
However, the dogs that lay around him did notice. Suddenly, one of
them perked up his ears. He turned his head, then let out a quick whine
followed by a much longer growl – and right on cue all four raced toward
Odysseus, snarling and barking.
By well-trained reflex, Odysseus dropped his staff and fell to his knees
– a signal to the dogs that he was harmless.
But they kept coming. Odysseus winced, closed his eyes… And for
just a moment wondered what it would feel like to be eaten alive. After all
he’d been through, to get home and be mauled by dogs…
Suddenly he heard a yelp. Then another yelp. Then he heard the sound
of thudding on the ground around him, and he looked up to see rocks
falling from the sky. Some landed in the dirt. Others hit a dog who
cringed, cried, and ran.
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“Hey, back!” the swineherd shouted. “Get back!” He ran at the dogs,
one hand full of stones and the other one picking them and throwing them
in rapid succession. “Come on – outta here!”
Soon the dogs had turned around and were running back to the house.
The swineherd shouted one last curse back over his shoulder, then turned
to Odysseus.
“You crazy, old man? Sneaking up to someone’s door like that? These
dogs coulda’ eaten you alive!”
“Sorry,” was all Odysseus could think to say.
“Aggghhh…” the swineherd let out a gutteral growl that was something
between irritation and hesitant, rough-edged kindness. He reached down
and helped Odysseus to his feet. “Ain’t a big deal. You’re just lucky is
all.”
Odysseus dusted himself off. “Well, I wouldn’t have been so lucky if
you hadn’t helped me.” He smiled, “Thank you, sir.”
“Ah, think nothin’ of it,” the swineherd batted away Odysseus’
appreciation with a quick wave of his hand. “A man comes to visit me in
my home, I won’t let him get chewed up for his trouble. Come on, come
in…” He motioned toward his house. “You look like you’ve suffered a
rough patch. Why don’t you put your feet up and fill your belly? Relax a
little. It’s a humble place, as you can see, but you’re welcome to whatever
I have.”
“Thank you, sir,” Odysseus answered. “It’s good of you to open your
door to a stranger like this – especially to someone of my… You know…
Of my standing.”
“A guest is a guest in the eyes of Zeus, and it’d be plain wrong of me to
leave you standin’ out here. People gotta take care of each other, you
know. People gotta show kindness to whoever they come by – be it a
beggar or a king…” As they turned toward the house he mumbled, “Not
that that’s the way things are done ‘round here no more.”
“What’s that?” Odysseus asked.
The swineherd turned his eyes to Odysseus, as though caught saying
something that he ought not share but was just dying to get off his chest.
“Oh, it’s nothing… Well, it’s just… You see…” He leaned his head in
and whispered to Odysseus, “You see, not everything’s the way it should
be in the master’s household.”
“Really? How’s that?”
“The suitors – that’s what they call the ones tryin’ to wed the queen –
they’ve more or less taken over the king’s house.”
“Huh…”
The swineherd perceived a spark of interest in Odysseus’ utterance, and
he took it as permission to run with his story. “They don’t have no regard
for nothing or no one. They eat all they want and drink all they want and
pick on the boy – that’s the king’s son, Telemachus – and pester the queen
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day and night.” They were now walking along the edge of the courtyard,
and the swineherd motioned to the pigsties with a backward sweep of his
hand. “Can’t hardly even keep this place stocked, the hooligans eat up the
pigs so fast. Today one of my sows slings a litter of twelve, by next week
those boys’ve gobbled up at least ten of my boars. I want to keep things up
for the master, I really do. But by the flippin’ gods – if you pardon my
irreverence – it’s all I can do just to break even ‘round here. Year by year
my numbers dwindle.” They were now inside, and the swineherd grabbed
a goatskin and spread it out next to the fireplace. “Here, have a seat.
Anyway, as I was sayin’ pigs get eaten faster than I can raise them. Same
thing all over the island. All the cows, all the goats, all the bread and wine
– everything the master has is getting wasted by those low-down, no
good… But hey, I don’t reckon you come in here hopin’ to hear me
bellyache. Give me just a minute and I’ll be right back with some meat.”
“Are you sure?” asked Odysseus. “If you’ve come upon hard times, I’d
hate to…”
“Nahhhh,” the swineherd rasped. “Things ain’t so tough I can’t feed a
man who comes to my house.” His voice lowered to a mumble as he
turned to walk away: “Not that I can offer a fatted boar or nothin’. Lousy
thugs skim the top, don’t leave me nothin’ but scrawny young things to
offer a houseguest…” Throwing a look of cheer across his face, he called
back over his shoulder, “There ain’t much to offer ‘round here, but what I
have is yours. Be right back.”
Alone in the room, Odysseus took a look around. He was quite pleased
– and impressed – by the way the swineherd had kept the place up. The
flock’s numbers may have dwindled, but from what Odysseus had noticed
on the way in, the sties were well-kept and the pigs were meticulously
organized. And now that he’d had a better look at the fence, he was sure it
was new; it was definitely unfamiliar, and the wood looked freshly split.
Even this room was a testament to the swineherd’s attention to detail. The
dirt floors were packed and painstakingly swept free of loose dust. Tools
were laid out side by side on a wooden table, and leather was hung out in
neat strips to dry. Everything had its place and everything had been
attended to with obvious care. It was the sign of a good –
RRHHHHHHEEEEEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!!
Odysseus’ observations were interrupted by a violent, tortured squeal
coming from outside. Several minutes later the swineherd came back in
with a gutted pig over his shoulder.
He slammed it down onto the table and began skinning it with expert
efficiency. “Name’s Eumaeus, by the way. Been a slave of the royal
household here for nearly as long as I can remember – taken when I was a
boy. Wasn’t fun becomin’ a slave, of course, but the family’s always been
good to me. They treated me like one of their own. And Odysseus – ain’t
never been no master better than Odysseus. Always made sure I had
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enough. Listened to what I said, cared about what I thought. Lot of
masters act like they care, but Odysseus really did – you can always tell.
He checked in on me like you’d ‘spect a master would, but long as the job
was gettin’ done he gave me freedom to find my way of doin’ it.”
“And it looks like his trust was well placed,” Odysseus smiled coyly.
“Ahck,” Eumaeus growled. He’d sliced off several strips of meat and
was now using a cleaver to chop them into chunks. “Servant does his part,
master does his part. Man would have to be ‘shamed of himself not to
work his best for a master like Odysseus. He wasn’t only a nice master but
a smart one too – didn’t have much far as kingdoms go, but he did an
awful lot with what he had. In fact,” Eumaeus spread a wide, crookedtoothed grin across his face and leaned forward over the table, “from what
I hear he just about won that war at Troy himself – that’s how clever he
was. But now days… Hmph! What passes for clever now is one suitor
rips a fart loud as he can and the rest fall down laughing, ‘fore another one
climbs to his feet and says he can do one better, then squeezes off one of
his own. That’s how far things’ve gone downhill ‘round here…” He
trailed off, recognizing he’d already segued into complaints about the
suitors enough times for one conversation.
“Is,” Odysseus said.
“Excuse me?” The cleaver rested on the chopping block, and Eumaeus
looked up from his work.
“That’s how clever your master is,” Odysseus clarified. “Not was – is.”
Eumaeus cocked his head and eyed Odysseus cautiously. “And what
exactly you mean by that?”
“I mean that your master is alive.”
Eumaeus let out a series of coughs that relaxed into a laugh. “Yeah,
right he is. I mean don’t get me wrong – I love my master, always have.
But after twenty years, you gotta – ”
“I’ve heard news about him. Recent news.”
“Oh sure, good luck with that one,” Eumaeus enjoyed one last silent
chuckle before his face melted into a weary look, “‘cause you ain’t the
first. In fact every one of you vagrants – no offence to you, sir – who finds
himself tramping ‘round our island ends up givin’ it a go before he leaves.”
“Giving what a go?”
“Same ol’ routine, every single time. They shuffle about, ask
questions, get a lay of the land… Then once they figure out what’s what
‘round here, they all – every last one of ‘em – asks for an audience with the
queen. And of course she’s so desperate for news, she lets them in and
listens to ‘em. Then they all tell her some tale or other ‘bout how they’ve
seen the master or heard of the master or know the master’s right on his
way. Oh, you should just see ‘em. Leanin’ in all excited-like, makin’ lots
a’ motions, tellin’ the queen just what she wants to hear. It warms her
heart to hear it – and they know it. So by the time it’s over they always
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give her this look like, ‘Well, ma’am, you know I just done you a big favor,
and – well, I would never DREAM of askin’ you fer nothin,’ but seein’s
how we seemed to hit it off, and seein’s how I just shown you this little
kindness, would you think someone of your means could offer me a little…’
They never say it, but they always make the face. And I know they do
because I seen that face on beggars, and I know when they like to make it,
and because every one of ‘em that goes in there and talks to the queen ends
up walkin’ away with a coat on his back and a little food in his sack – or
some such as that. They all do it, and I know they ain’t all seen nor heard
of my master. But go ‘head,” Eumaeus gave a quick backward wave of his
hand. His face looked tired, and his eyes kept watch over Odysseus with a
disillusioned look that may have harbored thinly-veiled disgust. “Go on
down to the palace and try your story, see how it goes over. But I don’t
guess the queen’s too likely to believe you now. She’s heard it all too
many times before – and so have I, far as that goes.”
“But it’s true – ”
“Bah! The stories are always true – just ask the ones tellin’ them. How
many of them you think come in and declare themselves liars?”
“Yeah, I know,” Odysseus answered. “And I can understand your
skepticism. So how about this – rather than just words, I’ll offer you my
oath. With Zeus as my witness, I’ll swear that Odysseus is coming, that
he’ll be here within a month and – ”
“Oh please stop,” Eumaeus growled. “Just stop! I believed the first
couple guys like you, but now I’ve heard it way too many times. I just
can’t let myself entertain the idea no more – and truth be told, just listenin’
to it is more than I can handle. All these stories are nothin’ but trouble
anyway. Get people riled up, get people’s hope up, get everyone doin’
stupid things. Why, even now the prince is out sailin’ all over the seas,
while – so I heard – the suitors are waitin’ to spring a trap on him soon as
he comes back. It’s all just nonsense and trouble, and it’s too depressing to
think about right now… So let’s talk ‘bout somethin’ else.” He stopped
and pondered for a moment, then blurted out, “Why not tell me your story,
stranger? Tell me where you come from, how you got here… You don’t
sound much like a beggar to me. You look the part and – if you don’t
mind me sayin’ – you smell the part. But to hear you talk I’m guessin’ you
seen better times than this. Am I right?”
Odysseus grinned. “Yeah, I suppose you could say I have. See, I’m a
son of Castor, born and raised on the island of Crete…”
The story continued for hours as Odysseus weaved elaborate lies
about his fictional life and upbringing in Crete. As he did, Eumaeus
chopped up the rest of the pork, put the pieces on spits, and cooked them –
then the two enjoyed a lunch together.
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According to Odysseus’ story, he was an illegitimate son of Helen’s
brother Castor. He had received only a poor inheritance due to his place in
the family, but he made his fortune in wars – culminating in a spectacular
(and lucrative) performance in the war at Troy.
From there he was dragged through an unfortunate series of events that
led him from one side of the sea to the other. After only a month back
home from war, he was persuaded to make a trading voyage to Egypt. But
as he was scouting out the land, his men grew impatient and began raiding
outlying farm settlements – only to be counter-attacked by a swarm of
Egyptian chariots. He begged the king for mercy and lived as a guest of
the people for seven years.
After that time he was tricked by Phoenicians into sailing away with
them. Once at sea, though, they bound him and tried selling him as a
slave. He escaped only because Zeus struck the ship by lightning. All his
captors were killed, and after breaking loose from his bonds, he was left to
float for nine days on the drifting hulk.
The ship ultimately took him to an outlying Greek people called the
Thesprotians. They took him in, and it was there that he claimed to have
heard about Odysseus. Apparently Odysseus was staying with the
Thesprotians but had taken leave to go seek the advice of an oracle. Thus
the “beggar” – in a convenient twist that prompted a suspicious grunt from
Eumaeus – never managed to meet Odysseus before being given passage
on another ship.
Once at sea, the crew turned on him and sold him as a slave. Day by
day he awaited another miraculous intervention by Zeus – and day by day
he sat on deck and fell deeper into despair. But one day the ship came to
land. The crew anchored the boat off the coast, then bound their slave and
went ashore for supplies and rest. It was there that the “beggar” slipped
out of the ropes, dived into the water, and swam ashore where he found his
freedom.
“Thus,” Odysseus concluded, “I found myself here on your island.”
Eumaeus shook his head slowly. “Sad… Really, really sad. A pitiful
story, for sure. You’ve suffered more than your share – that much I
believe, and I pity you for it. But the rest… I hate callin’ any man a liar,
‘specially a guest in my house – but come on. You were a hero at Troy?”
“I was.”
“You attacked Egyptians, then got adopted by their king?”
“Indeed I did.”
“And twice you were captured and sold as a slave… Well, that much I
believe – happened to me too. But the rest smacks of random adventure
dreamed up off the top of your head. And then you say you almost crossed
paths with my master – but didn’t quite see him, so of course I can’t call on
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you to tell me what he looks like… ‘Scuse me if that sounds exactly like
every other story been told ‘round here in the last ten years.”
“Wow,” Odysseus tried throwing on a disarming smile. “You’re not
easily swayed, are you? That’s probably a good sign – means you have a
keen mind.”
“Thank you, sir – but flatterin’ me won’t fill the holes in your story.”
“I don’t expect it will. And it really isn’t reasonable to expect you to
take me at my word, so I guess we’re at an impasse. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless we make a deal.”
“What kinda deal?”
“Give me a month – just one month – before deciding one way or the
other about my story. I’m sure Odysseus will be back by that time, and if
he is, you reward me by giving me some clothes and asking him to send
me back home. If he isn’t, you can… Well, I guess you could go ahead
and have your men drag me out and throw me off a cliff.”
“Hmph,” Eumaeus grunted. “And you buy yourself some time to beg
favors off the royal house, then slink away just ‘fore a month’s up. Real
smart.”
“I won’t accept any favors. And when the time comes, you can keep an
eye on me to make sure I don’t – ”
Eumaeus chuckled. “Yeah, sure – ‘cause I got all the time in the world
to sit around guardin’ every vagrant that wanders down to my house tellin’
wild stories. ‘Cause herdin’ these pigs and keepin’ up with the suitors’
appetites don’t do enough to keep a man busy. Baahhh… Ridiculous!”
He shook his head, “Besides, I’m a god-fearin’ man. I ain’t gonna
welcome a guest into my house then turn ‘round and throw him off a cliff –
and I think you know as much, which means your ‘deal’ is nothin’ but a
bunch a’ hot air. So don’t keep buggin’ me ‘bout your stupid story, ‘cause
I don’t care nothin’ for it one way or the other. I’ll feed and shelter you,
sure. But I’ll do it ‘cause you’re my guest, not ‘cause you squeezed it
outta me with some flim-flammery you made up ‘bout my master. You
can stay the night here if you like. Then, if you must, go ‘head and try
your luck up at the palace. The suitors’ll give you a belly fulla trouble for
your effort, but the royals may just pity you if you’re lucky.”
“But I – ”
“Please,” Eumaeus held up a hand. “I’ll treat you kindly as a guest can
‘spect to be treated – and I’ll do my best to avoid straight callin’ you a liar.
But please, sir – just don’t insult me.”
Odysseus gave in, and the two sat silently picking at the remains of
their meal.
Night had fallen. In the darkness of the hut, illuminated only by the
feeble fire in the hearth, Eumaeus and the “beggar” reclined with the rest
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of the herders in a circle on the floor. All around them they could hear the
sound of rain beating against the house – pounding against the rooftop,
whipping against the wall when caught by gusts of wind. The fire did its
best to warm them, but it was engaged in a constant struggle to heat air that
was getting sucked up through the chimney or out of any of the thousand
cracks between doors, window shutters, or other paneling. So while the air
inside was warmer than the air outside, it was still damp and drafty, and the
five men found themselves constantly shifting and huddling against the
dank chill.
“Sounds like quite a storm,” Odysseus said.
“Mmm-hmm,” Eumaeus grunted. He stared into the fire, debated for a
moment whether to add another log, and decided to wait.
“Reminds me of a story from the war,” Odysseus went on.
Eumaeus raised his eyebrows – but whether out of interest or
skepticism was unclear. “Really?”
“Yep. It was a chilly morning, just like this one. I was chosen to be
part of a small band that would wait to ambush the Trojans outside the city.
We set out, let by Menelaus and Odysseus – ”
“Oh really…” Eumaeus’ voice was now clearly skeptical. And
irritated.
“Yep,” Odysseus repeated. “But don’t worry – the point of this story
isn’t to bug you with another ‘Odysseus sighting.’ In fact I’m not sure
what the point of the story is…” He stopped and let his eyes roll from the
fire up along the roof, as if doing so helped him better listen to the sounds
of the storm. “Or if it has a point at all. I guess this storm just reminds me
of it, and… Well, I apologize if it’s just the wine making me babble on. I
could just – ”
“Don’t worry yourself over it,” Eumaeus assured him. “Not that I’m
gonna believe every word right off, mind you. But true or not, I guess your
story’s gotta be more entertaining than just sittin’ around listinin’ to the
rain and the blowin’.”
“Well, at any rate, Menelaus and Odysseus led us into a ravine just a
few hundred yards out from Troy’s walls. We were next to a well-traveled
route with just enough bushes and rocks to serve as cover, and we were
hoping to catch a caravan or flank a group of soldiers traveling into our out
of the city. It was already a little cool when we left – but as the day went
on, things got worse. A frosty chill settled over the air, and freezing rain
began to fall. Before we knew it, our weapons and armor were coated with
a good solid half-inch of ice. And wouldn’t you know it, I – idiot that I
was – had forgotten my cloak.
“For a while I tried to bear it out – but before long I could feel the cold
creeping into my bones. I started losing sensation in my hands and feet…
And I knew that if I didn’t do something, I would be dead before nightfall.
So I bellied over to Odysseus…”
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Eumaeus let out an annoyed, “Mmm-hmmm.”
“…and asked him if he could do anything to help. He turned and
looked me up and down with concerned eyes – but then a clever grin
spread across his face. ‘Just a second,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He
shuffled over to Menelaus and muttered something about being afraid we
didn’t have enough men – and he suggested that they send a runner out to
ask Agamemnon for reinforcements. Menelaus agreed, and Odysseus went
to our fastest runner with the message. The man then dropped his cloak –
because even in cold weather, nobody wants to run in a cloak – and
sprinted back toward camp. Odysseus said nothing more. He just looked
at me, looked at the cloak lying on the ground, then grinned and nodded. I
took the cloak and survived, all thanks to your master.”
“A good enough story,” Eumaeus gave a slow nod. “I ain’t gonna get
into the question of whether it’s true, but its point is clear enough…” He
rose his feet then took off his cloak and placed it across Odysseus’
shoulders. “…and no guest in my house is freezin’ to death long as I can
help it.”
Odysseus pulled the cloak tight around him and looked up at the
swineherd. “Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” Eumaeus answered. “Now I’d love to give it to you free
and clear, but sadly I’ll be needin’ it back ‘fore you leave. I hate bein’
stingy with a guest, but we only got one cloak per man ‘round here, and we
can’t ‘ford to lose one.” He pulled a fur from a peg on the wall and threw
it over himself in place of his cloak – pulling part of the skin over his head
to serve as a hood. “Anything else you need ‘fore I head out?”
“Head out?” Odysseus propped himself up on an elbow. “Where are
you going?”
“I’m stayin’ out with the pigs tonight.” He grabbed a staff from the
corner. “Wolves get mighty bold late at night, and someone’s gotta keep
an eye on the herd.”
“Oh… Well don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I do appreciate the
cloak, though.”
“Think nothin’ of it. Have yourself a good night’s rest, and I’ll see you
in the mornin’.” Eumaeus ducked out and closed the door behind him.
Warming beneath the cloak, Odysseus quickly grew drowsy. He rolled
onto his back and let a smile spread across his face. His swineherd had
passed another test and had proved himself more faithful and generous
than Odysseus could ever have hoped. He was a simple man but a good
man: sturdy, resourceful, and – in a down-to-earth way – quite clever.
And as Odysseus closed his eyes and drifted off, it was with the feeling
that, while he was in a hostile situation surrounded by enemies, he had
found his first good friend and ally.
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“Wake up!” a harsh, abrupt whisper pierced the darkness. A hand
was resting on his shoulder.
“Come on, get up!” The whisper grew more urgent, and the hand
started rocking him back and forth. “You need to get going!”
“Get going?” Telemachus mumbled. He lifted his head slowly from
the pillow and rolled over to find Athena crouching next to his bed. His
eyes were still squinted, his vision blurry – and in the lazy, whiny voice of
the rudely awakened, he asked, “Get going where?” As the cobwebs began
clearing from his mind, he regained sufficient sense of propriety and
reverence to level off his voice and punctuate his question with,
“Goddess.”
“It’s time for you to go home,” Athena answered.
“But…” Telemachus began.
Athena cocked her head and regarded Telemachus with a warm smile –
one that seemed to understand that his constant questioning was due to
confusion rather than impertinence. “You can’t stay here forever, young
man. I know you’re enjoying yourself, but you need to go back and start
taking care of things at home.”
“I know, goddess. I know…” He rubbed his eyes and looked around
him. “But why’s this suddenly so important now?”
“Your departure has made your mother very nervous. She’s falling
deeper and deeper into despair with every day you spend away – and while
she’s resisted the suitors for a long time, she’s losing both the strength and
the will to keep fighting. Not only that, but with her ruse having been
discovered, the suitors are pushing that much harder for her to pick a
husband. Everything’s in place for her to finally cave in – so she needs
you at her side. She needs you to reassure her, stand by her, support her.
At least knowing you’re alive will give her something to fight for.”
Before she was finished, Telemachus had leapt to his feet. He was
crouched, ready to go. Suddenly he froze, however, and added: “But I
can’t leave now. It’s the middle of the night, and…”
“I know. But you need to wake up your friend,” she motioned to
Peisistratus, who was sleeping a few feet away, “and start making
preparations to leave at dawn. You have at least a good two full days of
travel ahead of you – and the way things are going, you don’t want to lose
a day getting ready.”
“Yes, goddess,” Telemachus nodded. He turned to wake up
Peisistratus.
“But there’s one more thing you should know,” Athena stopped him.
“The suitors are plotting to kill you.”
“What?”
“They were shocked to learn you’d made it off the island – and they
think you’re becoming dangerous. A group of them is waiting off shore to
ambush you on your way back.”
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Telemachus slumped back onto his bed. For a moment he stared at the
floor in shock. “So what do I do?”
“Since they’re expecting you to come into the main port, your best
chance is to sail to the back side of the island. Have them drop you off in
some obscure back-country harbor. Then they can circle around and sail
back to the palace.”
“But if the suitors find them…”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re the one they want dead – so even if they
know it’s your ship, they’re not going to slaughter your crew out of simple
spite. It just wouldn’t be worth the risk. Now once they drop you off, you
should make your way over to Eumaeus’ house.”
“Our swineherd?”
Athena nodded. “It’s as safe a place as you can find to hide right now.
Once the time’s right, you can return to the palace – but until then, just lay
low. You can send Eumaeus down to the palace to tell your mother that
you’re safe.”
“Yes goddess,” Telemachus answered. “And thank you.”
After a quick nod, Athena was gone, and Telemachus began to make
his preparations.
The gates were cracked open, and Menelaus and Helen stood in the
doorway. Long slanted rays of early morning sunlight shot across the
courtyard, bathing Helen in soft, elegant light and igniting Menelaus’
intense red hair and beard.
“We’ll, we hate to see you go,” Menelaus said. There was an intensity
on his face and an edge of sadness in his eyes that gave Telemachus the
vague feeling that he was wronging them by leaving so abruptly.
Menelaus cracked a grin, however, and added, “You two are both fine
young men. Not surprisingly, you’ve lived up to everything I could expect
from the sons of Odysseus and Nestor, and hosting you has truly been a
pleasure. But I understand why you need to go.”
Helen broke out into a radiant smile that made Telemachus, in spite of
her age and their growing familiarity, begin to blush. “And we hope that
you find your father soon,” she added. “I have a feeling – one I believe
comes from the gods – that he will be arriving in Ithaca before long… If
he isn’t there already.”
“Thank you,” Telemachus bowed slightly.
Helen and Menelaus smiled warmly at each other, then at Telemachus
and Peisistratus. They looked like proud parents sending off their own
sons, and they gave fawning goodbyes as attendants helped the boys up
into their chariot – which was already heavily loaded with gifts – and the
horses trotted out across the plain toward Pylos.
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After a long journey across the Greek countryside, the chariot came
upon open and increasingly sandy fields. There were no mountains ahead
of them, no trees on the horizon… Telemachus was sure he recognized the
landscape – and a whiff of clean, salty air blowing in from the west
confirmed what he had suspected: They were approaching the coast.
Telemachus quickly started growing restless. He shifted his weight
from one foot to the other, occasionally cleared his throat quietly. He shot
glances at Peisistratus out of the corner of his eye, turned and opened his
mouth as if to speak…
Finally, as they turned and started heading north along the coast, he
muttered to his friend, “I’ve been thinking…”
“Yeah?” Peisistratus replied. “About what?”
“About getting me home. I told you what Athena said when she
appeared to me…”
“Of course.”
“So you know it’s pretty urgent that I get back to Ithaca.”
“Naturally.”
“And we’re going to be coming up on my ship pretty soon, right?”
“Right.”
“Well… I hate to be rude, but I think it might be best if… If you just
dropped me off right at my ship instead of taking me back to the palace
first.”
“And why’s that?” Peisistratus grinned mischievously. It seemed he
knew what Telemachus was getting at.
“Well, it’s just that… See, your father’s a great man, and a wonderful
host… But he – it’s almost like he’s too nice, if that’s possible. He just
really enjoys company, and…”
Peisistratus let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, you can say it. He’s a
chatty one – and I could very easily see him talking your ear off for days at
a time while your mother’s getting married back home.”
“I – ” Telemachus began. “That’s not how I meant – ”
“Oh I know exactly what you meant.” Peisistratus laughed out loud.
“You might not want to put it as bluntly as I do, but I get the point – and
you’re right.” He veered the chariot in toward the ship and slowed to a
stop. “I’ll let you off here.”
“Thank you,” Telemachus replied.
“But you’re going to want to hurry and get out of here. I wouldn’t put
it past father to come down looking for you as soon as he finds out we’re
back. When he does you’ll want to be long gone.”
“You think he’ll be mad?”
“Oh, he probably won’t be super happy with me for helping you sneak
away – but he’ll get over it.”
The two men clasped hands and said their goodbyes.
“Thank you so much for everything,” Telemachus said.
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Peisistratus smiled. “It’s been a pleasure. Now get out of here – I
meant what I said.”
Telemachus slid the chest of Spartan treasure out of the chariot and
went down to meet his crew.
The ship was sitting in the water, and the crewmembers were now at
their rowing benches, faithfully awaiting word from Telemachus.
The prince was kneeling on shore behind the stern of the boat. With
one hand he was sprinkling barley onto the ground, and with another he
was holding a goblet – which he kept slightly tipped as with reverent,
methodical care he poured out a stream of wine and watched it soak into
the sand. In spite of his hurry, he wanted to offer the gods their due
sacrifices before he left.
However, his heart jumped when he heard a voice shouting, “Wait!!!
Don’t go!”
Telemachus turned his head inland, half expecting to see Nestor racing
toward him in a chariot. Instead he found a brown-haired man with dark,
beady eyes – maybe five or ten years older than Telemachus – running
toward the beach, waving his arms in the air and screaming at the top of his
lungs.
With a quick circular movement, Telemachus drained out the rest of the
wine and muttered a quick prayer before standing up to greet the man.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Please,” the man stopped and leaned over, placing his hands on his
knees and breathing heavily. “Please, sir – I need to get out of here. Can
you take me with you?”
Telemachus glanced behind the man with a confused, slightly
suspicious look. “You seem to be in a pretty big hurry… Where are you
in such a rush to go?”
The man glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Telemachus
and answered, “Anywhere! It doesn’t matter – just get me out of here!”
“Why?” Telemachus glanced inland to see what the man was running
from.
“I’ve killed a man from my hometown, and – ”
“Killed a man?” Telemachus looked him cautiously in the eye.
“Yes, and… Oh, I know how that sounds, but please believe me – I’m
not a murderer. I’m a god-fearing man – a prophet, in fact. My name’s
Theoclymenus, and I’m from Argos. I killed a man there, and – well, I
don’t have time to explain it all now. My family’s been chasing me. No
matter where I run or where I try to hide, they’re always hot on my tail…”
Once more, he turned around and looked inland. “And I’m afraid they’re
going to be here any minute. Please, just get me out of here! I can tell you
everything you want to know later, if…”
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Telemachus pursed his lips and eyed the man as he considered his
strange request. Judging by his dress, he was more than just a random
thug, and he seemed sincere enough…
Finally Telemachus motioned to the ship. “Come on, hop aboard.”
The two men waded out and climbed up onto deck, and the ship rowed
away from Pylos.
In his casual, unobtrusive way, Odysseus observed Eumaeus as he
served up yet another meal. He watched his posture as he dished up
portions, his expression as he interacted with his men. He listened to every
grunt and every bit of casual conversation…
By this point Odysseus already knew that he could trust his swineherd.
But still – partly to gather as much information as he could, and partly to
fill the long hours spent sitting around the hut – Odysseus studied Eumaeus
as carefully as he would an adversary or an uneasy ally. He also continued
fishing for information and testing Eumaeus with questions.
Finally he leaned forward and exhaled, signaling that he was winding
up their visit. “Well, sir… I think I’ve imposed on your hospitality long
enough. What would you think if I headed down to the palace to try
begging there? I’m sure they have plenty to eat, maybe a little money to
toss my way – and it’s really not fair to leave you with the responsibility of
feeding me.”
“I appreciate the consideration,” Eumaeus answered, “but I ain’t so
sure that’s a great idea. Them suitors would as soon hit you over the head
as throw you a crust of bread. Not that they’d have cause for actin’ that
way toward you, of course, nor would they get any benefit from it – but
they’d smack you ‘round anyhow, outta nothin’ but simple meanness.
Entertains them, I guess… Such is the kind of men they are. No,”
Eumaeus shook his head. “You’re better off stayin’ here, least for the time
bein’. Maybe when Odysseus’ boy comes back you can meet him down
there. You might at least be a little safer havin’ him along with you.”
“Fair enough…” Odysseus paused for a moment as if deep in thought.
“But I’m really curious about something.”
“What’s that?”
“Odysseus’ parents – are they still around?”
“His father is. But his mother, sad to say, died some time back. There
was lots of talk ‘bout the cause, but most thought she just couldn’t take it
when her son didn’t come back after the war.” Eumaeus’ voice wavered
and grew weak. After he’d finished speaking, he stared off at a distant
point on the floor, and it looked like his eyes were starting to glass over.
“Hmm… Sorry to hear it. And I really hate to pry further, but his
father… Well, I know he has to be getting on in years, but why does he
put up with that level of behavior from the suitors. I mean, can’t he do
something about it?”
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“Ah, I wish he could. But the man’s nearly good as dead – no
disrespect at all intended – for the difference he can make ‘round here.
He’s old and weak – not quit himself no more… And his son’s
disappearance, his wife’s death, and now the boy wanderin’ off… One
thing piled atop of another started weighin’ on him. Oh, I guess he’s
holdin’ up more or less to the point he’s still alive – but that’s ‘bout it. He
mostly just sits up at his farm now, waitin’ to die. I mean nothin’ crude or
harsh by it, but I really think that’s all he’s got left. And boy, I hate to see
things goin’ that way for him. It’s a terrible thing to see happen to a
man…”
“Hm…” Odysseus choked back tears, even as he softened his voice to
sound sympathetic. “It sounds like you’re fond of your masters.”
Eumaeus just nodded.
“You mind me asking how you came to be owned by them?”
Eumaeus gave a quick grunt and sat up a little straighter. “Well, if
you’d like to know… I ain’t always been a slave. I was born into a noble
family – not a super rich one, but a noble one anyways – from a little
island called Syrie. I was taken before growin’ old ‘nough to understand
much, but from as best as I can recall, it’s a humble little place – small
villages, not much in the way of people, and so on. At least that’s how I
picture it in my head.
“At any rate, I grew up bein’ taken care of by my nurse. Can’t
remember too much about her, ‘cept that she was tall – tall and very
pretty… Or at least tall and pretty to the eyes of a little boy. She spent all
her time with me – my care was her only job – and it always seemed to me
that we were fond of each other. She doted on me like I was her own boy,
and I loved her same as a mother. We were each other’s whole world –
least that was the way I saw things.
“But one day things felt different all of a sudden, in a way I guess only
a little one can understand. Happened when a ship full of Phoenicians was
in port. Spent several weeks with us, as I recall. During that time I noticed
my nurse – she was Phoenician herself, though I didn’t know as much at
the time – started actin’ all strange. It was just in little ways, the looks she
made, her voice when she spoke to me… I don’t know that my parents
saw a bit of it, but to me it was like night and day. More and more she
started gettin’ distracted by the sailors, though at that age I couldn’t have
told you why, and she started totin’ me ‘round to the docks and other
places to go see them. Then one day she did somethin’ she would never’ve
dared do with my parents watchin’: she set me down somewhere, told me
to stay right where I was, and left me all alone. She run off with one of
them sailors leadin’ her by the hand, then come back all giggly and
excited.
“Couple mornin’s later, she had me settin’ up in my room and she told
me ‘bout how she could take me down to actually go see inside the ship.
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Talked it up, made it sound all excitin’ – but told me I had to keep quiet
‘bout it, said it was a secret thing just me and her was goin’ to do. So we
scampered on out and went down to the docks. She with her Phoenician
friend helped me up on deck and said I could have a look ‘round – but she
didn’t seem so excited ‘bout lookin’ at it with me no more. Mostly she
was off talkin’ and gigglin’ with her friend same as she usually was, ‘cept
now they whispered more and looked over their shoulders at me and acted
like they was in on some big secret. Soon enough, the sailors started
pullin’ in ropes, and several of them sat down and started rowin’ – and
before I knew it we were slippin’ on out of port.
“I looked up at my nurse like I was wonderin’ what was goin’ on. She
just smiled down at me and rubbed my head like to tell me we were doin’
somethin’ fun, but then she went on talkin’ to the sailors without sayin’
nothin’ to me ‘bout it. After that she mostly stayed away from me –
seemed like she was tryin’ to keep to the other side of the boat and didn’t
want often to look at me. Couldn’t tell why that was – and I still don’t
know, even today. Not too long later she fell sick and died. Her body
never even got cold before they tossed it over the side, casually as if they
were throwin’ out trash – which I thought was strange, considerin’ all the
attention they showed her before.
“Trustin’ little boy that I was, I figured for sure they’d turn ‘round and
bring me back home after that. But they didn’t. We kept goin’, and soon
they brung me here to this island and sold me to Laertes and Anticlea –
that’s Odysseus’ parents – and that’s when I became a slave. Like all kids
comin’ under the care of new adults, I was nervous watchin’ them and
wonderin’ what they’d be like. But they were as warm and kind to me as I
could’ve ever hoped – and once I reconciled myself to a life of labor, I was
truly happy here. I was treated more than fair by Laertes first, then by
Odysseus. I gave them my all in the area of diligence, and they responded
by givin’ me greater and greater trust, puttin’ me in charge of these sties
and mostly lettin’ me run things my way. I never made them sorry for the
freedom they gave me, and I’ll say now before you and before the gods
that I’ll stay faithful to them long as I live – with Odysseus here or not.
‘Course somewhere inside I always yearn to see my home once more, but
far as I’m concerned my family’s here in Ithaca.”
Odysseus smiled. “You’re a good man, Eumaeus. If Odysseus’
kingdom has held up this long, it’s only because there are people like you
keeping things together. He’s lucky to have a servant like you.”
After several nerve-wracking hours of sailing – of swinging along a
wide course in order to give Ithaca (and potential ambushes) a wide berth
until the last minute, of scanning the horizon for sails and expecting
trouble to jump out from behind every rock and every islet – the ship slid
in to a calm, glassy harbor on the back side of the island.
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By the time the vessel had slowed to a stop, Telemachus was on his feet
addressing his men. “Okay, you know what to do…” He paused to let his
eyes drift over the members of his crew one by one. “Once I’ve made it to
shore, back out of here and circle straight to the palace. One of you needs
to run and tell my mother – but nobody else! – that I’ve returned safe and
sound.”
“But aren’t they going to figure it out?” one of the crew stood to ask.
“I mean, if we suddenly show up without you, they’re going to have to
guess you’re somewhere on the island too.”
Telemachus shrugged. “Maybe. But that can’t be helped. I’ll send
Eumaeus to the palace as well, but it won’t hurt to have redundant
messengers just in case. Now Theoclymenus,” he turned to his new guest,
“I apologize for leaving you like this. It’s not right for me to sluff you off
on someone else instead of offering you my own hospitality – but trust me,
you don’t want to be left alone in the palace with my mother’s suitors. As
soon as I get back to town, I’ll call for you and treat you like a proper
guest.”
“That’s quite all right,” Theoclymenus replied. “I just appreciate you
taking the trouble during such a difficult time.”
“Now Peiraeus,” Telemachus turned to one of his crew members,
“you’re still willing to take him into your home until I get back, right?”
Peiraeus nodded.
“Thank you. You will be reimbursed for anything you offer him on my
behalf.” He stepped back and raised his voice to speak to the rest of the
crew. “And to the rest of you, I thank you all for your loyal service. I
know joining me on my voyage was not an easy assignment, and I know
the risks you assumed by siding with me. I will reward you to the best of
my ability now – and I will remember all of you when I am king.” He
strode to the side of the deck, and as he began climbing over the side of the
ship, he gave one last wave. “I’ll see you all at the palace.”
Then he dropped down into the water and started making his way
toward the swineherd’s house.
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Chapter 12
Revelation and Conspiracy
The fire burned low but hot. A skewer, loaded with cubes of last
night’s pork, warmed over the pit of coals. The herders had taken the pigs
out at first light, grabbing cold leftovers on the way out the door – but
Eumaeus would never serve a guest an unwarmed breakfast. Thus he now,
alone with his beggar, crouched near the hearth, turning the skewer one
moment and stopping to pour wine the next.
The meat was beginning to re-crisp to the point that he worried it would
dry out, so he reached down to grab the spit. But just before he could pick
it up, the dogs began barking outside. It was only a few individual barks –
far from the braying ruckus of overlapping voices with which they would
greet an intruder – and soon they fell silent.
