Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  “If he makes land and continues on foot then no Phaeacian ship will help us,” Machaon answered calmly. “We can’t let him get too far ahead.”

  Hero stared at them, speechless. She could see that she would not move them, and so she knelt and began to pray. Her brothers left her to it. They took down the sails and lowered them to the deck, binding all they could. The wind screamed from the north and waves crashed over the ship. Still their vessel held true.

  Cadmus grabbed Hero as she knelt and he heaved her into the cabin. Machaon and Lycon followed and they huddled in the small shelter as the ire of the King of the Gods vented itself upon the treacherous sea.

  “The land at which we next made harbour was the realm of the Lotus-eaters, who consume only vegetable-foods.”

  The Odyssey Book IX

  BOOK IX

  THE GALE PITCHED THE Phaeacian ship over surging mountains of water. The sons of Agelaus became accustomed to the turbulence and, being Herdsmen, climbed the mast to heighten the danger, and to test both their courage and their luck. They would return to the ship’s small cabin chilled by the wind and exhilarated.

  Hero remained in the cabin and prayed so incessantly and earnestly that her brothers found little respite in the shelter. In the end, Cadmus could stand it no more and threatened to throw her overboard.

  For a while Hero forgot her fear and responded with rage.

  “Do you think I do this for my own pleasure?” she demanded, her eyes blazing. “You stupid, blasphemous ingrate! I am the only thing keeping us afloat!”

  “And here I thought the boat had something to do with it,” Cadmus laughed.

  “Are you so feeble-minded that you do not realise it is only the mercy of Zeus that will save us now?” Hero was tired, her throat strained with repeated prayer, and she was scared.

  “Hero, the wind has not slowed in two days!” Cadmus retorted. “Perhaps Zeus thinks the only way to shut you up is to drown us all!”

  Lycon suppressed a laugh, and Hero included him in her glare as she threatened Cadmus with all manner of harm.

  Machaon entered the small shelter just as Hero launched herself at Cadmus. “What in Hades ... ” He held her back as his brothers cheered.

  Hero cursed at Cadmus.

  “Charming,” said Machaon, raising his brows. “What have you done now, Cad?”

  Cadmus shrugged and ignored the question. “Any sign that the wind is slowing?” he asked.

  Machaon shook his head. “No — we’re still being blown south.”

  Hero was close to despair. She hated the violent lurch of the boat and the deafening howl of the wind. She was sick of being frightened and she did not want to be angry with her brothers. She blinked, trying to hold back the tears.

  Cadmus looked at her and groaned. “Fine!” he said in disgust. “Pray then!”

  “Oh, is that what this is about?” said Machaon, smiling. He put his arm around his sister. “Hero,” he started gently as he met Cadmus’ eye. “We know you’re scared, but this storm has nothing to do with us. Zeus may have sent it, but it is the Ithacans he seeks to punish, not us ... No amount of praying is going to make up for what they did at Ismarus.”

  “I’m sorry, Hero,” said Cadmus taking his brother’s lead to make peace. He looked at her solemnly. “I will not throw you overboard ... really.”

  “Don’t be too hasty now ... ” Lycon murmured.

  Hero smiled wanly, though the tears now spilled down her cheeks. She knew that she had been pushing her brothers to the end of their patience, but she had always turned to her gods when she was afraid, and she was very afraid.

  Machaon sat with his back against the wall and pulled her down next to him. He spoke quietly in the way that the Herdsmen traditionally began.

  “The tale, which I beg the Muse to help me tell, is that of a great construction which protected a people beloved of the gods.” He told of the walls of Troy, raised by the god Hephaistos himself. It was a story they had all heard many times before from the lips of their father. Machaon’s words were soothing in their familiarity.

  The confines of the cabin necessitated a physical closeness with her large brothers that made Hero feel safer as they rose and plunged with the sea. They passed the evening and a great part of the night reciting tales of triumph and tragedy, telling smaller stories of family and laughter, and remembering Agelaus.

  Hero fell asleep first, as she always did. The sons of Agelaus talked of things less lyrical, in the way of young men, and then they too took turns at sleep as they did each night.

