Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  Machaon did not begin with the Herdsmen’s traditional appeal to the muse, for the tale was still too raw, too vivid and painful, to have become a story. He told them of the day the Greeks left, of how the gates had been opened and the brutal sack of Troy. He did not leave out the horror and carnage. He described their flight through the tunnels with Aeneas and the remnants of his people. Lycon continued the account from their arrival at Mount Ida. His eyes hardened as he repeated the accusations of Scamandrios, and described the price the prince had extracted from his brother and his father. Cadmus told the Cyclopes of the charge of the herd, of their escape from Scamandrios, and of Pan and their quest to restore the name of the Herdsmen.

  By the time the sons of Agelaus stopped speaking many of the Cyclopes wept openly for their hearts were soft and the words of the young Herdsmen rang with truth and tragedy.

  “Regardless of what Odysseus may claim,” said Daemon quietly as he wiped a great tear that spilled from his eye down the centre of his wide nose, “the Cyclopes will know the Herdsmen as true.”

  “The Greeks have found safe harbour on the island that lies just south,” said a Cyclopes called Ledo. “We watched them come. I am glad, now, that they stopped there.”

  “The island is thick with beast and fruit,” said Lanaeda thoughtfully. “They may remain there for some while. Perhaps that is where you could speak with the one called Odysseus.”

  “I would prefer you did so here,” said Daemon. “Then we would be able to help you if necessary. On the island you would be at their mercy and there are a great many of them.”

  Machaon smiled. “We have become adept at moving unnoticed among the Greeks — we will be fine.”

  “Well if you must sail to the island, then we will sacrifice to Poseidon for your safe journey,” said Lanaeda. “He is the god of the Cyclopes — he will hear us.”

  “Your god is Poseidon?” asked Cadmus surprised.

  “As yours is Pan.”

  “But the Cyclopes do not sail,” said Cadmus bewildered, for Poseidon was the god of the sea.

  “We have always been content to talk to him from the beach,” replied Lanaeda with a smile. “And he is content to allow us to manage our own affairs in the mountains. It is a happy arrangement.”

  “Clearly,” Machaon laughed, wondering how Hero would view the practicality of Cyclopean piety.

  They passed the rest of the evening in the benevolent company of the one-eyed creatures. They exchanged the stories of their peoples, and their hosts sang for them the quavering mystical song of their race. It was not as raucous as the gatherings of the Herdsmen, for the Cyclopes had a quieter nature, but it was nevertheless reminiscent of the warm communal congregations they had known in the cave of Agelaus.

  When the Cyclopes finally returned to their homes, the sons of Agelaus spoke earnestly of how they would reason with Odysseus.

  Machaon shook his head. “We are talking about Odysseus, the Sacker of Cities,” he said. “He will not be moved by the plight of the Herdsmen.”

  Cadmus agreed. “Indeed, he will not be happy that Agelaus tricked him all those years ago.”

  “Gods, Mac,” moaned Lycon. “It would be far easier to kill him!”

  “Well, we can’t let this opportunity go by.” Machaon sighed. “Or we will be chasing him until we are old men. Cad and I will sail for the island in the morning.”

  “What about me?” Lycon protested.

  “You stay here with Hero. Odysseus will remember you as the ‘boy who died to save them’ ... it probably wouldn’t help.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot,” Lycon conceded.

  And so they agreed. The sons of Agelaus slept well that night for their sister did not cry out for them, but rested comfortably under the learned ministrations of Lanaeda.

  “A monster, formidable and terrifying. He bore no resemblance to bread-eating men but reminded one of a solitary peak rising in an untamed wilderness.”

  The Odyssey Book IX

  BOOK XI

  IT WAS NOT THE radiant grip of Eos clawing back the night that woke the Herdsmen, but a strange tremor of the earth. The ground reverberated to a colossal sound, melodic and achingly deep. Machaon rose, shaking his head to clear the noise which seemed to echo behind his eyes. His brothers had also awoken. Lanaeda and her family went about the business of the morning unperturbed. Only Hero slept on, soothed into prolonged slumber by Lanaeda’s poppyseed broth.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Daemon shouted over the sound. “It is just Polyphemus at his pipes.”