Odysseus made an instinctive glance toward the door. “You think
they’re coming back?”
“Who?” Eumaeus swung the spit from the fire to the table. “My
men?”
“Yes,” Odysseus answered. “The dogs are acting just like they did
when your herders were coming back last night.”
Eumaeus dismissed the idea with a “Naaah,” but his face looked
curious. He stood and turned toward the door. “Been but an hour since
they left. No reason at all they’d be comin’ back this early. They’d have
barely gotten the herd out to pasture. To turn it ‘round now…”
“Could they have just sent one back?”
“No. Well, maybe if there was some ‘mergency, I guess. But I ain’t
seen it happen yet.”
Outside the door they could hear whining voices and the skittering
sounds of dogs prancing in circles on a hard floor.
“Whoever it is, the dogs seem to like him.”
Eumaeus nodded, and together both men eyed the door…
When it swung open, Eumaeus’ jaw dropped – and so did the mixing
bowl he had in his hand. Wine splashed across the floor, but he took no
notice.
Ignoring the mess, he ran toward the door and cried out, “Telemachus!”
He threw his arms around the young man – and only after a minute of
weeping into Telemachus’ shoulder did he remember himself and his
station. He backed away, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.
“Sorry, my boy. Didn’t think I’d see you no more, what with your trip out
to sea. No offence, mind you, dear boy… But you just never done nothin’
like that before, and it was just all so sudden and impulsive-seemin’ and
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what with the suitors all lyin’ in wait for you…” He looked into
Telemachus’ eyes and gave a broad, affectionate smile. “Nor do you
usually come out to these parts anyway. What brings my boy out here to
the country?”
Telemachus stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. He held himself
in the willfully composed and businesslike posture of a man, but he was
obviously working to keep a boy’s smile from creeping across his face.
“I’ve come to see you, Eumaeus.”
“Ahhh, you’re too kind, my boy.” Eumaeus chuckled, and his face
warmed into a much more open version of the gruff affection he had
shown Odysseus.
“I wish I were,” Telemachus replied. His lips curled into a narrow
smile that ironically made him look serious and abrupt. Odysseus guessed
they’d been through this kind of back and forth many times before.
“Actually, I’m here on business. I just – ” He halted mid-thought,
suddenly conscious of the third party present in the room. But after
shooting the “beggar” a quick glance, he must have decided that a smelly
old man sitting in a heap on a swineherd’s floor represented no threat, for
he continued – albeit in an unconsciously lower voice, “I just got back to
the island last night – and in fact I haven’t even been to the city yet.”
“So then what you stoppin’ by here for?”
Telemachus leaned in, and his voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I
wanted to check in with you and see how things are going.”
“Ah, crappy as you might ‘spect. The suitors – ”
He was prepared to start in to another one of his rants, so Telemachus
held up his hands to stop him. “I know, I’m sure they’re carrying on like
their usual selves. But I was just wondering how my mother’s been
holding up since I was gone.”
“Well, I ain’t been up that way much lately,” Eumaeus gave a slow,
sideways answer. “You know how I can’t stand bein’ round that pack of
mongrels up there.”
“I was just wondering if she got married. I’m sure you would have
heard from your men if – ”
“Oh, nothin’ like that. My man that drives pigs to the palace always
brings me some word from up that way, and he ain’t heard nothin’ outta
the usual. Much as he can tell me ‘bout the queen is she sits up in her
room weepin’ for her husband, wishin’ he was back…” Eumaeus paused
for a moment. His eyes, which had been vacant and vague as he spoke,
locked on to Telemachus’ as he added, “Only difference might be she
worries herself that much more with you out wanderin’ the seas.” It was
the closest a fatherly swineherd could get to rebuking his young master –
and he quickly slid back into his position as servant by giving a quick little
bow and taking Telemachus’ spear. “But enough of that for now. Come
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in, come in. Before we say another word, best we get you outta that
doorway and let you get comfortable…”
He placed the spear in a corner, where a few staffs were leaning.
“Here, take my seat,” Odysseus started rising to his feet.
“No, no, please…” Telemachus answered. “I couldn’t.”
“But I wouldn’t dream of sitting here while a prince – ”
“And I wouldn’t dream of making an old man get out of his seat for
me. Just relax; Eumaeus will get me a place soon enough.” Telemachus’
answer was short, and he quickly turned his eyes back to the swineherd –
either in expectation of discussion or to await his preparations. But while
he was as dismissive as might be expected, he was much more courteous
than one would think. His kindness was genuine – and its brevity was
more the result of priority than of contempt. A beggar didn’t demand the
attention of a prince, after all.
Odysseus watched his son, who in turn was watching the swineherd,
and from the obscurity of his feigned position he ventured a smile.
Soon Eumaeus had prepared another place for Telemachus, and the
three men sat together as Eumaeus took out loaves of bread and mixed a
new bowl of wine to round out their breakfast.
As they took their first bites, Telemachus asked Eumaeus, “So where
does your new friend here come from? He doesn’t seem to be from around
here.”
Eumaeus’ eyes darted quickly to the beggar before turning back to the
prince. “Says he was born in Crete. Says he’s wandered all over the seas
before landin’ here.” Eumaeus stopped and peered into the beggar’s eyes
for a moment as if contemplating something. But finally he decided
against mentioning rumors of Odysseus or his opinion of their veracity,
instead concluding, “Says he ‘scaped from a bunch of slavers just off shore
and comes here throwin’ himself at our mercy and beggin’ our help. He’s
all yours now, for what it’s worth. Do what you want, one way or
‘nother.”
“And what am I supposed to do with someone like him?” Telemachus
whispered back.
“Well, sir, I know he ain’t the most pleasant lookin’ – or smellin’ – ”
“It’s not that… It’s… Come on, Eumaeus – you know I have nothing
against the poor. I’m willing to help anybody who’s down on his luck.
But can you imagine how they would treat someone who… Who…”
Telemachus lowered his voice and leaned in toward Eumaeus. “Someone
like that? I mean, just think of what it’d be like if he were left alone with
the suitors… They’d be brutal!”
“I know, sir… And for the sake of goodness I’m willin’ to let him stay
here long as he needs.”
After a few seconds of silence Telemachus added, “Don’t get me
wrong, I’m still going to help. I’ll send him a good set of clothes and some
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sandals – and as long as you want to let him stay here, I’ll send over food
to help you feed him. I know your stores aren’t endless.”
“Works for me,” Eumaeus shrugged.
After a few seconds as the silent subject of the conversation, the beggar
looked up at Telemachus and asked, “If I may be so bold, may I ask you a
question?”
“Of course,” Telemachus answered.
“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but Eumaeus told me about how
these suitors have been acting, and… Well, I’m just curious how they get
away with it. Why doesn’t anybody stop them?”
Telemachus’ face flushed with familiar shame. “I… Well I’d
obviously do something, given the choice. But I’m just one person, and
when they came I was just a boy. It’s hard to…” He halted, turned his
face to the side. His eyes drifted aimlessly, and it looked like he was
squirming in his skin, just dying for a way out of the conversation.
“Oh, I understand that,” the beggar reassured him. “And I meant didn’t
mean to insinuate anything against you. But what about your countrymen?
What about your family? Even if your father left, you must have enough
relatives here to stand up for you – or at least say something about all this.
How could everybody just sit there and watch this happen to your home?”
“You know, I’ve thought about that a lot myself… And it’s a difficult
question.” Telemachus studied his hands for a second, then looked at the
beggar. “To be honest, don’t think they’re to blame. I mean, if a bunch of
young men just waltzed into the palace and started misbehaving out of the
blue, someone would have done something about it – I’m sure of it. But
the problem is it wasn’t that obvious; it happened slowly, gradually. First
they came to the palace and started asking my mother how she was doing,
just a few of the here and a few of them there. None of them had bad
intentions, of course. Times are tough around the royal house, you know,
and they just wanted to see if there was anything they could do to help.
And since they were all well-born young men of noble blood, nobody
thought anything about it. Then, over time, they started slipping in
sideways hints about marriage – and while the bolder insinuations may
have originally led to raised eyebrows and whispers of scandal, people’s
tolerance grew with time. After all, odds of my father’s survival were
growing slimmer with each passing month. Wasn’t it only natural for
young men to start looking into possibilities? How long can a man be lost
at sea before people let his poor widow move on? A year? Five years?
Ten years? When does it reach the point that you’re just denying the
obvious? So over time, people started tacitly approving of the suitors –
and voicing disapproval was viewed more and more as stubborn,
unreasonable, and just plain cantankerous. Thus the suitors grew
comfortable openly asking for the queen’s hand. And as they grew
comfortable, they came in larger numbers and eventually started sticking
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around. Of course if they were staying at the palace they would need to be
provided for, so they naturally started eating from the king’s stores. But
provision soon developed into gluttony, and filling the time led to ruckus
and eventually criminal behavior. Soon they were shouting and singing
into the late hours of the night, bullying manservants and having their way
with maidservants, harassing my mother, and basically acting like they
were running the place. But by that time they were entrenched. Nobody
had disagreed with any of the small steps that brought them to where they
were – so who was going to speak up now? Who was going to stand up in
front of a room full of young men – men who were not only in their
physical primes but who were wealthy and well-connected – and call them
on their behavior? Some of the people were allied with the suitors, and the
rest were too afraid to act. Is it a shame? Yes. But looking back on how it
happened, I’m not sure I can blame people for their inaction.”
“Hm,” the beggar’s head bobbed slowly for a few moments. Then he
broke into a toothy grin and added, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot,
haven’t you, young man?”
Telemachus nodded. “I can’t help but think about it… But the past is
the past – and sitting around crying on each other’s shoulders won’t do us
any good. What we need now is action.” He clapped his hands together
and looked to the swineherd. “Eumaeus, I need you to go tell my mother
that I’ve returned. As much as she’s been dealing with, the last thing she
needs is to be worrying about me.”
“You don’t mind me askin’, why not show yourself to her, ‘stead of me
tellin’ her?”
“Because of the suitors. If some of them are waiting to ambush me at
sea, who knows what the rest will plot if they discover me here? No…
Tell my mother, but otherwise my arrival needs to remain a secret.”
“What ‘bout your grandfather? He’s takin’ it mighty hard himself –
little as he did before, he don’t even run his farm properly no more.
Should I go tell him?”
“I hate to say it, but no. The suitors are running the show right now, so
we need to keep everything as quiet as possible. The fewer people who
know, the better – so tell mother, then come straight back here.”
“Good thinkin’ sir,” Eumaeus said. He rose to his feet and grabbed a
staff. “I’ll be back just soon as I can tell her.”
Then he walked out the door, leaving Odysseus and Telemachus alone
in the hut.
Odysseus had watched his son with keen interest. He’d observed the
boy’s common sense, his bearing – even his kindness to a swineherd and to
what he believed was a simple beggar – and he felt a wave of relief. He
could have come home to meet a son who was a fat and lazy idiot, a bluntheaded tyrant, or a duplicitous snake who took advantage of his position
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and his people at every opportunity. But instead he found what appeared
to be a very well-adjusted and noble young man.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Odysseus silently thanked the gods for this
first blessing. And now, in the awkward silence that followed Eumaeus’
departure, he stole furtive glances at his boy. He choked back tears – both
tears of joy and tears over lost time – and did everything in his power to
maintain his cool, composed façade, even as his heart was bursting with
excitement.
He had let his gaze linger on Telemachus’ face for perhaps a moment
too long – and when the boy made eye contact with him he averted his
eyes toward the door…
And there he saw someone leaning in through the open doorway.
Odysseus was curious. No dogs had barked. There hadn’t been the
slightest sound of footsteps or of gates opening and closing. Yet…
Within a brief moment, however, Odysseus recognized the figure – and
thus realized why it had managed to approach so stealthily.
It was Athena.
She was staring at him with wide eyes, obviously trying to hint at
something. He shot her a curious but confused sideways glance in return –
as openly as he dared with Telemachus sitting in front of him – but
remained seated. Finally she raised her eyebrows, gestured with a wave of
her hand and mouthed the words come on!
He gave a quick nod, then turned to Telemachus. “If you’ll excuse me,
prince, I have to… Well, I hate to speak crudely in the presence of royalty,
but if you don’t mind, I need to step outside for a moment and – ” He
started rising to his feet.
“What? No… No, of course…” Telemachus looked up at him with a
smile. “Go right ahead, do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you kindly, sir. I’ll be right back.”
Odysseus found Athena waiting in the courtyard when he stepped
outside.
“Goddess!” he whispered urgently. After ten years spent without the
aid of her tangible presence, he was thrilled that she had approached a
second time in as many days. Perhaps she would now be collaborating by
his side, just as she had done in the war. And perhaps her appearance
signaled the next stage in their plan. “What brings you to – ”
“It’s time, Odysseus,” she said. Her eyes darted toward the hut for a
moment, then rested back on Odysseus.
“Time for what?”
“It’s time for you to reveal yourself to your son.”
Odysseus’ heart began racing. His jaw dropped, then he paused to
chew at the inside of his cheek as the idea rolled around in his mind.
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Athena cocked her head and looked curiously into his face. “The idea
doesn’t please you?”
“Of course it pleases me…”
“But?”
“But what’s going to make him believe me when I tell him? The boy
hasn’t seen my face since he was a month old – so how would he know me
from any other stranger that washed up on shore? And just look at me!”
He spread out his arms and looked up and down the length of his own
body. “A respectable-looking man would have a tough enough time
convincing the boy that he was Odysseus. So for some beggar to suddenly
up and make the claim – ”
Athena cut him off with a quick, simple, “He’ll believe you.”
“But how? If two minutes ago I was a common, flea-ridden beggar – ”
“You stop being the beggar.” Odysseus started opening his mouth, but
Athena held up a hand to stop him. “Remember, your disguise is not just
in your clothing. Part of your ruse – in fact the most important part of your
ruse – is in your act. So go in there like a king. Go in there like Odysseus.
Stand up tall and walk like yourself, talk like yourself, and tell him who
you are.” She smiled a warm, kind smile and brushed a finger across his
cheek. “After all the scrapes you’ve been through – after all the times
you’ve stared death in the face and schemed, finessed, and just plain
bluffed your way through impossible situations – this one’s going to be
easy. Come on,” she motioned to the door with a tilt of her head. “Go on
in and meet your son.”
Odysseus took a deep breath. As he straightened his crooked back and
stretched his arms and legs, he felt new life flowing through his body.
Over the long hours spent slouched in a stooped and withered position, he
had done more than convince others of his weakness – he had trained his
own body to feel feeble. So to stand tall now reminded him of his power,
as clearly as if a god were pouring strength into his body.
Thus it felt natural for him to raise his head and replace the perpetually
fawning and apologetic air of a beggar with the regal confidence of a king.
He didn’t notice Athena positioning his rags so the bulk of his power
would show through them – and so that a muscle exposed here and there
would hint at his strength. He didn’t notice how, as he ran his hands
through his hair, she made his locks fall into place so that they looked
healthy and thick… But he strode into the hut feeling ready to, for the first
time, announce his return home.
When Telemachus noticed the shadow filling the doorway, he took a
breath and braced himself for long hours of awkward silence and halting
attempts at conversation.
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But the moment he actually laid eyes on the beggar, he could tell that
something was wrong. He jumped to his feet, and his hand instinctively
shot toward the hilt of his sword.
“What’s going on here?” he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes
suspiciously. The man looked a full head taller than when he had left.
While he had stepped out hunched and stumbling, he returned standing tall
and strong. His rags now looked absurdly out of place – a ridiculous
attempt at a costume that couldn’t hide rippling muscles or the bearing of a
man who most certainly wasn’t a tired old beggar. But if he wasn’t a
beggar, what was he? Some kind of foreign spy? An assassin hired by the
suitors? Or… Telemachus’ hand relaxed and moved away from his sword
ever so slightly… Or is he one of the gods in disguise?
The man’s eyes sparkled, and his lips twitched into a clever smile.
“What do you mean, ‘What’s going on here?’”
Telemachus could hear the chuckle in the man’s voice, and he
responded with a scowl. “I mean you’re not a beggar…” As the man
opened his mouth to protest, Telemachus interrupted, “I know you’re not a
beggar, and I want to know why you came here disguised as one. Do you
have illusions of killing me?” He again moved his hand toward his sword
– now in a deliberate display of aggression.
“Of course I don’t want to kill you,” the man’s smile grew even
broader.
Telemachus couldn’t tell if the grin was sincere or ironic, but he had a
clear sense that the man was pulling something over on him. “Okay, then
what’s your game? You better come clean with me, and fast.”
“I’m your father.”
Telemachus reacted the only way he possibly could: He just stood
frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open and his brows furrowed with
a look of skepticism combined with shock. The announcement was so
frank, so out of the blue. And for this rag-covered rogue to suddenly blurt
it out was just plain absurd.
Telemachus had spent his life expecting… Well, he didn’t know what
he expected when his father arrived, but it certainly wasn’t this. Yet still…
The blunt surprise of the announcement fed into a feeling of strangeness,
and somehow that strangeness – along with something else he couldn’t
begin to identify or describe – somehow fueled a feeling of possibility.
After a moment his arms dropped to his side, and he just gazed at the man
in wonder. There was something vaguely familiar – a family resemblance,
and... He didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, after the idea had
taken a few moments to settle in his mind, he knew it was true.
And the next thing he knew, he had run across the room and thrown his
arms around his father’s neck. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the two
embraced. Sure, realistically speaking, the man before him was as much a
stranger now as he was before. The “father” Telemachus had known
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existed only in his own mind – a combination of his own hopes, dreams,
and speculation, fed by stories from his mother and somehow shaped into
an ideal version of what he thought his father might be. So the process of
getting to know this flesh and blood human, of accepting him into his life
and into the family dynamic that had developed between himself and his
mother, of watching him add up to, fall short of, or just be different from
the fantasy that had developed in his mind… It was all a huge unknown.
It would have its ups, and it would certainly have its downs. But it would
also be an adventure – one Telemachus looked forward to immensely.
And more than anything else he finally, after years of insecurity, of an
aimless youth spent gleaning bits of guidance and affirmation from other
men around him, had something tangible to hold on to.
He had his father back.
The two men sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet away from each
other. The tears had dried. The initial reunion was over – but for
Telemachus, that first surge of emotion had faded only to followed by a
giddy feeling of excitement. This was his father. His father! Not only
that but it was Odysseus: legendary hero, king of Ithaca, the man whose
cleverness had brought about the downfall of Troy and ended a ten year
war. And here they were sitting together, conspiring together! He beamed
with pride, struggling to keep a childish grin off his face.
“The first thing,” Odysseus was now saying, “is to find out more about
these suitors. How many of these guys are we dealing with?”
“Hmm, let me think…” Telemachus translated his excitement into
diligent thought. Ever-conscious of his posture and tone of voice, he
turned his eyes upward as he tallied the number of suitors from Ithaca,
from Dulichium, from Zacynthus, from other surrounding lands, and added
them up in his head. “Altogether, there are a hundred and eight suitors –
along with their servants and attendants. There are a lot of them, and
they’re tough men in their primes. But if we were to rally the people of
Ithaca against them – ”
“No,” Odysseus shook his head. “We’re not going to tell the people.”
“Why not?”
“Because we need to keep my presence a secret. For now, we need to
handle this on our own – just the two of us.”
Part of Telemachus felt a growing pride in his position as his father’s
sole co-conspirator. But then another part of him was all too aware of the
hard reality of their situation. “But that pits two of us against more than a
hundred, and… Well, I know you’re smart, father, and I know you’re
strong. But no man can win against those kinds of odds – not without help.
Now I know some people are sympathetic to the suitors. But most people
would take up your cause if we – ”
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“Sure, most people would. But here’s the problem: In any
straightforward, out-in-the-open fight, the suitors have all the advantages.
Not only do they have numbers, but they have the benefit of being
entrenched in power. They’re organized and ready to mobilize; they know
who’s on their side and who’s not, and they have an extensive traitorous
network to draw on. So as things stand right now, we have only one thing
working in our favor: the element of surprise. The suitors don’t know I’m
back – and as long as it stays that way, we can maneuver, size up the
situation, and strike when the time’s right. But the moment we’re exposed,
we’re dead men.”
“But – ”
“Okay, so let’s say we went with your idea,” Odysseus interrupted, his
voice showing the first hint of impatience, “and we tried to recruit ten men
to join us. What would we gain? Assuming, for the sake of argument, that
nine of those men were loyal to me, we would have brought our numbers
up to eleven. Sounds pretty good, right?”
Telemachus nodded, slowly and hesitantly.
“But what about the tenth man?” Odysseus continued. “What happens
when he nods his head and tells us how eager he is to help, but then runs
straight back to the suitors and tells them about us? We’d be surrounded
and ambushed before we knew we’d been betrayed – a pretty high price to
pay for a small increase in numbers.”
Several thoughts swirled through Telemachus’ mind as he sat absorbing
his father’s arguments. The first was a simple feeling of sheepishness at
having his idea analyzed and rejected. Most dominant, though, was the
realization that his father was just one man – just a single flesh and blood
figure… He was brilliant and strong, yes. But he was also fallible, and
now Telemachus had to confront what he had always glossed over in his
fantasies about his father’s homecoming: The reality of how his father
would drive away the suitors. He had never visualized the strategy by
which the great Odysseus would come back and retake the throne – and
now that he tried, his mind came up blank.
After several moments staring dejectedly at the floor, he looked up at
his father and asked, “So it’s just us and Eumaeus?”
“For now it’s just us. Even Eumaeus can’t know who I am.”
“But surely you trust him!” Telemachus burst out.
“Of course I do. Or at least I trust his intentions. What I don’t trust is
his ability to walk among the suitors without accidentally slipping out
some detail or even making a face that would give me away. Listen, a
secret is a really hard thing to keep, even with people you trust – so the
fewer who know, the better. We’ll let Eumaeus in on our secret once the
time’s right and we’ve formulated a plan. He’s sturdy enough to be good
in a fight, and he has that one trait that’s valuable above all others in a
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situation like this: he’s trustworthy. But while we’re scouting things out,
nobody – nobody – aside from us is to know I’m home.”
Telemachus scowled. “Not even mother?”
Odysseus let out a slow, deep sigh. “Especially not your mother.” He
turned his eyes to Telemachus and implored, “Please understand – it’s not
that I don’t trust her. If there’s anybody in this world I do trust, it’s your
mother. But with everything she’s gone through, her face will be an open
book to the suitors the moment she learns I’m back. So no, we can’t tell
her. And while it may seem cold of me to hide myself from her, it’s
necessary for our success – and for our survival. ”
This was not shaping up to be the homecoming Telemachus had
envisioned. “Okay, so we don’t ask for help and we don’t even tell
anybody you’re here. So then what is the plan?”
“The first step is to get down to the palace and scout things out a little.
You head on out first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll follow a few hours
later with Eumaeus.”
“And you don’t think anybody will recognize you?”
“It’s been twenty years since I’ve shown my face in Ithaca, and I’m
twenty years older than I was when I left – so if my disguise fooled
Eumaeus, I’m sure it will fool the people in the palace. But that’s going to
be the easy part. The hard part…” Odysseus trailed off.
“What’s the hard part?”
“The hard part is going to be on your shoulders. From what I
understand about these suitors – and from what I overheard you saying to
Eumaeus – they aren’t the types who are going to treat a dirty old beggar
with any decency.”
“No, they certainly aren’t.”
“So you need to be prepared for what’s going to happen when I show
up. Expect to see me kicked around, spat on, beaten… And no matter how
bad it gets, no matter how hard it is for you to watch, you need to sit back
and pretend it doesn’t bother you.”
“But how could I…” This was most certainly not the homecoming
Telemachus expected.
“Think about it this way: You can keep your mouth shut and watch me
take a few bruises and cracked ribs, or you speak up and watch them kill
me. Which one do you prefer?”
Telemachus didn’t answer.
“Of course you can casually tell them to knock it off – make a
comment about how strangers should be treated in your house, or
something like that. But don’t get emotional, don’t take it too seriously,
and don’t physically intervene. The moment you do, we’re finished. You
think you can handle that?”
Slowly, Telemachus nodded. “I can do it.”
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“Now that’s a start, but all it does is gets me inside the palace. Next we
would need to start positioning ourselves to have the upper hand in a fight.
The household arms are still stored in the main hall, right?”
“Yes. They’re all displayed on racks along the walls.”
“Okay…” Odysseus paused to think. “I think we can make this work.
When I give the word, you’re going to sneak the weapons out and hide
them in the storage room.”
“But won’t the suitors notice they’re missing?”
“I’m sure they will. And if they say anything, just tell them that the
weapons are badly tarnished and need to be cleaned – which is true, right?”
“Right. I don’t think anybody’s taken care of them since you left.”
“So tell them that you don’t want them to get ruined and you’re having
servants polish them. And if that somehow doesn’t satisfy the suitors, tell
them that, the way they’ve been behaving, you’re afraid of them getting
drunk and killing each other in a fight. I don’t know… Frame it in the
context of the fact that you’re growing up and it’s about time you started
taking care of things around here. But whatever you say, make sure it
sounds like you.” Odysseus broke out into a slight smile, and his eyes
sparkled with a father’s pride. “Improvise a little, use your judgment…
From what I’ve seen of you so far, I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“Thank you,” Telemachus lowered his face and struggled not to break
out into a full-blown grin.
“Of course you’ll want to set aside some weapons for us. Choose a
place where they’re well hidden but ready for us to grab at a moment’s
notice.”
“Then what do we do next? I mean even if we’re armed and they’re
not, we still don’t stand a chance against a hundred and eight men.”
“You’re right. Hiding the weapons doesn’t guarantee victory – it’s just
a starting point as we look to make our move. We’re still going to have to
wait, watch for opportunities, and prepare to improvise. But don’t worry.
Even if we’re operating at a one to fifty-four ratio, we’re not alone. We
have allies.”
“Eumaeus and…”
“No, I’m talking about Zeus and Athena. For as long as our cause is
just and we remain faithful to the gods, they will guide us to victory.”
Odysseus flashed his son a clever grin. “Are they powerful enough friends
for you?”
At first Telemachus didn’t answer. He had been hoping for more
immediate and tangible help, of course – but on the other hand he didn’t
want his words to betray a lack of trust in the gods. In the crass, almost
secularized society run by the suitors, there had been few occasions that
called for a sudden leap of faith. So he wondered if he was alone in his
misgivings; he wondered if other Greeks had that gut feeling that divine
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influence was distant pie in the sky – nice in the big picture, but not
something you’d want to rely on in a fight…
Yet with his father watching him and the question hanging in the air, he
nodded and forced a smile. “I think they’ll do just fine.”
“Good,” Odysseus answered. “Now sometime before I reveal myself,
we’re going to have to do a little snooping around at the palace – we need
to check up on our servants to find out who’s still loyal and who’s
conspiring with the suitors. Then…”
The two continued to talk well into the day, catching up on their years
apart and hashing out the details of their plan.
Eumaeus paused for just a moment where the road to the palace ran
along the crest of the hill overlooking the harbor. A ship had just pulled in
to port – Eumaeus guessed it was Telemachus’ – and all around it was a
flurry of activity. There was the usual rush of unloading, tying off, and
greeting, of course… But there was more than that. The crowd around it
was bigger than expected, the rumble of conversation louder. People were
swarming to and from the docks, and it was obvious that rumors would
soon be flying all across the city. He decided to hurry and get his news to
Penelope as soon as possible.
But just as he was turning toward the courtyard gates, he saw someone
running up the hill – not meandering like the others, but moving with
direction and purpose.
“Where you headed?” Eumaeus flagged the man down, and he slowed
to a stop.
“I’m going in to report to the queen,” the man panted.
“Report to her ‘bout what?”
“I was on that ship that just came in. I was sent out to tell her that…”
He stopped midsentence.
“I’m assumin’ you’re here to tell her the boy’s back all safe and
sound.”
The man gave Eumaeus a long sideways look, then answered, “Yes…
Yes, I am.”
“Well you needn’t worry ‘bout holdin’ your tongue ‘round me. I know
as much on the topic as you do or more. Seen the boy myself since he
come back, in fact.”
“We dropped him off on the back side of the island,” the man leaned in
and whispered. “And it’s a good thing we did, too… Just before we came
to port, a ship full of men – ”
Eumaeus held up a hand to stop him. “Best we save the news for the
queen.” He stopped and looked around cautiously. “Let’s go on in and tell
her together – that way she can get the whole story at once, piece it all
together.”
“Good idea,” the man nodded.
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Together they went into the palace to report to Penelope.
“I don’t know how he did it,” Eurymachus stared at the ground, lips
pursed, and shook his head. Finally he raised his eyes and let them drift
across the faces of the suitors around him. “It just blows my mind. Not
only did the boy assemble a crew and a ship, not only did he sail to the
mainland and back, but he somehow managed to slip by our ambush. I
have no idea how he figured out we were waiting for him… And I trust
none of you do either.” His face hardened for a moment as he eyed them
suspiciously. But each suitor responded to Eurymachus’ passing gaze by
shaking his head – and as he never really suspected anything anyway, he
let it pass.
After a few moments of fruitless silence, one of the other suitors spoke
up. “I guess the first thing we need to do is send out another ship to tell
Antinous, so he can come back.”
For just a moment each man silently considered a thought that he
wouldn’t dare share with the others: that as long as they were sitting on
Asteris, Antinous and twenty other suitors were out of contention for
Penelope’s hand. They were all in the process of rejecting the thought
when they heard approaching footsteps and turned to find a suitor named
Amphinomus jogging toward them.
“That actually won’t be necessary,” Amphinomus grinned.
“What?” asked Eurymachus.
“It looks like they figured it out on their own,” Amphinomus explained.
“I just got back from the harbor, and…” He shook his head and broke out
into a chuckle. “Well, go look for yourselves!”
All the suitors jumped to their feet and ran outside the courtyard for a
look. In spite of their frustration at Telemachus’ survival, they all looked
on with barely suppressed grins, sharing Amphinomus’ juvenile delight in
seeing a fast one pulled on someone else. Comical images danced through
their heads: of the crew’s faces as they discovered Telemachus’ ship – sans
Telemachus – and of the slow realization that they’d been had, culminating
in a red-faced Antinous stomping up and down the deck…
“Well don’t just stand there gawking, you idiots,” Eurymachus barked.
“Go down there and help them unload.”
As the men scrambled down the road toward the beach, Eurymachus
stared down at the ship with a growing sense of unease.
Antinous had stormed up to the palace with his face locked in a hard,
grim look and his eyes set in a permanent glare. The other suitors,
suppressing their snickering and sideways glances, had dutifully gathered
around, so that they were now huddled just inside the courtyard gate. All
servants and personal attendants were scattered at a safe distance as the
young men leaned in to hear their informal leader speak.
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“I’m not sure you all understand the gravity of this situation,” his voice
was a deep, quiet mutter. “He got past us. I don’t know how he got past
us, but he did. And if he knew to avoid us, he knew we were planning to
kill him.” He peeked up over the heads of the other suitors for a cautious
look across the courtyard before adding, “The boy’s dangerous. He’s
growing into an able adversary and a clever schemer – clever enough to
turn the population against us if we give him enough time. And as for the
people, I’m afraid their attitudes toward us are already starting to sour.
Rumors are out there, people are getting the idea that we were up to
something – and that we failed. So can you imagine if that boy comes
back here telling everybody that we tried to kill him? They’ve put up with
us because they’re intimidated – and because we’ve never done anything
that overtly wrong. But this… This kind of thing could push them over
the edge. If we don’t play this right, we’re going to look like villains – like
villains and absolute fools.”
The rest of the suitors agreed with him. But they only did so by letting
their heads bob up and down in a sort of stupid, uncommitted
acknowledgment that offered nothing in the way of ideas.
Antinous took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “Fine, if nobody else
wants to say it, I’ll connect the dots for you. We need to kill the boy –
here, on the island.”
The suitors all gasped.
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” asked Amphinomus. “I mean
it’s one thing to quietly drop him to the bottom of the sea. But to cut him
down here in Ithaca, where the people could see us… It’s dangerous – way
too dangerous. It takes this thing to a whole other level.”
“This thing’s already on another level,” Antinous turned to spit on the
courtyard floor, then aimed an evil eye at Amphimous. “Telemachus is
ratcheting up the pressure…”
“Which means that maybe we should back down a little.”
“No, it means that we should act while we have the chance. We have
the upper hand – at least for now. We have the benefit of brute force and
intimidation – for now. And we can still take care of this, if we act – right
now. And the gods have given us the perfect opportunity. Even as we
speak, the boy’s off in the back country, far from prying eyes, just waiting
to be waylaid on some secluded field or rural road.”
“And how do you know that?” Amphinomus demanded.
“That pig slopper from out in the sticks – you know, the crazy-eyed one
who keeps giving us dirty looks and grumbling under his breath – came by
and told the queen. In fact the boy’s staying out at his house right now…
Oh, don’t look so surprised. You know very well we have eyes and ears
all over the palace, even in the queen’s chamber. The brat thinks he’s safe
hidden out there in the country. But we know exactly where he’s at and
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exactly where we can intercept him and ambush him. If we sent groups to
fan out and find nice, quiet areas to wait…”
“Still,” Amphinomus began, “to kill a prince on his own soil…”
Antinous glared. “Really? You really don’t have the stomach for this?
Come on, Amphinomus, I’d say it’s a little late in the game for you to start
going soft on us.”
“I’m not going soft. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to – ”
“Not a good idea? Not a good idea??? I’ll tell you what’s ‘not a good
idea.’ Sitting here doing nothing, that’s not a good idea. Sure, we used to
be able to get away with just loafing around the palace – when the brat was
just a kid. But now he’s growing up, getting dangerous. And time’s no
longer on our side. The longer we wait, the greater the odds that the boy
will end up inheriting the crown, that the people will turn against us, or that
– as unlikely as it may be – the king will come back home.”
“We didn’t worry about the king before.”
“That was before we tried killing his kid. Once we stepped across that
line, we committed ourselves – and there’s no taking back something like
that. Now in an ideal world, it would have been best to dispose of the boy
out at sea – but that’s not an option now. Like it or not, we’ve worked
ourselves into a corner, and killing him here is our last remaining hope.
While it might be risky, we can’t afford to just coast by anymore.”
“I’m not talking about coasting by,” Amphinomus insisted, “and I
agree that we have to do something. All I’m saying is that killing the
prince of Ithaca might not be our best move.”
“And what other option do you propose?”
“Push the queen for marriage.” A skeptical rumble rose from the
suitors, and Amphinomus held up his hands to silence them. “Now listen –
just listen. The queen’s resisted us for years, but now the time is perfect. I
mean think about it. The queen’s just been caught unraveling her own
weaving, all to deceive a population that’s been wondering when she’ll
finally give them a king. Then, on top of that, the presumed heir to the
throne runs off in the middle of the night and tries to get himself killed –
which obviously leaves his judgment up for question. So what’s it going to
be next from these characters? What else might the queen be hiding from
her people? What kind of crazy stunt would the prince pull once he was
given the throne? It seems like everything’s just spiraling out of control
around here.” Amphinomus leaned in with a wicked grin, and the rest of
the suitors listened eagerly as he made the transition from hesitant
spoilsport to clever schemer. “And it would seem that a strong, levelheaded leader is just what this family – and this kingdom – needs. So if we
put on just enough pressure – and play it just right – we’ll maneuver the
queen into a position where she practically has to marry. So here’s what
we do: We start acting nice. We tone down our behavior – just a little bit
– and offer gifts to win her over.”
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“You really think she’ll care about gifts?”
“No, but offering them will make us look like reasonable and legitimate
suitors – and if she refuses us, she’ll come off as a cold, unyielding, and
duplicitous woman whose stubbornness is denying Ithaca its next king.”
“But what about the prince?” Antinous asked. “Do you think he’s just
going to sit there and let it all happen?”
“No, not at all. It may come down to the point that we need to kill him
– and I certainly have nothing against that option. We just need to time it
right. I mean think about it, what would look better to the people? A
bunch of thugs assassinating the heir to the throne? Or a new king who
sadly had to dispose of a rebellious and unruly stepson?”
“You know,” Eurymachus nodded, “that’s actually pretty clever.”
“Yeah, and convenient for you,” Antinous sneered. “From what I’ve
heard you’ve suddenly started cozying up to the queen lately... Acting all
sweet around her, offering her gifts – so I guess Amphinomus’ plan plays
right into your hands.”
“Yeah, and what if it does?” Eurymachus shot back. What if the queen
does pick me?” Or what if she picks you? Or one of these other guys?”
He looked around the circle of the suitors. “Who cares? Whoever she
chooses is going to remember his friends – and as long as she picks one of
us, we all make out like bandits. But if the boy inherits the throne…”
The idea set off a flurry of mumbled discussion. Of course, deep down
they all recognized Eurymachus’ speech as a bit of slick salesmanship, and
deep down each man secretly wanted the queen – and the crown – for
himself. But they more or less agreed on the main issue at hand, so it
didn’t take long for them to arrive at their conclusion. They’d wait to
move against Telemachus – at least for now. The first order of business
was to get the queen married.
A boar was already roasting on the fire when Eumaeus came back.
Odysseus was huddled on the floor, his shoulders slouched and his
deerskin pulled close around his neck in a purposeful effort at fading back
into his beggar’s disguise, and Telemachus was squatting next to the fire
where he slowly turned the boar on its spit. As soon as the door opened,
Telemachus’ eyes shot up to find the swineherd standing in the entrance.
“Ah, you got dinner all ready and waitin’ for me, huh?” Eumaeus
grinned.
Telemachus returned a warm smile. “Just about.”
“Hmph,” Eumaeus chuckled. “Don’t imagine many swineherds come
home and find a prince fixin’ their supper.” He leaned his staff in the
corner before kneeling next to the hearth and opening his hands toward the
fire.
“And I don’t imagine many princes have swineherds worth cooking
for.”
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Eumaeus could respond only with an embarrassed breath of a laugh
between closed lips.
They watched quietly for a few minutes as the pig charred and its
drippings fell into the fire and sizzled.
Finally Telemachus, who had expecting an outpouring of news, turned
to Eumaeus and asked, “So did you learn anything back at the palace?”
“Well…” Eumaeus stopped to process the question for a moment.
“Told your mother you’re okay and all. ‘Course she was plenty happy to
hear it.”
“And what about the suitors? Did you hear anything from them?”
“Nah, didn’t as much as see a one of ‘em.”
“Did you happen to find out if Antinous and the others had come
back?”
“Well, one more ship was pullin’ in just as I was headin’ back this
way.” Eumaeus shrugged. “Might’ve been them, might not’ve been.
Didn’t stick around long enough to find out…”
“But why not?” Telemachus asked. He looked at Eumaeus then shot a
furtive glance at the “beggar,” appalled at the lack of information his
servant had retrieved.