  When Hero awoke, it was to a stillness that she had almost forgotten. She was alone in the cabin. She emerged onto the deck to join her brothers who stood in silence watching Eos as she bloomed in the east like a glorious crimson blossom. The sea was calm, and the wind a tender whisper. Hero knelt and thanked the gods. Cadmus rolled his eyes as he helped Machaon and Lycon raise the sails, but otherwise they ignored her. The wind though mild, blew steadily to the south and it was in that direction that the current sped. The Phaeacian ship set her course in pursuit of the Ithacan fleet.

  For nine days they journeyed south across azure seas, rich with fish. They passed the days in telling stories and playing dice. Occasionally the sons of Agelaus would swim, secured to the ship by a rope so that they were in no danger of being left behind. Hero still made her devotions, but she did so quietly for she was no longer beset by terror. With each day she became more confident that she could, with her own piety, defend her brothers against the wrath of the gods.

  On the tenth day Lycon sighted land from atop the mast. Again they moored out of the notice of the Greek ships. The country was fertile and laced with streams and lagoons. Its plants were strange to the Herdsmen, the greens more vibrant and the flowers more bold. It was warm and the air was moist.

  Hero was thankful to stand again on solid ground. Her brothers laughed as they watched her run and twirl happily in the long soft grasses of this new land.

  “We’d better draw water whilst we can,” said Machaon as he surveyed the myriad of streams which cut close to the bay in which they had beached. “Cad and I can manage — Ly, why don’t you and Hero have a look around.”

  Cadmus nodded his agreement. “Keep out of sight, but check what the Ithacans are doing — then we can work out how and when we are going to approach Odysseus without being slaughtered by his men.”

  Hero smiled happily. How she longed to walk and run after being confined to the ship for so many days.

  Cadmus looked at his sister. Her hair had regrown a little in the past weeks, but it was still ragged and spiky and there were yet patches that were almost bald. It gave her a somewhat erratic appearance. “See if you can find something for Hero to sacrifice,” he said. “We’ll build her a fire later.”

  Lycon nodded as he retrieved his bow and Hero beamed at Cadmus. They left the elder sons of Agelaus to replenish the water supply and set out through the trees.

  “Stay close, Hero,” Lycon warned. “Who knows what strange creatures are native to this land.”

  They wandered towards the Greek camp. Hero stopped often to delight in the strange flowers and foliage about them. Lycon silenced her as they approached Odysseus’ ships. They kept behind the trees, treading lightly and unseen in the way of the Herdsmen.

  The Greeks were roasting fish over flames and drinking the dark wine they had plundered from Ismarus. They too were drawing water and appeared to be in good spirits. Odysseus directed proceedings. As they watched, he spoke with three of his men. He gave them wine and gold and bid them farewell as they turned to walk inland. Lycon whispered the scene into his sister’s ear, for they were not close enough for her to see the actions of the Ithacan king. He grabbed her hand and they followed the party.

  “We’ll just see where he has sent them,” he said quietly to her unasked question. “Perhaps this place has been settled.”

  The Greeks trekked along the banks of a stream. They walked comfortably without
haste or trepidation, unaware that they were watched.

  In time the stream opened into a wide lagoon, edged with reeds. The surface of the water was almost invisible, hidden by the floating leaves of an aquatic plant. Petalled cups of yellow and white caught the eye sharply and seductively. When Hero and Lycon were finally able to wrest their gazes from the vision of the floating blooms, they noticed that they were not alone. The people were long limbed and their movements almost fluid. They were dark-skinned and wore very little as they sat and lay unconcerned on the banks of the lagoon.

  The people greeted the Greek party warmly, if a little casually. Odysseus’ men made signs of friendship and offered gifts of gold and wine. The natives laughed and made it clear they had no use for the gifts. Instead they invited the strangers to partake of their feast, which seemed to consist entirely of baskets of an egg-shaped fruit.

  “What can you see?” Hero whispered.

  “They’re eating,” Lycon replied. “Some kind of fruit. The Greeks seem quite taken with it.”