  “Who is Polyphemus?” Machaon asked, as Lanaeda hung the cave’s entrance with hides and cloth to soften the noise. “Is he one of your people?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Lanaeda answered, straining to make her gentle voice heard. “His mother was one of us, but he is the son of Poseidon. He is a great deal bigger than any of us, but otherwise he appears to be a Cyclops.”

  “And why is he making this infernal noise?” Lycon asked.

  Daemon laughed. “To honour his love. He will begin his serenade soon.”

  “Is his love deaf?” Cadmus rubbed his ear. “Who is it that inspires this din?”

  “Galataea, nymph of the sea, first stole his heart. He was devoted to her and pursued her relentlessly in the hope that she may one day look upon him as her lover.”

  “And did she?”

  Lanaeda shook her head sadly. “He repulsed her. No matter how much he trimmed his beard and washed his face she found him terrifying. Nothing he did could make her see his worth.”

  “Well, we’ve all been there,” Machaon muttered.

  Cadmus laughed. “Speak for yourself.”

  “So what happened?” Lycon asked, ignoring his brothers.

  Daemon took over the story in reply. “Polyphemus decided to win her with a serenade. He fashioned a pipe from a hundred reeds and blew it with all his passion.”

  The pipes ceased and the ground trembled a Polyphemus launched into song.

  “Don’t tell me it worked?” Cadmus said, grimacing as the sentimental song went on. “It can’t possibly have worked.”

  “When Galatea heard Polyphemus’ song she was in the arms of her mortal lover.” Lanaeda said. “She laughed so loud and long that she failed to notice that the singing had stopped and that Polyphemus was standing over her.”

  “How did he take it?” Machaon asked, wincing as Polyphemus began to bellow in a higher key.

  Lanaeda smiled wistfully. “Even ugly hearts can break, and from the split poured a torrent of rage. Galatea ran to hide in the sea but her lover was too slow. Polyphemus tore down the hillside, crushing the man under an avalanche of rocks.”

  “And Galatea, what became of her?”

  “Though she could not resurrect her lover as a man, she transformed his blood into a stream and he was reborn as a river god ... so they are still together where his river meets the ocean ... still laughing at poor Polyphemus.”

  “But Polyphemus serenades her regardless,” Machaon said regretfully, as the song grew louder still.

  “No ... he sings now for Cyrus.”

  “A new love?”

  “Perhaps, in a way. Cyrus is his ram — Polyphemus is very attached to him.”

  Lycon just barely hid his amusement.

  “And where is Polyphemus?” Machaon asked, shooting his grinning brothers a warning glance. He gathered that the Cyclopes were uncommonly fond of their sheep.

  “His cave is at the base of the mountain near the sea,” Daemon said as he gathered his pails for milking. He straightened to embark on the morning chore. “Bion ... Bion ... ” he called for his son. “Where has that boy got to? There is milking to be done ... this is no time for his games.”

  “I’ll help you,” Cadmus volunteered. “Let Bion play.”

  Later, when the milking was done, Bion had still not appeared. Lanaeda began to worry. They searched the cave quickly though it was unlikely a child the size of Bion would be able to hide inside. Lanaed
a’s concern turned to panic when it was discovered that Machaon’s sword was also missing.

  “He has gone to challenge the Greeks,” she lamented. “Foolish child imagines he is a hero.”

  Daemon comforted his wife. “There are no Greeks on the mainland. He is merely playing, my darling ... we will find him in the glade.”

  The sons of Agelaus went with Daemon to search the boy’s customary haunts. Soon they were joined by other Cyclopes, anxious to help. Still Bion evaded them.

  “Mac.” Lycon spoke quietly to his brother. “He took your sword ... perhaps Lanaeda is right — he’s trying to challenge the Greeks.”

  “The Greeks are on the island. He can’t reach them. Even if it was closer, the Cyclopes don’t swim.”

  “The boat, Mac. What if he tried to get to our boat?”