“Look, sir… No disrespect, but you told me to bring a message to your
mother, and I brung a message to your mother. You asked nothin’ more of
me on my trip, so after that I used my own judgment and come back.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know I don’t hardly ever go into town no more. So if they
suddenly find I’m pokin’ round the palace right after you just skipped past
their trap, they may easily start piecin’ things together.” He turned and
looked at Telemachus with big, serious eyes. “They do that, and they
could just as quick figure out you’re here with me – and with you way out
here so far from watchful eyes, that’d be the last thing we need.”
Telemachus said no more.
“Look at you guys!”
The suitors jumped with a start and turned their heads to find Penelope
storming out of the palace door, glaring and jabbing a pointed finger
toward them.
“Just look at you!” she shouted. Her voice was high, almost breaking
as it trembled with both anger and barely-concealed nervousness. “Sitting
around my palace, plotting to kill my son – to murder a prince of royal
blood!”
“Oooooh!” Antinous raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips into a
tight circle that tensed with a restrained smile. “Someone’s maaaaad!
Look out guys – I think it’s that time of the month for our – ”
“Is that the best you can do, Antinous? After all Odysseus has done for
you? He took your family in, protected your father when his own people
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were ready to string him up. Yet you return his kindness by trying to steal
his wife while he’s away – ”
“He’s not ‘away,’” Antinous quipped. “He’s dead.”
Penelope ignored him. “ – by sitting around his palace eating
everything he has, and now, if that all weren’t enough, by trying to kill his
son? And when you’re confronted all you can do is joke about it? Shame
on you. Shame on you all!!!”
Antinous just shrugged and turned back to make some face – she
couldn’t see what it was – that elicited a laugh from the other suitors.
“Now your highness,” Eurymachus stepped forward and reached out to
Penelope. “Nobody’s trying to kill your son.”
Penelope shrunk back, piercing into Eurymachus with furious eyes.
“You think I don’t know what goes on around this palace? You think I
won’t hear about it when you’re all plotting to – ”
“Your highness…” Eurymachus put a gentle hand on the side of her
arm. She tensed up but held her ground. “Penelope... Please – be
reasonable. Nobody here’s killing your son. Now I know there are a lot of
rumors out there – ”
“Rumors??? You think you can dismiss everything I’ve heard as – ”
“Please, dear queen. You’re upset. Not only are you having to come to
terms with the loss of your husband, to struggle with letting go and moving
on, but now top of it all your son just went off and did something crazy –
and now you don’t know if he’s ever coming back. So you’re stressed. I
get it. You’re going to be a little high-strung right now, and when you hear
things – no matter how unbelievable – they’re going to get to you. But
really, to accuse us of trying to kill Telemachus? We’ve known you and
your family for years, and half of us are old family friends. Why I myself
remember old Odysseus holding me in his lap and feeding me when I was
just a little guy. I could never even think of doing him harm. I could only
consider marrying you because it’s so unlikely he’s still alive. And I
would never ever try to kill a member of his household – especially the
dear son of a woman I love.”
Penelope just stared at him, nostrils flaring.
“Believe me, highness. If anybody as much as touches a hair on your
boy’s head, we’ll be the first to avenge him.”
It was unclear whether Penelope even considered believing him – or
whether she saw the cold-hearted plans that lurked beneath his honeyed
words and the saccharine look of concern on his face. She didn’t appear
satisfied, however, as she exhaled a quick breath then wheeled around and
stomped back across the courtyard toward the palace.
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Chapter 13
The Beggar Goes to the Palace
Eumaeus woke with a start.
At once his eyes shot wide open and began darting around; he turned
his head slightly so that his ears could pick up the slightest sound. The hut
was completely dark – save for the soft glow of embers in the hearth – and
for the most part everything was still. The dogs weren’t barking, the pigs
weren’t stirring… It was obviously early in the morning – very early.
Yet Eumaeus was sure that something or someone had awakened him.
It was a strange experience for a man who was usually up and moving pigs
before dawn – and considering his recent fears for Telemachus’ safety, it
made him very nervous. He could think of no good reason for someone to
be snooping around the hut at this time of the morning.
He lay still for a few more seconds and listened, hoping it was just his
imagination. But then he heard an unmistakable bumping and shuffling in
the corner, and he was on his feet in a flash.
He tip-toed over toward the source of the sound and saw a figure in the
corner of the room next to the spears and staffs. The figure turned around,
Eumaeus raised a closed fist – and by the feeble orange light from the
hearth, he recognized the face as that of Telemachus.
“Oh, sorry!” the boy whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Eumaeus lowered his fist and released his held breath with a long sigh.
“Don’t worry nothin’ bout that. You just startled me is all.” As his eyes
adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that Telemachus was wearing a cloak
and holding a spear – and he added, “What you up to, anyway?”
“I’m going back to the palace.”
“At this time of the mornin’?” Eumaeus rasped. He glanced back over
his shoulder, then lowered his voice and added, “Whatever for?”
“I’m going to go meet my mother, let her know I’m okay…”
“Well I already told her you was okay. What was the point in sendin’
me all the way out there and back if you were just goin’ to – ”
“Sorry, Eumaeus. It’s just that... Well, I wasn’t actually planning on
doing this, but the comment you made last night got me thinking… I
really will be safer if I can get back to the palace – and I’m better off
heading out sooner than later. They’re probably still confused now about
why I wasn’t on the ship, and if I leave early enough I can slip into the
palace while they’re still sleeping off their hangovers. But the longer I
wait, the more likely it is that they’ll figure things out and ambush me on
the way out there. Now I’m glad you went and told my mother yesterday –
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I really am. I feel better knowing she didn’t have to go to sleep wondering
about me. But now I need to get back there myself.”
“Guess that’s fair enough,” Eumaeus mumbled. “But you given any
thought about what to do with him?” He gestured to the beggar with a
quick backward toss of his head. “I know you said you’d help me if he
stayed here, but he still has that fool idea of beggin’ at the palace, and – ”
Telemachus shook his head. “Look, I have enough to worry about
without having to drag another traveler along with me. If he’s really that
set on going down there, you can take him later today.”
“Mmh,” Eumaeus grunted. “You sure he’s gonna be happy ‘bout that?
I mean – ”
“I actually think it’s a great idea!” a voice spoke out behind Eumaeus.
Eumaeus jumped and turned to find the beggar standing behind him.
His mind raced back over the comments he’d made, cataloguing them and
trying to decide whether the beggar had overheard anything offensive.
“I… I didn’t know…”
“That’s okay,” the beggar smiled. “And I’m sorry to have startled you.
But from what I’ve overheard, I like the prince’s suggestion. I’d love to
get down to the palace, but I don’t feel like dragging my old bones out
there at this time of the morning. It would be perfect to wait a little and let
things warm up outside before heading out – if you don’t mind making the
extra trip.”
Eumaeus stopped to consider, his face set still as stone in an expression
that may have had a sour edge. Finally he answered, “Yeah, I guess one
more trip wouldn’t kill me.”
With a “Thank you” to Eumaeus and a quick knowing wink at his
father, Telemachus stepped through the door and into the morning
darkness.
The women, of course, had run up to Telemachus screaming and
crying and chastising him for taking off without telling anybody. The
suitors, of course, had milled about on the fringe of the crowd before
wandering in to congratulate Telemachus on his voyage, carry on about
how proud they were to see him pull it off and how suddenly he’s grown
up, and otherwise gush forth pleasantries – even as their minds were racing
through ways to dispose of him.
Soon, however, everything had settled into place. Peiraeus had brought
the fugitive prophet Theoclymenus back to the palace as planned, and soon
Telemachus, his mother, and his guest were gathered around a table
sharing a meal.
Once the usual rounds of small talk and general catching up had passed,
Penelope turned to her son and asked, “So this trip of yours… How did it
go?” She posed the question in an offhand tone that was meant to sound
bored, even disdainful. She held her head high, kept her nose slightly
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upturned… Both her expression and her body were locked into a cold,
haughty demeanor – all of it meant to communicate that, while she was
happy to have her son home and was relieved that he was okay, she still
didn’t approve of his recent shenanigans. She was only asking to be polite
– not because she was interested in the least…
But Telemachus could sense the eagerness behind her act. With a
casual half-smile, he gave her the minimal answer. “Oh, it went fine.”
Penelope’s eyes darted to Telemachus, resting on him for a second
before she remembered to let her gaze turn coldly to the middle distance.
“Really? And did you learn anything about your father?” Not that I
suspect you did, but it’s cute that you tried, so of course a mother should
ask…
With a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, Telemachus shrugged. “Eh…
A little. Not too much.”
Penelope’s eyes now locked onto Telemachus, purposefully and
permanently. “Oh really? And what did you hear?” Okay, so there’s no
denying it – I AM interested. But don’t make me drag it out of you.
“Well, Nestor didn’t have much to say. All he could tell me is that he
got separated from father right after the war. The big news came from
Menelaus.”
Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. “He saw your father?”
“He hadn’t actually seen him – but when he was out near Egypt the Old
Man of the Sea told him that father was living on an island with a nymph
named Calypso.”
“Hm.” Penelope’s face was still as stone, but her eyes flickered with
something – Jealousy? Insecurity? Thin, cautious hope? – that Telemachus
couldn’t quite identify. “And how long ago was this?”
“It was about seven years ago.”
“Hmmm.”
“Look, mother… I know it was a long time ago, but it’s the best news
we’ve heard yet. Isn’t a distant chance better than no chance?”
Telemachus silently debated with himself how much farther he could
reassure her without giving too much away. “And besides, if father’s
trapped with a goddess – and he is trapped, very much against his will – at
least he’s safe…”
“Hm.”
“If you don’t mind me adding something…” Theoclymenus leaned
forward slightly. He waited for Penelope to nod, then he continued, “I’m a
prophet, and I believe the gods have sent me word about your husband.”
“And what would that be?” Penelope asked. She worked hard to
sound polite, but her voice was worn by the strain of thin hope, false
reports, and endless disappointment.
“While your son and I were on our way back from Pylos, I saw a hawk
fly by on our right hand side, carrying a dove in its talons and scattering
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feathers across the waters. I firmly believe, based on my years of
experience divining the gods’ will, that this is a sign that your husband is
alive and well – and that he’s either on his way to Ithaca,” he leaned in
even farther and in a low voice added, “or that he’s on this island now,
even as we speak.”
Penelope’s eyes were glossed over, her lips pursed. With wavering
voice she replied, “I thank you, young man, for your prophecy and for your
words of encouragement. I pray that the gods reward you richly – and you
can trust that, if your report proves true, we will reward you as well.”
They were weary words, obviously spoken many times to many other
eager messengers.
Telemachus glanced at his mother, noticed the tired look on her face…
Choking back his desire to soothe her sorrow, he lowered his eyes to his
plate and took another bite of food.
“Well,” Eumaeus glanced out the open window, then turned back to
the beggar, “we already used up a good part of the mornin’ just sittin’ here,
so I guess we might as well do somethin’… ‘Course if it was up to me, I’d
as soon you stuck ‘round the place. Don’t figure you’re handy for much –
no offense – but it’d be nice havin’ another warm body here to keep an eye
on things when I’m away.” He looked at his guest expectantly, waiting to
see if he’d take the offer – but no reply was forthcoming, so the swineherd
went on: “But if you’re dead set on goin’ down to see the palace, we better
get a move on. It’s a long, hard day of walkin’, ‘specially for the likes of
you – again, no offense – and while we’ve waited out the mornin’s chill,
we wait much longer and we’ll catch evenin’s chill before we’re done.”
“Sounds good to me.” The beggar rose to his feet in a ponderously
slow, creaky movement. He pulled his deerskin tight around his shoulders.
“You mind letting me borrow a walking stick? If the path is going to be
that rough, I’d – ”
“Course you can borrow a stick,” Eumaeus answered. He walked over
to the corner, grabbed a sturdy one, and handed it to the beggar. “That
good enough for you?”
The beggar gripped it tight, lifted it up and down a couple times to feel
its weight, and practiced leaning on it. “I think it should work just fine.
Thank you, sir.”
“Think nothin’ of it. We may be in short supply of cloaks ‘round here,
but in these parts sticks actually grow on trees, if you can believe it.” He
started to chuckle, worked his way up to a mighty, heaving laugh, then
wiped a tear from his eye. “You ready to move out?”
“I’m ready,” said the beggar.
The road from the swineherd’s hut to the palace traversed nearly the
entire island of Ithaca. It rose and fell with rolling hills, wound around
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craggy peaks, disappeared beneath the leafy cover of forests, and was
interrupted at the fords of rushing streams. In short, the route was as
treacherous as it was beautiful, its road – or more accurately path – often
uneven, rocky, and crisscrossed with exposed tree roots.
Eumaeus had made the trip hundreds of times before. He’d walked it
in the rain, walked it by night, even herded pigs over it… But nothing had
prepared him for the painstaking experience of leading a stumbling,
hunched-over beggar along it. The mind-numbingly slow pace, the grip of
the old man’s hand on his arm, the countless times he had to turn and catch
him as he stumbled – everything about the trip was absolutely frustrating,
even infuriating. But Eumaeus tolerated it with as much patience and good
humor as humanly possible.
Thankfully they made it to their destination before nightfall.
It was still a couple hours before sunset when he and his guest started
approaching a pleasant little grove of populars about a half mile outside
town. At the center of the grove was a fifteen-foot tall rock formation. A
steady flow of water burbled from its peak, spreading apart into dozens of
rivulets that trickled down the cracks of its craggy face before finally
coming back together to form a cool, clean pool at the base. It was a
popular spring that saw a steady stream of activity throughout the day –
women from town coming to fill jars, travelers stopping for a drink,
herdsmen from nearby pastures watering their flocks.
Yet now the area was nearly abandoned; as the two men approached
the spring, all they saw was a couple dozen goats standing along the pool’s
edge, busy doing nothing but lazily chewing their cud or dipping their
heads down for a casual drink. Here and there a couple kids scampered in
circles around each other and between unflinching parents, but that was the
extent of the activity. All in all, it was a perfectly serene, pastoral scene…
But the moment Eumaeus laid eyes on the creatures, he let out an
irritated breath and grunted to himself, “Melanthius.”
“What’s that?” asked the beggar.
“Melanthius. These are his goats – or my master’s goats, rather.
Melanthius is s’posed to be in charge of carin’ for them, but he’s nothin’
more than a – ”
He was cut off by a shout of, “Aye, Eumaeus!” and the two men turned
to see a dingy, wiry man with tangled hair shuffling toward them from
around the corner of the rock. “What brings yer sorry butt to this side a’
the island, eh?”
Eumaeus inhaled as though preparing to retort – but then just released
his breath with a long sigh and gestured to the beggar with a jab of his
thumb. “I come to bring him in to the palace.”
“What, that?” Melanthius spread a wicked grin across his face. “Yah
bringin’ a scrawny thing as that to the palace?” He approached and began
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walking in circles around the beggar, eyeing him and down. “Wow, things
mus’ be gettin’ pretty dern slim down at yer sties, eh?”
Eumaeus grunted, his face covered with a weary and slightly irritated
look that indicated he knew he was being set up for some kind of
punchline. He didn’t know exactly what it was going to be, but he’d
suffered enough of the goatherd’s obnoxious sarcasm to know it was
coming – and to know that, since any attempt at fighting it would just lead
to more abuse, the best course was to wait for it and bear it. So with a low
growl, he replied, “And what exactly you mean by that?”
“I mean...” He kept inspecting the beggar, as if sizing up a piece of
livestock. “Well, no ‘ffence, but ‘f a smelly, scrawny lit’l pig as this ‘s th’
best yah can bring tah th’ palace, then...”
“He ain’t a pig, Melanthius, and you know it. He’s a man.”
“Oh is ‘e now???” Melanthius cackled. “Well now that’s somethin’
else alltahgether – now you an’ yer sorry heap-a-bones don’t got nothin’
goin’ fer yah ut all. See ‘f this ‘ere was a pig, then at least yah could’a
claimed tah have gotten ‘im walkin’ upright, and that’d at least a’ been
somethin’. But e’ ain’t nothin’ more ‘n a filthy ol’ man – and by th’ looks
‘f ‘im, e’s come tah do nothin’ but leach off us.”
Eumaeus squeezed his fists tight and growled, “Now you just leave him
be, you old – ”
“Ah, yer right, Eumaeus, yer right – an’ I’m sorry. I mean ‘ere the
gods fine-ly seen fit tah send yah a fitt’n c’mpanion, and whatta I do? I go
an’ start makin’ fun. Well, I do ‘pologize, Eumaeus. I mean really, this
‘ere man’s a blessin’ tah both ‘f us – tah you ‘cause yah finally got a friend
‘f equal quality tah yerself, ‘nd tah me, ‘cause... Well, yah want tah know
why fer me?”
“Why’s that?” Eumaeus grunted.
“’Cause now I c’n fine-ly lay claim to someth’n I never thought I’d be
able to rightly say before: That I set my eyes on somethin’ as filthy ‘n
smelly as ol’ Eumaeus.”
“Now that’s enough, Melanthius!” Eumaeus jabbed a finger at the
goatherd. “This man ain’t done nothin’ to harm you. All he wants is to
pass on through to the palace, and – ”
“Yeah, an’ what’s ‘e want tuh do once ‘e gets there, eh? Giv’n any
thought tah that?”
“It ain’t none of your business what he wants to do. He just – ”
“This man comes ‘ere tah beg – I c’n tell yah that ‘ere an’ now. ‘e’s a
vagrant, plain ‘s day. An’ yah know someth’n, Eumaeus? When the likes
‘f this come tromp’n inta town, it is my bis-ness – an’ don’t you try say’n it
ain’t. It’s all our bis-ness. Now sure, yah c’n sit there all day long tell’n
me ‘e ain’t done me ‘arm – but give ‘im time, an’ ‘e’ll put th’ hurt on all ‘f
us. ‘e’ll sit there, loung’n in th’ door, hold’n out ‘is hand, ‘spectin’ us tah
give from what we rightf’ly earned. An’ people’ll keep giv’n, an’ ‘e’ll
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keep tak’n. We’ll keep work’n, an’ ‘e’ll keep loaf’n. We’ll bust our backs
try’n tah grunt out a liv’n, while this guy’s loung’n on ‘is backside
skimm’n the fat offa what we earned. So you’ll fergive me, Eumaeus, if I
think ‘is bis-ness ‘ere is my bis-ness – and if I take some ‘ception to ‘is
showin’ up an’ ‘ssumin’ I’ll just work that much ‘arder tah s’pport one
more freeloadin’ bum.”
“Now, Melanthius, this man here’s a guest – and you don’t know
nothin’ about him or what brought him here.”
“Yeah, I s’ppose yer right... Maybe I’s a bit quick tah judge. And hey,
might just be I been wrong ‘bout this fellah all ‘long. Maybe ‘e don’t
come tah beg. Maybe ‘e actually wandered ‘round her lookin’ fer work,
an’ ‘ere I am steppin’ in ‘nd makin’ ‘sumptions. So whatta yah say,
stranger?”
“Melanthius...” Eumaeus lowered his face and shook his head.
“No, no – let ‘im speak fer ‘imself. Give ‘im th’ chance tah prove me
wrong.” He turned to the beggar and added, “So whatta yah gotta say fer
yerself, old man? Feel like a litt’l work? I got plenty fer yah tah do, if
only ye’r willin’ tah do it. Hmmm, let’s see... How yah feel ‘bout startin’
with a litt’l goat crap? I don’t ‘magine you could fancy yerself too good
fer it – an’ surely yah can’t claim to smell better’n it, eh? Heh, heh, heh...
Why, if anything, I’d worry over you stinkin’ up my turd piles…”
Melanthius pressed his lips together, nodded his head slowly, and looked
the beggar up and down, his face covered with an expression of mock
benevolence. “But yah know, I just may be will’n tah give yah a shot
anyways – let yah feel the pleasure of bein’ useful once in yer miser’ble
life, maybe relieve th’ world of the burden of one’f its many bums. Ain’t
nothin’ wrong in giv’n a man a chance, eh? So wadda yah think, ol’ man?
Think yah c’n handle a shovel? Think yah c’n bring y’rself to put in a
good day’s work in exchange fer yer food?”
“Look, Melanthius,” Eumaeus took a step forward. “I’m givin’ you
one more chance to shut your dirty mouth and – ”
“Yer givin’ me ‘nother chance, eh? Oh is that right? And what yah
gonna do ‘f I don’t shut my dirty mouth – huh? You sudd’nly in charge ‘f
what I do ‘n don’t do? Of what I say ‘n don’t say? Eh?” He laughed and,
with a broad wave of his hand, swept aside any implied concern over the
swineherd’s threats. “Naaaah! I don’t bother myself ov’r threats from
some louse-covered pig farmer. No, what I’m worried ‘bout is what our
masters’ll think ‘f we come draggin’ a piece ‘f filth as that inta th’ palace.”
“Now those boys ain’t our masters, Melanthius, and you know it.
Odysseus is our master, and – ”
“Oh, cram it, Eumaeus,” Melanthius laughed. “I got no int’rest in
hear’n yah serminizin’ ‘n bellyachin’ over all that ag’n. We’re servants –
we serve. Ain’t no use worrin’ ourselves ov’r who we happen to be serv’n
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at any p’ticuler time, when work’s work either way. Odysseus ‘s gone, and
these boys ‘s whose in charge now – ”
“But the queen and the prince – ”
“Ahhh, they ain’t no ‘ccount tah nobody. They don’t run things ‘round
here. The queen’s suitors do – and humble workers as us ‘d be best tah
just buckle down and do as we’re told by th’ ones as are in charge.”
“Yeah? And what’ll you do when the king comes back?”
“‘When he does?’ Whatta yah mean ‘when he does?’ Try if he does.
Or better yet, try he ain’t com’n back never – ‘cause that’s ‘bout th’ size ‘f
it. Ol’ Odysseus been gone a good twenty years, ten ‘f ‘em totally
un’ccounted for, an’ anybody goes ‘round talkin’ like he is comin’ – or
uses the threat ‘f ‘is return to get th’ last word in a quarrel – ain’t noth’n
more ‘n a dreamer ‘n an idiot. Naaaahh… Our masters is the ones down
there waitin’ for me in the hall. They’re gonna stay our masters too, far as
that goes – an’ the sooner you get yerself reconcil’d to th’ fact th’ better.”
“I ain’t never acceptin’ them as my masters. Right’s right, no matter
who has the power, and – ”
“Oh, jus’ shut it, Eumaeus. We been through this a hundr’d times, an’ I
don’t care tah go through it no more. I got one thing, an’ one thing only
left tah say – if yah know what’s good fer yah, yah won’t go dragg’n trash
as this down tah th’ palace. An’ you,” Melanthius turned and pointed at
the beggar, “yah better jus’ scoot ‘long tah somewheres else, ‘cause we
don’t take kindly tah yer kind ‘round here. Stick ‘round these parts an’
keep pesterin’ us with yer beggin’, an’ you’ll quick enough find yerself in
a world ‘f hurt.”
With that, Melanthius ran straight for the beggar and swung his leg up,
delivering a kick straight to the man’s hip – but the beggar didn’t as much
as budge.
Melanthius paused for just a moment and cocked his head, momentarily
startled by the ineffectiveness of his assault. It felt like he had slammed
his foot into the side of an oak tree... But while the sturdiness of the
beggar should have been a cause for concern – or at least significant
reconsideration – Melanthius treated it like a fleeting curiosity, dismissing
it as a fluke or a trick of the eye. The man was only a beggar, after all.
So Melanthius just shook his head with a chuckle, then turned to walk
away. With one last glance over his shoulder, he called back, “Smell yah
later, yah nasty ol’ fool – you’n yer no ‘ccount heap-a-rags beggar friend.”
Then he dashed away, driving his goats out toward the city.
“So whatta you think?” Eumaeus turned and asked the beggar. “Still
wanna go on to the palace?”
The beggar’s eyes narrowed as he peered out to the road ahead of them.
From off in the distance they could still hear the profane shouting and
cackling laughter of the goatherd up ahead of them. Quietly and with
simple determination, he answered, “Yes.”
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“Mmmm…” Eumaeus shook his head. “That’ll be as good as you’ll
be getting’ treated today, my friend. Only gets worse at the palace – way,
way worse.”
“Well, the way I look at, you never know what life has in store for
you,” the beggar answered. “All you can do is keep moving forward and
take the challenges as they come.”
Eumaeus stopped for just a moment, vaguely impressed by the beggar’s
answer. He was starting to get the impression that there was something
different about this man, but…
“Come on, let’s get movin’,” he told his companion.
And the two men began the last leg of their journey.
Melanthius drove his goats into the royal courtyard, then let them mill
about freely as he strolled into the palace and joined the suitors in the main
hall.
“Ahh, Melanthius,” Eurymachus called out. “Good evening! Come,
join us, join us!” He snapped his fingers, and servants ran forward to set a
place at the table. As the goatherd took a seat, Eurymachus asked, “So,
any news from out in the country?”
“Nah, nothin’ much to speak of. Smelly ol’ pig slopper’s right b’hind
me on ‘is way inta town, but that’s ‘bout much as I seen as might be of
int’rest.”
“So he’s bringing in the pigs himself today, huh?”
“Nah, no pigs. All ‘e got with ‘im is a lousy beggar – a heap’a crap
that’s cover’d in fleas an’ smells worse th’n the slopper ‘imself. Don’t got
no idear why e’d bother draggin’ somethi’n like that inta th’ palace, but
then ‘gain ‘e always was a little strange – an’ by strange I mean a
d’sgusting ‘n stup’d ol’ fool.”
He took a bite of bread, and all around the suitors started giggling.
“Hmmm,” said Eurymachus. “So Eumaeus is bringing a guest in,
huh?”
Through a mouthful of food, Melanthius answered, “Yup.”
As everybody settled in to their meals, Eurymachus exchanged a quick
nod with Antinous. “Interesting,” he said.
Playing the part of the beggar had been a struggle for Odysseus from
the very beginning. In spite of his talent for the role – his self possession
and attention for detail made him perfect for it – the act of constantly
keeping himself hunched, weak, and dull was horribly tedious from the
beginning.
But now it was absolute torture. As the rural landscape faded and
Odysseus slowly found himself surrounded by buildings, he began to
recognize the town that surrounded his palace. First there were flashes of
recognition as he remembered a house here or a shop there, as he navigated
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a busy street corner that he hadn’t thought about in twenty years but whose
traffic patterns were more or less unchanged and – once he saw them –
instantly familiar. Then his mind began piecing together all the parts,
recalling an astonishing number of specifics that had for two decades lain
dormant as the vaguest abstractions. And finally, from the distance, he
began make out in greater and greater detail the courtyard walls
surrounding his palace. And as he did, his skin crawled with the effort of
maintaining his foot-shuffling pace, of looking at his city with dull eyes…
Everything inside him wanted to look around in wonder, to point things out
to Eumaeus and ask a thousand questions – and above all else, to break
into a full sprint and race toward home.
He maintained his act, however, with astonishing discipline – and with
the thought of having his long-awaited homecoming ruined at the last
minute by a stupid mistake.
Finally the two men had inched their way into the palace courtyard.
“Hm,” Odysseus took a casual look around. “Nice place.”
“Indeed,” answered Eumaeus. “The buildin’s is nice, at any rate…
Now if we could just say as much ‘bout the people here.”
Music, generally drowned out by loud voices, could be heard coming
out through the palace door as they approached.
“A banquet?” asked Odysseus.
“‘Course a banquet – if banquet’s a polite enough word for describin’
it. All them boys do in there is spend their time eatin’, drinkin’, and
playin’ at the master’s expense.” There was a loud crashing sound,
followed by an uproar of laughter, shouting, and vulgar comments from
inside. Eumaeus winced, then turned his face his guest. “Look, sir… If
I’s in your shoes I’d stay clear of that place by a mile – but if your heart’s
still set on steppin’ into that hornet’s nest, you’d best be smart ‘bout it at
least.”
“How so?”
“You got a hard ‘nough road ahead of you as is – and since the men in
there don’t like me much, you ain’t gonna do yourself any favors by
showin’ up ‘long side of me. You may as well not go tryin’ to make this
harder than it’ll already be, so I suggest we go in separate and casual,
actin’ like we don’t know one another. Either you go in first and I follow,
or I go in first and you follow – givin’ it a few minutes ‘fore you do.
Which way you wanna go?”
“Doesn’t make much difference to me… I guess you can go ahead. I’ll
go in after you.”
There was another crash, followed by a piercing scream and more
laughter.
“And you really sure you wanna go in there? It’s gonna be a rough go,
I’ll tell you for sure. Better be prepared to take your share of – ”
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Touched by his swineherd’s loyalty, Odysseus couldn’t help but crack a
bit of a smile. “Trust me. I’ve done my share of begging, and I know
what’s coming – but in my position a man has to do what he can to get his
belly filled.”
“Whatever works for you,” Eumaeus shrugged.
The men had nearly reached the palace door when they passed by a
dung heap – and Odysseus saw something that made his heart drop in his
chest.
Eumaeus noticed he had stopped and – apparently having had more
than his fill of slow travel and endless delays – let out a slow, irritated
breath. “Somethin’ holdin’ you up?”
Lying in the dug heap was a mangy, flea-bitten dog. It was a sorry
sight, its skin stretched tight over bones that were wracked with age.
Curled up and shivering with its nose pressed up against the exposed ribs
of its body, it scarcely had the strength to gnaw at some fleas on its skin
before lowering its head and letting out a light whimper.
Odysseus recognized the dog at once – and his heart broke with the
desire to run up, scratch it behind the ears, and lift the poor thing out of the
filthy manure pile.
But instead he just motioned to the dog and asked, “They always let
strays in the courtyard?”
“Nah,” Eumaeus shook his head sadly. “That ain’t no stray. That’s my
master’s dog – name’s Argus.”
“It doesn’t look like a king’s dog to me.”
“Oh, he ain’t always looked that way, to be sure. Used to be a great
huntin’ dog, trained from a pup by my master himself – and boy, you
should’a seen him in his day. Ain’t no dog was able to run as fast. He’d
follow a trail for miles, turn on a time at the master’s command. But time
ain’t been kind to him. And the way he’s been cared for’s been even less
kind. Hasn’t gotten much’ve any care long as the suitors’ve been here –
nothin’ more than a quick kick as one of ‘em’s walkin’ by.”
“What a shame,” Odysseus said. He tried to sound casual, even as he
fought to keep his voice level.
The dog’s ears perked up upon hearing Odysseus’ voice, and he lifted
his head. The moment he saw his master, his tail started wagging – and his
body tensed with the effort of trying to rise. He was unable to lift himself,
however, and with a whine he deflated and dropped back into the dung.
“Hm,” Eumaeus said. “Seems to have taken a likin’ to you.”
Argus lowered his head, rested his chin on his front leg, and closed his
eyes. At that moment, Odysseus somehow knew the dog was dead.
“Yep,” he said. “It would seem so.” Tears were starting to well up in
his eyes, and he turned away to hide his face. “I guess you’d better get
inside. I’ll be in there in just a little bit.”
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The conversation gradually lowered to a murmur. Suitors shot each
other curious whispers or jabbed their neighbors with an elbow before
pointing to the door – and slowly each set of eyes in the room turned to
find an old beggar standing in the entrance, leaning heavily on his staff as
he scanned the hall with hungry eyes.
Glances quickly turned from the beggar to Telemachus, then to
Antinous, then to Eurymachus, each member of the crowd wondering who
would take charge of the new “situation” and how he would respond.
Telemachus was the first to cut into the silence. “Eumaeus,” he called
out. He grabbed a loaf of bread and several slices of meat. “It would
appear we have a new guest. Why don’t you bring him something to eat?”
Eumaeus nodded and carried the portion over to the beggar, who
accepted it with a mumbled thanks and sat down on the floor.
As he started eating, a growing rumble of voices echoed through the
hall. Some suitors were disgusted by the appearance of the beggar, some
were curious, and some were simply interested in witnessing the
development of a new controversy – but for varying reasons, all were
interested, and all were very, very verbal in their reactions.
Raising his voice above their shouting, Telemachus called out, “Sir, are
you in need?”
Unruly as they were, the suitors were curious enough to quiet down and
see how this would play out. With wide, sad eyes, the beggar looked up at
Telemachus and nodded.
“Well, I hate to see a man desperate with hunger, especially in my
house – so when you have finished eating, sir, feel free to make your way
around the room and beg from all present.” Telemachus looked from one
side of the hall to the other and added, “Because I’m sure we all have it in
our hearts to show a little generosity to a needy traveler.”
The reaction to Telemachus’ announcement was swift – and while not
as noisy as the previous outburst, it was much angrier. They mumbled
rather than shouting, but there was a tension beneath their comments that
was just waiting to explode into violence. How dare this beggar just show
up out of nowhere asking for what he didn’t deserve? How dare the boy
stand up and publicly impose upon them like this?
The beggar soon took a break from his meal and began making his
rounds along the edges of the table, opening his tattered bag to one suitor,
then the next. And each, whether out of compulsion or pity, dutifully
dropped in either a scrap of food or the most worthless copper coin he
could fish from the bottom of his purse – and with each shame-faced suitor
that was publicly coerced into donating, the rumbling grew just a little
louder, a little more frustrated. Yet still it was confused, disorganized, not
knowing what to make of the situation.
That was when Melanthius rose to his feet decided to add some
direction to their complaining. “Oi!” he shouted. He glared at the beggar,
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his brows furrowed with an look of intensely irritated, keenly focused, and
ridiculously arbitrary anger – all dressed up in the guise of righteous
indignation. The suitors instantly fell silent upon hearing his voice, and as
soon as he had their attention he proclaimed, “A right ugly-smell’n
stranger this is that has graced our ‘ouse with ‘is stench. Would’n ya’ll
‘gree?”
Most suitors were silent. A few chuckled and mumbled their
agreement.
“‘e’s smelley, an’ he’s filthy, an’ e’s covered with fleas… That much‘s
plain tah all. But ‘ere’s the part yah don’ know: ‘e ain’t no stranger u’tall –
not tah all of us, nohow.” Melanthius turned his gaze toward Eumaeus,
and several of the suitors followed suit. “Naaah, ‘e did’n just stumble ‘pon
us – ‘e was brung to us. Brung tah us by none other th’n our very own pigslopper…” As if there were any ambiguity left in his charge, he pointed a
bony finger and called out, “Eumaeus.”
“Oh was he now?” Antinous called out. Suddenly his eyes came alive
with interest – and with cruel humor.
“‘e was ‘ndeed,” Menanthius replied.
“Hmmm…” Antinous smirked, barely restraining a chuckle. “That’s
wierd. I mean really, Eumaeus… Are we running so low on trash around
here that you felt the need to drag in more? Does Ithaca have too few
vagrants dirtying our streets and eating your master’s food? Apparently so,
if you felt the need to go out looking for more beggars to bring back here.”
“No one goes out lookin’ for beggars,” Eumaeus mumbled. His head
lowered slightly and his eyes fixed on indeterminable point across the
room, he cautiously maintained his submissive servant’s posture – even as
it was obvious that he was tensed with barely-contained frustration. “I
know well as you do that’d be plain stupid. But then if one comes ‘round
to your door, you can’t rightly turn him away now, can you?”
“That doesn’t mean you have to take him by the hand and lead him to
the palace now, does it?” Antinous spread his smile wide and looked
Eumaeus straight in the eye as he awaited an answer.
“Now see here,” Eumaeus growled. “What I done was nothin’ more
than an act of mercy, and – ”
“Just drop it, Eumaeus,” Telemachus stepped up next to the two men.
“He’s just trying to provoke you, and if you argue with him you’re just
giving him what he wants.”
“Yes, sir,” Eumaeus grunted. Eyes locked on Antinous, he stepped
back and took his seat.
Telemachus turned to Antinous. “And as for you, Antinous, I don’t
know why you like teasing my servant so much, nor can I understand your
instant dislike of this poor man – but I will not tolerate a lack of generosity
in my house. Everyone here has seen fit to give something to our guest,
and I expect you to do the same.”
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“Well now!” Antinous looked Telemachus in the eye but tilted his head
sideways to call out to the other suitors. “It looks like the boy’s getting
cockier by the hour. Okay, so you want me to give this man something –
then fine, I’ll give him something…” He grabbed a chair by the leg, then
strode over to the beggar and held it high above his head as though ready
to club him with it. “In fact I’ll give him something he’ll remember for the
rest of his life.” He looked back over his shoulder at the other suitors.
“And if the rest of you follow my example, we’ll drive this vermin out
from here for good.”
The beggar cowered, his eyes darting between Antinous’ face and the
chair that loomed over him. “Please, sir! The rest of these men found it in
their hearts to offer me a little…”
“Yes, they did – and that’s their own stupid fault.” Antinous gave the
chair a quick shake, and the beggar shrunk back and shielded himself with
his arm. “Because showing ‘generosity’ to the likes of you is like throwing
scraps to a stray dog; you feed him one day, and the next day he just comes
back looking for more. Sure, it might make us feel good about ourselves,
but all we’re really doing is encouraging you to keep sitting around here
eating other people’s food – food you never earned and don’t deserve. No,
you don’t need a handout. What you need is a good, swift kick in the
butt.” He turned to the other suitors and shouted, “And the sooner you
clowns quit encouraging him to beg, the sooner he’ll get off our backs and
maybe – just maybe – go make himself useful.”
The beggar had stepped back, putting one trembling foot behind
another, until he was about twenty feet away. But there he stopped,
wrinkled his brow, and with a sudden burst of courage twisted a corner of
his mouth into a half smirk. “A little ironic, though, isn’t it?” he said. “I
mean if I could offer a humble opinion in the presence of a noble man such
as you, it seems kind of funny that, as much as you eat and as little as you
seem to do around here, you complain about me being a freeloader. Did
you earn the food you eat? Do you deserve a place at Odysseus’ table?
And If I were to get really bold, is there any reason you don’t need a swift
kick in the butt? But then of course I’m just a common beggar, so I would
never presume to criticize someone of your class – but you at least have to
see the humor in all this… Right?”
A scattering of nervous giggles – mostly muffled behind tightly closed
lips – broke out throughout the hall.
Antinous silenced the suitors with an evil scowl, then turned on the
beggar. “Oh, so we’ve got us a clever one here, huh?”
The beggar shrugged and gave a wicked grin. “I guess it depends on
who you compare me to.”
“All right, that’s it.” Antinous jerked back with the chair as if winding
up to throw.
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A look of concern flashed across the beggar’s face, and he turned
around and started scurrying toward the exit.
“Oh, no-no-no…” Antinous chuckled. “Too late for that now. You
had your chance. You could have just shut your mouth and shuffled on out
of here without any trouble – but noooo, you just had to keep pushing it.
And now…”
He flung the chair with all his might, sending it sailing across the room,
where it struck the beggar directly between his shoulderblades.
