Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  The mood was sombre and wary as they pulled out, with the island astern. One of the rowers broke down sobbing that the meat in the hold screamed and bellowed. Eurylochus returned the man to his oars, brutally beating him out of his hysteria. Machaon glanced anxiously back at Cadmus who was flinching slightly with every drag of the oar.

  “I’m fine,” Cadmus said as he caught his elder brother’s eye. “It won’t be long now.” He nodded towards the black cloud that rolled from the horizon towards them. They were now completely out of sight of any land.

  “Stay together,” Machaon said over his shoulder as the wind began to squall.

  Lycon laughed. “Mac, we’re chained together — we can’t do anything else.”

  The dark cloud settled directly over the ship casting the sea around them into shadow. The wind rose from the west with hurricane force. The crew dropped the oars and clung to the side of the groaning vessel. The forestays snapped and the mast fell towards the stern, landing upon Philomedes the helmsmen, and crushing his skull. The rigging came down with the mast, the sail already in shreds. Odysseus shouted for calm, to no avail. The Herdsmen left their benches, and ensured the chains that shackled them, were not entangled on any protrusion or snag. It was clear that the gods would sink the blue-prowed ship.

  The bolt of lighting struck directly where the mast, if it still stood, would have been. The sons of Agelaus, and the crew of the doomed vessel were thrown into the violent sea.

  Cadmus felt the water roaring in his ears as he plunged down. He began immediately to claw his way to the surface aware of the salt water on his wound, and the pain of the shackle pulling against his ankle. He wondered if this was because he was pulling his brothers up.

  When he broke the surface, Machaon and Lycon were beside him, but there was no one else. It seemed that Zeus had killed every man with his well-aimed bolt. And then they saw Odysseus, emerging from the wreckage of his ship upon timbers lashed hastily together to make a raft.

  The wind changed direction again, and the king’s makeshift raft was blown north by the furious storm. The Herdsmen struggled to stay afloat, each knowing that the first to flag would drag his brothers down. Already the chain was heavy. They looked desperately for a piece of wreckage large enough to support the three of them, but it was soon obvious that Zeus had smashed all the timbers beyond use.

  The waves crashed down upon them mercilessly and, weakened by hunger, the sons of Agelaus began to struggle. It seemed the gods would not distinguish between those who slaughtered the cattle of the Sun, and those who were present only by virtue of irons.

  HERO HAD been caught in a windless sea for three days. With each dawn she greeted Eos and prayed for a breeze to help her pursuit of the Ithacan ship. Each day she poured wine from the ship’s stern, as libations to the gods, and each night she made her devotions and went to sleep in the hope that the next day would be different.

  On the fourth day, as Eos opened her golden arms and embraced a blushing sky, a breeze came from the north and the white sail filled. Hero turned her face to the wind joyfully as the Phaeacian ship surged to life once more.

  They sailed past the island of the Sun well before its patron reached his zenith in the washed blue sky. Hero did not see the isle, and her steadfast vessel did not turn its prow in that direction. When the wind gave way to squall, and the day suddenly seemed to darken, Hero could feel the excitement of her ship. The sea was rough, but having survived the strait between Scylla and Chabydris, Hero was no longer frightened of mere waves. She clung to the mast, wishing she could see farther, but she trusted her ship.

  “Take me to my brothers,” she shouted above the wind and the little craft ploughed on.

  And then she heard the crash, like the heavens themselves had cracked. The air was charged. Her ship sped forward into the heart of the storm. She leant over the side trying desperately to see something, anything. A timber tossed just out of her grasp. It was painted blue. Somehow, instinctively, she knew it was of the ship of Odysseus. The King of Ithaca had been wrecked, and with him, her brothers. Hero sobbed with frustration. Her brothers could be in the sea before her, and she would not know, as she could not see further than the wake of her craft. Leaning over the side again she called their names hoping frantically for a voice in reply.

  “Hero! Gods, Hero!” Machaon’s voice was incredulous and exhausted, but it was Machaon.