  Hero squinted, trying to force her eyes to focus on the scene. She leant against the dappled trunk behind which she hid. The tree felt soft ... and then it moved. Hero jumped back and screamed. Lycon turned quickly and pulled his sister away from the snake and into the undergrowth. But Odysseus’ men had heard Hero’s cry and were soon upon them. They caught Lycon first and Hero soon after, for she could not see well enough to escape without her brother.

  “Who are you?” demanded the first of the Greeks. He was a large, bearded man.

  “We are travellers,” Lycon replied. “Our ship was blown off course and wrecked. We are the only survivors.”

  “Shall we kill them, Eurylochus?” asked a soldier who held a blade at Lycon’s throat.

  For a moment there was silence, and then Hero began to pray to Zeus, god of travellers.

  Eurylochus looked at her, his eyes lingering on the untidy crop of her head. “Not yet,” he said. “We shall return them to Odysseus. We have angered Zeus enough, and Odysseus may wish to take the girl for himself ... She is an odd-looking wretch, but she is essentially a woman.”

  Hero whimpered in terror, but she continued to pray. As soon as they lowered the blade from his throat Lycon put his arm around his sister. They would have to escape. He could not allow Agelaus’ daughter to become a plaything of the Greeks.

  “Let us eat some more of this honeyed fruit,” Eurylochus said as they pushed Lycon and Hero back towards the lagoon. “And then we shall take some baskets back to the ships. Odysseus shall be well pleased with our efforts.”

  The men of Ithaca bound Lycon, but elected to leave Hero free. She was just a frightened girl and of no threat to them. Lycon tried to keep calm. He did not like the way the brutal Greek men looked at his sister.

  The dark skinned people who reclined about the lagoon did not seem to notice that they were captives, and treated them with the same friendliness that they did the Greeks.

  “Eat.” Lycon whispered to Hero when the natives offered her the fruit, which the Greeks were devouring with pleasure and enthusiasm. “Let us not insult them — they may be able to help us.”

  And so they partook of the strange sweet fruit of the lotus flower. In his bonds, Lycon could manage only a bite or two. The fruit had a nectar that was delicious and intoxicating. It stirred sensations not only on his tongue, but also in his blood. It was, perhaps, because he could not consume it at the same speed and quantity as those who were not restrained, that he recognised the effect it was having on his senses before it was too late. He felt warm and lethargic and above all he wanted to eat more. The men of Odysseus were on their backs in the grass. They gazed at the sky with broad smiles moving only to bring more fruit to their mouths. Lycon shook his head in order to clear it, and dropped the fruit Hero had placed into his bound hands. He kicked it away so that he could no longer reach it.

  “Hero, don’t eat any more,” he warned under his breath, but she had already consumed enough to disregard him. Hero looked at him unsteadily and giggled.

  Lycon found it hard to tell how long they were by the lagoon. The Greeks continued to consume the fruit of the lotus and became indolent and content. They seemed to have forgotten their comrades and their ships. The natives appeared less affected, but they too, did little but grin and share their bounty. The fruit had a different effect on Hero. At first she was simply inappropriately happy, but then the intoxication made her anxious and angry. She sat by her brother eating fruit and muttering words of fury.

  Lycon could see the pile into which the Ithacan men had discarded their weapons whilst they indulged. He could not reach them. Hero could, but she could not see them. Silently, Lycon debated whether he should tell her. In her present state of mind she was likely to challenge the inebriated Greeks on her own. Perhaps they were too affected by the fruit to fight back, but he could not be sure.

  In the end he decided to risk it. He told her where the weapons were. “But Hero,” he added urgently. “You must bring the blade here and cut my bonds. You must not try to wield it yourself. Do you understand?”

  Hero wiped juice from her chin and continued to mutter and curse. She turned away from him and walked quietly towards the discarded weapons. She had just picked up a sword, when two more Greeks emerged from the trees and headed towards the lagoon.

  Lycon recognised Odysseus immediately.

  “Eurylochus!” Odysseus called. “Where in Hades have you got to?” He and his comrade caught sight of their own men before they could notice Lycon and Hero.

  “By the gods, Eurylochus, what are you doing? We feared some harm had come to you.”