Antinous took no note of the fact that the beggar had stayed standing,
solid as a rock, as the chair bounced off and fell to the floor with a clatter.
He ignored the rumble that filled the room as the other suitors – despite
their own disdain for the beggar – warned him that he had perhaps gone
too far, that the gods would only tolerate so much cruelty. And he failed to
see the clenched jaw and glossy eyes of Telemachus, who was fighting
back tears.
Ignoring it all, he stormed back to his table and slumped into his chair
with a grunt, leaving the beggar to go huddle in the doorway and nibble on
his scraps of food.
“Sir,” a voice whispered. Odysseus opened his eyes to find Eumaeus
squatting next to him, looking him in the eye and pushing gently on his
shoulder. “Sir, the queen… She says she’d like to have a word with you.”
Odysseus’ heart skipped a beat. “What?” He sat up suddenly, startled,
before regaining command of himself and adding, “Sorry… You just
woke me so suddenly, and – and I just can’t see what a queen would want
with the likes of me.”
Eumaeus let out a quick, bemused breath of a chuckle. “Trust me, I
don’t understand it neither. But I guess she heard you’s from far ‘way, so
she figures maybe you can tell her somethin’ ‘bout her husband… ‘Course
it gives you no cause for gettin’ smart with me – you know where I stand
on the issue, and this don’t change my ‘pinion at all. If the queen’s feelin’
desperate ‘nough to call on the likes of you for news, that’s her business –
but she’s taken in hundreds a’ blowhards much the same as you, and when
it’s all said and done we’ll just be addin’ one more disappointment to the
list.” He shook his head with a little grunt. “Proud company you’ll be
joinin’ today, I’ll tell you that.”
“Well, I’m different from the rest,” Odysseus worked to contain an
ironic grin. “Waaay different. Trust me, the queen won’t be disappointed
this time.”
“Don’t you even try startin’ with me, vagrant. The queen wants to see
you, and my duty’s to bring you up to her – so come on, let’s get goin’.”
He stood and motioned with a wave of his hand.
But Odysseus shook his head, then slumped back and leaned against
the doorpost. “Not yet…”
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“WHAT???” Eumaeus burst out. He stared back at Odysseus with
wide eyes. The very idea… It wasn’t as much offensive or irritating as it
was just plain mind-blowing. Eumaeus didn’t know how to process the
idea that a beggar would presume to keep a queen waiting at his pleasure.
Odysseus, enjoying the moment immensely, pulled his arms back and
cupped his hands behind his head as he said, “The time’s just not right.”
“Whatta you mean the time ain’t right??? A queen’s willin’ to speak
with you – a queen! Now I don’t know where you come from, stranger,
but a man – ‘specially of your stature, no offense – don’t tell a queen when
he does or doesn’t want to speak with her.”
“Oh, that’s certainly not my intention…” Odysseus made a show of
shooting up to a sitting position and looking up at Eumaeus with imploring
eyes. “I don’t keep the queen waiting out of impudence or lack of
consideration…”
“What is it then?”
“Self-preservation. I mean look at these guys!” Odysseus nodded in
toward the hall, where the suitors were still stuffing their faces, chugging
wine, laughing, yelling, slapping each other on the back, and occasionally
turning and pointing toward Odysseus at the doorway. “I mean, you saw
that guy throw a chair at me…”
“And it shouldn’t come as no surprise to you – not when I warned you
fifty million times ‘bout it.”
“No, it doesn’t surprise me. I expected it, and I can live with it. But if
that’s how I was treated when I was just standing there minding my own
business, imagine if they caught me going up to speak to the queen?
They’d tear me apart – and I don’t think they’d be terribly nice to the
queen about it, either. Now I don’t know much about court intrigue or
anything, but you get what I’m saying – right?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“I just think it would be smartest to wait until nightfall, when
everybody’s gone to bed. She can ask me everything she wants in secret,
without any fear of stirring up trouble.”
“Hmm… Sounds like a smart ‘nough idea. I’ll pass on the word, see
what she says.”
Odysseus watched Eumaeus walk off across the hall for just a moment
before sliding down and pretending to fall asleep – looking like a typical
vagrant snoozing in a doorway, even as he carefully regarded the suitors
through partially open eyes.
“So now why didn’t you bring him with you?” Penelope stood at the
edge of her bed, eyeing Eumaeus with a cold, vaguely irritated look. Her
room was free of attendants – she had learned her lesson after news of
Telemachus’ location had flown so freely around the palace – and the
dimly torch-lit chamber felt vast and lonely in its emptiness.
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Eumaeus shuffled forward a couple steps in from the doorway. “He
didn’t want to come – not yet, anyways.”
“Didn’t want to come!”
“He didn’t think it was safe – didn’t think the suitors would treat either
you nor him so kindly if the two’ve you got caught conspirin’ together. He
suggested meetin’ a little later, in secret, where nobody’d know ‘bout it…”
A few seconds passed before he thought to add, “If, of course, you wanna
allow it.”
“Hmmm…” Penelope wandered over to a window and looked out at
the dusky light of the fading evening. There she remained for several
moments, her back to Eumaeus, until he couldn’t tell whether she was still
considering the proposition – and whether he should either say something
or quietly dismiss himself. But finally she turned her head to the side and
said, “I’ll agree to it. I’ll be awake and ready, and he can come up here
whenever he thinks the time’s right.”
Eumaeus pursed his lips, his face beginning to wrinkle into a slightly
puckered expression… He considered asking if one more liar was worth
so much trouble, if she should trust an old beggar to enter her quarters
alone in the dead of night – but then quickly decided against it. “I’ll let
‘im know, ma’am.”
“This beggar... He sounds like a smart man, doesn’t he, Eumaeus.”
“Guess he does seem to have a bit ‘a sense in him, ma’am… ‘least for
a vagrant.”
Penelope turned around and smiled. It was a weary smile, a knowing
smile. She’d met men like this beggar plenty of times before, and she
knew it. But thin hope was better than no hope at all, and with all the
activity around the palace – with recent tension surrounding Telemachus’
trip, with growing pressure to choose a husband, and with the general sense
that this situation was winding to a conclusion – she had a feeling that this
beggar represented her last chance of learning about Odysseus. Was it a
distant shot? Yes. But it was a shot – and even if it didn’t pan out, she
savored with a vague nostalgia the feeling of going through this process –
the sudden curiosity, the rising hope, the feeling of giving in and allowing
herself to wonder if maybe this was the real deal – one last time before
giving it all up.
“Thank you, Eumaeus,” she strode up to the swineherd, strained to
widen her smile, and placed a hand on his arm. “You are dismissed.”
He bowed his head slightly as he backed out of the room.
As the evening’s festivities dragged on, Eumaeus wandered over to
Telemachus’ table and leaned in to whisper, “I’m gonna be goin’ for the
night. Gotta go tend to the pigs, make sure they’re doin’ all right…”
“Sounds good,” Telemachus answered.
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It was obvious the swineherd had come to say more than that, and after
a few seconds of silence Eumaeus added, “You watch out for yourself
tonight…”
Telemachus gave Eumaeus an affectionate smile. “I will.”
“There’s plenty of weird things goin’ on ‘round here, and I know the
suitors are gettin’ ideas. Keep your eyes open and stay ‘round friends.
Palace might be safer’n bein’ alone in the country, but you can’t be too
careful at times like this.”
“Thank you, Eumaeus – for your loyalty and for all your help. Come
back in the morning – ”
“Oh I’ll do that, don’t you worry,” Eumaeus answered. He looked
around the hall with shifty eyes.
“And bring some pigs for sacrifices. And please, Eumaeus… Don’t
worry about me. I’ll take care of things on this end. I have a feeling things
won’t be going well for the suitors – not for long, anyway.”
Suddenly the party ground to a halt. The voices died down, and
through his narrowly open eyes Odysseus could see suitors setting down
wine cups, elbowing each other, and looking toward the door – not looking
down at Odysseus, as he would have expected, but looking up at something
above him in the doorway. After the briefest silence, a few started to
chuckle, and Odysseus could hear isolated calls of “Ooohhhhhh!” and
“Uh-oh!” Suitors started standing to their feet, obviously expecting
something interesting to unfold.
Finally Odysseus shook his head, pretended to awaken from a lazy
slumber, and looked up…
And standing above him he saw a man – possibly a vagrant, judging by
his filthy and ragged clothes – who for a moment remained just outside the
doorway studying Odysseus. He had a big, round face, with thick
eyebrows pressing low over dark eyes and strands of greasy hair hanging
down just past his forehead.
The first thing that struck Odysseus was how angry the man looked.
The impression may have come in part due to his overall demeanor and
appearance, but after a moment’s consideration Odysseus decided there
was more to it than that. The man glared down at Odysseus with furious
eyes, his breathing – which was probably loud on a good day – whistling in
and out of flaring nostrils like tiny gale-force winds. The man’s
expressions cycled through surprise, a flash of curiosity, and finally a
combination of possessiveness and hypocritical disgust… Then he jutted
forward his face and squeezed his brows even lower over his eyes before
stepping over Odysseus.
As Odysseus watched the man stomp his way into the hall, the second
thing he noticed was that the man was huge. But a quick study of the
man’s movements reveled that, while he may have been twice Odysseus’
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size, he carried himself heavily, with little energy. His mass was round
and formless beneath his rags, and his jowls hung loose from an indistinct
jaw – giving the quick impression that the man was in poor cardiovascular
condition.
He stormed from one suitor to the next, his jowls quivering and shaking
as he boomed forth questions in a spittle-slurred voice. He was a bully;
that much was clear… But as he interacted with the suitors, it was equally
obvious that he was well schooled in where, when, and to whom he should
toady up to. In other words, he had the strange combination of pride and
willing self-degradation that can make a man dangerous.
Odysseus couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying to the suitors – but
he seemed to be curious, distressed, and irritated about something. And
that something was obviously the beggar who lay in the door.
One by one he strode up to each of the suitors and asked for details on
this filthy vagrant that lay in the doorway of the palace. And one by one
the suitors teased Irus – the name they gave to the large bear of a beggar
who had for years hung around Odysseus’ palace begging scraps and
running errands for them – with purposefully measured out bits of
information.
Finally Irus had heard enough. He stormed over to the door and stood
menacingly over the beggar who still lay there as if frozen with fear.
“Get up, you dirty old piece of trash!” he boomed. The beggar
remained where he was, so Irus nudged him with his foot. “Come on, I
said get up! Get up and get out of here before I drag you out!”
The beggar sat up slightly and looked up at him. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m the only one who… The one who…” Irus halted, not
quite willing to describe his activity as “begging,” before he finally
finished by saying, “Because this is my territory!”
“So?” asked the beggar. “Why can’t we both beg here? These men
have plenty to offer to both of us, and – ”
“I said this is my territory, and it’s my territory. Now are you going to
leave? Or am I going to have to make you leave?”
“Now really, sir… There’s no need for that.” Slowly, painstakingly,
the beggar rose to his feet. “I think we can get along fine, if we’re willing
to be friends. Why fight each other when we can – ”
“We aren’t going to fight each other, old runt. I’m going to beat you
silly and drag you out of here – if you don’t wise up and leave on your
own.” Irus lurched forward and thrust his chest at the beggar, slamming
him back against the doorpost.
Suitors began laughing, and a chorus of “Ooooooohhh!” broke out in
the hall.
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“Look, friend,” the beggar turned his eyes up to Irus. “I’m more than
willing to play nice – but unless you want to get bloodied up, you’d better
take a step back.”
Louder, the suitors called out, “OOOOOOOOHHHH!!!”
“All right, that’s it…” With his left forearm, Irus pressed the beggar
against the doorpost. His right hand was formed into a tight fist and aimed
square at the beggar’s face. “I hate to beat up a weak little old man, but for
you I think I’ll make an exception.”
Now the suitors had broken out into a chant of, “Fight! Fight! Fight!
Fight!”
“Hey, hey, hey – now stop this!” Antinous ran up next to the doorpost
and flanked the two men. “We can’t have you guys brawling here in the
doorway of the king’s palace!” Silent disappointment blanketed the hall
until Antinous broke out into a smile and added, “You need to move this
into the middle of the hall where you can properly entertain us!”
The hall erupted with deafening laughter, beneath which rose another
chant of, “Fight, fight, fight…”
Antinous put a hand on each beggar’s shoulder and led them inside.
“Come on, guys! Move some tables, clear a space. Form a circle so we
can set up a decent ring.” As the suitors went to work, Antinous added
with a laugh, “Maybe these characters can finally earn their keep after all!”
Finally everything was set up. The suitors were standing in a circle,
shouting and laughing and pumping their fists, as the two combatants – the
huge flabby behemoth on one side and the shriveled, frightened-looking
little stranger on the other.
Once more, Antinous raised his voice over the noise of the crowd:
“Okay, I think we’re all set. But before we get started, I think we could
make this a little more interesting by offering a prize to the winner – let’s
say one of those stuffed goat stomachs we have warming by the fire. I’m
sure a couple tramps like you two haven’t tasted anything like that in quite
a while. And if that isn’t enough, the winner gets free meals in the palace
for the rest of his life – while the loser has to leave and fend for himself.”
With a broad smile, he looked from one fighter to the next. “What do you
say, boys? Sound like a deal?”
Irus raised his fists and furrowed his brow in a serious imitation of
what the suitors were mocking. “I’m more than ready. Let me at him.”
“And you?” Antinous prodded the beggar.
“I guess…” the beggar sighed. He looked his opponent up and down.
“I don’t think I really have a fair shot against this fellow – but an empty
stomach makes a man desperate, and if it comes down to this or wandering
off hungry, I guess I have no choice…”
“All right, then let’s… GO!!!” Antinous, who had been holding his
arm out straight between the contestants, pulled it away and stepped back.
The two immediately moved in on each other…
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As a hero of the Trojan War, Odysseus had applied his considerable
skill to a great number of tasks. He led men with tireless charisma. He
applied his strategic genius to countless situations, only the most famous of
which was his trick with the wooden horse. He helped turn a tradition of
raiding and looting into a system that looked like the beginnings of
organized logistics, and that allowed a fifty-thousand man army to hold a
beachhead for ten years. He mediated disputes, broke up fistfights, and
was instrumental in helping Agamemnon maintain his tenuous hold over
an alliance of almost fifty Greek kingdoms.
But on top of it all, he was a warrior. Not only was he nimble with a
spear and a shield, but knew how to observe and react to an enemy in ways
that civilians couldn’t even imagine. He knew how to study a man’s eyes
for fear or intent. He was expert in watching for how a move of the waist
or a turn of the shoulders shifted a man’s balance – or what the position of
his feet meant about where his weight lie and what he was going to do
next. Working at breakneck speed, his eyes had darted about to take in and
analyze all these indications within the quick, frantic moments of battle –
and to do so against well-trained, fleet-footed opponents who themselves
had reflexes honed by years of combat…
So the idea of calling what was about to transpire between him and Irus
a “fight” seemed like a joke. The big, lumbering fool stood flat-footed in
the same position for what felt like hours, his large club-like fists hovering
around his head in slow motion. And as he telegraphed his upcoming
punch by gradually shifting his weight backward onto his left foot, the only
question on Odysseus’ mind was how hard he should hit back.
On one hand, there would be a certain satisfaction in delivering a lethal
blow. But on the other hand, the suitors would just have to get suspicious
if a hunched-over old beggar killed Irus with his fists. Maybe it would be
best to pull his punch just a little…
The cheering and jeering continued as the men took a step forward
and squared off. The men sized each other up, tension building and
building with each passing moment…
Finally Irus took the first punch. He put all his weight into a wide,
powerful, conclusive-looking blow – and to all appearances, it looked like
the “fight” would be a simple matter of Irus pummeling the stranger.
But suddenly, in one deft motion, the beggar pulled back slightly and
twisted his torso to the side. Irus’ punch glanced harmlessly off the
beggar’s right shoulder – and in a flash the beggar swung back. All at once
there was a loud cracking sound, and Irus spun in a circle, expelling a mist
of blood before collapsing to the floor.
After a half-second of silence, the suitors burst forth into a sudden
“Ohhhhhh!!!” It was the same knee-jerk reaction of delighted surprise that
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followed whenever one of them dropped something, passed gas, or got too
drunk and stumbled over himself. But it was soon followed a rumble of
displeasure – for as much as they mocked him, Irus was a favorite of the
suitors, and they had no kind feelings for the old beggar Eumaeus had
dragged into the palace.
But Antinous, not wanting to lose face, stepped up with his typical
sarcastic bravado and exclaimed, “Wow! Looks like our new friend here
managed to land quite a hit!” He stepped up to the moaning heap of rags
and gave it a quick little nudge with his foot. “I guess you can’t take
anything for granted, huh Irus? Let your guard down for one moment, and
then BAM! Apparently anybody can nail you if you’re not careful.”
Still smiling, he made a quick motion with his head, and a couple
suitors stepped up and started dragging the body out of the hall.
Sitting on the floor a safe distance from the suitors’ tables, Odysseus
humbly waited to accept his prize. The suitors were all mumbling and
shooting him occasional scowls – but while they were taking his
unexpected victory poorly, nobody seemed to suspect him of being
anything other than a beggar. So thoroughly did his appearance color their
expectation of him that they arrogantly assumed his victory was but a
lucky hit. He was a filthy vagrant who ruined their fun by knocking out
their pet beggar – nothing more, and nothing less.
After a moment Antinous strode over and, without a word of
congratulation, grudginly tossed a goat’s stomach in front of Odysseus
before turning his back on him and walking away.
But another suitor soon approached – ever so sheepishly – and squatted
next to Odysseus, placing two loaves of fresh bread before him.
“Congratulations on your victory,” he muttered. He threw a quick glance
over his shoulder before adding, “I know you’ve been through difficult
times, and I pray the gods grant you much more happiness in the future.”
“Thank you,” Odysseus replied. The suitor was about to stand when
Odysseus reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “By the way, what’s
your name, young man? If, of course, I may be so presumptuous…”
Wide-eyed, he glanced at the restraining hand and answered, “My
name is Amphinomus.”
Odysseus maintained his grip. “Well, Amphinomus, you seem like a
good man…”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve been watching you all carefully, and I can tell you’re the only
decent person in the group. I know you don’t approve of how they act…”
Once more Amphinomus looked back at the crowd behind him before
letting out an uncommitted, “Hmph.”
“No, I mean it. I may just be a beggar, but I’m a keen observer – and
I’ve seen your type before. You don’t like what you’re seeing around you,
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and you want to do the right thing. Oh you have to play the play the part,
of course. You have to act like one of the guys. You can’t just out and
condemn them, so carefully, behind a veneer of toughness, you pretend to
scheme with them – all the while steering them along the most decent
course they’ll agree to. Sound familiar?”
Amphinomus just let out a quick breath, but there seemed to be a
tentative look of assent in his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Odysseus whispered. “Now listen up, because
I want to tell you something: I have good reason to believe that Odysseus
is going to be returning soon – and that this is going to be a very
uncomfortable place for the suitors when he does.”
“But why are you tell– ”
“The rest of these guys are malicious and abusive, and they deserve
what’s coming to them. But you’ve never meant any harm. You’re just an
innocent man seeking the wrong woman’s hand in marriage – so I hope for
your own sake that you’re far away from Ithaca when Odysseus gets back.”
Amphinomus paused for a second, then answered, “Thank you sir.”
Odysseus released his arm, and the Amphinomus walked away. The
young man’s eyes were wide, and his face turned white upon hearing the
announcement – but Odysseus could sense that, in spite of his heavyhearted dread, he would not decide to walk away from the suitors.
Thus, with a deep sigh, Odysseus started into his meal.
Penelope glided down the stairs with her usual light-footed grace.
And the suitors responded by breaking out into their usual barrage of crass,
loud-mouth comments.
A curious hush quickly fell over the room, however, as she held up her
hands. She scanned the crowd with a back-and-forth sweep of her eyes,
then began: “Before my husband left for the war, he and I had a very frank
conversation about my future. It wasn’t a conversation I necessarily
wanted to have, but he insisted that we needed to have it – so in his usual
clear-headed fashion he laid out what I should do in the event that he didn’t
come back. In the face of my weeping and protests, he told me that, if he
fell at Troy, I should start looking for a husband right away. As hard as it
would be for me to do, it was right, and it was plainly necessary. The
much more complicated question, of course – as we know all too well –
was what I should do in the event that he simply disappeared. And here’s
what he told me: He said to wait until the baby – Telemachus, of course –
was old enough to grow a beard. If he was still missing after that time, it
would be obvious that he wasn’t coming back, and I should start my search
for a new husband. Now you all know how the high regard in which I’ve
held my husband, and you know how staunchly I’ve insisted on being
faithful to him. But if you look at my son…” All eyes turned to a
mortified Telemachus. “…it’s obvious that the time has come.
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Telemachus is now a grown man – and now it’s time for me to stop
waiting for Odysseus’ return and start the process of choosing a husband.”
The suitors looked around at each other, silent and hopeful.
But Antinous just scoffed. “Start the process. Hmph… I’d say it’s a
little late to ‘start the process.’ As long as you’ve been jerking us around,
we need better than that. We need a real decision, and we need it soon.”
Penelope nodded slowly. “Fair enough. From here on out there will be
no more deception and no more stalling on my part.” She stopped, looked
Antinous in the eye, and added with a tone of measured strength, “But if
I’m expected to take this seriously, you need to do the same. Stop acting
out and court me with dignity and respect. Rather than behaving like a
bunch of delinquents, prove you have the dignity to fill the role of my
husband and Ithaca’s next king. Rather than consuming everything in my
household, bring me gifts. In other words, start acting like real suitors, and
soon enough one of you will be my husband.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Telemachus whispered. “I mean no
disrespect, mother, but are you really going to marry one of these guys?”
Penelope shrugged, and from off in the corner the two looked out upon
the clamor that had broken out in the hall as the suitors stumbled over
themselves trying to outdo each other with their gifts. Antinous was
presenting an elaborately embroidered robe covered in golden brooches.
Eurymachus held out a gold chain studded with shining amber beads.
Eurydamas presented a pillow on which lay earrings hung with gorgeous
solid gold pendants. All around them other suitors were swarming in with
their own articles of clothing or jewelry – but the ruckus tone of the place
was much the same as before. There was no respect in the offerings. The
hall had taken on the atmosphere of a marketplace, and the suitors were
now barking salesman, pushing their wares with as much brazenness and
raw aggression as before.
“You know I don’t like them,” Penelope finally said.
“Then why? Why suddenly encourage them to – ”
Penelope turned and looked Telemachus in the eye. “I can only hold
them off for so long, son. The longer your father’s gone, the more pressure
there is for me to get married – and the more unreasonable it seems if I
don’t. My position comes with power, but it also comes with
expectations…”
“But can’t you hold them off just a little longer?”
“I’ve ‘held them off a little longer’ for years – and I’ve already been
caught deceiving my people to do so. I’ll string this out as long as I can, of
course, but I’m afraid can’t go on much longer. If there were some hope,
some reason I could give…”
“Like the news we’ve heard about father?”
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Penelope gave her son a strained, bittersweet smile. “You mean the
prophecy? Or the information from that beggar? We’ve been getting
‘news’ like that for years, son. Sure, I’ll be curious to hear what the man
has to say, but I certainly don’t expect it to change anything… Do you?”
Telemachus took a deep breath and choked back the urge to tell her
more. He knew that telling her would endanger his life – but on the other
hand, to have his father make it all the way back home, only to have his
mother get married before they had the chance to act…
“Just don’t do anything before you really have to,” he sighed. “Hang in
there as long as you can.”
“I will,” Penelope said. For a moment the two looked out at the mob
that was swarming the palace hall. “You know I will.”
As the center of the hall broke down into a mass of men scrambling to
win his wife’s hand, Odysseus hobbled off to the side along the wall. It
was easy to maintain the illusion that he was trying to escape the sea of
dangerous men milling around him – but his real intention was to mingle
with the maidservants on the outskirts of the crowd, and thus to begin
getting a feel for who had and hadn’t been loyal in his absence.
The maids were tending to fires that burned in bronze cauldrons to
provide light in the palace. Or at least that was their pretense for lingering
in a hall full of young men – for it was obvious that they weren’t all needed
to keep the fires going.
Shuffling over to them, he put on a friendly face and said, “Hey, why
don’t you young ladies take a break for tonight?”
“Excuse me?” asked one of the maids. Odysseus had previously
overheard that her name was Melantho – and he had observed enough to
guess that her relationship with one of the suitors was questionable at best,
and most likely outright scandalous.
“I can handle things here for now. Why don’t you go up and tend to
the queen? See if you can offer her any comfort or help in this difficult
time.”
“And what about these lamps?” Melantho asked. “Who’s going to
keep them going?”
“I will,” Odysseus answered.
Instantly the women broke out into uproarious laughter.
“Are you serious?” asked Melantho.
“Yes, of course I’m serious. I might not look like much, but after all
I’ve been through over the years, tending a few fires shouldn’t give me too
much trouble – so why don’t you go on upstairs where you can actually
make yourself useful?”
The women broke out into an angry groan, and Melantho sauntered up
to Odysseus and eyed him up and down. “Boy, you’re a pushy one all of a
sudden, aren’t you? You land a good punch on another beggar, and you
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think that makes you king of the castle?” She turned back to the other
women and chuckled, and most of them followed suit – then she put a
finger on Odysseus’ chest and shoved him back. “Well you better be
careful, old man. If you go around acting all cocky, it’s only a matter of
time before someone beats the crap out of you.”
“Oh really!” Odysseus scowled. He took a step forward, forcing
Melantho to backpedal. “Well I may just be a beggar, but I see what’s
going on around here. I’ve noticed who just hovers around pretending to
work, and I can tell who likes to sneak around the corner with these young
suitors. And while you might have felt safe acting out in front of me, all it
would take is one word to Telemachus, and…” Odysseus took a finger and
dragged it sideways across his throat.
The maids scattered with a squeal and left the hall.
The initial scramble was over. The suitors had all finished presenting
their gifts, and everything had been taken up to the queen’s quarters for her
consideration. A few minutes and a few cups of wine was all it that was
needed to take the competitive edge off the proceeding, and the suitors
soon settled back into their normal routine of lounging around the hall.
It was then that Eurymachus noticed the beggar shuffling along the
edge of the wall, adding wood to the braziers. He also noticed that the
maids – including his lover Melantho – were conspicuously absent. He
wasn’t sure why they were gone, but he was able to guess the beggar had
something to do with it. So he regarded the man with a scowl, frustration
building and building until…
“Oh, now look at this!” he called out. “It looks like our new beggar
suddenly likes to work! So you’re actually a useful fellow, huh? Well
maybe I should hire you to do a few chores around my farm. You could
chop some wood, move a few rocks… Huh? Sound like a deal? I mean,
if you’re so eager to help out…” The beggar gave no reply, and
Eurymachus added, “No? Then I guess you must just be the same lazy,
reeking bum you appear to be. Maybe you haven’t taken a sudden shining
to work; maybe you just like harassing our maids. Yes, that has to be it –
because after a life spent tramping around filling your belly on handouts, I
really doubt you have the inclination or the ability to – ”
“To what?” the beggar burst out, taking a bold step forward.
“Oh-ho-ho!” Eurymachus chuckled. “Looks like our beggar’s got a
little fight in him!”
“To what?” the beggar insisted.
Eurymachus narrowed his eyelids and leveled his gaze directly at the
beggar. “To do anything. Work, fight – anything at all. I know your type.
Idleness has made you frail, weak, and stupid. You’re just a shell of a man
with no – ”
“Oh is that so? Well maybe we could have a little contest to prove it.”
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“A little contest, huh?” Eurymachus laughed out loud. “Well I guess
after your grand victory in the Battle of the Beggars, it’s only right that
you’d set out in search of your next opponent.”
A ripple of mocking laughter ran through the crowd.
But the beggar just stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger toward
Eurymachus. “I mean it. As soon as spring rolls around, give us each a
scythe and put us in a field of grass, and we’ll see who can mow the
fastest. Or set us each up with a plow and oxen, and let us race to plow a
field first. Better yet, find us a battle and give us each a spear and shield to
prove our mettle in combat. I’d best you in one contest after the next – for
while I may be a beggar, I’ve seen better days. And even now at least I
have to do something for my bread. But you… All you do is sit around
here waiting for another man’s servants to set his food before you – and
your idea of “work” is lifting the portion from the table to your mouth. So
if you want to talk about who’s frail, weak, and stupid, let’s talk about it.
Yes, I’ll grant that you’re a different class of beggar than I am. You look
better, smell better, and come from a better family. But make no mistake:
You’re a beggar nonetheless, and a lazier and more shameless beggar than
I’ll ever be. You only have the courage to spoil Odysseus’ house because
he’s gone – and the moment you spot him walking through that door, I
really doubt you’ll have the inclination or the ability to do anything more
than crap in your diaper, you spoiled little – ”
“Enough!” Eurymachus shouted. He reached down, grabbed a chair,
and hurled it…
But the beggar, in a surprisingly quick motion, ducked out of the way –
and the chair sailed on past and hit a cupbearer in the hand. He screamed
and grabbed at his fractured wrist as a cup went flying and wine was
splashed across the table.
Suitors – many of their clothes stained red – rose to their feet. A
confused and angry uproar broke out as men looked at each other, at
Eurymachus, at the beggar… While the beggar was the most likely
scapegoat, not everybody was clear on who he should be mad at… But as
accusations began flying and their pleasant buzz turned sour, every man
present had a keen sense that somehow he had been wronged by the
disruption in the evening’s festivities. The crowd rumbled and shifted,
men began shoving… Soon it was clear the whole thing was going to
break down into a huge brawl.
“Just settle down – all of you!” Telemachus was now on his feet
shouting. “Are you drunk? Just stupid? If you can’t handle your wine,
then go on home and sleep it off. The last thing I need is you guys killing
each other in here…” He paused, shook his head, and looked around the
room before adding, “Idiots.”
The suitors were all silent – but they were only momentarily thrown off
guard by surprise. It was obvious that trouble was still brewing beneath
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the surface, and that all Telemachus had done was to focus the energy of
the room against himself.
The tension was just about to explode when Amphinomus stepped
between Telemachus and the crowd. “He’s right, you know… For once in
his life, the kid’s right. There’s no reason for us to be fighting over all this.
I mean really, what actually happened here? A little mess has been made,
and a beggar insulted one of us. Big deal! Messes can be cleaned up – and
if this old man wants to run his mouth, let him. His words only have
power if we choose to get worked up over them. Besides, we need to start
showing the queen that we can behave ourselves, right? It’s the boy’s
house – at least for now – so if he wants to entertain a piece of gutter trash,
let him do it.” He let his eyes drift from one suitor to the next. “When it
comes down to it, we’re here to marry the queen – and that end isn’t served
by starting fights in her hall. So let’s all settle down, enjoy our feast if we
can, and go home to rest if we must. We’ll continue this in the morning.”
Slowly, the suitors began to mumble their agreement. The party
dispersed as some men drifted into chambers they had claimed over the
years, while others went out the door to sleep in the courtyard or – if they
lived nearby – their homes.
Thus, as night fell over Ithaca, the palace settled down to a reasonably
still quiet.
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Chapter 14
The Scar
The palace had been calm for hours. One by one the untended fires
had faded, so that now only a few lone torches remained to cast pools of
light around the cavernous and increasingly dim hall. The only motion
was of a few maids flittering through the darkness – whether they were
attending to their duties or attending to the suitors was unclear – and not a
suitor was in sight.
Telemachus was alone at one of the now-empty tables, sitting rigidly
upright to fight off drowsiness. His head had bobbed and nodded several
times – it had been a long day, starting with a pre-dawn hike from
Eumaeus’ house – but every time he found himself drowsing he would
rouse himself with a start.
Thus he waited. He pretended to be brooding silently, spinning vain
thoughts of resentment in his head. But in reality he was watching,
waiting…
And finally he thought he saw the shadowy form of the beggar across
the hall nod at him. He looked more closely, and it beckoned with a quick
motion of a finger.
Telemachus rose from his seat to make his way casually across the hall.
As he approached, Odysseus looked up at him and whispered, “It’s
time.”
Telemachus shot a quick glance around, then looked down at his old
nurse Eurycleia, who was staring up at him eagerly.
Finally he leaned in and whispered, “I need you to do something for
me.”
“Of course, sir!” she rasped back. “Anything you need, just give the
word…” She trailed off before taking her own quick look up and down the
hallway. She had no idea what Telemachus was talking about, but she’d
gathered that it was conspiratorial – and here at the entrance to the
women’s chambers, where lips were loose and information flowed freely
from maid to maid before shooting straight down to the suitors, instinct
told her to speak carefully.
“I need you to lock all the women’s chambers – keep them shut up
inside.”
“Certainly, sir,” Eurycleia nodded. Hesitantly, she looked up at him
and added, “But why?”
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“Well, in general they’ve gotten rather out of control in the last few
years, as I’m sure you know...”
Eurycleia gave a quick, regretful nod.
“And more specifically, I need them out of the way tonight.”
“Out of the way? What for?”
“I’m planning on locking up all my father’s weapons. They’re badly
tarnished by the smoke in the hall, and – ”
“Yes, I know, sir – but...” Eurycleia halted; she could sense that
something strange was afoot – something beyond what Telemachus was
telling her – and while she couldn’t pin down what it was, the idea troubled
her. “But why is suddenly it so urgent to move them tonight?”
“Well, that’s the other thing...” Once more Telemachus shot glances up
and down the hallway. “You’ve seen the way the suitors have been
acting.”
“Even worse than usual, sir.”
“Way worse than usual. It’s all I can do to keep them from breaking
out into full-scale brawls – so the last thing I need is a few of them picking
up spears when they’re drunk and angry.”
“I guess that makes sense, sir. But...”
Telemachus put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry, dear
nurse. Just keep the women out of the way, and I’ll take care of the
weapons.”
Eurycleia began to speak, but her mouth just hung open, as if the words
were caught in her throat. Finally she just nodded and scurried away to
start locking doors.
Under his right arm Telemachus held a bundle of spears, and his left
arm was strung through one shield and tenuously wrapped around two
others. Up ahead of him his father was situated with a similar burden.
The two carried the weapons to the edge of the hall until they came to a
big black arch – an open doorway leading into an unlit passage – and
Telemachus prepared for one of them to have to set down their load and
carry a torch for the other. But as they were swallowed up by the gateway,
what should have been utter darkness was illuminated as light as day.
“What is this?” Telemachus looked around in wonder. “What’s going
on here?”
Over his shoulder, Odysseus muttered, “Help from the gods, I’d
imagine – probably Athena. She must have lit this passage for us.” He
took his own quick look at the clearly visible pillars, posts, and walls
around him before adding, “So let’s keep moving. If the gods provided
this miracle, we’d better make good use of it. We have a lot to do in very
little time.”
He again started moving forward, and Telemachus followed.
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Penelope stepped out of her chamber with a restrained and wellpolished grace. Every expression and every gesture she measured out by
the spoonful – perfectly conscious of how straight she held her back, where
her arms lay and how her hands clasped together, how quick and how long
each stride as she glided along the floor.
But beneath this facade of cold self-possession, emotions were swirling
like a tempest in her chest. A mixture of deep sorrow, bittersweet
nostalgia, a hint of guilt… All of these raged inside her as she stepped out
into the common area outside her room, took a seat before the fire, and
awaited the arrival of the beggar.
She did so with the keen feeling that this meeting signaled the end of
something. She was closing the last page on a significant era of her life –
for tonight she, for the last time, would grant audience to a traveler so that
he could pitch his story to her. She would wait with baited breath to hear
what he was going to say, feeling her heart soar with hope for just a
moment before slowly deflating as the story turned out to prove vague,
anticlimactic, and probably a little stupid. Her journey through the ritual
would be as obligatory and mechanical as it had been for years, but she
would relish every moment of it – both because she had grown to find a
familiar comfort in the process, and because after this meeting, it would all
be over.
She had fought as long as she could. She had remained faithful to her
husband. But the myriad forces around her – political, popular, familial –
were all conspiring to push her toward a dreaded but inevitable conclusion.
So it was that she now had to begin the terrible process of folding up and
setting aside feelings she had spent twenty years clinging to. And as she
did, she allowed her mind to run through memories she would soon have to
banish forever.
She stands on the beach, staring at the small rectangle of white against
the horizon: the sail on her husband’s ship.
They have hugged and kissed and wept together. She’s gone through
the emotional ups and downs of saying goodbye – of turning inward and
experiencing nothing but her own grief and pain. Now her tears have
dried, and she discovers that sometime in the past hour she had stepped
outside of herself and started experiencing the world again. It was like
waking from a dream. And now, in the wake of the upheaval, she feels
hollow, numb.
Winds whip the hair back away from her face. Knocking and stepping
sounds pick up around her as longshoremen gradually resume their work.
The baby squirms and fusses in her arms, and she grips him tight to her
chest. But that is all. For now she is a shell experiencing the sights,
sounds, and feelings around her with the sudden vividness that seems to
accompany life’s more dramatic moments.
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Then the small white rectangle finally disappears, and she feels the vast
span of loneliness and uncertainty that that lies before her.
Sometime in the last few minutes the beggar had stepped up and
greeted Penelope, and she – lost in thought – had mechanically greeted him
with a nod, then motioned for him to take his place on the floor before her
footstool.
Now she came back to herself and found him looking up at her
expectantly – but the second she locked her eyes upon his, he averted his
face. He had the most curious way of doing that, Penelope noticed. And it
wasn’t just the typical evasiveness of a vagrant. It was something
different… Something that gave him a strange air of mystery.
“Before you say anything,” Penelope began, “there’s something you
should understand.” Her words were carefully enunciated, her voice held
as level and as strong as her posture. She looked down at the beggar with a
coolness that wasn’t quite disdain but that established the strength of her
position and the distance that lay between them. “This house has suffered
a lot in the past few years. I have suffered a lot. Every morning I awaken
to grief that is fresh and raw as a new wound. Every day I mourn the
absence of a husband I can’t quite bury but have no hope of seeing return.
I’ve seen my son grow up without the love and guidance of a father he’s
never met. My house has been overrun, my wealth has been depleted, and
my future has grown frighteningly uncertain. So let’s be clear on
something: If spinning stories is sport to you, or if you’re the type who is
willing to lie for reward, know that my husband’s absence is not something
to trifle with.”
The beggar gave his best version of a solemn nod and answered, “I
understand, ma’am.”
“Good. So you can make your choice here and now: If you’ve actually
heard news of my husband, please stay and share it. I’ll be thankful for
anything you can offer. But if you came in here ready to lie to me, then
just turn around and walk back out that door right now. You’ll need not
fear reprisal, and you can continue begging down in the hall as long as you
wish. Understood?”