  Machaon nodded. Lycon was right. Bion was enamoured with tales of battle — the boy may have set out in a childish pursuit of glory. And the boat was the only way to reach the Greeks. They called the Cyclopes to follow them and headed down the mountain to the wooded side of the harbour where they had secured their craft.

  They caught sight of Bion before they reached the beach. The Phaeacian boat was in the water, circling precariously where the harbour became deep. Even at that distance they could hear the terrified weeping of the Cyclopean child. They ran. Daemon called out to his son. That was a mistake. The panicked boy lunged from the boat’s side towards his father. They watched in dismay as he overbalanced and fell into the water. Daemon screamed, wading into the foam despite his own fear of the sea. Machaon pulled him back as his brothers plunged into the waves.

  “We will get him Daemon — stay here ... we will get him.” He struck out after Cadmus and Lycon, towards the frantic thrashing.

  Lycon reached the boy first but Bion was now near crazed with fear. The Cyclops clung to him, pushing him under. Bion was taller and significantly heavier than the youngest son of Agelaus. The boy’s massive fist caught Lycon’s jaw. He slackened and began to sink. Cadmus and Machaon closed in.

  Cadmus pulled Lycon back to the surface. There was not much time. Machaon was already struggling to control Bion’s panic and keep him afloat. Lycon started to splutter, coughing water.

  Cadmus shook him. “Ly ... come on Ly ... are you all right — can you swim?”

  Lycon gasped, but he nodded.

  “I have to help Mac ... can you catch the boat?’

  Lycon focussed and looked towards the Phaeacian ship, circling without direction. “Go — I’ll catch her.”

  Cadmus released him and turned back towards Machaon and the Cyclops.

  Lycon swam for the ship. When he came within an arm’s distance he kicked out of the water, grasping for the side. The first time he missed. On the second attempt, he caught the notch meant for an oar, and hoisted himself onto the deck. He did not pause to catch his breath, but stumbled immediately to the living prow of the Phaeacian craft. He asked her to slow and to move towards his brothers who were both fighting and saving the Cyclopean child.

  As the ship came close, Machaon grabbed Lycon’s extended arm and, with grim determination, the exhausted sons of Agelaus managed to get the hysterical Bion back on board. Lycon directed the ship back to shore, to where the Cyclopes waited to greet them with relief, and tears and the deepest gratitude.

  “Well, Bion,” Machaon laughed shaking the water from his dark hair. “You are the first seafaring Cyclops. Your mother will be proud.”

  “She will be furious,” Daemon murmured as he cradled his massive son. “But she will be grateful.”

  This time, they dragged the Phaeacian craft high onto dry land. The hulking shoulders of the Cyclopes ensured the task was light.

  When they returned to the cave, they were still wet, and cold and tired, but in good spirits. All thought of sailing to the island that day had been forgotten. Lanaeda embraced her son, weeping and scolding him at the same time. She both kissed and cuffed him, and then she fed him and sent him to his bed.

  The Herdsmen found Hero sitting comfortably by the fire, whilst Lanaeda fussed and praised the courage of her brothers. The colour had returned to Hero’s skin, though her eyes still looked abnormally large in the thinness of her face. The sons of Agelaus were overjoyed to see her looking so recovered, but Lanaeda banished them to wash the salt from their bodies and change their sodden tunics before they touched their sister. She gave them garments of fine wool that she had woven for Bion and hunting boots of soft leather. She smiled broadly when they emerged.

  “See ... properly attired you may even be mistaken for handsome ... despite your extra features,” she chortled as she plied them with food and drink.

  “Won’t Bion be unhappy that we have taken all his clothes?” asked Lycon.

  “It is the very least he can do,” she replied as she filled his bowl with cuts of meat. “After today, you are not just friends, but heroes among the Cyclopes. The tale of how you saved my child shall be told always at my fire.” Her eye welled. “He is a foolish boy, but he is mine.”

  “The deed is little enough,” said Cadmus smiling at Hero. “Our sister looks nearly herself.”

  “Indeed, the little one is doing well,” Lanaeda replied triumphantly. “The fruit of the lotus does not poison everybody, but to some, it is the blackest of venoms.”

  “I remember only that we were captured by the men of Odysseus,” Hero said almost shyly. “What happened?”