  “Odysseus, old friend, my king, my liege, Sacker of Troy and so on and so forth ... you must try this fruit.” Eurylochus wiped his hairy chin with the back of his hand. “It is as luscious as Aphrodite herself.” He grinned. “Come, let us sit and eat and we can talk of women and love ... ”

  The men who ate fruit alongside him murmured their agreement.

  “What in Hades is the matter with you?” Odysseus demanded seizing his comrade’s tunic and shaking him. “We must return to our good ship and sail for home.”

  “I don’t want to go home. My wife is ugly.”

  More murmurs of agreement from the fruit-drunk Greeks.

  “My wife too ... ”

  “ ... a face like a gorgon ... ”

  “Don’t be a fool, Eurylochus!” Odysseus tried to reason with them all. “We will return to our lands with fame and glory.”

  Lycon stayed still. He hoped against reason that they would not be noticed in the heat of the exchange between Odysseus and his followers. Hero stood with a sword in her hand watching, but she was small and the grass was long. Lycon wanted to tell her to drop down, but to do so would attract the attention he wished to avoid.

  Eurylochus sighed. “My wife was famously, gloriously ugly before I left for Troy. Much better to stay here with these morsels from the table of the gods.” He put a whole fruit into his mouth to emphasise his point.

  The intoxicated men cheered.

  “You speak of mutiny,” Odysseus warned.

  Eurylochus tried to say something in reply but as his mouth was full he could only mumble incoherently.

  “Enough, Eurylochus, you will return with us now!” Odysseus and his comrade drew their swords. This sudden show of blades caused Hero to start.

  Odysseus turned and saw her standing in the grass.

  “Hero — run, run now!” Lycon shouted.

  Only then did Odysseus see Lycon. He approached sword drawn. Hero did not run, but returned to stand between her brother and the King of Ithaca. She faced Odysseus with all manner of fury. She cursed and spat quite incomprehensibly, and swung the blade with malice and no fear. Odysseus seemed shocked.

  “Eurylochus,” he shouted. “Who are these people?”

  It appeared Eurylochus had eaten too much lotus to remember the boy he had bound, or the girl he had thought to present to his king. �
��I know nothing of them,” he shouted as he reached for more fruit.

  “Then this wild girl must have bound him for her own purposes,” Odysseus called to his comrade as he recoiled again from Hero’s sword.

  He turned to Lycon, careful to keep clear of the blade’s random arc. “Who are you? Why did you tell me to run?”

  Lycon thought quickly. “To warn you. She is a witch. You must run, flee this place before her evil sisters descend and slaughter you and all your men!”

  Hero was starting to shake and hiss now. Her eyes were glazed with murderous rage.

  Odysseus believed Lycon’s claim. He had, after all, heard the boy shout for him to run, and the screeching, shorn girl before him was clearly not mortal. “How many?” he asked.

  “Hundreds,” Lycon replied hastily. “They have already killed and devoured all those who travelled with me.”

  The Lotus-eaters laughed suddenly. Whether they understood his words or found some unrelated mirth, Lycon could not tell. Odysseus looked at the dark, relaxed natives suspiciously — they were obviously not afraid.

  “The witches feast on fairer flesh.” Lycon said desperately, as he saw how Odysseus wavered. “Flee now while you can!”

  “We can help you — ” began Odysseus.

  “Her sisters will have heard her by now,” Lycon shouted over Hero’s manic screaming. “You must go now or you will surely die.”

  “What is your name?” asked Odysseus, backing away as Hero began to throw lotus fruit at him.

  “Lycon, I am Lycon.”

  “I shall tell the tale of how you saved the Heroes of Ithaca with your warning and your valour.”

  Odysseus added his sword to his comrade’s, which threatened Eurylochus and the men who had eaten lotus. “Come now. We are all in peril!” They argued again, but the king prevailed and Eurylochus and his drunken companions were dragged, weeping for the fruit, away from the lagoon. Through all of this, the natives remained, eating and smiling.

  Lycon listened with relief as the voices of the Greeks faded. He laughed at his ridiculous luck. “Hero,” he said. “Bring me the sword ... Hero.”