“Understood,” the beggar answered. He looked up at her, looked away
again, then asked, “But if it’s not too presumptuous, I would like to ask
you something before I go on.”
“Go ahead.”
“Both your swineherd and your son have made it very clear that they
dislike these suitors…”
“Yes?”
“And I was wondering… How do you feel about them?”
Penelope clenched her jaw, and her eyes grew wide; for the first time in
their conversation she showed a crack in her stately façade.
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“Of course you don’t have to answer,” the beggar added. “It’s just that
this is all so unusual. In all my travels, I’ve never seen a situation like
yours before, and… And, well, I guess I’m just a little curious… If you
were to share your most deeply held feelings about your suitors – speaking
freely, with no concern for what your son or your people or anybody else
was going to think – what would you say?” He looked straight into her
eyes, cocked his head, and for once in the conversation held her gaze for
several seconds. “I mean really, you can speak freely to me, of all people.
Even assuming I ran around telling everybody you loved the suitors, who
would believe me?”
Staring vacantly into open space, Penelope took a deep breath and
released it with a sigh. “I despise them.”
“You do?” The beggar looked up at her with unusual interest.
“Of course I do. They’re rude, obnoxious, and abusive. They act like
I’m automatically obligated to marry one of them just because they’re here,
even though they’re nothing but an imposition on my house. They’re
horrible to my son and disrespectful to my husband’s memory… And
whatever ‘affection’ they show me is not only crass and self-serving, but
bathed in contempt.”
The beggar cracked a smile – one that was unusually daring
considering his position. “But really… Having a hundred handsome
young men flocking to you from all over Ithaca and the surrounding
islands… You have to enjoy the attention at least a little.”
The men are all gathered, pressed tight in a circle three deep. They
lean in, they stare… Those in back rise up onto their toes to see over the
heads in front of them.
Penelope was well familiar with their names long before they had
arrived, and by now she’s equally familiar with their faces. She can
recognize the semi-cocky grin of Diomedes, the towering bulk and earnest
stare of Great Ajax, the fiery hair and intense gaze of Menelaus, the deep,
compassionate eyes of Patroclus… She’s studied them intently in recent
weeks – along with the rest of the kings and princes who have arrived from
across the Aegean… But to her knowledge not one of them has as much as
noticed her. She’s always stood on the periphery, the fascinated and awestruck girl staring in at these living legends as though through a window,
as if she’s invisible… And the truth is she pretty much IS invisible – for all
eyes in the room are locked firmly on the object of their visit: her cousin
Helen. They all flatter Helen, cajole Helen, bargain over Helen, ogle
Helen, and in all other ways act like weak-kneed boys around Helen. They
can’t seem to pull their eyes away from Helen long enough to acknowledge
the fact that Penelope even exists. In fact whenever Penelope – a pretty
girl herself, but not the radiant, golden-haired center of the Greek world –
accidentally steps into the path of one of these men, they look in her
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general direction only long enough to mutter a quick “excuse me” before
brushing past her.
Penelope is not jealous by nature. She’s lived with her cousin’s beauty
– and with men’s reaction to it – for years, and she’s done so without a
hint of resentment. But now, with all Greece looking straight past her to
her cousin, she wonders for just a moment what it would be like to be the
focal point herself…
And then suddenly something happens – something so surprising that
takes her breath away: One of the men turns and looks at her. He’s a
dark-haired, bright-eyed ruler of a backwater island kingdom – and while
he’s not the tallest or the strongest of the group, she finds herself drawn to
him. He’s somehow more alive, more alert than the rest. While observing
the clamor for her cousin’s hand, she’s noticed the way he finesses the
crowd, organizes Helen’s suitors, mediates between them and directs their
attention so as to bring order and possibly progress to the chaotic
stalemate. It’s become clear to her that he commands the room – not as
loudly or bombastically as an Agamemnon or an Achilles, but much, much
more effectively. And from the snatches of gossip she’s picked up at the
end of the day, she’s gathered that he’s developed a side agenda, a
bargain, a plan to do something other than vie for Helen.
And now… Now his attention is on her. For just an instant he actually
locks eyes on her – deliberately – and with a smile playing at the corner of
his mouth shoots her a wink. It’s a wink that playfully acknowledges
everything silly and overblown about all this hubbub surrounding Helen –
and by directing it to Penelope, he acknowledges that he knows she sees it
too. In that moment he makes it all a private joke, one shared only by the
two of them.
Then – it all transpired within short seconds – he turns back and starts
trying to look over the rest of the crowd. But she can tell he’s not as
interested as the rest.
Penelope turned her eyes down toward the beggar and answered, “Only
if the attention comes from someone I care about.”
“Hm.” The beggar shrugged the question away. “I guess it makes
sense if you’re the romantic type. But after ten years? How could you
convince people that was normal? Even a common woman would be
considered odd if she didn’t get married after that long – but a queen? I’ve
never heard of such a thing.”
Her father stands over her with arms crossed, saying nothing. Just like
he’d said nothing when news of the war’s end arrived and Odysseus was
still gone. Just like he’d said nothing when the first young men showed up
and Penelope spurned them without explanation. Just like he’d said
nothing when the palace was first packed with suitors, all of them
noblemen and most of them perfectly good prospects, and odds of
Odysseus’ return started looking slim. Each time Penelope had voiced an
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unrealistic hope or expressed childish sentiment for a long-gone husband
or responded to the complex issues around her with inadequate silence,
her father had said nothing.
And now, still he says nothing – but the room is saturated with silent
and obvious expectation. It’s an expectation that’s been growing with
each passing month, and Penelope can feel the tension brought on by her
unusual insistence. When Penelope now looks up into his eyes, she sees
that he will not be able to stay silent for long.
“Yes, I’ll grant you it does seem strange,” Penelope sighed. “And trust
me, I’ve already heard plenty of people tell me how unusual and improper
it is for a queen to go so long without a husband. But if my behavior’s
unusual, it’s only because the situation is unusual. I mean really, how
often does a king just disappear? It’s a scenario that leaves so many
questions, so many reasons for doubt. You can talk all you want about
how unusual my behavior is. But if you bothered to consider what would
happen if Ithaca’s king – not to mention the love of my life – showed up to
find me married to another man, and you might understsand why I would
lean toward caution.”
“Hey,” the beggar put up his hands, “I’m only asking out of curiosity.
A man in my position is certainly not going to judge you for failing to get
married. I’m only curious how you managed to avoid it with all that
pressure on you.”
“Well, many people – perhaps the majority – did support me, but too
many more didn’t. And while the loudest dissenters were the suitors and
their followers, it was clear that I was defying tradition… So day after day
people hounded me. I tried ignoring them as long as I could, but they kept
wearing away at me until I had to say something – and I decided my only
option was to counter one tradition with another: I told them that, while
the time had come to consider marriage, I couldn’t make my choice until
I’d finished weaving a burial shroud for Odysseus’ father. Day by day I
worked on the shroud. Night after night I set up torches and unraveled
most of the previous day’s work. It was exhausting, and it took every bit
of cunning, finesse, and evasiveness I could muster – but one day at a time
I held them off, just hoping that the next day my husband would return.”
“Wow,” the beggar muttered. He shook his head, eyes on the floor.
“You really must have loved him.”
“And I still do…” Penelope stared vacantly across the room. “But I’m
afraid time’s now running out on me. My ruse was exposed by some
treacherous servants – and once word got out about what I was doing with
the shroud, the situation fell apart completely. Suddenly everything I did
became suspect, and people lost respect for my stand against marriage. It
was a sneaky stunt at best, a silly sideshow at worse. My parents, my
people, the suitors – all of them are now clamoring for me to get married,
and honestly I don’t think I can hold them off any longer. As much as it
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breaks my heart, I’m going to have to give up on my husband.” Her voice
cracked, and she shook her head sadly. But after a few moments she got a
hold of herself. Realizing how far she’d gone in sharing her heart with a
beggar, she looked down at him with a proper edge of near-disdain, and
with a cold voice added, “But enough of that. You have information to
share with me, correct?”
“I do,” the beggar answered.
“Well, if there’s ever been a time for one of your stories to prove true,
this is it.” She turned her head to the side and with a backward wave of her
hand reminded him of the privilege she offered by deigning to hear him
speak. “Go ahead and say what you have to say.”
“Well…” The beggar, who had been slouched in a heap on the floor,
sat up a little straighter. He raised his face just slightly but as usual kept
his gaze averted as he began, “I come from Crete – a cosmopolitan island
at the crossroads of the sea, where Greeks, Cretans, Cydonians, Dorians,
and others all converge, where one can find strange goods and strange
people – along with their strange stories – from all over the world. It was
amidst this never-ending shuffle of visitors that I met your husband. He
had stopped at Crete to rendezvous with his friend Idomeneus on the way
to Troy – but Idomeneus had already departed and storms had closed the
port, so I welcomed Odysseus into my home. All told he stayed with me
for twelve days before the weather allowed him to leave.”
“Oh really?” Penelope shot back. “So not only did you meet my
husband, but you’re claiming to have fed and sheltered him for almost two
weeks…”
“Indeed I did,” the beggar answered. “Remember, this wasn’t always
my station in life.”
“Hm.” Penelope looked past the beggar, her face stony with reserved
skepticism. “So you could probably tell me something about what he
looks like, right?”
“Well… It was nearly twenty years ago. I could try to describe him,
but after all this time, the details…”
Here the story began to take its inevitable and familiar turn, and
Penelope felt her heart sink in her chest. Conscious to avoid signs of
sarcasm or disappointment, she asked the obligatory question: “Then
could you at least describe what he was wearing?”
“Now that I can do!” The beggar’s face stretched into a broad, creased
smile, and he leaned forward as if to share some secret that was an infinite
source of pride – and possibly his key to fame and reward. “Even to this
day I can remember the clothes your husband wore in Crete – I mean, who
couldn’t? He wore a wool cloak that was dyed the richest, deepest purple.
It was as grand as what I would expect a king to wear, of course – but what
really stuck out was the pin he used to fasten it at his chest.”
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Penelope felt her breath catch in her throat. As she jolted to attention,
she had to resist the urge to lean in and betray her eagerness. “And this
pin… What did it look like?”
“It was solid gold, and the front had an engraving of a dog catching a
fawn. Now true, it may seem like a funny detail for me to recall after all
this time… But the workmanship on that thing was absolutely amazing. It
was practically alive with motion – of the dog holding the fawn down with
its paws, of the fawn trying to wriggle free of its grasp. Within the small
space of that brooch, an entire scene was frozen in time… It’s one of those
things that grabs your attention and sticks in your mind for years.”
Suddenly the beggar shrugged and held out his hands. “Of course telling
you this might not prove anything anyway. You might recognize the
clothes I’m talking about, but for all I know they could have been given to
him after he left for the war…”
She feels a small twinge of loneliness as she wanders the palace. The
honeymoon, as they say, is over, and now they’re squarely settled into the
daily routine of running a kingdom. Penelope does her weaving and
watches after the servants in the palace. Odysseus is gone, sometimes for
days at a time, as he runs around Ithaca to check on a herd of cattle, to
inspect a newly plowed vineyard or a newly calked ship, or do to any
number of small tasks a good king does. Now and then he takes his bow
out into the woods and comes back carrying a boar. Now and then he and
a group of men set out onto the waters, sometimes to keep their sailing
skills sharp and sometimes just because they, as born sailors, miss the salty
air and the crash of waves. Long visits to overseas kingdoms have not yet
become a fact of life, but she knows they eventually will be…
Yes, the honeymoon is over. But life is still good. Odysseus still smiles
and winks when their eyes lock across a hall full of courtiers. He still sits
down with her and looks her in the eye and talks to her in the evening. He
still walks with her, pointing out the trees, fields, hills, and coves that have
been part of him since childhood – that are his wealth and his heritage and
that are now hers too. She had feared that the intelligence that had drawn
her to him would turn sour – that he, like many other brilliant men, would
become absorbed in himself and in solving the problems that feed his ego.
But his wit is as gentle as it is keen. It makes him a fun and loving
husband, and she knows that one day it will make him an excellent father.
And when she thinks about it, there’s something reassuring – even, in a
down-to-earth way, romantic – about the meticulous care he gives their
kingdom and their home. It’s not an ambition he holds separate from her
and their future family. She feels it’s all for her, and she knows the same
attention will always be given to her impractical needs as to her practical
ones.
Still, however, duties and other interests have made the inevitable
intrusions into their life, and while she’s still the center of Odysseus’
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world, she’s not his whole world anymore. Something’s slipping away,
and it gives her a feeling of loss – admittedly a childish one – as their lives
gradually change.
By reflex the thought leads her to place a hand on her belly. There is
no bump yet – there won’t be for months. But before she knows it there
will be a child in their house. She treasures the thought – treasures both
the child she already loves and the new experience she and Odysseus will
share together. She knows, however, that the child still represents one
more responsibility, one more duty, one more tug toward the complexity
and busyness of a mature married life.
Thus the package that rests on her palm. It’s small and plain, but
meticulously folded and neatly wrapped. Penelope has poured forth
thought and care into it, poured part of herself into it so that she can
present it to her husband – not as a revolt against the changing seasons of
their life, but as a way to adapt to them. Infatuation doesn’t necessarily
disappear as years of marriage progress. It just fractures, gets dispersed
into small moments that a couple can grasp hold of and treasure if they
choose to try. So Penelope now – in a move that’s partly purposeful and
partly an emotional reaction to the change she feels around her – has
sought out a way to reach out to her husband.
As she stops to look at the package, however, she experiences a
moment of doubt. Will Odysseus find this an awkward gesture? Will he
accept it with a polite smile while inwardly thinking it’s all just silly?
No – she’s confident he’ll appreciate it. Holding the package before
her, she feels a quick shiver of excitement as she thinks through how she’ll
approach him, how she’ll present it, how he’ll respond…
“Actually, I gave them to him,” Penelope answered. There was a
breaking in her carefully restrained voice, and in the silence moments that
followed, tears started streaming down her face. “I wove that cloak for
him myself. I secretly asked our goldsmith to fashion that brooch. It was a
hunting dog – his favorite…” She began to trail off before, for fear of
falling into uncontrolled weeping, she attempted to turn the conversation
back over to the beggar: “And his friends… Can you tell me anything
about the men who travelled with him?”
“I remember one, I think… A curly-haired fellow, probably about the
same age as your husband. He was a herald – Eurybates, if I remember the
name correctly.”
With a controlled swipe of her fingers, Penelope wiped away a trail of
tears. “Well, stranger, I must congratulate you. After all these years
you’ve managed to do what no other visitor has done before. You’ve
proven – at least to my satisfaction – that you’ve met my husband.”
“I’m glad I can help, ma’am.”
“But the trouble is your story doesn’t change much,” Penelope added.
“You’ve proven that he was alive and traveling the Aegean before the war
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started – but that just tells me what I obviously knew already…” The
beggar started opening his mouth to offer further explanation, but she held
up a hand to stop him. “Of course I can’t fault you for what you did or
didn’t happen to see. You’ve told me as much as you knew, and you did
so truthfully and straightforwardly – and I really, truly appreciate it. But
your sincerity doesn’t change the fact that he’s been gone twenty years. It
doesn’t change the fact that he’s not coming back, and it doesn’t give me
reason for hope.”
She closed her eyes and once again began weeping. Tears poured
down her face, her body convulsed with the effort of containing her sobs.
When she finally she opened her eyes and wiped away her tears, she found
the beggar looking straight into her face. His eyes were wide, his brow
raised into furrows and dimples that expressed some curious level of
emotion… Sadness? Pity? Regret? It was hard to tell.
But the moment she returned his gaze, he shook the look away, as
though it somehow made him self-conscious. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said.
His voice was soft, reassuring. “For there’s still more to the story.”
“You’ve seen him since then?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. But I’ve heard plenty about his situation.
He’s on a nearby island where the locals have taken him in and will soon
be setting him up to…”
As he began, everything inside Penelope wanted to throw up her hands
and cry, “Stop. Just stop!” He had seen Odysseus before – that much was
obvious. But it was a fluke, a simple crossing of paths that had taken place
twenty years ago. Now that this beggar had one verifiable detail to work
with, he was going to milk it for all it was worth, weaving together the
same all-too-familiar combination of rumor and lies that she had heard
from all the rest.
But still she sat politely as his story droned away like background noise
at the edge of her consciousness. And when he was finished, it was with
the utmost graciousness and formality that she answered, “I thank you for
your report. If it ends up being true, you will receive rewards from this
house beyond your wildest dreams. But,” she sighed, “to be perfectly
honest, I still don’t think he’s coming home. I don’t mean to call you a liar
or anything, but I’ve heard far too many rumors – and if you haven’t seen
it yourself, I’m going to have a hard time believing it.”
The beggar’s head lowered just a little.
“Of course we’ll still take care of you,” Penelope added. “We’ll get
you a good set of clothes, set you up with some nice bedding. I’ll have
some servants wash you up, and – ”
“Oh, don’t worry about a bed, ma’am. I’ve spent plenty of nights
sleeping in rags, and truth be told I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Are you sure? It would shame our house to just leave a guest huddled
on the floor like that…”
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“Yes, I’m sure. This is what I’m comfortable with. No blankets or
rugs for me – at least not tonight.”
“But at least let some of our maids wash you off. I insist on extending
at least that much courtesy.”
The beggar nodded. “Sounds good to me… I guess I’d only ask that…
Well, not all the girls in your household think much of me. And some of
them… They’re a little harsh. I don’t mean to be picky about it, but if
someone were to wash my feet, I’d ask that it be someone older and
gentler, someone who you’d trust not to give me a hard time.”
“We can do that,” Penelope answered. “I apologize for the way you’ve
been treated, but I think we have just the woman for you.”
With all the tricks Odysseus had pulled over the years, with all the lies
he had told and with all the identities he had assumed and then shed like
articles of clothing, nothing had prepared him for this. Kneeling before his
wife, pretending to be a mere beggar… Feeling his stomach flutter at the
sight of her face and the sound of her voice, but maintaining his distance…
Seeing her weep in despair as if he were dead, yet not running up to put his
arms around her and reassure her – and on top of it all keeping up the level
of energy and attention needed to maintain his façade… It was almost
more than this most experienced of tricksters could pull off.
But somehow he did it. He made it through the conversation – and
with one final touch, he managed to sidestep another encounter with the
nasty little creatures, posing as young women, who had insulted and
threatened him relentlessly from the moment he’d entered the palace.
In doing so, however, he may have made a fatal mistake – a mistake he
recognized as soon as Penelope set him up on a stool by the fire and called
on Eurycleia to wash his feet.
His stomach dropped the moment he heard his old nurse’s name being
uttered. And as she began preparing a basin of warm water and a rag, he –
with gradual, inconspicuous little movements – began scooting his stool
away from the fire and turning himself toward the darkness. Of course he
did his best to act natural while he did so. As he moved, he prepared to
make some excuse about modesty if Eurycleia asked why he was
gravitating toward the shadows…
But fortunately his move seemed to go unnoticed – for without
question the nurse just walked up to him, set the basin on the floor, and
knelt down before him to begin her work. Soon he heard a soft splash
before feeling the wet warmth of the cloth on his feet.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Eurycleia said. She ran the cloth up and down his
calf with slow, gentle movements. “Just look at you… You poor, dirty,
tired old thing... So worn out, run down.” She continued her work with
loving care, watching his leg and the cloth with the thoughtfulness of a
craftsman polishing a treasured work of art. “The world’s just trampled all
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over you, hasn’t it? It’s beat you down, run you over, kicked you while
you were lying in the dust… And not by any fault of your own, either –
I’m sure of it. You’re a man who fears the gods: reverent, noble, and kindhearted. You’ve done nothing to deserve… Well, whatever it was that led
you to this situation.”
She fell to working in silence, and after a few minutes Odysseus
replied, “How would you know?”
Eurycleia looked up at him as if she didn’t know what to make of the
question. Apparently she had become so absorbed with the task of
washing her poor guest that she didn’t connect his question to her earlier
comments. “How do I know what?” she asked.
“How do you know I don’t deserve this? You don’t know the first
thing about me, so as far as you’re aware I could be a cold-blooded – ”
“Oh, no you’re not,” she chuckled to herself and went back to her
washing. “I can tell these kinds of things about people. Call it a knack, I
guess – a sixth sense for a person’s temperament, his way with people, and
so on. Not that I’d claim to be prophetic – not in the least… It’s just
something I’ve picked up on. And I can tell a thing or two about you. You
wouldn’t hurt a soul, at least without good reason. If anything you’d be the
one to help someone if they needed it… Yet how are you rewarded? You
get thrown from one side of the sea to the other, a vagrant without a home
– ridiculed everywhere you go, just like you’ve been ridiculed here.”
Odysseus’ feet and lower legs were now clean, and Eurycleia was working
her way up over his knees with the cloth. “You’re just like my poor
Odysseus. He’s as good a man as you’ll ever meet – and a better master
than a slave could ever ask for. Yet for all his goodness and reverence he’s
still lost at sea – or more likely dead and unburied out there somewhere…”
Tears began to build in her eyes, and she hummed quietly to herself as she
worked.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Odysseus said.
“Ah, it is what it is,” Eurycleia shrugged. “That’s the fate he’s been
dealt, and there’s nothing we can do to change it. But I guess it’s obvious
why I’ve warmed up to you so suddenly…” She forced a smile onto her
tear-moistened face. “You and my Odysseus are cut from the same cloth –
or at least you’ve suffered in much the same way… Just like him, you’re a
wanderer. Just like him, you’ve had the gods’ blessings yanked from
under your feet… And you know, truth be told you even look a bit like
him. I mean really…” Her voice took on an excited edge, and she began
looking all over Odysseus as what started as a flippant remark gained
momentum in her mind. “Your hands, your feet… They’re just like his.
And even your face – though I haven’t seen it in so many years – it’s
astonishing!”
For a moment Odysseus shifted uncomfortably in his seat – then he
assumed a smile of flattered modesty and said, “We actually used to get
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that a lot back when he was at my house in Crete. I guess there is a bit of a
resemblance.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” she said. “Not to make you uncomfortable,
but – ”
“Actually, I take it as a compliment,” Odysseus widened his smile.
“Well, it’s…” Eurycleia halted as the cloth ran over the edge of his
thigh. Her eyes grew wide, her jaw dropped. There she stayed frozen still
as a statue for a good minute, staring at his leg, before she slowly turned
her gaze up to Odysseus. “It’s… It’s you!”
“What… What do you mean by…” Odysseus stammered.
“I know it’s you, sir, and there’s no hiding it… No matter how long
it’s been, no matter how much you’ve aged, I’d know that scar
anywhere…” her eyes remained fixed on his face with infinite fascination.
“I don’t know why you’d want to hide yourself from us, sir, but…”
Suddenly aware of the magnitude of the situation, she turned her face
toward Penelope and opened her mouth to speak…
But in one quick motion, Odysseus sprung forward, grabbed her by the
front of her robe, and pulled her up within an inch of his face. “Do you
want to get me killed, woman?” he growled.
Eurycleia, wide eyes locked on his, just shook her head quietly.
“Because that’s what you’re going to do if you go spouting off about
me. This palace is just crawling with men who would like nothing more
than to kill me, and – ”
“But the queen… You can – ”
“Yes, I know I can trust her. But the more people who know about me,
the bigger the risk that something, somehow, gets out. Telemachus knows
I’m here, and now you do as well – and as far as I’m concerned that’s one
person too many. Nobody else can hear about this – and I mean nobody.”
A single tear trickled down the nurse’s cheek. “You know I’d never do
anything to hurt you, sir. As many servants as have failed you in this
house, I’ve always been trustworthy. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Odysseus released her, and she slumped to the ground. Then she
quietly resumed her work.
“I don’t think this can go on any longer,” Penelope said.
She and the beggar – newly washed but still covered in filthy clothes –
were sitting side by side in front of the fire. It was an unusually informal
position for her to take with a commoner, but the lateness of the hour and
the way she’d opened up to him about her anxiety had together contributed
to a strange feeling of conversational intimacy – and her desperation left
her inclined to indulge it.
“What can’t go on any longer?” asked the beggar.
“All of this… I mean this thing with the suitors. I just can’t keep up
these games anymore. I’m going to have to marry someone, and soon.”
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“When?”
There was a long, dreadful pause. For several minutes the silence was
broken only the crackling of the fire and the occasional shuffling of
servants in the distance, before Penelope answered in a strained, hollowsounding voice: “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” The beggar nearly jumped, as if unduly shocked by the
answer.
“Yes, tomorrow. I’ve heard what you have to say, and it gives me no
more cause for hope. I’m out of excuses. I have no more reason to give
people for not getting married, and to be honest, I’m just plain tired. I just
can’t do this anymore. Tomorrow morning I’m going to hold an archery
contest for the suitors down in the hall, and by tomorrow evening I’ll be
married to the winner…”
It seemed like something more should have been offered in the way of
explanation. But Penelope’s voice just stopped abruptly, and the two just
sat in silence until the beggar – apparently deciding propriety called for it –
dismissed himself and went down to the hall to go to sleep.
Odysseus rolled over onto his side, pulling his deerskin tight over his
shoulder, so that now he was facing the darkness of the wall, with the few
remaining torches behind him.
Yet still he couldn’t sleep. He could feel the exhaustion in his body
and in his mind, but every time he tried to close his eyes and settle down,
he found himself bothered by something. One moment he was chilled.
The next he was too warm. Once he was just about to drift off, only to be
roused by the stench of his own clothes.
He knew, of course, that what really kept him awake were the thoughts
racing through his mind: The excitement of finally being home, the
nervousness that built in him whenever his mind got caught on some detail
of his precarious situation, the mixed feelings that followed his
conversation with his wife… All these things swirled through his head, led
it on a meandering course down countless rabbit trails that kept his mind
running in a state of confused distraction.
Yet finally he managed to settle down. His thoughts kept drifting
involuntarily along their course, but they faded off to some place on the
outer rim of his consciousness, growing quieter and quieter until finally
they felt like someone else’s thoughts, droning on like a whisper that he
could ignore, that almost soothed him – until finally his eyes began to
close…
Then, just as he was about to drift off to sleep, he heard giggling – and
his eyes shot wide open. Somewhere in the hall behind him a group of
four or five servant girls were stealing through the palace, obviously
unsupervised and obviously on no official business whatsoever. Most
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likely, they were on their way to or from an unholy liaison with some of
the suitors.
Odysseus clenched his jaw as a burning fury began to build in his chest.
First it was simple irritation at having been awakened. Then – as his mind
mulled over these girls’ sheer laziness, their disloyalty and ingratitude,
their blatant disregard for Odysseus’ house and family, and the brazenness
with which they scurried around laughing with no fear of reprisal – the
feeling grew into a rage so powerful that Odysseus nearly leapt up from his
bed to slay them on the spot…
But then he took a deep breath and restrained himself. He could kill
them, yes… But the moment he did, he would be swarmed by the suitors –
and then what? Up until now the idea of fighting the suitors had floated at
the edge of his mind as an abstract plot to be carried out at an
indeterminable point in the future. To think about it that way was
tolerable, doable… It was “out there,” a problem he could shape and toy
with, one more interesting scenario for his mind to mull over.
But thinking about killing these women and reacting to the suitors –
and doing it all now – forced him to think about the confrontation in real
and immediate terms… What would Odysseus do if slaying these maids
led to a fight with the suitors? He didn’t know… And if he didn’t know
how he’d handle it tonight, how would he magically come up with a
solution by tomorrow? His mind raced with worry that bordered on panic.
He would have to confront the suitors, and he would have to find the
chance and pick his method amidst the hustle and bustle of his wife
choosing a husband – and do it all before she said her vows to another
man…
How could it be done?
If sleep had been difficult before, it was impossible now. His heart
raced. He felt himself breaking out into a cold sweat. He tossed and
turned, knowing he needed the rest, but…
“Having trouble sleeping?” a voice asked.
Odysseus rolled over and found Athena crouched next to him. He
answered with a nod.
Athena shot quick glances one way then the other, as if surveying the
hall with passing curiosity, before turning her gaze to Odysseus. “Why?”
she asked.
Odysseus scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, things are getting pretty
crazy around here. I guess I have a little on my mind.”
“And your problems – you think they’re more than I can handle?”
“It’s not that,” Odysseus sighed. “It’s just… My wife’s talking about
getting married tomorrow. How am I going to have this figured out by
then? How am I going to win a fight against a hundred men. And even if I
do, how do I get away afterward?”
Athena cocked her head. “Get away? What do you mean?”
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“If by some miracle I manage to kill them, I’ll still have to contend
with their families – which means all the nobility of Ithaca. Coming back
home with no army of my own, I’ll essentially have my entire kingdom
against me, and – ”
“Calm down,” Athena cut him off. “Just calm down and get a hold of
yourself. Do you think you’re going to help your situation by lying here
all night getting yourself worked up?”
“No, but – ”
“Do you trust me to help you?”
“Yes…”
“Then stop worrying and remember what you yourself told your son.
The gods are on your side. No matter how bad things look, we will get you
through this – as long as you settle down and have a little faith.”
She ran a hand across front of Odysseus’ face, and he felt a sudden
wave of drowsiness come over him. Within seconds, his eyes grew heavy
and closed.
Penelope awoke with wet, matted eyes. She’d fallen asleep crying
and had apparently cried herself through a string of tortured, melancholy
dreams. Memories of Odysseus, vague feelings of conversing with her
son, anticipation of her coming marriage, the growing feeling of pressure
from the suitors – all these had swirled through her mind as a string of
subconscious feelings, memories, and inclinations that rose, faded, merged
with each other over and over through hours of restless, broken sleep.
And now, as she awoke, all these feelings solidified into the cold, hard
reality of what she was about to face.
She was going to lose Odysseus forever.
Fresh tears began to well up in her eyes. A growing tension built in her
chest until it felt she would burst…
Finally she let loose a tortured cry. She screamed out her husband’s
name, screamed for the gods to take her life… She loosed all her fears and
sorrow, unable to care who heard her or what they would think.
And when she’d gotten her release and her voice was exhausted, she
buried her face in her pillow and wept.
Once more, Odysseus woke up. His first inclination was that one
more rude interruption had roused him as he was about to drift off…
But within seconds he realized that he was waking from a long, deep
sleep. Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked to a window and
noticed the dim light of dawn peeking in from outside.
It was morning.
He shook away his drowsiness and sat up – then realized that what had
awakened him was his wife’s screaming. It echoed down from up in the
women’s chambers. And while he couldn’t make out her words, the agony
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and desperation in her voice were all he needed to hear. She was
grieving… Grieving over the husband she didn’t know was home, over the
marriage that she thought was inevitable – and that Odysseus could only
hope wasn’t.
There, lying on the floor, Odysseus felt his heart wrench at the thought
of her pain. Everything inside him longed to comfort and be comforted by
the wife that, while just upstairs from him, might as well have been a world
away.
And more than ever, he wished he had a plan.
Choking back tears, he bent over and put his face to the ground.
“Lord Zeus,” he muttered, “I know you are with me. I believe the
assurance given to me by your favored daughter last night… But with
everything going on around me, with everything I’m up against, it would
help if you could just give me some tangible sign of your favor. Anything
that would – ”
He was immediately cut off by the rumble of thunder echoing from
outside. He rose up, lifted his face from the ground… Outside he could
hear the voice of one of the women grinding grain out in the courtyard.
“What wonder is this?” it called out. “Thunder coming from a
cloudless sky?” Odysseus heard the grinding of her stone come to a halt,
and he could imagine her stopping her work and looking up to the heavens.
“This is going to be an unusual day – I can just feel it. Zeus is at work
here…” The grinding began again, and through the grunt of her resumed
effort she added, “And I can only hope he brings the end of these slavedriving suitors…”
That was enough for Odysseus. Somehow, he knew, this would all
work out. Thus with fresh assurance he rose to his feet and prepared to
meet the coming day.
Suddenly the morning stillness was broken, and palace came alive
with activity.
From one direction servant women had come in to the hall and, under
Eurycleia’s direction, were scrambling to clean floors, wipe down tables,
and gather all the dishes and rubbish that had been strewn about the hall –
all to set up another day of revelry so the suitors could make the same mess
all over again. And complicating things even further, herds of animals
were now pouring through the gate to merge with the fray. First came
goats, then cattle, then pigs – led in by Eumaeus himself.
After situating his animals, the swineherd made his way over toward
the wall by Odysseus and mumbled, “They treatin’ you good ‘nough?”
Odysseus shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. I only had
to dodge one more chair after you left. And I got into a fight with a fellow
named Irus, but I managed to win that one…”
“Really?” Eumaeus raised his eyebrows.
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“Yep,” Odysseus nodded. “Lucky punch, I guess. Anyway, other than
that I got made fun of by some women, but nothing too bad. I guess I’ll
live.”
“Well, you hang in there, all right?” Eumaeus looked him straight in
the eye with what appeared to be genuine concern. Odysseus almost
wondered if he missed having the smelly, lying old beggar at his house.
“I will. And hopefully the gods will clear this place of the – ”
“Ahhh, yah still here, are yah?” A screeching voice came from the
direction of the goats, and both men turned to find Melanthius storming
toward them. “Still ‘ntent on foulin’ up the palace, are yah? Ain’t done
‘nough tah stir up trouble ‘n bother th’ good people ‘ere, eh? Well they
mus’ be a good sight more tol’rent then I am – or ‘least would seem so,
‘cause yer still here… But I tell yah somethin’ – I ain’t gonna ‘ave the
patience to put up with yah no more. Yah stick ‘round ‘ere much longer,
an’ you ‘n me’s gonna be comin’ tah blows ‘fore it’s all over.”
Eumaeus stepped between them and put a hand on Melanthius’
shoulder. “You fightin’ anyone ‘round here, it’s gonna be me.”
“Tha’s good ‘nough fer me.” Melanthius grabbed Eumaeus’ hand and
flung it to the side.
They looked ready to start throwing punches when a deep voice from
the side interrupted, “Everything all right here?” Odysseus turned to see a
stout man – with a lean, tan face and the simple clothes of a laborer –
approaching on their flanks. He ambled over to them, slowly and in no
particular hurry – but his lack of haste was not, it appeared, because of
cowardice or lack of interest.
Rather it appeared that urgency was just not his style. While Eumaeus
possessed the virtue of unbridled and well-expressed zeal, this man
appeared to have a contrasting asset of cool self-possession. Other laborers
tried to assert themselves by trying to be the brashest and the loudest in the
group – and by breaking out into occasional scuffles when all else failed –
but he quietly commanded his crew with a sturdy, unflappable presence.
He was the kind of servant a master was lucky to find.
Or such was Odysseus’ first impression in the first few seconds of the
man’s approach.
Melanthius, however, seemed less impressed by the newcomer. “We’s
jus’ have’n a bit’v conversation – as if it’s any business uh yers.” He
crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking from Odysseus to Eumaeus
to the third man with lowered eyebrows, until finally – with the other three
perfectly willing to hold their own in the standoff – he felt his defiant
posture was coming off as pouting instead of strong.
So he backed off a step. “One day,” he pointed a finger first at
Eumaeus, then at Odysseus, “one day soon, it’s gonna be one’v you or
t’other – ‘n I don’t much care which. Yah jus’ better be watch’n yer
backs…”
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Then he turned and walked away.
“Quite a character we got there, huh?” the man asked.
“Something like that,” Odysseus shrugged.
The man let out a slow, easy chuckle. “I like you already,” he said. He
held out a hand and added, “Name’s Philoetius. I herd cattle for the king.”
Odysseus shook his hand and answered the statement with a silent nod.
Then he let several quiet seconds pass – seconds the cowherd would take
as awkward silence but that Odysseus spent thinking through ways to fish
out the man’s loyalty.
“For the king, huh?” Odysseus asked.
“Yep,” Philoetius answered.
“Hmm,” Odysseus answered. “But hasn’t he been gone a while?”
“Quite a long while,” Philoetius sighed. “A bit too long for my taste, to
be honest.”
“So you miss him?”
The cowherd let out a hint of a breath, then turned his eyes and shot
Odysseus a weary look – one that seemed to say that, on one hand, the
answer was obvious and that, on the other, phrasing the question in terms
of “missing” someone was turning the conversation a bit too sentimental.
“He was a good king. He took good care of me – took good care of us
all, actually. He saw potential in me, put me in charge of his herds while I
was still a young’n” – at this point Odysseus recognized Philoetius as the
promising teenager he had appointed just weeks before his departure –
“and gave me everything I needed to do my job as I was supposed to…
But nothing’s been the same since he left. It’s so bad I’ve sometimes been
tempted to run off and find another master to serve. But then even if the
king is gone – and even if he ain’t coming back – it doesn’t seem quite
right abandoning him.”
“Well you know,” Odysseus said, “he may very well come back – and
soon. I’ve heard reports that he’s on a nearby island even as we speak,
preparing to make the last leg of his journey.”
Philoetius pursed his lips, gave a slow nod, then looked vacantly out
across the courtyard.
Odysseus knew that was all the response he would get out of the
cowherd. And while he didn’t have the luxury of spending idle hours
testing, prodding, and toying with Philoetius the way he had with
Eumaeus, he was also fairly certain he’d found a second ally.
“What do you mean we should try to kill him? Weren’t we going to
wait until his mother picked one of us?”
The suitors were gathered in a tight huddle in a far corner of the
courtyard. They all leaned in, each man looking from one face to the next
with a sudden urgency. This new beggar, the way Telemachus had started
standing up for himself, the general disruption of their lazy routine in the
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palace – everything about the past couple days had started to rattle their
cages. It didn’t exactly have them frightened, but it stirred in them a
feeling of movement and of change that left them inclined to get new ideas,
second-guess old ideas, and most of all gather to hold discussions.
“I’m not necessarily saying we should kill him now. Maybe it would
be best to wait until one of us becomes king. I just thought we should
consider different – ”
“You mean if one of us becomes king. The way the boy’s acting up
now, I’m not so sure we can count on that happening.”
“Well the queen did say she was about to pick one of us.”
“She always says she’s about to pick one of us.”
“That’s right… And with the boy all grown up – especially as bold as
he’s getting – all it takes is her putting us off another week or two, and…”
The huddle broke out into nodding and mumbled agreement before
another spoke out: “The line’s already getting fuzzy. Every day that he
starts acting like king, there’s a greater risk that the elders will decide to
crown him king. Then there’s no question who’s in charge, and we’re in
trouble. I say we need to start at least thinking about where and when we
can quietly – ”
Amphinomus listened to their arguments in silence. The discussion
had turned murderous more quickly and more decisively than he had
anticipated. He tried to bite his tongue, to hide his growing unease, until…
Suddenly he pointed to the sky. “Uh, guys… I think you should have
a look at this.”
A hundred faces all turned up to find an eagle soaring past, holding a
dove in its talons. Its prey was on its last gasp of life, trembling and letting
out a weak little cry.
