The Cyclops replied in that same ear-splitting bellow. “This and more, has Nobah Djee! Nobah Djee has blinded me!”
There was a brief pause before the distant voices replied, decidedly grumpier. “Done all this, has nobody? Sick in head, or mad, are you! If harmed are you by nobody, then let nobody heal you now! Alone, leave us, your bed to seek. Tomorrow, wiser may you be.”
The Cyclops stood for a moment, speechless with rage and confusion. A roar of laughter swelled from the men, and I was reminded once again how clever my master was. It was clear why they had nicknamed him “the fox.”
Now Deklah called out from his oar, grinning. “Creature! Didn’t your father teach you to fear nobody? Now you know who he was talking about!” Several of the men laughed so hard that some lost their grip on their oars, entangling the others. But we were beyond the reach of boulders now, and Lopex called out a parting shot.
“Do you wish to know who destroyed you? Very well, eater of guests. My true name is Odysseus, son of Laertes, ruler of Ithaca!”
The creature shook itself and straightened up. “Hear my curse, Odysseus!” Its voice boomed across the water. “Listen well, O thief of sight! Long and long to plough the waves, before your Ithaca you reach! Sunk, your ship and gone, your spoil; dead, your men and aged, your brow. And if at last your home you see, a lone and nameless beggar be! In my father’s name, I beg—Poseidon mighty, hear my plight!” As the creature finished, it opened its arms wide to the ocean, blind face to the sky. A deep rumble rolled back across the waves, as though the ocean itself had replied.
Odysseus! I’d thought of my master as Lopex for so long I had nearly forgotten who he really was. Odysseus the trickster, as we called him in Troy. Wiliest of the Greeks. For someone that clever, giving the Cyclops his name had been foolish. To curse someone, you had to know their name. Not that it mattered. We were headed for Ithaca again, wherever that was, and Odysseus would have his own healers there. I’d be just a slave again, most likely being worked slowly to death myself.
“Alexi!”
It was Odysseus, crossing the stern deck toward me. “Go below and check for leaks. That last wave may have loosened some planks. Set the slaves to bailing if you have to.” He didn’t seem even to have heard the Cyclops’s curse. I headed for the stern hold ladder, but Odysseus stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Deklah told me how your stone helped me escape that thing.” he said. “I won’t forget that.”
The wave from the boulder had shaken up both the cargo and the slaves in the hold, but the hull planks were still tight. Kassander, Zosimea and the other two slaves were lying in the far point of the stern, bracing themselves in case the ship bucked again. Kassander was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, Zosimea cradling one arm.
“Alexi?” Seeing me, Kassander scrambled up. “What happened up there?”
All the anger I felt at being lied to came welling back up. I was about to climb back up the hold ladder but turned back. The other slaves needed to know. “It was that thing. It was trying to catch us. We’re out of reach now.” I was partway up the ladder when he spoke again.
“Alexi. I know you don’t trust me. But I may have some information for you.”
I kept going but his next sentence stopped me cold. “It’s about your sister.”
I turned. “What about her?”
He beckoned and I came down slowly. “Well?”
He took my shoulder and led me away from the other slaves. “Tell me, did your sister . . . die by being thrown down some steps?”
I nodded mutely, feeling my chest tighten.
“Then listen.” He lowered his voice. “Last night I overheard two soldiers at the cess trench. Takis was asking how Sophronios got that terrible gash on his nose. Apparently the other soldier saw it. The night of the invasion, after Ury’s brother went down, Sophronios showed up in the lane. He saw a Trojan girl lying dead nearby. Being Sophronios, he went over to take whatever she might have left to offer. But when he pulled at her tunic, she sat up and slashed his face, cutting deep into his nose. Sophro twisted her arm and she dropped the knife but got free. She ran off.”
“Liar!” I shouted, furious. “Sophronios told me what really happened! He said he found her and cut her throat! Get away from me, you Greek!”
Kassander glanced around uneasily. “Keep it down, Alexi. You know what will happen if they discover me.”
“That’s too bad, ” I said coldly. “You’ve lied since I met you and you’re lying now.”
Kassander paused. “Wait, ” he said suddenly. “He also said something about . . . a well. That was it. She was lying against a well.”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. She had been lying by a well. I’d seen her clearly in the torchlight. Still— “I don’t believe you, ” I replied, feeling less certain. As I turned and climbed back up the ladder, Kassander called softly after me. “Alexi. Yes, I lied about who I was. But if you think about it, I’ve never betrayed your trust. You’ll have to decide who you believe.”
Back on deck, I sagged against the stern railing. We were in the channel between the islands now, far enough offshore to pick up a breeze. From amidships came half-hearted curses as the men struggled to raise the mast. I hardly heard them, consumed by Kassander’s words. Was there a chance he was telling the truth?
I straightened up and leaned over the rail to look forward. The bright sunlight sparkling off the waves made it hard to see where we were headed. But for me, it was suddenly clear. If it took the rest of my life, I would find out what had become of my sister.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Greek mythology has fascinated me since I discovered a copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology in my father’s library as a child. All the same, my writing career took a twenty-year detour through software development before I was able to become a full-time writer and spend more time at home raising my daughters, Kathleen and Anitra. I started with Homer’s Odyssey because it’s a classic story, but one that nowadays is usually read only in university courses. I decided to create a version that young people would read for fun: a realistic adventure, told not by the traditional heroes but by an outsider. For centuries, readers have been seeing the destruction of Troy through the eyes of the Greeks; I felt it was time to see that event through the eyes of a Trojan. My family and I live in Toronto, where the winters are growing steadily milder and the summers muggier. We have no dog.
patrickbowman.ca
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