  Lycon glanced at his brothers unsurely and then replied. “The fruit made the men lazy, it made you belligerent.”

  “Obviously it unleashes one’s true nature.” Cadmus grinned, unable to leave the comment unsaid. Machaon clipped him on the side of the head and Lycon went on, now smiling.

  “You were making threats, screeching a lot — a bit more than usual anyway — when Odysseus arrived to retrieve his men. I told him that you were a witch and that he should run for his life.”

  “And he believed you?” gasped Hero.

  “You were pretty scary ... I might have run too if they hadn’t tied me up,” Lycon said.

  “So, after they went, I released you and we returned to the ship?”

  “Actually no,” intervened Cadmus. “When Mac and I found you, you were trying to kill Ly with a sword. He was still tied up.”

  Lycon nodded sagely as he pointed to the partially healed gash above his eye. “It’s a good thing you’ve got such terrible aim.”

  Hero looked at them in horror for a moment. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re making that up!”

  Machaon smiled warmly at her. “You’re right Hero,” he said. “They’re terrible liars. Cad went after the two of you on his own, and of course, he was captured too. There was nothing to be done. I fought Odysseus and all his men and saved the three of you from certain death. It’s a shame you can’t remember how marvellous I was. It’s really a story that should be retold as often as possible.”

  A minor fraternal scuffle ensued, whilst Hero scolded and Lanaeda continued her fussing without question.

  “I guess we shall not be sailing to the island this day,” said Machaon removing Cadmus’ forearm from around his neck.

  “It would not be wise,” agreed Lanaeda. “It will be dark soon ... and in any case, one of the Greek ships has landed upon our beaches.”

  The Herdsmen all started.

  “It sailed here just after you went searching for Bion.”

  “Did they see him in our boat?”

  “I don’t know ... perhaps not ... ” Lanaeda began.

  “Bion’s adventure was well behind the spit. The Greeks have landed on this side of the harbour.” Daemon walked in from outside and sat beside them. He glanced at his son now asleep on a bed of fleece. In slumber the young Cyclop’s features were soft and innocent. Daemon placed his large hand on Lycon’s back, for a moment overcome with the thought of what he might have lost. “I will take you to see their ship as soon as you have eaten.”

  The sons of
Agelaus ate quickly, anxious to see the Greek ship, but their haste was to no avail. Lanaeda was determined to express her gratitude with fare, and would not allow them to rise until they had consumed portions that appeased the debt. And so it was some time later, in the crimson light of dusk, that they followed Daemon to a rocky outcrop from which they could see the whole beach below. They walked slowly for Hero would not be left behind.

  They recognised the vessel as the blue-prowed ship of Odysseus himself. Its crew was camped on the shore, hunched about their fires.

  “What are they doing?” mused Lycon.

  “It looks like they’re waiting,” said Cadmus.

  “Cad’s right,” agreed Machaon. “They have probably sent a party to scout the mainland and are waiting for it to return.”

  “It’s nearly dark,” Lycon observed. “One would have thought they’d have returned by now.”

  “Have they approached the Cyclopes at all?” Machaon asked Daemon.

  He shook his large head. “No one has come up the mountain pass.”

  “I wonder what they are doing?” murmured Cadmus.

  Hero began to shiver in the brisk wind on the heights. Machaon looked at her. She was still weak despite her substantial recovery.

  “Come on,” he said as he scooped her into his arms. “We shall go back before Lanaeda’s good work is undone.”

  Though Hero would normally have protested at the indignity of her brother’s handling, she suddenly felt tired. By the time they had walked back to the cavern she had returned to the restful realm of Hypnos. Machaon placed Hero gently in her bed and then sat by the fire with his brothers and their hosts.

  “I don’t suppose some trouble or peril could have befallen the scouting party from Odysseus’ ship?” Cadmus asked the Cyclopes.

  Lycon groaned. “I can’t believe we are worrying about the health of the Sacker of Troy ... ”

  “If Odysseus dies, then the truth may never be known,” Machaon said quietly.

  Daemon shook his head. “Our country is fortunately free of predators and poisonous plants.”