As the eagle passed by and headed toward the horizon, Amphinomus
allowed the spell of the moment to hang in the air for just a minute before
adding: “Quite a disturbing sight, isn’t it? I’d say it’s a pretty clear sign
from the gods – an omen warning us to tread with caution. For now – just
for now – why don’t we lay low and see what develops before making any
rash moves?”
The suitors nodded their agreement before slowly dispersing to go have
breakfast.
Amphinomus released a slow sigh of relief. Once more, disaster had
been averted.
The hall was cleaned, and everything was prepared for the morning’s
meal. Suitors were gathering around tables as servants were placing out
the last trays of food. Within minutes, everybody had settled in.
Telemachus waited until the suitors had filled their mouths full enough
for a reasonable silence to settle over the hall – then he led the beggar to
the front of the hall and addressed the suitors.
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“Listen up, all of you,” he called out. “Because there’s something here
we need to address. Yesterday this man came to my house looking for
assistance. He showed up here in good faith, asking nothing but a bite of
food to help him by during a difficult time. But you guys… The way you
treated him last night was absolutely deplorable – and it needs to stop.
Regardless of his station, regardless of his appearance, he is a guest in my
house, and – ”
“Seriously?” an anonymous voice interrupted. “We gave him exclusive
begging rights in the palace, not to mention free meals for life. How much
better could have treated him?”
Light giggling broke out in the hall.
“You know very well that what you ‘gave’ him had nothing to do with
decency or hospitality. You put him up against Irus just for your own
amusement, tormenting both men with taunts and sarcastic encouragement.
It was all a mind game; they knew you were making fun of them the whole
time, yet out of hungry desperation they jumped through the hoops you put
in front of them in hope of being fed. What’s more, you fully expected
Irus to clobber our guest. So don’t sit there and boast in the fact that you
grudgingly offered him a prize when he defied your expectations. The
treatment you’ve given him is a shame both to you and to this house, and it
ends now.”
The suitors’ laughter turned into an outburst of angry comments until it
looked like they were ready to move in on Telemachus. Suddenly
Antinous sprang to his feet and, holding out an open hand in each
direction, took the position of mediating between Telemachus and the
suitors.
“Okay, okay,” he called to Telemachus. “We’ll back down. After all,
this man” – he emphasized the word sarcastically – “is a guest in your
house.” Then he turned to the suitors and with a sharply curled smile
added, “It is his house, after all. Even if he’s an obnoxious little
pipsqueak, even if he keeps stepping into the middle of things that aren’t
his business, we are in his house – and Zeus has not yet given us the
opportunity to dispose of him. So settle down, enjoy your meals, and
endure his endless mouthing off just a little longer.”
He punctuated his backhanded agreement by looking Telemachus in the
eye and broadening his grin as he sat back down.
The rest of the suitors backed down, but there was a quiet rumble of
dissatisfaction in the room. Whispers were exchanged. From time to time
men turned to glare at Telemachus – some with intense irritation, and some
with the same sharp-eyed gleam of evil humor that had haunted him since
childhood.
Telemachus could feel the tension in the air. He knew the suitors were
too arrogant to back down from a challenge, and that it was only a matter
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of time before the artificial peace called by Antinous – proclaimed in
sarcasm and probably intended to goad them anyway – fell apart.
It finally happened when a suitor named Ctesippus rose to his feet. A
pale, thin-lipped man with wispy yellow hair and wild eyes that seemed
sunken and small for their sockets, he was hardly one of the more
impressive suitors – just one more face in the crowd led by Antinous and
Eurymachus. But now, overcome either by his temper or by an urge to
make a name for himself, he eyed the suitors with a wide grin that was a
weak, overeager imitation of Antinous’ crass charisma.
“You know, I think Antinous is right,” he proclaimed. “This beggar is
a guest in this house…” His grin grew wider, signaling his belief that he
was about to say something clever. “…so let me be the first to offer him a
gift.”
With that he held up a hand to reveal an ox hoof he’d been carrying.
After taking a quick look around the room, he wound up and threw it at the
beggar. But with one quick motion the beggar ducked, and the hoof
slammed into the wall behind him and dropped to the floor.
Telemachus strode over to the beggar and put his arm across his back in
a protective gesture. “You’re a lucky man, Ctesippus,” he said. “If you’d
have hit my guest, I’d have had to kill you where you stood.”
The suitors let out a chorus of “Oooooooh!” But beneath their façade
of playful mockery was an edge of irritation and unease.
“I mean it,” Telemachus shot back. “This man is my guest, and I take
my responsibility as host very seriously. For too long I’ve sat by and
watched you treat people like this – a shameful negligence on my part that
was excusable only because of my age. But now, as a grown man, I have
no excuses; duty compells me to stand up to you.”
The suitors roared out angry threats – a variety of threats expressed in a
variety of ways, but each of them essentially saying one thing: Just try to
stop us.
Telemachus held up his hands and raised his voice. “Yes, I know… If
I tried to take you all on, you could very easily kill me – but I’d rather die
defending my honor than continue disgracing my house and myself by
allowing this to continue.”
All at once the room seemed to inhale as the suitors wound up for
another round of mockery – but another suitor, named Agelaus, held up a
hand to stop them.
“All right, let it go, guys,” he said. “I don’t like the old codger – or the
boy – any more than the rest of you do. But he is a guest here…” A
disappointed rumble began to drown out his voice, and he waved his hands
to silence it. “And whether or not you feel that obligates us to him, you
have to agree on one thing: He’s nothing but a distraction. I mean really,
guys, why are we getting all worked up over him?” Agelaeus turned to
Telemachus. “If you’re really that intent on letting a stinky beggar live in
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your house, then fine – go ahead and let him. It’s not my job to keep the
trash picked up off your floor. What I’m concerned about – and what all of
you should be concerned about as well – is the queen’s decision to get
married. Yes,” he pointed a finger squarely at Telemachus, “you may feel
you have a duty toward this beggar. But we’re guests in your house too,
and you have a duty to us to keep your mother from wasting our time. She
needs to make a decision, and soon – and you need to make sure it
happens.”
“I totally agree with you,” Telemachus replied. The suitors fell into a
confused silence. “My mother does need to make a choice. I know I
haven’t been a fan of you guys – and truth be told I’m still not – but the
reality is my father’s not coming back. My voyage to the mainland gave
me no reason for hope, and since my return I’ve been encouraging her to
pick. But ultimately it’s on her to make the choice, and one thing I’m not
going to do is kick her out of the house just because she won’t.”
Telemachus paused, anticipating more objections. But the room
remained silent – until suddenly one of the suitors broke out into laughter.
Soon another began laughing, then another, then another… Within
seconds the whole hall was consumed with roaring, out of control laughter.
For long seconds it persisted – then for long minutes. Suitors laughed until
their faces were beet-red and tears were rolling down their cheeks. Some
doubled over and buried their faces in their palms. Others fell face down
and laughed into their food.
At first Telemachus took it all as ridicule… But as it continued, he
found it puzzling. As much as they liked to mock him, there was no
plausible way they were laughing at what he’d just said – especially
laughing this hard… There had to be something else to this.
Indeed, when Telemachus watched more closely, he noticed a pained
look in their eyes. They were laughing so hard it hurt – and not only that,
but their eyes were totally devoid of humor or enjoyment. This laughter
looked like it was coming from somewhere outside them, like it was being
forced on them – and like they desperately wanted to stop, but…
In the midst of it all Telemachus began to hear a voice crying out, and
he looked over to see Theoclymenus standing on a stool with arms raised,
shouting out wildly: “Oh, now look at this! Look at what you’ve brought
down upon yourselves! Athena has stolen your wits, undone your minds,
set your mouths to laughter.” His eyes, filled with fiery intensity, swept
along the crowd – then they faded into a vacant look, as if he were seeing
something beyond the realm of this world, something frightening,
grotesque… “The walls… Oh, look at them! They’re just covered with
blood – fresh, sticky, bright red blood. It drips from the ceiling, lands on
your tables, splashes over your food. Your clothes are stained with it, your
hair is sticky and matted with it… Yet still you don’t see it! And
outside… Just outside this door, the courtyard is crammed full of ghosts.
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Their wide-open mouths moan with warning. The sun is gone, the sky is
blotted out with a pitch-black mist, and the world is shrouded in
darkness…”
A few suitors had regained enough control of themselves to pay
attention, but the moment he’d finished, they broke down once more.
“It sounds to me like this fellow’s a little confused,” Eurymachus called
out. His stomach heaved with the effort of restraining his laughter; he
banged on the table with an open hand, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I think we’d better drag him outside and show him what time of day it
is…” He’d barely managed to belt out those few words before bursting
into more laughter.
“Oh, you won’t have to drag me outside,” Theoclymenus peered at
Eurymachus. “I’ll go out happily – not because I’m confused about the
time of day, but because a storm is brewing in this house. The wrath of the
gods is about to fall upon you, and when it does this is the last place I want
to be. And you can mark my words: By the end of the day you’ll wish
you’d followed me out there…”
With that he wheeled around and strode out the door.
The uproar in the room grew louder. Some suitors pointed at the open
door and roared out loud, while others turned to Telemachus and spouted
comments between bouts of laughter.
“Oh my goodness, where do you find these people?”
“You leave Ithaca one time, and what do you bring back? A smelly old
beggar and a crazy-eyed ‘prophet.’”
“Boy, you really need better taste in friends.”
Telemachus saw no reason to respond to their stupid taunts. Instead he
just sat in silence, shooting glances at his father and waiting for a signal.
He had a feeling they would act soon.
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Chapter 15
The Contest for Penelope’s Hand
The laughter had subsided. It had been nearly an hour since the
suitors had gotten control of themselves, and now they were lounging
around the hall, making conversation as they idly picked at scraps of food.
Already the madness that had overcome them was forgotten – as were the
ominous words of Theoclymenus – and by lazy force of habit they all
returned to their arrogantly carefree existence.
But one by one they now began to fall silent. One by one they elbowed
their neighbors, pointed across the room… And within seconds all eyes
were locked upon a sight that caused a hush to fall over the crowd:
Penelope, standing at the foot of the stairs, her eyes sweeping across the
hall in slow, thoughtful movements.
Finally, she spoke: “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? A long time since
you first showed up here in our palace. A long time that you’ve spent here
trying to win my hand in marriage. And a long time that I’ve spent
resisting, in the hope – yes, perhaps a vain hope – that my husband would
return. It’s been a long battle, and I know it’s been frustrating for us all…”
All the suitors seemed to lean forward just slightly, scarcely as much as
breathing as they sensed the beginning of an important announcement.
The queen had given hints of marriage before, of course, and by now they
had grown jaded by her combination of vague promises and endless
stalling – yet still they remained on the edge of their seats, captivated,
curious to hear what she had to say this time…
“Through it all I’ve had practically nothing good to say about any of
you – there’s no use in trying to deny it. And even today, I can’t honestly
say my feelings toward you have changed…” She lowered her eyes for a
moment, then, with great effort, lifted them back to look out at the suitors
with a steely determination. “But as much as I love Odysseus, this has
simply gone on long enough. The time has come for me to look for a new
husband.”
A flurry of whispers broke out, and the room was suddenly charged
with an excited – and somewhat competitive – air.
Antinous, however, remained cautious. He rose to his feet, then took a
few steps toward Penelope and said, “The sentiment sounds very nice,
queen – in theory. But I can’t help but pick up on the ambiguity of your
‘announcement.’ The time has come for you to ‘look for a new husband’?”
He raised his eyebrows into a theatrical expression of disbelief and took a
quick look around at the other suitors. “What does that even mean? How
much time are you going to spend ‘looking’? And when, at long last, are
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you finally going to decide?” The suitors’ whispering became a
dissatisfied rumble that grew in volume with each question. “Forgive me
for not jumping up and down with glee, madam, but that’s a pretty weak
promise to make this late in the game. As many times as you’ve deceived
us, we’d be a little foolish to – ”
“Today,” Penelope cut him off. “I will make my choice today – and
today will be my wedding day.” She cocked her head and shot Antinous a
cold look. “Is that specific enough for you, Antinous?”
Silence lingered for half a heartbeat – and then the room exploded into
shouting. First suitors shouted out in surprise, then they shouted a series of
questions… Finally – and inevitably – all their yelling broke down into
various lewd and aggressive ways of expressing the fact that if today was
her wedding day, tonight would also be her wedding night.
Antinous held up a hand to silence them. “And how, good queen, will
you so quickly choose from among so many fine young men?”
Penelope chose not to contest his appraisal of what she had to pick
from – and only a small twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her
feelings on the topic. With the utmost restraint, she answered plainly, “I
will hold an archery contest – and the winner will become my husband.”
The room ignited with the energy of shared excitement sharpened by an
edge of competitive suspicion. Some suitors nodded with self-assured
grins and began boasting of their chances. Those less adept at archery
deflated just slightly and started grumbling beneath their breath.
Antinous, though, kept his face locked in a look of cool, skeptical
indifference. He allowed a few seconds for the chatter to wind down
before asking, “And what exactly will the terms of this contest be?”
“It will be held using my husband’s bow,” Penelope answered. On cue,
one of her attendants lifted a finely made ibex-horn bow over his head for
all to see. “Each of you, in turn, will get one chance to string and shoot it.”
“And what is the target?”
Penelope motioned to Eumaeus and Philoetius, who were setting up
axes in a line along the length of the floor. The axes were placed upsidedown, with the heads resting on the floor and the handles sticking upright
into the air like a series of poles.
“There’s a small loop at the tip of each axe handle,” Penelope
explained. “My servants are placing twelve of these axes in single row,
carefully lining them up so that all of the loops are aligned. Once they
have them all situated correctly, you should be able to look straight
through all the loops.” She turned and walked to the end of the hall next to
the main door, so that the row of axes was lined up in front of her. “Each
of you – if you manage to string the bow – will take your shot from over
here. The objective is to shoot the arrow so that it passes through all
twelve loops before hitting the wall at the opposite end of the hall.”
The suitors’ reaction was immediate – and very, very loud:
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“WHAT?”
“Oh, come on! This is just stupid!”
“Nobody can do that!”
As the intensity of the outburst grew, the individual comments merged
into a single, angry uproar. It looked like the suitors were about to riot, to
storm out of the hall…
But Antinous, with much more self control than the rest, took on the
job of articulating their misgivings into a coherent and constructively
stated objection: “My dear queen, that shot’s simply impossible.”
Simply and coldly, Penelope answered, “Odysseus used to make it all
the time.”
For just a moment Antinous paused… The obvious answer of course,
was: “But Odysseus was twice the man we are.” But for obvious reasons
he chose to sidestep that argument, instead covering his face with a
smarmy look of mock patience and stating, “Oh, come now, queen…
You’ve strung us along with your vague promises for years – so to finally
give us a deadline, only to turn around and set us up for failure… It’s
more than irritating. It’s downright insulting. And everybody – from us to
your family to the people of Ithaca – is going to see through your ruse.”
“I know it’s a difficult shot, Antinous – and yes, for the men in this
hall, maybe it’s impossible. But that’s the whole point…”
The crowd began to rumble again, and Antinous held up a hand to cut
them off. “How, queen, can that be the ‘point’?”
“Well, if I gave you a task that was doable, it’s possible one of you
might succeed, right?”
“Of course,” Antinous shot back.
“And if it’s possible for one of you to succeed, then it’s possible for
two – or more – of you to succeed. Then how would I make my choice?”
Antinous grudgingly accepted her line of reasoning with a nod.
“But if I set up an extraordinarily difficult contest, I can always choose
the man who comes closest to succeeding. Even if a man shoots through
only one loop – or even nicks the first axe – he will become my husband if
nobody else does better. I’m not trying to frustrate you with this task; I
just want to make sure we find a clear winner.” Penelope took a quick
look around at the suitors. “You can rest assured, I will marry someone
today.”
The announcement hung in the air for several long seconds before
Antinous finally gave a quick nod. “Sounds fair enough to me…” He
turned to the rest of the suitors. “Does it work for you guys?”
A hundred heads nodded, and a hundred voices muttered their
approval.
“Then let’s get this thing set up.” With a quick look, Antinous
measured up the room. Then he began herding the suitors, arranging them
into a long, single-file line along the edge of a wall based largely on where
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they’d already been sitting or standing. “There…” he looked up and down
the line, satisfied with his work. “We’ll start down there,” he pointed
down to one end, “and work our way down the line. One at a time, every
man will get his shot.”
Again they all nodded.
By this time the bowstring, the unstrung bow, and a quiver of arrows
were all situated at the end of the hall, with the axes set up before them. It
appeared they were ready to begin the contest.
Leiodes, the first man in line, started moving forward to make his
attempt.
But just as he took his first step, he was interrupted by a voice calling
out from somewhere in the hall…
Telemachus had assumed his father was coming up with a plan – and
he was prepared to wait, to trust in his father’s timing and watch for the
coming signal.
But this was getting way too close for comfort. They still had
practically nothing in the way of allies. His father was still just a heap of
rags sitting off in the corner. And now, with no sign of reaction from his
father, the suitors were all contending for the right to marry his mother
today.
For several minutes Telemachus squirmed with the urge to act. His
stomach fluttered as his mother announced the contest, as Antinous pushed
her with his bullying insistence. He struggled to restrain himself when
everything was in place and the suitors were lining up to take their turns.
But finally, when Leiodes was about to step up and take the bow, he lost
his nerve.
Whether he actually hoped to stall the proceeding or was just overcome
by an urge to do something, he suddenly found himself calling out, “Wait!”
The suitors all turned to face him, and Antinous grumbled, “Yes, what
is it?”
“Before you guys start, I’d like to give it a try.”
All the suitors shot each other quick glances before the room exploded
with laughter.
“Really?”
“Oh, gross!”
“That’s just nasty!”
So they continued, their comments deteriorating into increasingly crude
questions and suggestions about why Telemachus would want to
participate.
“Oh, shut up, you idiots,” Telemachus called out over them. “I don’t
want to marry my mother, and you know it. But if you’re going to hold a
big contest like this, I at least want to see how I stack up against the
competition.”
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Antinous put on his best sarcastic grin. “Fair enough,” He answered.
He extended an arm in the direction of the bow. “If that’s what you feel
compelled to do, then go ahead – have at it.”
Under the leering eyes of giggling suitors, Telemachus strode over to
the shooting area. He grabbed the bow by the handle, turned it over and
inspected it. As a prince, he had certainly been well trained in archery, but
he had never before handled his father’s famous weapon. It felt unusually
heavy in his hands, and it seemed to have a sturdy, well-built quality about
it. Telemachus had the impression that it was a much better bow than any
of the others he had used before, that it would be amazing to shoot – if he
had the skill and the strength to properly handle it.
Finally he picked up the string and looped it around the bottom tip of
the bow. With the utmost care he ran his hand up the length of the string
until he had a handle on the other end – then he grabbed the top of the bow
and tried to bend it down to meet the string…
It gave more resistance than he had thought. After wrenching on it for
a few minutes, he released the tension and set the half-strung bow down.
He took a step back and drew a deep breath as the suitors laughed and
mocked him.
He picked it up and tried again. His trembling hands pulled the top of
the bow within an inch of the string, but still he couldn’t work the loop
over the tip.
On his third attempt he still had no luck… But he felt he was getting to
know the bow, its tension, the best place to grab and pull…
As he went in for his fourth try, he just knew that if he held it just right,
he could get the leverage he needed to string it. He pulled with all his
might, felt the bow bending. He knew he had it this time…
Then he caught a glance at his father – looking back at him, shaking his
head. He was signaling Telemachus not to string the bow.
Telemachus set the unstring weapon down. “I guess I just can’t do it,”
he sighed. “You guys go ahead and try.”
Once more the suitors burst out into laughter.
“He couldn’t even string it?”
“Oh, don’t let them get you down, boy. You gave it your best shot…
Or wait, no – you didn’t even get that far, did you?”
“Step back, son. It’s time for the men to show you how it’s done.”
Telemachus wasn’t sure why his father wouldn’t let him succeed, but
with shoulders hunched and face red, he went back to take his seat.
“All right, Leiodes, now it’s your turn,” Antinous announced. The
corner of his mouth was curled slightly, and with a taunting gleam in his
eye he shot Telemachus a glance.
Leiodes walked over and picked up the bow. His approach lacked the
arrogant swagger of his comrades – unlike most other unnoteworthy
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suitors, he didn’t even attempt to imitate or get “in” with the ringleaders –
and instead he shuffled with quick, short steps toward the firing area. He
seemed to regret being first in line and looked like he just wanted to get
done with his attempt and go home.
Once he had the weapon in hand, he gave it a quick, obligatory
inspection before trying to string it. After a few attempts he seemed to be
having even less luck than Telemachus.
Finally he set it down and announced, “I think I’m going to have to
concede.” A thin smile played at his lips as he started walking back to his
seat. “Stringing this thing’s harder than it looks, guys. Don’t be too quick
to tease the boy until you’ve tried it yourselves.” That was as much of a
jab as he dared take at the other suitors, and he sat down with a vaguely
satisfied look – for once he’d surrendered his pride, sardonic humor was all
he had left.
“What a pathetic excuse for a pathetic attempt,” Antinous sneered.
“You make me sick, Leiodes… I give you the honor of the first shot, and
what do you do? You fiddle with the bow for five seconds, then set it
down and start whining about how nobody can handle it. Well I for one
am willing to put in a little more effort than that…” He turned back and
called out over his shoulder, “Melanthius!”
The goatherd shuffled up to his side. “Yessir?”
“Run out and grab a good-sized piece of fat, then start a fire next to the
shooting line.” As Melanthius scurried away, Antinous turned to the rest
of the suitors and added, “This bow’s been sitting in storage for twenty
years, so naturally it’s going to be a little hard to bend. But if we work it a
little, warm it up, rub some grease into it… I’m sure it will soften up, and
we can get on with this contest as planned. After all, we have the best
young noble men from Ithaca here – so I’m guessing someone here has to
be man enough to string a bow.”
One by one the suitors stepped up and took the bow. First they tried
the obvious: They held bow in one hand and string in the other and tried
with textbook execution to string it the way they had strung bows all their
lives.
Then, when this failed, they fell to the brute force approach. They
gripped it and began pulling – harder and harder until they were wrenching
on it for all they were worth, their beet-red faces straining until tears
started to form in their eyes. They grunted, shifted position, tried every
trick they could think of to get a new angle, better leverage than the man
before. They stopped and held the bow over the fire. They rubbed grease
into the bow’s surface, sometimes furiously and sometimes with slow,
methodical care. Some called out suggestions while a comrade was
working. Some huddled with their friends to discuss different strategies,
an inordinate number of them suddenly becoming experts on leverage, the
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tensile strength of ibex horn, and the elasticity of bowstrings. At first there
was a competitiveness about the proceeding, and occasionally some of
them hid information or gave bad advice to trip up an opponent. But over
time group pride and sheer frustration turned it into a collaborative process.
More and more the crowd found itself rooting for whoever happened to be
trying at any particular time – partly in hope that it would become more
pliable as it was passed down the line, and partly just because they all
wanted to see the stupid thing bend.
But one by one each man grumbled to himself, shouted curses to the
group, shook his head, or tossed the bow aside in frustration. Not one of
them could string Odysseus’ bow.
Still there were two contenders left at the end of the line, however –
Eurymachus and Antinous, the cream of the crop, the pride of Ithaca’s
nobility, the most eligible among Penelope’s illustrious suitors.
As the line grew shorter and shorter and these last two came closer and
closer, the others had silently wondered if they would do what the rest had
failed to do. And now, with the bow being handed to him, all eyes rested
on Eurymachus.
Two servants sat in the courtyard listening to the shifting sounds of
voices coming from inside the hall: tense moments of grunting and
grumbling; calls of hopeful encouragement, some fading into a
disappointed “ahhhh” and others rising into a crescendo of sarcastic
cheering accompanied by a blast of angry profanity.
Powerless, all hope lost, Eumaeus and Philoetius could do nothing but
lounge around like dejected losers. One picked up pebbles and flung them
one at a time out across the courtyard. The other held a stick with which
he sketched lazy patterns in the dust on the courtyard floor. Though they’d
helped set up this abomination of a contest, they had no desire to watch –
so now all they could do was sit here like the outcasts they were and let the
noises from inside wash over them like waves of nausea.
During a lull in the shouting, however, they heard the shuffle of
approaching feet. First Eumaeus looked, then Philoetius – and they
discovered that the beggar had come outside and was walking toward them
with unusual swiftness.
As their attention drifted back to what they were doing, Eumaeus
muttered an obligatory, “Goin’ okay in there?”
To which the beggar answered with abrupt urgency, “Would you stand
by Odysseus?”
The servants turned to face him. “What?” they blurted out at once.
“I mean if he were to come back – if he were here today – would you
fight by his side? Would you stand with him, even if it were just you and
him against all those men in there?”
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“Ain’t you figured out nothin’ ‘bout me yet?” Eumaus wrinkled his
face into an earnestly exasperated look. “I’d stan’ by his side ‘gainst a
thousand suitors. I’d stan’ by his side ‘gainst a million suitors. I’d fight
‘em ‘til they knocked me over the head and I’s sprawled out ‘cross the
ground – and then I’d roll over and keep wavin’ my spear at ‘em where I
lay, even as I bled out and they’s kickin’ me like a stray dog. Only when
the mist ‘a death covered my eyes and I woke up down in the Underworld
would I be done. And I’d be plenty happy to be there, long as I managed
to take a couple of ‘em down with me.”
More in line with his spare style, Philoetius broke out into a tightlipped grin and answered, “You bet I would.”
The beggar eyed the two men cautiously, then said, “Good. I was
hoping you’d say that.”
“Why…” Eumaeus squinted, confused, and turned to Philoetius.
“Because I’m Odysseus. I’m your master, returned at long last from
the war at Troy… And here’s your proof” – he pulled aside his rags to
reveal the scar that had betrayed his identity to Eurycleia – “…the scar I
received in my youth, on my first boar hunting trip to Parnassus.”
“Master!” the servants cried out breathlessly. In spite of themselves
they leapt forward, threw their arms around Odysseus, and began crying on
his shoulders.
Immediately he pushed them back. “There’s no time for that now. We
have our hands more than full at the moment. Besides, don’t you think it’s
going to look a little suspicious if you’re out here hugging an old beggar?”
The servants wiped away their tears and nodded.
“Now here’s the situation… You two are the only manservants who I
know I can trust – so it’s just me, the two of you, and of course
Telemachus against a hundred and eight suitors. And while I have a plan
for dealing with them, I can’t say it’s likely everything will play out in our
favor.” He shot a look at Eumaeus, then at Philoetius. “Even if it means
death, are you with me?”
“We meant it when we said it,” Philoetius answered.
“Good… So here’s what I need you to do. I’m going to go back in
there, and I need you to follow a few minutes behind me, so no one knows
we’re together. Eumaeus, you sneak off the first chance you get and find
Eurycleia – tell her to lock the doors to the women’s rooms. And
Philoetius, you’re going to lock the doors to the main hall, so that nobody
can get in or out.”
“And after that?” Philoetius asked.
“After that just await my instructions… But for now I need to hurry
and get back inside. We don’t have much more time.”
An attempt at a confident smile flashed across Eurymachus’ face, and
he cleared his throat as he stepped up to take the weapon. He inspected
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every inch of it, slowly and deliberately, running his fingers over its
grooves. He balanced it in his hand, bounced it up and down to feel its
weight. He spent nearly half an hour warming it over the fire, looking over
his shoulder now and again to fill the others in on what he was doing and
why.
Like Antinous, he was confident. Like Antinous – but to a lesser
extent, of course – he commanded the attention and deference of the other
suitors. He was respected in a crowd that didn’t give respect easily; his
words held sway, and he had power. But with that power came the burden
of needing to impress the others. He couldn’t afford to fail in front of the
crowd any more than Antinous could – so while he was fairly sure that he
could string and fire the bow, even the off chance that he couldn’t gave
him reason to worry.
So he talked over everything he was doing with a firm, patronizing tone
of instruction… Trying to impress them all with his confidence, with his
knowledge… Trying to stall…
Finally he did what he needed to do. He gripped the curve of the bow
and bent it down as he pulled the string up toward it… Yet for all his
effort, for all his shaking and grunting, he was unable to string it. He came
closer than all the others – make no mistake about that – but he couldn’t
quite get that loop over the tip of the bow.
“Oh, gods on Olympus!” he spat. He flung the bow down, and it
clattered against the floor. “This is ridiculous! Nobody can string this
thing…”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Antinous stepped up and placed a hand on his
shoulder. “There are plenty of other good women in Ithaca.”
Eurymachus spun about and glared in Antinous’ face. The man was
toying with him. He had deliberately put himself at the end of the line –
Eurymachus knew that from the start – and now, with sarcasm thinly
veiled by mock sympathy, he was taunting him for failing to do what
neither man could ever do.
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Eurymachus growled. “I have plenty
of other prospects – and even if I didn’t, I came closer to stringing this than
the rest. So according to the rules laid out by the queen, I’m the winner…
Unless you can manage to do better.”
“So then what’s the problem?” Antinous asked – now with a hint of a
smile in his eyes.
“The problem is that people are going to hear about this. All across
Ithaca – all across Greece, in fact – generation after generation will learn
about how we were so much weaker than Odysseus that we couldn’t even
string his stupid bow. For all eternity, we’ll be famed for nothing but our
weakness, the punch line of bad jokes and – ”
“No,” Antinous cut him off. “Nobody’s going to hear about this.”
Eurymachus eyed him cautiously. “How do you figure?”
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“Today’s a holy day. There’s a festival going on out in the city – a
celebration honoring Apollo – and it just wouldn’t be right for us to be
conducting games at a time like this. In fact, it would only be reasonable –
and reverent – for us to shut this whole thing down right now.” Antinous
flashed a sly grin. “In fact, as far as everybody else is concerned, none of
this ever happened. None of us tried, and none of us failed, because good
god-fearing men like us would never be here doing a thing like this right
now. No – instead, we would take part in the festival and put this contest
off until tomorrow… And if, in the meantime, we happened to learn more
about how to handle that bow, then so be it.”
The suitors heartily agreed, of course. Eurymachus was less
enthusiastic in his assent – but while Antinous had humiliated him, the
benefits of going along with his plan were obvious.
Antinous held out his hand to demand the bow, and with a light guttural
noise, Eurymachus fetched it and gave it to him.
“Eumaeus,” Antinous called out.
The swineherd strode up and offered him a grudging, “Yes, sir.”
Antinous handed him the bow. “Take this to the storeroom. We’ll
leave it there overnight and finish this in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Eumaeus bowed slightly.
But just as he was turning to leave, a voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Before you put that thing away,” it called out, “would you mind if I
gave it a try?”
With a gasp, the suitors turned and laid eyes on the source of the
question: the beggar.
“What???” Eurymachus asked.
“Have you lost your mind?” Antinous added.
The beggar lowered his head slightly. “No… I just thought I might try
and see if I could…”
“No!” Antinous snapped. “You’ve been allowed into this palace and
given more food than a beggar could ever hope for – along with the
promise of even more in the future. Don’t push your luck by sticking your
nose where it doesn’t belong.” He clenched a fist and brandished it over
the man. “Because it’s just not going to be worth the trouble.”
The beggar cringed, looking ready to back down – until Penelope’s
voice cut in: “I see no harm in letting him try.”
“Oh, are you serious?” Antinous rolled his eyes. A rumble from the
suitors echoed his sentiment.
“Yes, I’m serious. The man obviously isn’t fit to marry me – and I’m
sure he harbors no illusions to that effect…” Turning to the beggar, she
added, “Right?”
“Right,” the beggar nodded. “The very idea of me marrying the queen
makes no sense at all.”
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Penelope turned back to Antinous. “So where’s the harm? Why not let
him have his fun before you wrap things up? Unless you’re afraid he’s
going to succeed where you failed, there’s no reason for you to – ”
“Mother,” Telemachus interrupted, “this doesn’t concern you. I’m the
man of this house, and I alone will decide who does or doesn’t shoot my
father’s bow.”
Penelope was aghast. “Telemachus, I – ”
“I mean it, mother. This isn’t the place for you right now. This is
men’s business, and right now you need to be up in your room working
your loom and tending to your servants.”
Penelope opened her mouth to retort, but she stopped before speaking.
With pursed lips, a terse nod, and a quick evil glance at her son, she turned
and strode out of the hall.
“Eumaeus, give that man the bow,” Telemachus ordered.
“You do and you’re dead,” one of the suitors shouted.
The swineherd halted as voices began rising all around him, buffeting
him back and forth with a barrage of conflicting commands. He turned one
way then the next, confused, intimidated, not quite sure where to carry the
bow that lay across his hands…
“Eumaeus,” Telemachus’ voice grew stern and cold, “I said to give it to
him.”
With slow but steady steps, Eumaeus walked over and handed the bow
to the beggar.
Suddenly the hall echoed with the deep, resonating thud of a bolt
sliding into place – the familiar sound of the palace door being locked.
The suitors halted to look around at each other, curious and slightly
startled… But then they just shrugged and turned to watch the beggar – to
jeer and taunt as he looked over the bow, turning it in his hands, inspecting
it.
“Interesting, isn’t it,” one of them shouted. “It’s called a bow. People
use it to shoot things.”
The others laughed.
“Come on, what do you think you’re going to do, old man?”
“Let’s go already. We have a festival to attend…”
The beggar just ignored them as, in one expert motion, he held the bow
steady between pinched knees, bent back the tip with his left hand, and
pulled the loop up and into place with his right.
A dead silence fell over the hall. The suitors stared, mouths agape, at a
beggar who stood gripping a strung and ready bow in his left hand. He let
the moment linger for just a few seconds – then he reached down and
plucked the string with his right hand, so that its rich, resonant sound filled
the stillness of the hall.
Seconds later, it was echoed by an ominous blast of thunder from
outside.
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The suitors looked around at each other – some wan-faced and silent,
others mumbling nervously…
Then the beggar grabbed an arrow from the quiver, notched it on the
bowstring with a swift, casual movement, as if he had done it a thousand
times before – then he drew back, aimed for just a second, and released.
There was a quick whoosh and a dead thud, and the suitors turned to
find the arrow sticking in the far wall.
As their minds caught up with what had just flashed past their eyes, a
realization crept over them: the arrow had flown smoothly through all
twelve loops. Soon they were all turning their heads back and forth in
unison – one moment gaping at the beggar, the next looking in disbelief at
the arrow lodged in the wall.
Now they were really confused.
The silence was soon followed by an outburst of shouting from the
suitors. There were gasps of shock that began to sound vaguely alarmed.
There were calls of anger – a knee-jerk reaction to what they’d seen, as if
the beggar, simply because he’d performed an amazing feat, should be held
responsible for their bruised egos. And most of all there was sheer,
confused surprise.
So taken back were the suitors, so caught up in their crying out and
looking to each other with shrugs and mumbled questions and raised
brows, that it took them several seconds to notice the sound of shuffling
and banging about in their midst.
Slowly they grew quiet. Slowly they turned their heads to the source of
the disturbance. And slowly they noticed Antinous, standing with his head
tilted back, a half-drained wine cup on his lips – and an arrow sticking
through his neck.
His hands released the cup, and it fell to the floor with a clang. His
eyes wide, he reached down to grab at the feather-lined shaft that stuck out
from his throat… Then his stomach heaved, and he let out the beginning
of a burbling cough, which was aborted by a gush of blood that spewed
forth from his nose. He stumbled for a few seconds, then dropped back
onto a chair and tipped backward, sending his feet flying up into the air
and kicking over the table in front of him.
Food arched up into the air and fell to the floor. Blood pooled around a
convulsing body. Then Antinous, ringleader of the suitors and the finest
Ithacan of his generation, was still.
“He’s dead!” one of the suitors shouted.
“The old fool killed him!”
“Somebody go take that bow from him now!”
“Old man, you’re going to pay for this with your life!”
“I told you all this was a bad idea. See what happens when you give a
beggar a weapon?”
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The suitors were in an uproar. They shouted. They lurched forward,
ready to tear the beggar to shreds.
Yet still their anger, for all its intensity, was misguided. The man in
front of them was a beggar, nothing more – and so thorough were their
preconceived notions, that his status informed their understanding of his
shot more than his shot could change their understanding of who he was or
what he was capable of. Thus they assumed that his act of sending an
arrow through twelve tiny loops, using a bow they couldn’t even string,
somehow had to be a fluke. And thus they assumed that the arrow sticking
through Antinous’ neck was the result of an errant shot sent into a crowd
by a beggar who couldn’t handle a bow.
“Come on, get that thing out of his hands before he hurts someone
else!”
Several suitors began taking determined steps forward, ready to restrain
this armed maniac.
Then something even more incredible happened: The beggar, who
until now had always looked hunched and feeble, stood up straight. As he
did so, he appeared to rise a head taller, even to gain power and stature,
like a bear rising up onto his hind legs. He pulled back his shoulders,
shrugging off his deerskin and revealing a muscular body, then reached up
and brushed the tangles of hair back away from his face.
He stared at them with knowing, clever eyes as one by one they figured
out who they were looking at.
After a few moments of dead silence, a single voice called out from
somewhere in the crowd: “Oh, crap…”
The crowd receded as suitors all took a reflexive step back.
At their head, Eurymachus dropped to his knees and held out his hands
in supplication. “Okay, Odysseus, be reasonable…” he begged.
Coolly and casually, Odysseus reached down with two fingers and
snatched up the tail end of another arrow. “Reasonable?” He scowled,
spitting out the word like a rancid piece of meat. “Reasonable??? After
everything you did…”
“Yes, I know, good King Odysseus. I know things got a little carried
away around here, and I understand you being upset. But please, let’s not
lose perspective. Okay – so we wanted to marry your wife… Is that a
crime? I mean you’d been missing for ten years! How could we possibly
think you were still alive? Besides, Antinous was the one who started all
this anyway. He was the instigator – the one plotting, stirring everything
up…” Eurymachus gestured over to the warm body that lay on the floor.
“And you’ve already taken care of him. So if the guilty party’s dead, why
punish the rest of us for a simple misunderstanding?”
Odysseus gave no answer. Quietly, stone-faced, he notched his arrow.
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“We’ll give everything back,” Eurymachus pleaded. “Just give us a
little time to gather it all together, and we’ll more than make up for
everything we’ve consumed. We’ll replace every last goat, every loaf of
bread, every skin of wine. And on top of that we’ll give you all the gold
and bronze you could ever want – twenty oxen’s worth from each man here
– to make up for the injury we’ve done you. What more could you ask
for? You’ll be richer than you were before we came… So what harm’s
been done? Why slaughter a bunch of men who are throwing themselves
at your mercy and trying to make everything right?”
“Even if you gave me all your wealth, along with the wealth of your
fathers and everything you managed to produce for the rest of your
miserable lives, you still would not have atoned for the wrong you did my
family and my kingdom. You worked my people to the bone. You
corrupted as many of my maids as you could seduce and violated the rest.
You harassed my wife, abused my son and did everything in your power to
steal my life away from me. Yet now, suddenly, here you are wanting to
talk about mercy? No! With no compassion, with no consideration for the
feelings of my wife and son – with no mercy – you forced your way into
my home.” He drew back on the bow and pointed an arrow out toward the
crowd. “Now fight your way out of it.”
Eurymachus remained frozen for a brief but frightful moment – before
suddenly shouting out: “Go for the weapons!” For a few nervous seconds
no one moved, and he added: “Come on!!! He might kill one or two of us
before we arm ourselves, but once we do – ”
“There are no weapons!” a voice behind him interrupted.
“WHAT???” Eurymachus rose to his feet, looked all around the hall,
and for the first time noticed the absence of spears and shields on the walls.
For several seconds he stayed frozen in panic, his eyes darting around the
room, before he regained his composure and started barking out
commands: “Tip over the tables! Hurry – duck behind them for cover!
We’ll use them as barricades until we can organize and rush him as a
group.”
The repeated sound of wood slamming against the floor echoed through
the hall as the suitors complied.
But Eurymachus had another plan in mind. In the midst of the chaos,
Odysseus was busy covering the hall, pivoting from left to right and
frantically pointing his arrow at every sound and every flash of movement.
Eurymachus watched him for a few moments, waited… And at just the
right moment, when Odysseus was looking the other way, Eurymachus
grabbed a dagger and ran up to blindside him.
Odysseus noticed the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.
With one swift motion he pivoted and released his arrow, sending it
straight into Eurymachus’ chest.
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Eurymachus stumbled forward a few steps before his legs gave out and
he fell, convulsing, to the floor.
Odysseus quickly notched another arrow and drew back, letting his aim
drift across the crowd – watching for the next man to come forward,
hoping they wouldn’t yet rush at once.
From the left Amphinomus sprinted toward him, hoping to brush past
Odysseus and somehow break through the door. Odysseus hesitated for a
split second – and before he released the arrow, a spear flew straight into
Amphinomus’ chest. He let out a terrible scream, and his feet flew out
from under him, sending him airborne before his back hit the floor with a
dead thud.
Telemachus, who had thrown the spear, didn’t dare run out to retrieve
it. The body was too close to the suitors, the chance of being rushed too
great. So instead he ran up to his father’s side.
“I’ll go get more weapons for you and the herders,” he said. “I’ll be
back as soon as I can.”
“Hurry,” Odysseus nodded, keeping his eyes on the suitors. “Once I
run out of arrows…”
Without another word, Telemachus dashed away.
Odysseus was now firing arrows in rapid succession.
The suitors were coming at him singly and in pairs – for they
fortunately had not yet gathered the courage to charge him en masse.
Many remained crouched behind tables, each silently hoping someone else
would make the move, while at the same time fearing – with good reason –
that if he charged he would charge alone. These combined factors led to a
lack of quick, decisive action that would have been fatal for Odysseus.
Thus through cleverness and sheer nerve he’d set the battle up to his
advantage, throwing his enemies on their heels and once more averting
disaster in the face of impossible odds… Or at least for now.
Eventually, though, the suitors began coming more quickly than before.
Odysseus had known this was inevitable. After overcoming the initial
instinct toward individual self-preservation, they’d realize everybody was
dead if they didn’t work together. And slowly, as this began to happen,
they started jumping over the tables in groups of at least half a dozen at a
time.
Odysseus fought furiously to fend them off, his bow singing out a
repeated twanging sound as his arm moved as quickly as he could grab,
notch, and fire arrows. Each group that ran forward withered, slowly
losing mass, until the last man fell sometimes mere feet from Odysseus.
Now bodies littered the floor in front of him. So far, the plan was
working perfectly; he was hanging on by a thread, but he was hanging on,
and… And then a quick glance down at the quiver revealed only a handful
of arrows left. Once he’d used them up…
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Just in the nick of time, Telemachus, Eumaeus, and Philoetius ran up –
each fully equipped with spear and bronze armor – and took a position next
to Odysseus.
Odysseus shot them a wry grin. “It’s about time.”
“Got here fast as we could,” Eumaeus replied.
Odysseus just chuckled. With two arrows he dropped a pair of suitors
who were making a poorly-planned charge. He notched a third, held it
drawn for several seconds, and sent it sailing into a suitor he found peeking
over the top of a table.
Then the arrows were gone.
He had worn away at their numbers – probably more than half were
dead – and done even more damage to their morale. But now the battle
came down to hand-to-hand combat, and regardless of earlier success, the
odds were stacked heavily against them.
“Hold them for just a second,” Odysseus grunted to the others.
He dropped back and leaned his bow against the wall. As quickly as he
could he threw on breastplate and helmet, looped his left arm into his
shield, and picked up a pair of spears.
Then he stepped up to the front line, and together he and his loyal men
formed a phalanx of four against dozens of unarmed men.
“This doesn’t look good,” Telemachus muttered. “I mean, we’re armed
and they’re not, but it’s easier to swarm a spearman than an archer. Do we
have any special plan?”
Odysseus shook his head. “Not yet. Just hold together – count on your
courage and your weapons, and trust the gods for the rest.”
A few suitors grouped together and rushed forward, only to be
butchered by a bristling formation of spears and shields.
Telemachus grinned. “I think we might actually be able to do this…”
“Until they coordinate a mass charge,” Odysseus answered. The thrill
of battlefield slaughter was not as new to him as it was to Telemachus, and
he retained a more sober view of their immediate success. “Or…”
Suddenly Odysseus, looking out across the hall, gasped.
“Gods help us,” Eumaeus exhaled.
All at once, the four men felt their stomachs drop – for out across the
scattered mass of men and corpses, they could see several suitors passing
around spears and putting on armor.
“Where are they getting that?” Odysseus asked. “The women?”
“No,” Eumaeus answered. “Eurycleia locked ‘em up, good and tight.
I’m sure of that…” He paused, eyes wide, and made a disgusted noise
deep in his throat. “Melanthius,” he growled. Everyone turned to see an
impish-looking figure scurrying through the crowd passing out shields.
“Sneaky devil must’ve found a way into the storeroom.”
“We need to deal with this, and fast,” Odysseus said. “You two head
out and intercept him…”
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“You sure the two of you can hold up alone?” asked Philoetius.
“It’ll be tough, but we have no choice. We simply can’t win if they
keep bringing in weapons.”
Perhaps a bit too eagerly, Eumaeus asked, “Want us to kill ‘im?”
Odysseus shook his head. “Restrain him and tie him up if you can. I
want to deal with him later.”
The two servants hurried away, leaving father and son to defend
themselves alone.
They found the goatherd picking through shields in the corner of the
storeroom. He had his back to the door, so with all the noise he made
banging around pieces of bronze, Eumaeus and Philoetius were able to
sneak up on him quite easily.
One on each side, they grabbed hold of him with rough hands. He
barely had time to call out “Hey!” before they pressed in on his shoulders,
wrenched his arms behind his back, and slammed him to the floor.
“Nice and quiet, there,” Philoetius grunted into his ear.
Eumaeus drove a knee into the small of his back, eliciting a pained
groan, and began lashing his arms together with rope.
“Oi, take ‘t easy, there, yah nasty ol’ – ”
“When my friend here said be quiet, he right well meant be quiet,”
Eumaeus tugged up hard on the rope, and Melanthius let out a little
“Ugh…”
When the job was done, they hefted him to his feet.
“Don’ see what yah fools is hopin’ on doin’ ‘ere…” Melanthius rasped.
“Yah leave me tied, ‘n I’ll stay in here but long ‘nough fer the suitors tah
kill yer friends ‘n come get me.”
“Not if we have a say in it,” Eumaeus retorted.
Melanthius sneered. “Fat chance yah do. We got least a doz’n men
armed in there… Chances is yer hero ‘n ‘is boy is dead now.”
“You better hope so…” Philoetius swung a longer rope up over one of
the rafters, then fastened one end to Melanthius’ arms. “Because if he
wins, my master’s got something reeeeaal special planned for you.”
A flash of fear shot through Melanthius’ eyes before he put on an
arrogant grin and released a breathless little laugh.
Together, the two herders pulled down on the other end of the rope,
hefting Melanthius up into the air. Then they tied it off and left him
hanging like a piece of meat, groaning and grunting in agony but refusing
to give them the satisfaction of hearing him complain.
They shot each other quick grins as they shut the door – then they
hurried back to rejoin the battle in the hall.
The mass of suitors hovered like a dammed-up flood that was ready to
burst, never quite attacking but always threatening. They continued to
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peek, to plan – and more and more often, it was the plume or bronze of a
helmet rather than a head of hair that stuck up over the tables. Over time a
few of them got even bolder – realizing that the rain of arrows was over –
and stood in huddles to discuss strategy near the back of the hall.
As they spoke, the suitors shot glances toward the father and son who
stood alone near the door. They two may have been well-armed, but now
so were many members of the horde. And while they understood that a
hero of Odysseus’ stature could kill several of them before he went down,
he eventually would go down. All they had to do was work up the courage
to rush him.
Odysseus knew they would be in trouble soon. They needed help, and
fast. He gripped his spear, looked back and forth nervously, muttered false
reassurances to his son, thought through his options… And realized he had
none.
Thus he breathed a huge sigh of relief when he finally felt Eumaeus run
up to his side and glanced over to see Philoetius standing next to
Telemachus.
The group was back together. And while four against dozens was little
better than two against dozens, there was a chance they could hold their
ground a little longer while Odysseus tried to think of something.
The standoff continued for several long minutes…
Then, out of the blue, he saw his steward Mentor standing off to the
side of the hall.
“Mentor!” he called out. “What are you just standing there for? Why
don’t you come give us a hand?” There was a level, fearless joy in his
voice, and his heart soared with newfound confidence – for Odysseus had
grown familiar with the rhythm of Athena’s manifestations, and
“Mentor’s” appearance was so bizarre and unlikely that he could easily
guess this new visitor was the goddess in disguise.
The suitors, however, had no idea. As soon as Odysseus had spoken,
they all jumped in with comments of their own. Odysseus would never
win this fight, they said… and if Mentor was foolish enough to take his
side, the suitors would not be quick to forgive. They would kill him. They
would divide up his wealth, leave his children to starve. They would do
any number and variety of unspeakable things to his wife. They would
leave his body to be pecked apart by the birds while his soul wandered in
eternal torment… Such were the general facts one could glean from
furious and overlapping threats screamed out by the angry mob.
But over the echoing roar, Odysseus shouted, “Come on, man – we
really need the help!”
Mentor offered little reaction other than to slowly turn his face toward
Odysseus. His chest didn’t expand in preparation for a shout, and his face
showed none of the strain that came from the effort of raising one’s voice.
But from a strangely expressionless countenance and barely moving lips,
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his voice boomed with unworldly clarity and power: “What’s the matter
with you? Are you not the same Odysseus who fought ten years in the
shadows of Troy’s walls? Are you not the hero who dreamed up and led
countless daring raids, whose courage and cunning brought about the fall
of Priam’s mighty city? Were you not among the first to rush into danger,
and did you not leave piles of Trojan dead in your wake? So why now do
you sit back behind your shield, quivering, calling out for help? These
fools have invaded your home – now dispose of them!”
At the sound of the voice, men’s weapons went slack in their hands,
and their eyes gazed in wonder at its source. But even as its last syllable
echoed through the hall, the intensity of wide-eyed awe was redirected into
the intensity of combat, and the two sides pivoted to face each other with
more grim determination than before.
Thus Athena was able to change form unseen. In one smooth motion
she began to morph: grey down grew out of her skin and fanned out into
feathers. She shrunk down, her arms flattening into wings, her legs
withering until they were thin and delicate as twigs, her nose and mouth
hardening, turning yellow, pointing out into a beak.
All this happened within seconds, while the men’s minds were too
clouded by bloodlust or cowardice to notice – so by the time one of them
chanced to look in her direction, he saw nothing but a small swallow sitting
on the floor, taking in the angry energy of the room with quick, twitching
movements of its head. For but a fleeting moment this man pondered the
question of how Mentor had wandered off, before his mind returned to the
much greater exigency of battle.
With a quick crouch and a sudden fluttering of its wings, the swallow
launched itself up toward the roof, then perched itself on the rafters.
There Athena would watch the unfolding conflict. She would watch,
but she would not help Odysseus – not just yet, anyway. This was his
battle, his problem to solve. If these suitors were going to be dislodged
from his house, it would have to come about as a result of his own courage
and cleverness.
After a brief flurry of discussion and a few hard commands from
Odysseus, the team of four had a plan.
Now they crouched shoulder to shoulder, knees bent, spears gripped
firmly, eyes focused straight ahead except to shoot each other reassuring
glances. Their bodies were all coiled with a pent-up energy that seeped out
in little nervous gestures, that was just waiting to explode into a burst of
action…
“Okay guys, all together…” Odysseus ordered. “Shields locked.”
They all crammed in closer so that the edges of their shields
overlapped, covering them with a solid wall of bronze.
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“Everybody has his man?”
They all nodded.
“Okay then… Just hold on tight, keep your nerves about you. It’s vital
that we let them move first, so just stay steady… They should be making
their throw at any minute.”
Agelaus stood at the center of a growing huddle of suitors. Several of
the tables – now unnecessary as barricades – had been shoved aside to
create a path toward the enemy. Only a scattered few still crouched behind
them out of sheer panic; almost all were now on their feet, and the majority
had rallied together to join Agelaus.
They were now operating as one. They were now ready to coordinate,
to make use of their overwhelming numbers. Twelve suitors had armor,
and many more – Agelaus couldn’t get an exact number, but he knew there
were several dozen – could carry daggers, broken table legs, or other
improvised weapons as part of a suicide charge…
But they would have to be properly motivated. Such an attempt could
easily fall apart, lead to chaos – so the first attack should be a reasonably
cautious one. No point in committing so quickly when time was on his
side.
“Here’s the deal, guys…” He looked around at his little army, trying to
glimpse the courage – or lack thereof – in the eyes of men startled by the
sudden need for it. “We want to break up these troublemakers, but we
don’t want to get too jumpy and throw all our spears at once. So what
we’re going to do is throw in shifts, six spears at a time.” He stuck out his
arm to divide the group in half. “You six attack first while the rest of us
wait in reserve. Then step back to get your next spear. We’ll cover you
before making our throw. We’ll go back and forth, back and forth, keeping
up a steady attack without committing everything at once.” He looked up
from the crowd, took a glance at the enemy’s tight-packed formation. “Oh,
and one more thing – aim for Odysseus. Once he goes down, they’re
finished.”
Six armed suitors ran forward, each with a spear in his hand, each
ready to wind up and throw.
“Hold steady,” Odysseus muttered. “Let them come at us… Let them
attack first…”
Suddenly six spears were flying toward them. They seemed to come
from everywhere at once. To watch them all, to trace the path of each and
dodge or block without being blindsided by another… Even this simple
volley of a half dozen spears felt like utter chaos. The four scarcely had
time to wince, instinctively blinking their eyes and drawing up on their
shields, before they felt a jolt and heard a deafening clang.
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They opened their eyes to see a spear stuck in the floor, another lying at
their feet. A glance to the side showed one lodged in a doorpost.
“Now!” Odysseus shouted. They ran forward, wound up, threw…
Screams echoed through the hall as Odysseus’ spear broke open the skull
of Demoptolemus, Telemachus’ disemboweled Euryades, Eumaeus’
shattered Elatus’ femur, and Philoetius’ nailed Peisander on the shoulder,
sending him spinning in a full circle before he collapsed.
At the horror of the sight – one frantically tried to collect spilled
organs, two shrieked in agony as they bled out, and one was eerily silent as
he hit the ground – a mass of white-faced suitors raced to the back of the
hall. For just a second the crowd was off-balance, shaken… It gave
Odysseus and his men just enough time to dash forward and wrench their
spears from the bodies of the slain.
“Hold your ground, fools!” Agelaus shouted. “Come on… COME
ON!!!” There was absolutely no reason so many men had to fall back
before so few. And to let them retrieve their spears, get another shot… It
was appalling! Grunting to himself, he raced forward with his spear,
hoping to lead by example.
Ever so hesitantly the others fell in after him, and soon a frantic and
poorly timed volley was headed toward the group.
The experience of waiting for the first volley had been unnerving for
the four heroes. They’d had time to anticipate, to wonder.
But this time they were too busy recovering their weapons, regaining
their bearings, trying to find each other and shuffle back into formation…
Before they knew it the spears were already landing, and all they could do
is look around frantically as a succession of sights and sounds exploded
around them:
They heard dull thuds and clatters – and looked around to see a couple
errant throws hit the floor around them…
They heard Telemachus cry out in pain – and turned to see him
gripping his wrist…
They heard Eumaeus stifle a groan – and saw him twisting, hunching,
grabbing his shoulder…
Within seconds they’d gathered together and found that there were no
other injuries.
“You guys able to throw again?” Odysseus asked. There was no time
for sympathy or concern.
“Nothin’ but a scratch,” Eumaeus said.
“I’ll make it,” answered Telemachus.
Odysseus gave a nod, and they all ran forward and threw again.
Four more suitors cried out in mortal pain…
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The suitors were falling into disarray. The only thing that had ever
bound them together had been their lazy pursuit of pleasure – a fine
enough cause when things are going well, but nothing to rally behind in
times of trouble.
Thus men who had considered each other friends – who had laughed at
each other’s stupid, slurred stories over cups of wine, who had cheered
each other on while throwing dice or discus, who had mistaken a common
rhythm of sarcastic humor for the bonds of camaraderie – trampled each
other, pushed past each other as each tried to save his own skin.
A few had weapons. Most didn’t. And those who didn’t made a mess
out of everything as the selfishness that had brought them together now
tore them apart.
Odysseus and his men were now running forward, taking jabs at
stragglers caught on the back end of the retreating crowd.
From amidst the chaos, Agelaus stood and cried, “Come together, you
IDIOTS! We still outnumber them. We still can win this – easily, if you
don’t run around panicking like a bunch of girls!”
Within seconds, a good-sized contingent – including most of the armed
men – worked their way over and stood in formation with him.
“Enough of this tossing spears around,” Agelaus panted. “Now’s the
time to take full advantage of our numbers, and – ”
Agelaus paused when he saw the wary look on the men’s faces. Even
as he was trying to gather them, he’d seen their hesitation; they’d looked
around with flashes of concern in their eyes, always on the lookout for
danger, only gathering around Agelaus because it was their best chance for
personal survival. He’d known rallying them would be a challenge, but if
he could convince them that the only way to save themselves was to stand
together and put up a fight…
That’s when he noticed that their eyes were no longer tentative… They
were wide open with unmitigated terror. All as one they looked upward
toward the roof, their faces white as sheets.
Agelaus craned his neck to follow their line of sight…
And there he saw it: A round black disk – it looked like an oxhide
shield, but it was fuzzy, elusive, semi-transparent like a phantom –
hovering high in the air just below the rafters. At once the vision filled
him with dread…
But when his eyes were drawn to the center of the shield, he beheld a
sight that was much, much worse: The ghostly apparition of a face, its skin
pale as death. Its eyes were pits of darkness that reflected no light and thus
had no features – that were the utter absence of anything, yet still,
somehow, gave the creepy impression that the thing was gazing into his
soul. Atop its head, a nest of dead, twisted snakes grew in place of hair.
Agelaus knew that the thing was the decapitated head of the dread
gorgon Medusa. And some part of him recognized that the object hovering
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above him was the Aegis – the shield of Zeus, often loaned to his favorite
daughter Athena, that inspired fear in all that beheld it.
But that mere technical fact, a memory from the mostly-disregarded
religious instruction that he had received as a child, was but a vague
impression – one that flashed through the back of his mind like a candle
extinguished by a quick, cold breath of fear… A fear he had never before
conceived of – a fear that rattled his bones, that churned in his bowels until
he felt that they’d liquefied and settled as a formless mass at the bottom of
his gut, that flooded his mind with an animal instinct toward flight, so that
all power of rational thought fled his mind. He was a rabbit with a wolf on
its tail, a bird in the clutches of a cat, a fawn in the mouth of a hound.
And when the Aegis suddenly shook in the air (or was it just the
blurriness of the image, a trick of the eye?), the snakes on Medusa’s head
rattling like brittle dead reeds, while the eyes of the gorgon somehow
continued to follow him – and suddenly all the world was swept up in a
dreadful noise that was at once ghostly moan and ear-splitting shriek –
Agelaus turned with everyone else around him and fled.
Odysseus didn’t actually see the Aegis. He didn’t know that Athena,
up in the rafters of his great hall, had presented the terrible shield in order
to rout his enemies.
To his eyes, the nervous hesitation of the suitors had just suddenly
exploded into full-blown panic. Of course he’d noticed that it was a
strange phenomenon, and he’d had the sense to feel a vague gratitude to
the goddess for the abrupt reversal in fortune.
But that was it. After just a moment’s consideration of why, the chase
had begun.
Most suitors had sprinted toward the back wall until they’d slammed up
against it like water against a dam. A few others had tried hiding behind
tables, ducking under chairs, dashing off to try the door’s locks or make a
desperate attempt at climbing for a window.
But there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide; Odysseus and his
men were always on their heels. One man after another was stabbed or
slashed by razor-sharp bronze – usually in the back – as he cried out for
help, in an act of pure butchery that had not even the vaguest appearance of
combat. Of course Odysseus knew that this was a fleeting opportunity
against an enemy that still outnumbered him – that the suitors had menaced
him only minutes before, and the same man who now curled up on the
floor weeping in the face of death would get up and kill Odysseus the
instant the opportunity presented itself. So to that extent, slaying the poor
fellow was an act of self-defense. However, Odysseus had to admit a dark
satisfaction in driving his spear down into the man’s body, hearing him
scream, watching him convulse while blood spread over the ground
beneath him in a growing pool.
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It all took place in a confused rush of action accompanied by a
confused whirlwind of emotions. Expediency merged with and gave way
to vengeance, and vengeance drove his actions in ways Odysseus couldn’t
fully understand. He found himself stabbing harder than necessary. He
felt his hand twitch, by reflex, at the end of each stab, twisting the spear
and eliciting further howls of pain. He felt the adrenaline-charged rush rise
and rise, often peaking in moments of animal bloodlust. And when he
glanced at his son – the baby he had cradled in his arms, now a stillimpressionable young man he had but recently met – he knew the boy had
to have done and felt the same. It was a frantic few minutes they would
remember and feel a level of confusion about for the rest of their lives.
But soon it was over. All had been cut down, except for two who had
begged for and deserved mercy – and the four stood together at the center
of the hall, surrounded by bloody and mangled corpses. Save for the sound
of heavy breathing, they were silent – for who knows what to say at a
moment like that? – until Odysseus eyed his companions one by one, then
said to Telemachus: “Go get Eurycleia.”
The old nurse didn’t know what to expect. She’d heard the tortured
cries coming from downstairs. She’d seen a bloody young Telemachus
come up to her room and, without saying why, order her down to the main
hall.
Now, as she descended the stairs, her eyes grew wide with terror as her
eyes took in one detail after another: Bodies, too numerous to count,
littering the hall… Gallons upon gallons of blood coating the floor,
splattered up against the walls… And at the center of it all was the terrible
specter of Odysseus, painted red from head to toe, his eyes filled with the
maniac energy of a lion fresh from the kill.
Her heart skipped a beat, her jaw dropped as by sheer reflex she felt the
urge to weep… But once the reality had caught up with her – of what had
happened and who was dead – her mouth began to curl up into a smile, and
she nearly laughed.
But Odysseus held up a hand to stop her, and his eyes, still strangely
intense, turned to focus upon her. “Don’t laugh,” he commanded. His
voice was flat, businesslike. “Be happy if you must, but don’t ever laugh
at the dead.”
Eurycleia lowered her head slightly. “Yes, sir.”
“Now that we’ve taken care of these guys, I need your help. Are you
willing?”
“Yes, sir,” was all the nurse could say.
“Our next step is to root out any disloyal servants who remain here.
What can you tell me about the maids in this household?”
“I know of twelve who have betrayed you, sir.” Eurycleia kept her
head locked in place, her eyes on the ground. “They have no respect,
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either for me or for the queen, and I’m sure they’ve all conspired with the
suitors.”
“You’re positive about that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because if you have any doubts at all…”
“I’m absolutely certain about these twelve, sir.”
“Then round them up and bring them down here.”
The women broke down weeping as they descended the stairs and
beheld the heaped and tangled bodies of their lovers. By the time they
were standing before Odysseus, the soles of their feet sticky with blood
and the fresh copper smell thick in their nostrils, they were doubled over
with shrieking and wailing.
Odysseus ignored their cries. “Clean them up,” he said.
Only a couple could raise their pathetic, questioning red eyes to him.
The rest just continued crying aloud into their hands.
Odysseus kept his voice calm and cool, raising it enough to make
himself heard over their continued blubbering. “I said clean them up.”
One by one, with a measure of physical prodding by Telemachus and
Eurycleia, the women dispersed and started dragging bodies off to the side
of the hall. Once that was finished, they gathered intestines and bone
fragments and chunks of muscle or brain. They scrubbed blood from the
floors, from tables and walls.
The work took hours. They wept, stumbling over themselves, their
eyes red with grief and horror. Eurycleia had to hound them, even
physically grab them, as she forced them through their labor.
Finally the hall was clean, and twelve broken maids stood trembling
before their masters.
“Take them outside,” Odysseus told Telemachus. “The next part’s up
to you.”
In a dark corner of Odysseus’ court, the courtyard wall ran parallel
with the palace wall to form a narrow dead-end alley. Across this alley ran
a sturdy cedar crossbeam, roughly twelve feet from the ground. From that
crossbeam hung twelve ropes. And at the end of each rope dangled a
female body, its head turned to the side at the end of a limp neck, its
shoulders slumped, its feet no longer kicking or twitching. On the ground
beneath them, the noseless, earless body of a goat herder, with gouged-out
eyes and bloody stumps at the ends of its arms and legs, lay in a mangled
heap.
For several long minutes, Odysseus stood looking at the somber faces
around him. He could see in their eyes the need for a next step, for a way
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to move on after the cataclysmic whirlwind of destruction they had just
experienced. They had their victory, yes. But they had just seen over a
hundred mostly defenseless humans slain, had done the killing themselves.
And now they were standing on ground that, while scrubbed clean, was
still fresh with death. They could sense the presence of ghosts lingering in
the room, could feel the death spread across the floor like a mist, ready to
coalesce into ghastly, fluid hands and slither up their legs.
Intellectually, they were certain that what they did was right. But the
seriousness of death left them with a lingering sense of having committed
sacrilege – and with a nagging desire to somehow shed it.
“This house still reeks of death,” Odysseus finally told them. “And we
need to purify it.” He looked from one face to the next and began issuing
commands: “Eumaeus, Philoetius… Build up the fire in the hearth – get it
roaring hot. Telemachus, you and I will choose animals for sacrifice. And
Eurycleia, I need you to fetch a censer filled with burning sulfur – carry it
through the house until you’ve gotten the stench out of this place. Then…
Then go upstairs and get my wife.”
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Part IV
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Chapter 16
Reunion
“Ma’am?” Penelope felt herself being shaken back and forth by an
eager hand. “Ma’am, wake up!”
She opened her eyes, rolled over to see Eurycleia sitting at the edge of
her bed. “What is it?” she asked. In spite of herself she was irritated at
having been awakened.
“You need to come see something, ma’am…”
“See what?” Penelope snapped. This was the first good, deep sleep she
could remember. Whatever the old nurse was talking about had better be
good.
“It’s your husband, ma’am…”
“My husband?” Penelope twisted her face into a sour, confused look.
“What about him?”
“He’s back!”
“He’s back? What do you – ”
“I mean he’s here right now, waiting for you down in the hall!”
“What?”
“I mean it, ma’am…”
“And what about the suitors?”
“He’s killed them.”
Penelope sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Now wide
awake, she focused her vague feeling of irritation into a stern look and a
hard voice. “Now really, Eurycleia…”
“I mean it, ma’am! I saw him myself.”
“Are you crazy? Or is this some kind of joke? Because if this is a
joke…”
“No, ma’am,” Eurycleia protested. “Long as I’ve waited for the
master’s return, I’d never joke about it! And I’m not crazy, neither… I
saw him with my own eyes.”
“And you’re saying that he killed them?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“By himself?”
“He had the help of your son – and the swineherd and cowherd were
working with him too.”
“And the four of them, on their own, killed the suitors – all hundred
and six of them. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
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“Okay – then how did they do it? Can you tell me that?”
“Sorry to say I can’t, ma’am… I was up in my room, locked away with
the rest of the servants. I just heard all kinds of screaming and banging
around coming from the hall – and when I came down, there was your
husband, covered in blood and surrounded by the suitors’ bodies.”
Penelope rolled her eyes and let out a humorless breath of a laugh. “All
right… Assuming this is true, then where did he suddenly come from?”
“He was that beggar fellow who showed up yesterday.”
“The one I spoke with last night?” Penelope’s face lit up with
incredulity.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The one I spoke with for hours – without recognizing him as my own
husband…”
Eurycleia nodded weakly.
“And the one you spoke to – and gave a bath to – without recognizing.”
“But I did recognize him, ma’am. I saw the scar on his leg – the one
from the boar hunting accident – but when I went to tell you he grabbed
me and said to be quiet.”
“Oh my goodness…” Penelope chuckled out loud and shook her head.
“You’ve really lost it, woman. What I think happened here is that the gods
stole your wits. I think you’ve either grown so desperate to see him that
you’ve finally just snapped – or else the gods have sent some illusion to
toy with your mind… Either way, you’ve managed to mistake this beggar
for – ”
“But the suitors, ma’am!” Eurycleia surprised herself by how abruptly
she cut off the queen. “Even if the king himself was an illusion, how could
I just dream up a hundred bodies lying dead in the hall? How could I
dream our servants dragging away their corpses, scrubbing up blood?”
“Well maybe the suitors are dead. I mean as flagrantly as they’ve
flouted every standard of decency and morality, it was only a matter of
time before the gods struck them down… But it’s another thing entirely to
say that my husband showed up out of the blue and killed them all by
himself.”
Eurycleia sighed. “Look, ma’am… I know this sounds strange. And I
obviously won’t be able to convince you, no matter what I say. So instead
of us arguing on and on, why don’t you just come down and see for
yourself?”
“You’re a gullible woman, Eurycleia. It’s obvious something strange is
going on – but while I appreciate your enthusiasm and sincerity, you’re
way too quick to jump to conclusions… Still, I guess might as well go
down and have a look, if that’s what it takes to settle this.”
Penelope rose to her feet and, careful to mask any excitement she might
have been feeling, strode out of the room toward the hall.
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For several long minutes they were all frozen in time, in a scene as
perfectly still – and dramatic – as if it had been captured by an artist on a
tapestry:
On one side of the hearth stood Odysseus, leaning against a pillar with
head tilted slightly forward, eyes glued to a distant point on the floor, and
arms crossed. His posture signaled patience – along with a deliberately
projected confidence that could come off as defiance – but it was obvious
that something inside him was stirring, waiting to be evaluated.
On the other side Penelope sat on a chair, leaning forward with elbows
on her knees and hands clasped together. She was deep in uncertain
thought, trying to absorb the sight of this man – still filthy and dressed in
beggar’s rags, but now looked so tall and strong – whose appearance so
closely coincided with the sudden slaughter of the suitors. Was he her
husband? It did look like him – or so she thought… But he’s so much
older, and twenty years is such a long time to go without seeing someone’s
face. She wanted it to be him, but she also wanted to be sure – and after
years of hopes being repeatedly built up and dashed, this was too sudden,
too much for her to take in. So she kept her distance, remained frozen in
place. Her face betrayed no emotion as her eyes darted from the floor to
this strange man and back again.
Ten feet back from the hearth, flanking both of his parents, Telemachus
stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes shooting back and forth between
his mother and his father. One moment he bit his lip. The next he cleared
his throat. Then he swallowed hard and just stood, waiting… There was a
tremendous energy building in him. Through twenty years of never seeing
his father, of hearing his mother share memories about him, of dreaming
about the three of them together – even as he fended off the counter-vision
of one of those cruel men marrying her – he had longed for this moment.
And now it seemed that the whole scene was somehow spoiling before his
eyes, that some long-held expectation was failing to be met…
Finally the tension of the scene broke.
“Really, mother!” Telemachus burst out. “He’s here, right in front of
you – my father, your husband – after all these years. And you just sit
there staring at him? What other woman could be so cold? What other
woman – ”
“A lot of people have lied to me about your father…” Penelope held
her posture, shifting her head just a fraction of a degree to catch a sideways
glance at her son. “And as long as he’s been away, it would be just as easy
for a man to lie about being your father.”
“But he could prove in a hundred different ways that – ”
“And a good con man could trick me in a hundred different ways – a
fact that your father,” her eyes flashed up toward Odysseus, “if this is your
father, can appreciate that as well as any other man. Be patient, son. There
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are things only your father and I know, things that will come out in good
time.”
Telemachus began to open his mouth in retort…
“Actually, your mother’s right,” Odysseus cut him off. “Not only am I
filthy, not only am I dressed in rags, but I just got done pretending to be
someone else. If she wants to test me, I say let her. It’s more than
reasonable, given the circumstances… Besides, we have much more
pressing issues to worry about right now.”
“Like what?” Telemachus asked.
“Like the fact that we’re mass murderers.”
“What? We just – ”
“I know, I know…” Odysseus held up his hands. “We had good cause
for doing what we did – I know it, and you know it. But convincing
everybody else might not be so easy. I mean, think about what happens
when someone kills another man: He usually has to flee his home to avoid
punishment or retribution… Right?”
Telemachus nodded.
“And that’s the result of one man’s death – so what do you think will
come down on us now that we’ve just killed all the young nobility in
Ithaca? Sure, not everybody liked these boys, but they had powerful
families.”
“True… But even their own fathers opposed them.”
“Okay – I’ll grant that their families don’t approve of everything they
did. But do you think that means they’ll appreciate us locking their sons in
a room and butchering them?”
Quietly, Telemachus shook his head.
“The moment word of this gets out, the entire kingdom’s going to be
beating on our door, screaming for blood.”
“Okay…” Telemachus’ voice trailed off. “So what do we do?”
“We need to leave town as soon as we can slip out of the palace
unnoticed. But until then, we’ll stay locked in here – and we’ll need to
maintain the illusion that everything’s normal. You were planning on
getting married today, right?” Odysseus glanced back at Penelope – but as
she didn’t seem quite ready to conspire with him yet, he turned to
Telemachus for his answer.
“Yes, she was,” Telemachus replied. “Of course it was only out of
desperation, and she had no idea – ”
Odysseus held up a hand to stop him. “I know. And that’s not
important right now anyway… The point is, if the people are expecting a
wedding, we need to give them the appearance of a wedding. Get dressed
and cleaned up,” Odysseus looked to Eumaeus and Philoetius as well, “and
I mean all of you. Eurycleia, gather all the servant women and have them
do the same. Then light the torches, strike up some music, and start
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dancing… Have some of the servants cook up some food if you’d like,
and basically just enjoy yourselves. You think you can handle that?”
Telemachus nodded. Eumaeus and Philoetius glanced at each other,
then looked back at Odysseus and let quick little smiles flicker across their
faces.
“As long as the doors are locked and you keep it up,” Odysseus
explained, “nobody will suspect anything other than a wedding
celebration.”
“And what will you be doing?” asked Telemachus.
“Hopefully, sometime over the course of your party, I’ll have managed
to convince your mother of who I am.”
Penelope glanced up at Odysseus, then turned her eyes back toward the
fire.
The minstrel Phemius plucked away at his lyre – first a few tentative
notes, then a series of chords, and finally a cheerful song played at a
steadily growing tempo.
All around him, a room full of revelers measured out a beat with
clapped hands and stomped feet. Cheer slowly spread across their faces as
the forced nature of the moment faded and they gave themselves over to
the sound of the music – and finally, when all inhibition was shed, one of
the women pranced out onto the floor. Others followed close behind, and
within minutes the rest, all holding hands, snaked out after them.
Thus the crowd covered the floor – or covered about a third of it, to be
more accurate, with a scaled-down version of the other festivals that had
crowded this hall – with a small sea waving hands, swirling gowns,
spinning bodies, and lightning-fast feet.
As small as the celebration was, however, it produced the necessary
effect: Any traveler who happened by the palace that evening saw the
flickering lights in the windows and heard the sound of music, clapping,
and laughter. And he would have assumed that Penelope had, at long last,
gotten married.
Odysseus returned to the hall washed and perfumed, his hair set in
thick, flowing curls atop his head. His rags had been replaced with a royal
tunic and cloak, and – with Athena’s help – he had regained every bit of
handsomeness and royal bearing that had been hidden behind his disguise.
He strode over to the hearth, where Penelope was still sitting deep in
stone-faced contemplation. There he took his place against the same pillar,
setting up the same scene as before – with the addition of music echoing
from the far end of the hall – but hoping for a different outcome.
But Penelope, as before, just sat watching. And as the long seconds
ticked by, Odysseus still saw no sign of acknowledgement on her face.
Finally he cracked a bit of a smile and said, “Look familiar now?”
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Casually, Penelope turned her eyes up to him. “You do clean up well –
I have to give you that.”
“Really?” Odysseus looked at her, dumbfounded. For the first time his
patience gave way, and a hint of irritation slipped into his voice. “That’s
it?”
She just shrugged, her eyes now averted toward the fire.
“Oh, seriously…” He looked vacantly out across the dance floor and
released a quick breath. “All right, then… Nurse.”
“Yes sir?” Eurycleia, who had been standing nearby, stepped up to his
side.
“Gather some rugs and blankets for me. It’s obvious this woman isn’t
going to acknowledge who I am, so I guess I’ll need my own separate bed
tonight.”
“Yes sir…” Eurycleia, very much not wanting to get caught up in the
conversation, ducked away to comply.
“Actually, I have a better idea,” Penelope chimed in. “This man is the
first visitor in twenty years to bring me a true report about my husband,
and he deserves better than a bunch of rugs on the floor – even if he has
now taken to impersonating Odysseus. In the interest of hospitality, let
him use my bed. Drag it out of my room and into the common area, and
make it up with fresh blankets.”
Odysseus scowled. “She’d better not be able to move that bed.”
Eurycleia halted – once more she’d hoped to sneak away from the
confrontation, and once more she was dragged back into it. “And why not,
sir?” she asked.
“Because it’s physically impossible to move it…” Odysseus shot
Penelope an accusing glance. “…unless, of course, someone’s hacked it
apart.”
Penelope shifted in her seat under the power of his gaze. For the first
time in the conversation, his words had visibly stirred her interest.
“I built that bed myself,” he went on, “just before the queen and I got
married. An olive tree had been growing where the room now stands – and
rather than cut it down, I built our room around it. I’m still not sure why I
decided to do it; it was just a little impulse that had come to me one day,
one I toyed with in my mind and finally acted on. I admit it was a little
silly – and I was sheepish enough about it that I carried out my plan in
secret… Of course people had to have wondered why I left it there so
long, but I’m sure they all assumed it was coming down eventually.
“Once the walls were in place, though, I was free to carry out my plan
free from prying eyes. For the first few days I spent hours standing in the
unfinished room, sizing up its dimensions, running through different ways
that I could lay it out and furnish it, all the while trying to envision how
this tree could fit into my various ideas. Then, with a plan finally in place,
I finally went to work: I trimmed down its branches, planed away at its
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irregularities – and with the tree still firmly rooted in place, I built my bed
around it using its trunk as one of the bedposts. There the bed remained –
and there it remains to this day, unless it’s been destroyed.
“So if someone, for some reason, has chopped apart my marriage bed,
then certainly feel free to move it, Eurycleia.” Odysseus turned to
Penelope. “But if you made the request just to test me, then you have your
answer – yes, I am well aware that the bed can’t be moved.”
Tears welled up in Penelope’s eyes as he spoke – and the moment he
finished, she dashed over and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry!” she wept into his chest. “I’m so, so sorry… I didn’t want
to doubt you… And I was happy to see you – I really was. I was so
excited by the possibility that it was you, that you were really, finally
home. But please, you need to understand,” she raised her face and looked
him in the eye, “I had waited for you for so long. For twenty years I
remained faithful. In the face of temptation, in the face of a hundred
menacing men, in the face of every trick and plot worked against me, I
held strong. And after all that – after struggling so long and so hard for the
sake of our marriage – the idea of losing it all at the last minute just
because of some man’s trick… It was just too much to bear. As long as it
had been since we’d seen each other, any man bearing a reasonable
resemblance could show up claiming to be you. Any man who was clever
enough could sneak around and ask enough questions to act out the part.
And any man with enough determination could dig a gash into his leg, then
wait a year or two and come back with a good scar. But only you would
have known about our bed – for to this day, only you and I, along with our
trusted servant Actoris, know its secret. So please understand, my dear
Odysseus… I may have kept my distance at first, but it was not out of
coldness toward you – it was because I love you, and I couldn’t stand the
thought of being unfaithful to you.”
Again she buried her face into his chest. With tears building in his own
eyes, Odysseus wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close.
Finally they’d finished crying, sighing, whispering little reassurances
and expressions of love – and a servant led them up to their room.
Dusk gave way to pitch black darkness.
While they all loved a good party, mimicking the sounds of hundreds of
celebrants began to wear on them – especially the ones who had just fought
a pitched battle – and the dancers gradually began to tire. Hour after hour
the celebration grew more and more forced, until finally they were
consciously dragging themselves through the act of dancing and shouting
less for fun and more for the sake of appearances.
Finally Telemachus determined it was late enough to stop. He gave the
order, and it was with visible relief that all present dragged themselves out
of the hall and collapsed in their beds.
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Penelope was curled up at Odysseus’ side. Her head rested on his
shoulder and her fingers ran in involuntary movements along the lines of
his chest.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
They’d spent long hours lying together in the dark, hearing their voices
projected flat against the perfect nighttime stillness as they caught up on
the last twenty years.
Penelope had shared the details of the suitors’ arrival, of the tricks she
used to fend them off, of the myriad emotions and insecurities that
followed her through the experience. She’d told all about their son’s first
steps, his first words, all the milestones and little moments Odysseus had
missed. She’d filled in the details on his father’s deterioration and his
mother’s death… Everything she could think to tell, everything he could
think to ask, had been explored over hours of meandering conversation.
Odysseus, of course, had also shared the wonders of his voyage.
Everything from long sea voyages to his showdown with the Cyclops to his
trip to the Underworld to his time with the Phaeacians had been fleshed out
with vividly spun description – sparing details about Circe and Calypso, of
course – to an enraptured wife.
Eventually all lines of conversation had brought them to his
homecoming, and discussion of homecoming forced them to transition
away from reminiscing and toward the reality of their current precarious
situation – which had culminated in Penelope’s question.
Odysseus took a deep breath, caught the smell of her lightly scented
hair – how amazingly familiar it was, even after all these years! – and
released a sigh. It was a tricky question, but at least this time he had an
answer.
“Once things have settled down, I’m going to seize cattle from the
suitors’ families as restitution for what they’ve taken. That should get us
back on our feet…” He considered telling her about the Phaeacian treasure
he had hidden in the cave but decided to leave that as a surprise.
“And how are you going to ‘settle things down’?”
“That’s going to be the tricky part. The first step will obviously be to
get out of here. The boy and I will skip town, along with the herders, and
go to my father’s farm. Hopefully we can lay low long enough to get a
feel for the situation and see who we can rally behind us. People have
overheard our ‘wedding dance’ and seen the palace go quiet – so
everything looks normal enough that we should be able to sneak out within
an hour or two. But by morning word’s going to get out, and people are
going to be coming around asking questions. When they do, you would be
best off locking yourself up in your room with the servants. Don’t go
anywhere, and don’t talk to anyone.”
Penelope gave a tentative nod, and Odysseus pulled her close.
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Odysseus was dressed in his armor. The others were now gathered
around and putting on breastplates and greaves.
“We need to get out of here quickly and quietly,” Odysseus whispered.
“It’s vital that nobody sees us… But if anybody does happen to spot us –
and tries to stop us – then we dispose of him as quickly and quietly as
possible.”
As each man finished dressing, Odysseus handed him a spear.
“You ready to go?”
They all nodded, and the group slipped out the door and into the
darkness.
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Chapter 17
Laertes
“You’re really kind of lucky, you know – the way you died…”
Agamemnon said.
He and Achilles were standing side by side, looking out into the
endlessly and hopelessly vast blackness of the Underworld.
“I suppose so…” Achilles shrugged, and the vapor of his ghostly form
swirled as it trailed behind the quick movement. “At least to the extent
that any of us can be called ‘lucky.’ Dead’s dead, no matter how you look
at it… But still, I’d hate to have suffered your fate.” Achilles’ shade
flickered, as if the thought made him shudder. “To die so ignobly, to be
whisked down here without the thought of heroism lingering in your fading
mind… To face the eternal gloominess of all this,” he motioned to the
world around them, strands of mist flowing like flame behind the broad
sweep of his arm, “without the small comfort of knowing that the account
of your death would be retold as a story of glory and bravery. To be cut
down with absolutely no dignity – by your wife, of all people…”
He trailed off, and the two stood nodding their heads in awkward
silence.
Finally Agamemnon added, “But you, on the other hand… You fell in
a blaze of glory, at the height of combat.”
Achilles scoffed. “To an arrow to the heel, delivered by a coward.”
“True. But it was a good battlefield death, nonetheless. And boy, you
should have seen what followed: The way everything suddenly froze,
Greeks and Trojans all staring at you in shock… The way your body, for
those long, still seconds, seemed to be the focal point of a world that had
been too small to contain your greatness or to comprehend its passing…
The pitched battle that followed as both armies rushed in to grab you…
The sight of Ajax and Odysseus fighting side by side – with a level of
ferocity unusual even for them – to save your corpse… The way the sea
surged toward land, appearing ready to empty its waters onto our beach, as
your mother led the Nerieds up from the depths to mourn you… And the
funeral... Achilles, you should have seen the funeral. Yes, like you said,
dead’s dead. But if any death could be good, you died a good death.”
Silence followed. If any death could be good. IF any death could be
good… If hunger could be good, if disease could be good… If screaming
in agony and looking down at a shredded, bloody stump after your limb
was hacked off – if that could be good… If the seas were never stormy, if
crops could sprout abundantly from unplowed earth, harvest themselves,
and deliver their fruit directly to men’s tables…
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The suggestion was so transparently absurd, especially to the dead, that
voicing it offered no comfort – and instead served only as a cruelly ironic
reminder that there was no comfort left to be had.
So the two stopped speaking, in hope that whatever was left of their
minds would forget the idea, would drift off into oblivion as they stared out
at the dark expanse around them.
For several minutes – Hours? Days? Weeks? To a disembodied mind
existing in perpetual darkness, it was impossible to tell – they saw only
blackness in the “sky” above, interrupted occasionally by the pale light of
swirling mist patterns, tiny and short-lived and far away, that they assumed
were tortured souls of other dead.
But eventually they spotted a giant figure, solid and bright, flying in
from the distance. Even before they could make out its features – before
they beheld its human shape, the golden caduceus in its hand, the flapping
wings on its sandals and helmet – they knew what they were seeing: It was
Hermes, the god charged with gathering spirits of the newly deceased and
leading them to the Underworld.
They were used to him by now. They themselves had followed him to
the Underworld, and since then had regularly spotted him coming down
with one, two, maybe a dozen ghosts trailing after him.
But today was much different. Today, as he descended toward
Agamemnon and Achilles, he was followed by a mass that streamed almost
endlessly behind him. It twisted, turned, meandered, straightened out –
flowing like an uncontained river in the sky. Through it ran individual
streaks of pale light – and occasionally some of these streaks drifted out
from the stream to become a ghostly arm, leg, or even a stretched out and
wide-eyed face, that extended from the main body of the stream before
falling back in and being absorbed into the mass.
Rarely if ever had Agamemnon and Achilles seen the dead come down
in such numbers.
“Wow…” Agamemnon tightened his mouth into a circle as if to
whistle, but no sound came out. “I’m not sure what it is, but something big
must have just happened.”
Achilles answered with a grave nod.
Soon Hermes lighted on the ground several yards away. He turned
back to look at the stream, and with a broad wave of his caduceus signaled
for it to land. It turned sharply downward, responding with the swift
obedience of a single sentient entity. Then, soon before it landed, its veins
branched out into individual clouds of mist – each of which broke off, took
separate human shape, and drifted to the ground.
For several minutes the ghosts just stood looking around with a
combination of disorientation and terrible realization – the same feeling
with which Agamemnon and Achilles remembered finding themselves in
the Underworld.
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Once they got their bearings, though, one of them spotted the two
heroes and approached them – moving awkwardly, struggling with the
physics of this new place and his new “body” like a sailor trying to find his
sea legs.
“What happened here?” Agamemnon called out to the ghost. He knew
the question was a bit abrupt, but greeting someone with “welcome” or
“hello” seemed underwhelming and inappropriate given the circumstances.
“Shipwreck? Earthquake? Is there another war on?”
The ghost shook his head.
“Then what was it?”
The ghost’s voice wasn’t ready to vocalize contempt, so it was with a
hollow whisper, dry and dusty as an old piece of parchment, that he uttered
the word, “Odysseus.”
Agamemnon and Achilles shot each other a quick glance. “What?”
“He came back home to Ithaca and found us wooing his wife.”
“Oh really?” Agamemnon chuckled. “So she still hadn’t gotten
married?”
“Nope.”
“Hadn’t even taken a lover?”
“No. The cold wench had this pathetic devotion to the memory of her
long-lost husband. She stymied us at every turn, always finding little ways
to trick us and turn us against each other – year after year after year. Then
one day this beggar suddenly shows up and starts snooping around the
palace. Before we know it, we realize it was really Odysseus… And we
find ourselves locked in his hall with no weapons – he’d hidden them all –
and see that he’s armed with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. It was a
devious, underhanded…” His eyes probed the two heroes, searching for
sympathy. “And now all our bodies are heaped on the floor of his palace,
untended – and our families don’t even know we’re dead!”
Achilles just smiled. “And he killed you all?”
“He did,” the ghost nodded. His face looked vaguely puzzled by
Achilles’ lack of disgust for Odysseus’ heinous act, and with greater
fervency he tried to drive the point home: “With no mercy, with no – ”
But Achilles just ignored him and looked over at Agamemnon.
“Wow… He actually did it… That Odysseus really is something, huh?”
Agamemnon nodded. “He is a clever man – and just when you think
you’ve seen it all… Wow… And can you believe that Penelope?” A
wistful smile spread across his face, and he looked vacantly out into the
air. “I guess there’s one good woman out there after all.”
The farmhouse sat atop a grassy hill – a neat stone building with a
thatched roof, shuttered windows decorated with flower boxes, and a wellkept vegetable garden out front. Scattered trees provided fresh fruit and
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shade, and a series of footpaths extended out like tentacles toward
surrounding outbuildings and nearby vineyards.
It had all been built by King Laertes from the ground up – every stone
set in place under his direct supervision, sometimes by the labor of his own
hands. Even from childhood, Odysseus always remembered it as his
father’s hobby, his retreat when he wanted to get away from the business
of running the kingdom.
By now it was something more: A permanent escape from his sorrow
over Odysseus’ departure and his wife’s death – and from his own inability
to control the deteriorating situation at the palace.
In other words, it provided an escape from life as he waited to wind
down and die.
Odysseus stood beneath a pear tree and watched his father. A tear slid
down his cheek as he saw old Laertes on his hands and knees in a vineyard,
digging away near the base of a plant with a spade. He looked older than
Odysseus remembered – much older than he should have, even accounting
for the passage of twenty years. His body was weathered and brown.
Loose folds hung from his narrow, sunken face – his skin dragged down
over time as if the body inside had withered until it couldn’t quite fill it.
And his eyes… His tiny eyes peeked out from deep behind his cheeks,
staring down at his work with a tired intensity – not as much because they
were interested in it as because he had no strength to lift them elsewhere.
The plant before him – with the dirt that had to be packed just so around its
roots, the tiny green bugs he had to pick from around its base, the leaves
that were still healthy and strong – was his universe. He put everything he
had into tending to its health because its survival was something he could
possibly control, and its death would be a loss he could survive…
Finally Odysseus had seen enough, and he wiped away his tear and
strode over to his father.
He stood over him with hand on his hips, paused to take a quick
around, and said, “Nice place you have here, old man.”
Laertes turned his head to look up at Odysseus. When their eyes met,
he acknowledged the compliment with a quick bobbing nod and went back
to work.
Odysseus crouched down by his side. “It looks like you do a great job
taking care of things around here.”
“Thank you.” Laertes’ eyes were focused downward, his fingers busy.
“But by the looks of things, I can’t say as much for how your master
takes care of you.”
Laertes froze. Something about the statement seemed to bother him,
but with a quick shrug he ignored it and went back to work.
“I mean look at this…” Odysseus shook his head regretfully. “No man
your age should have to live like this – but especially not one like you,
who’s obviously served his master so faithfully. It’s just plain – ”
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“Listen,” Laertes grunted, “I’m trying to work here, and… Well no
offense, but what’s it matter to you anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s none of my business at all… It’s just
sad to see. And…” Odysseus stopped and bit at the corner of his lip for a
moment. “And I guess I’m just a little curious.”
Laertes, resigned to the fact that this conversation wasn’t going to go
away, sat up and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. “About
what?”
“Well, I met the king of Ithaca a while back…”
“Odysseus?” The first spark of interest flashed across Laerte’s face.
Odysseus nodded. “Yes, that was him. He stayed for a couple weeks
as a guest in my home. We hit it off right away – he told stories of the war
and of his overseas voyage, and I gave him every entertainment and every
gift I had to offer. I’ll tell you, I’ll always – ”
“And what about that has to do with you being curious?”
“It’s just that Odysseus was a pretty good guy, and I couldn’t see him
leaving one of his servants in your condition.”
“Well, Odysseus isn’t here anymore.” Laertes kept his voice gruff and
his face stern, but by now tears were streaming down his cheeks.
“Really?”
“He’s been lost at sea for over ten years now, and everyone presumes
him dead. So, stranger, you can’t judge him for the state of his kingdom.
Credit for that goes to the nasty young tyrants who have overrun his
palace. Ever since they took over, this place has fallen steadily into
ruin…” His voice started breaking as he gave voice to long-covered
wounds. “Before it’s all said and done, my legacy will likely have been
consumed – and even if it isn’t, the chances that it will fall to Odysseus’
son...”
“Your legacy?”
Laertes nodded.
“You’re Odysseus’ father?”
“I am…” Laertes’ eyes stared off vacantly. Finally he snapped to
attention and asked, “How long has it been since you met my boy?”
“Five years.”
Something about the answer overwhelmed Laertes – for upon hearing it
he covered his face with two bony, dirty hands, then fell to the ground and
wept.
Finally Odysseus couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of his father
curled up and weeping in the dirt nearly broke his heart – so with throat
growing tight, he stooped down and placed a hand on Laertes’ back.
“Father…” His voice was low and gentle, almost a rasping whisper, in
Laertes’ ear. “It’s me.”
“What?” Laertes lowered his hands and turned to give Odysseus a
confused look.
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“I’m your son. I’m Odysseus.”
“What? What are you – ” He rubbed his nose, then wiped at his tears
with the back of his fingers. “I mean if you’re him, then why did you…
Why would you pretend…” With sudden firmness, he declared, “Prove it.
If you say you’re my boy, then prove it.”
“Okay… Well to begin with, here’s my scar.” Odysseus pulled up the
hem of his robe to reveal his thigh. “You know this one, right? The one I
got when I was hunting – ”
“Hunting boars in Parnassus,” Laertes nodded. There was a gleam of
something in his eyes, but Odysseus wasn’t quite sure whether it was
belief.
“Beyond that, you can ask me about anything – anything we’ve done
together, any conversation we’ve had that only the two of us would know
about.” He rose to his feet and turned around for a sweeping view of the
landscape. “We could start with these trees, if you’d like. If you
remember, you used to take me up here when I was little and tell me all
about these trees. I was so curious, I just couldn’t stop asking questions. I
asked what kind of fruit they bore, when they would ripen… I drilled you
on every aspect of how they ‘worked’ – I remember using that exact word
– and how you cared for them, to the point that looking back I can’t see
how it didn’t drive you crazy. But every time I’d blurted out a breathless
string of questions, you’d just look down at me, chuckle, and patiently
explain everything I’d asked about and more. I don’t know why I cared so
much about the trees… I think I just enjoyed the time we had out here
together, the fact that you so willingly shared something that was important
to you. It got to the point that one day you said that if I was so interested
you’d give me a few of them when I was old enough. In all, you’d ended
up promising me thirteen pear trees, ten apple trees, forty fig trees, and
fifty rows of vines. It might seem funny that I’d remember all that, but you
have no idea how much time I’d devoted to tallying all the ‘gifts,’ spending
long afternoons reviewing the count in my head, dreaming about what I’d
do with them, how much I might be able to produce… Of course now I
know you’d meant it all in play, but to a little boy it was all so – ”
Odysseus was cut off when his father leapt up, wrapped his arms
around his neck, and wept onto his shoulder.
The two men’s faces were still wet with tears when Odysseus pulled
back and said, “Come on – let’s get you back into the house.”
They were all gathered around the table at the farmhouse. Odysseus,
Telemachus, Philoetius, and Eumaeus sat along one side; on the other sat
Dolius, the servant in charge of the farm, along with his sons.
At the head of the table, Laertes looked like a new man. Not only was
he freshly bathed and dressed in a new set of clothes, but he was sitting
upright, looking around with bright and alert eyes, and eating with a
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voracious appetite. He was certainly well past his prime, and the years still
showed on his body – but his son’s appearance had breathed new life into
his heart, erasing the despair that had led to shabby self-care. Now he
looked like a patient on the mend as, by a combination of Athena’s help
and the sheer force of his own will, he began the process of transformation
from a withered old relic to wise and dignified elder. At his side, as
always, was the old Sicilian house servant who had tended to his needs –
and tried to coax him out of self-neglect – during the worst part of his life.
“So you killed them all, huh?” the old man asked.
Odysseus nodded. “We did.”
“Wow…” Laertes shook his head and gave a faint smile. “And
Penelope… She knows?”
“She does. We’ve already been reunited, and everything – down to the
cleaning in the hall – has been set back to normal.”
Laertes’ eyes drifted vacantly off to the far end of the room as he
chewed a bite of food. Finally he swallowed and said, “Not everything.
There’s still…”
“Their families,” Odysseus finished the thought. “I know.”
“That’s why we came out here,” ventured Telemachus.
Laertes nodded. “You had to get out of town. Makes sense… Of
course you know this is the first place they’re going to come looking for
you, right?”
“Of course,” Odysseus answered.
“Then why would you – ”
“Because when they do come, I’d rather they didn’t find you here
alone.”
“And what will you do to stop them if they do come?”
Odysseus shrugged. “Ideally, we’ll try to find a better hideout – and
possible more allies – before they get here. But if not… I just don’t know.
We’ll just have to do our best to make a stand.”
“It might just end up coming down to that. I haven’t gotten out much
in the last few years, so I have no clue where we might go to find people
friendly to our cause. If anything, I’d be just as likely to lead you all into a
trap.”
“Hm… And you?” Odysseus turned to Dolius. “Any ideas?”
Dolius shook his head and let out a silent sigh. “Nothing comes to
mind right off.”
“Well, we’ll hole up here until we come up with something, but we
can’t stay here long…” To Dolius’ sons, Odysseus added, “I need you
guys to go out and keep watch over the main roads. “Run back and tell us
the moment you see anybody coming. I have a feeling they’re going to be
here sooner than later – and when they come, we’d better be prepared for a
fight.”
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“He killed them! He murdered every last one of them – starting with
my son!” Eupeithes, father of Antinous, called out with a hoarse scream.
The men around him, already charged up before they’d gathered,
rumbled and nodded in response. They’d heard the first rumors of the
suitors’ deaths. They’d stormed the palace to find a sloppy pile of bodies
stacked in Odysseus’ hall. They’d pounded on the doors of the women’s
chambers and screamed their lungs out… And when they got nothing in
the way of explanation, they gathered here in the courtyard to shape their
anguish into anger and their anger into action.
The fathers, the brothers, and the uncles were at the center – and
naturally their fury was most intense. But others had gathered around them
by the hundreds: servants of the suitors’ households, turncoats who had
sided with the suitors in Odysseus’ absence, poorly informed citizens who
were appalled by whatever version of the rumor had struck their ears. All
these had been whipped up and formed into an angry mob, and now it was
Eupeithes – himself driven mad with grief – who was steering them.
“He locked them in a room and slaughtered them like swine!” he cried.
The voices around him escalated from rumbles to full-throated shouts as he
stoked the fire of their rage. “He disarmed them, held them captive… One
by one each poor boy threw himself at the king’s feet and begged for
mercy – and one by one Odysseus looked down into his pleading eyes and
slit his throat! He butchered every last boy in the hall, one after the other
after – ”
“Well he actually didn’t kill us all,” a voice cut in.
Shocked by the interruption, the crowd fell into silence – but it was a
simmering, angry silence. After the briefest pause, hundreds of faces
turned in unison to see just who had dared break the spell of the moment –
and their eyes settled upon Medon, one of the men who had been spared
Odysseus’ wrath. Standing at the edge of the crowd, he held his palms
open and his arms outstretched as though to beg forgiveness for suggesting
a tempered view of Odysseus’ atrocities.
“It’s true,” he implored them. “He did allow some of us to live. Now
yes, most were killed. Some were cut down in combat, and others were
slain as they tried to run. But a couple of us, when we turned and begged,
were spared.”
The crowd growled its intense disapproval of Medon’s sentiment as
Eupeithes stepped up and said, “He spared you, huh?”
“Yes, he did.”
“How many of you?”
“Uh… Two.”
“He spared two of you!” Eupeithes, eyes still full of tears, broke out
into a furiously ironic smile as he shouted his answer to the crowd, “Two
of you! And tell me, Medon, how many others did he cut down in cold
blood?”
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Medon shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure… It had to have been over a
hun – ”
“Over a hundred! The madman killed over a hundred of our sons, and
for whatever reason spared two of them. Quite an act of mercy, huh
Medon?”
“It was a battle. People were going to be killed.”
“It may have been a battle at first… But based on what I’ve heard –
and on the looks of the wounds on our sons’ bodies – they were all fleeing
by the time it was finished.”
“They fled when they had to, but we all know very well that the
moment Odysseus turned his back, they would have – ”
The suggestion elicited a terrible roar from the crowd.
“You seem pretty intent on taking Odysseus’ side!” Eupeithes shouted
over their voices. “It kind of makes me wonder what the two of you did to
earn his mercy…”
The crowd grew louder. Shouts of “Yeah!” and “Good point” could be
heard over the general rumble.
“I mean you and one other guy make it out alive – and all we have is
your word on how you did it. How do we know what kind of deal you cut
with Odysseus while the murders were taking place?” Eupeithes narrowed
his eyes. “Or what kind of arrangement you’d made beforehand?”
“Now really,” Medon pleaded. “There’s no reason to…”
The crowd yelled over him.
“I’m not saying I like what Odysseus did. All I’m trying to say is…”
The crowd blasted him with its roar, jolted forward as if preparing to
rush him.
“STOP!” another voice cried out. All eyes turned to find the old
prophet Halitherses standing near Medon. “Look at you guys! Just look at
you!” He shook his head and eyed them one by one. “You old fools…
What are you going to do – attack this boy just for being spared? Then
what? Go kill our king?”
“He murdered our sons!” a voice from the crowd called out.
“Yes, he killed them – and rightly so.”
“What?” Eupeithes screamed. The rest of the mob echoed his
sentiment.
Halitherses, his face red with anger, was much more confident and
much less apologetic than Medon. “They pillaged his kingdom, abused his
son, and tried coercing his wife into marrying them… Yet now you’re
surprised when they finally reap the consequences of their sins – and you
blame Odysseus for serving as the instrument of the gods’ wrath?”
Again, the crowd lurched forward.
“This is your fault!” Halitherses held out his hands and stared them
down with a level eye. “For years you’d been warned that your sons’
behavior would lead to trouble – and it was just weeks ago that I’d
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prophesied about Odysseus’ return. I told everybody that this was coming;
I gave your sons every opportunity to avoid this disaster. Yet what did
they do? They just laughed at me. They ignored my warnings and decided
to continue walking straight into trouble. And you all,” he pointed a finger
toward the crowd, “stood by and let it happen. Yet now, after years of
letting your sons get away with unspeakable crimes, you cry for the blood
of the man who finally punished them? What’s the matter with you?”
By now they’d halted in their tracks, but still they continued raging at
Halitherses.
“Yes, scream at me if you must,” the prophet shouted back. “You’re
upset about your sons’ deaths – I get that. So go ahead and grieve. Grieve
the loss of your boys. Grieve the fact that you pandered to them as they
made their descent toward destruction. But don’t try to cover up your own
feelings of guilt by shifting blame to Odysseus. Go home,” he gestured
with a broad wave of his arms, “all of you. Go home, collapse into your
beds, and wet your pillows with your tears. But don’t make your bad
situation worse by going out and doing something stupid.”
As he was speaking, a good portion of the assembly lowered their
heads and grew quiet. The rage that had bolstered them deflated, leaving
them with nothing but empty sorrow, and they backed down.
Most, however, were as resistant as ever. They took his arguments as a
personal affront, both to themselves and to the memories of their sons –
and thus they roared and pumped their fists and threatened violence as
madly as ever.
And when Eupeithes shrieked something about going out to avenge the
deaths of their sons – nobody knew or cared what his exact words were –
the mob exploded into a burst of screams that rose mightily to the heavens.
Then someone somewhere in the group pointed out that they knew exactly
where to find Odysseus, and the crowd broke apart and rushed out the
courtyard gates.
“So is this how it ends?” asked Athena.
Zeus, with his head leaning forward and his cheek resting on a closed
fist, brought his eyes up to meet his daughter’s gaze. But otherwise he
didn’t move a muscle – and he said nothing.
So Athena persisted: “Did we bring Odysseus all the way back to
Ithaca and grant him victory over his wife’s suitors, just to see him killed
by their families?”
Still Zeus just watched – silently, the way he always did when he was
weighing his options, trying to find a way to avoid taking sides. “This was
your idea,” he finally answered. “You designed the plot, set it into
motion… You positioned yourself in Odysseus’ hall and helped him kill
those young men. A pretty severe move, if you ask me.”
“It was necessary – and they deserved it.”
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“True… But did you somehow think there wouldn’t be
repercussions?”
“Repercussions,” Athena mimicked. “So Odysseus dies, Ithaca spirals
into civil war, and my struggle ends up being for nothing. Is that what you
mean by ‘repercussions’?”
Zeus’ eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. He considered suggesting
that the severity of the consequences didn’t make them any less Athena’s
fault – but quickly dismissed the idea and forced a warm smile. “Oh,
we’re not going to let that happen…”
“So I can intervene?”
“Of course you can.”
“And Poseidon? Will you – ”
“Oh, I think he’s over this now. I’ve given him his revenge against the
Phaeacians, and Odysseus plans to make amends… But if he does try to
interfere, I’ll cover for you.”
That was all Athena needed. With a quick “Thank you, father” she
turned to leave the hall.
“Oh, but Athena,” Zeus called out.
Athena stopped in her tracks. “Yes, father?”
“We’re looking for peace in Ithaca, not another pile of dead bodies.
Understood?”
“Understood,” Athena nodded.
The door flew open, and they all turned to see one of Dolius’ sons
standing in the threshold.
With his arm propped against a doorpost, he was leaning heavily and
panting. For several seconds he just stood gasping for air, before he finally
managed to blurt out, “They’re coming!”
All at once, everybody’s hands went to the tabletop as they prepared to
scoot back their chairs and rise to their feet.
“What?” Odysseus demanded. “Who’s coming? How many?”
“I don’t know,” the boy exhaled. “A huge swarm of them – more than
I can count.”
Odysseus stood. “And how close are they?”
“They can’t be much more than half a mile away.”
That was when they noticed a faint buzz, like the roar of a distant river,
echoing up from the valley. The mob was obviously close.
“You have armor, right?” Odysseus asked Dolius.
The servant nodded.
“Then arm yourself – and your sons – as quickly as possible.” By now
the five other boys had run back through the door. “We’ll make our stand
outside. I can’t promise it will be pretty, but we’ll do what we can…”
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The men had formed a small battle line across the main road, about a
hundred fifty yards out from the farmhouse. At the center of the line stood
Laertes. Odysseus was on his left, Telemachus was on his right, and the
others extended evenly on either side.
In a way, the old man looked out of place, almost comical, in his armor.
Arms and legs that had once bulged out of it now looked withered and
wrinkled, his brittle white hair contrasted terribly with his reddish-brown
horsehair plume, and his face – once so commanding – now seemed lost as
it looked out from deep inside his helmet.
Still, though, he showed hints of his youthful strength. He carried
himself like a seasoned soldier – and while his body was obviously past its
prime, it was still hardened by long decades of training and combat. Worn
as he was, he likely had one or two good fights left in him.
“I never thought I’d see this,” he muttered. He shot a half grin to his
son, then his grandson. “Three generations fighting side by side…”
They all nodded silently before Odysseus looked across his father at
Telemachus’ face. “You ready for this, son?”
The boy nodded.
“It’s very likely we won’t survive this fight,” Odysseus added. “But no
matter what happens, make our family proud; put up a fight people will
remember. You can’t choose between victory or defeat, but you can
always choose how you go out.”
“I will.” Telemachus turned his gaze forward and tightened the grip on
his spear.
The exchange brought a smile to Laertes' face, and in spite of himself
he released a joyous little chuckle. Even if they all died today, this was a
far better fate than he’d resigned himself to before…
The horde was now visible just down the hill. It was centered on the
road, but its numbers were so great that it spilled over onto the grassy plain
on either side. They were a horrible sight to behold – literally a small
army, with a core of nobility armed in bronze and carrying spears, and
mobs on the fringes wielding farm implements, clubs, torches or whatever
else they’d been able to grab hold of in the rush to vengeance. The roar of
the crowd grew louder and louder, until individual voices could slowly be
heard over the general uproar. It was still impossible to distinguish most of
the words, but the sheer rage behind them was unmistakable.
By instinct Laertes took a half step forward as they approached. A
statesman as well as a warrior, his first inclination was to call out to the
crowd, to make the obligatory attempt at reasoning with them…
But he’d seen mobs like this before. Separately, its members may have
been thinking, rational men. But together they were something different –
something as implacable and elemental as a force of nature. Laertes could
no more steer them with his words than he could steer a herd of boars or a
bank of storm clouds.
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So he crouched, held up his shield... And as he waited, he began to feel
strength from Athena surging in his limbs, could feel her courage enfolding
and saturating his heart as tangibly as if it were a physical energy. This, he
felt, was his moment for action. As the crowd rushed in, ready to blow
through their tiny defense like a flood, he knew what he had to – and
would – do next.
He looked left and right across the span of angry men – scanning,
searching… And finally, near the center, he spotted what he was looking
for: Their leader. Even a mob follows somebody. It has its instigator, its
organizer, the one it feeds off of. And at a glance it was obvious that
Eupeithes filled that role for this group. While he was running, he was
turning his head to the side, his spittle-lined mouth hollering orders to
those around him, driving them like a swarm of stampeding cattle.
He was the one… He was the one leading them, and he was the one
who had to go.
In one quick movement, Laertes shifted his weight onto his back foot,
wound up with his spear – how quickly his body remembered these old
motions! – and made his throw. The spear soared across the shrinking
middle ground and struck Eupeithes square on the cheek, whipping his
head to the side, so that his body spun and he fell into a heap on the
ground.
For just a moment the crowd slowed… Its members grew silent, then
moaned as a ripple of realization made its way back through the ranks.
Their hesitation, of course, would be short-lived.
But Odysseus and Telemachus decided to take full advantage of it.
While the mob was still on its heels, they dropped their shields and, spear
in one hand and sword in the other, ran straight into it.
Here a man was stabbed through the throat; there another was slashed
open with a sword. And all around dozens of horrified men lost their nerve
– for courage that is cheaply gained in a moment of fury can just as easily
be lost in a moment of bloodshed – and either backed up or simply
scattered. Thus the tide of the crowd began to reverse, and a semi-circle
opened up around father and son.
Of course there was a clear danger – almost an inevitability – that they
would soon get outflanked, enveloped, and swarmed by sheer numbers.
Yet they had the advantage for now, and their only option was to press it –
for the moment they slowed down, the enemy would regroup and
overwhelm them.
Laertes watched with mounting discomfort, waiting for his son and
grandson to go out in a suicidal blaze of glory. But then…
Suddenly there came a voice, audible even over the sounds of
screaming and killing: “STOP – RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!”
Both sides halted in their tracks. For several moments they looked
around at each other in confusion… And slowly all heads turned to the
346
side to find Mentor – Odysseus knew it was Athena, of course – standing
at the edge of the battle.
“You need to end this foolishness – NOW! Set aside your grudges, go
back to your homes…”
Mentor’s voice, projected with the same eerie volume and intensity as
in the palace hall, was enough to spook even Odysseus and his men…
And it drove the mob wild with fear.
Many of them dropped their weapons right where they stood. All of
them turned their backs and ran. The group rushed down the hill from the
farmhouse like an avalanche, their shouts of fear louder even louder than
their earlier shouts of anger.
Odysseus was close behind. Screaming like an eagle, he swooped
down upon them with raised spear. He gripped his weapon tight, preparing
to tear into the back of their ranks…
But up ahead he could see the crowd slowing, could see some of its
members starting to turn around, hold up shields, point spears. They were
regrouping, or at least some of them were, into a haphazard formation –
one that resulted not from martial discipline but from the organic, flowing
movement of hundreds of men running, milling about, or stopping to the
rhythm of confusion and individual impulses.
Odysseus sized up the crowd as he ran. Instinctively his mind sought
out weak spots, analyzed the areas of greatest confusion. But in reality he
had no options other than to throw himself straight at the enemy. He
would almost certainly be absorbed into its mass, his fate to disappear
beneath a sea of swinging swords and jabbing spears. But maybe – just
maybe – if the crowd failed to organize, if Athena stirred them to further
panic, if Telemachus and the others rallied along with him, they might just
be able to pull off a miracle.
Either way, this was going to end today.
He was closing in on the crowd – now close enough that he would have
to watch for flying spears – and several of them had turned and were
rushing toward him.
Then came the final blow.
Odysseus saw it – and felt it – before he recognized it. Suddenly he
was blinded by a flash of white light, thrown off his feet by a hot
concussive blast.
Only when he was sprawled out on the ground thirty feet back did he
have the chance to sit up, shake the confusion out of his head, and size up
what had happened. In front of him, he saw a large black circle burned
into the grass. On the other side of the circle, a scattering of enemies was
lying all over the field like a forest of felled trees.
A bolt of lightning had struck the ground between them, just as they
were about to close in.
347
Odysseus was still propped up on his arms, absorbing the implications,
when he noticed that Athena was crouched at his side.
He had the impression that she’d been speaking for a while behind the
ringing in his ears, but the first words he clearly heard were: “That
thunderbolt was sent by Zeus, you know.”
Odysseus just nodded.
“And you know that when my father strikes, he never misses.”
Again he nodded.
“If he’d wanted to strike you, he would have done so.” She turned to
look out at the crowd, which was now rising to its feet and shaking off the
shock of Zeus’ attack. “And if he’d wanted to strike them, he would have
struck them. But he didn’t. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Then are you ready to put an end to this?”
“I am.”
“Good,” Athena answered. Then she stood and morphed into the shape
of Mentor.
After helping Odysseus to his feet, Mentor turned back and motioned
for Telemachus and Laertes to come join them. The four held a brief
conference, after which Mentor gathered the elders from the now docile
crowd and brought them over to Odysseus.
Mentor made the introductions and set the stage for discussion before
turning the meeting over to Odysseus. And as the king began speaking, it
didn’t take long for memories of old royal councils – and the forgotten
practice of gathering for civilized deliberation – to come flooding back to
everybody. All involved quickly recalled the patterns of conversation, the
leadership style of Odysseus, the roles each of them used to play. They
remembered what a society was, who they were – and as they did so, they
all quickly sobered.
The nobles looked back with shock at the indignity of the past several
hours – common rabble might grab torches and join an angry mob, but not
the pillars of Ithacan society! – and were ashamed.
And even Odysseus, while he remained confident in the rightness of his
actions, recognized the base animal behavior that necessity had driven him
to. War, wandering, and revenge had all taken their toll on him. Sure,
they’d pushed his limits, brought to light his astonishing talents… But
they’d also threatened to turn him into something other than what he
wanted to be. Now, though, all that faded from his mind like a distant
dream, and he felt himself awakening to something old and familiar – and
much, much better.
Everything was starting to calm. Everything was starting to right itself.
348
With Mentor administering the oaths, the elders concluded the meeting
by swearing to bring themselves under the king’s rule – and for the first
time since departing for Troy, Odysseus was truly home.
The End