  She tied a rope around the mast and flung it into the waves, hoping that she was throwing in the right direction.

  Machaon grabbed the end of the rope as it floated past, his other arm around the chest of Cadmus, whose strength had been sapped by his injury. He released Cadmus to Lycon, and grimly Machaon dragged them all to the Phaeacian ship and Hero, who had both appeared from nowhere like some divine intervention. Still shackled together, the brothers struggled onto the deck, gasping and vomiting salt water. Hero threw herself upon them and, for a while, they forgot everything except their joy and relief in finding each other alive.

  In time, the sea calmed and the sky cleared, and Lycon noticed the Phaeacian ship was sailing in a wide circle about where she had found them.

  “She does not know where to go next,” Hero told him. “I told her to find you, and now that she has ... ”

  “Let her circle until we get these shackles off,” said Machaon.

  Hero gasped as she looked down at the irons that encircled an ankle of each of her brothers. The links of the chain had burnt into their skin.

  “I wondered why that hurt,” muttered Cadmus.

  “The lightning must have heated the chain,” said Lycon. “That’s interesting.”

  “Interesting!” exclaimed Cadmus. “It hurts like Hades ... It’s a good thing we ended up in the water.”

  “Come on,” said Machaon. “Let’s get these things off ... there’s only so much of you two I can take.”

  They sent Hero into the hold to retrieve tools and, with a little careful hammering and some cursing, they managed to remove the irons from their legs.

  Hero revisited the hold and emerged with food, and the parcel of medicines that she had carried with them since they had left Ida. The sons of Agelaus welcomed the former and regarded the “the bag of poisons” suspiciously. Healing had never been in Hero’s nature.

  “What’s that for?” demanded Cadmus as he munched on cheese and dried fruits.

  “You all look terrible,” said Hero, looking from one bruised and battered brother to another. She rummaged through the carefully packed leaves and powders. “There must be something in here to fix you.”

  “Spoken like a truly learned healer,” Lycon commented dryly.

  Cadmus laughed and hugged his sister. “It’s nice to have you back, Hero,” he said. “I’d forgotten how ridiculous you are.”

  She glared at him. “One of these,” she said holding up two small pouches of powders, “will soothe burns.”

  “What does the other one do?” asked Lycon.

  “It removes hair.”

  “So, do you know which is which, Hero?” Cadmus asked as she advanced upon them with her remedies.

  “No ... but ... ”

  The sons of Agelaus refused to let her go any further.

  “There’s nothing wrong with us that food will not fix, Hero,” Machaon told her kindly.

  And so they ate, exchanging the details of their travels since they’d been separated on the island of Circe. Hero wept when her brothers told her of how Odysseus had gloated that the Herdsmen were condemned, how he remembered Agelaus with vengeance simply because their father had outwitted him. There did not seem any hope that the King of Ithaca would ever release their people with the truth. She listened with interest as they described the Sirens that they could not hear. She paled with horror when Cadmus showed her the angry half-healed scars left on his back and shoulder by Scylla. She shuddered as they described the haunted carcasses of the cattle of the Sun that the Greeks had slaughtered in their foolishness.

  And
then Hero told them of her own journey. She closed her eyes as she described the moving wonder of the Sirens’ song, and the oracle in their words. She spoke of how she followed them through the strait, how their loyal ship had steered her clear of Charybdis, and her encounter with all six heads of Scylla. She repeated the warning of the creature in a whisper, for just speaking of the fearsome monster took her back to the dread of that meeting.

  The sons of Agelaus heard her story with awe, appalled and impressed at the same time. Machaon wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her fondly on the top of her head.

  “It seems,” he said to his brothers, “that our Hero is aptly named.”

  Hero smiled as she basked in her brothers’ approval. She wondered if she’d forgotten to mention how terrified she’d been.

  “The nymph Calypso holds him in her clutches and for nothing will she release him.”

  The Odyssey Book V

  BOOK XXII

  THE SUN WAS LOW in the west, when the sons of Agelaus turned their minds to the next leg of their journey.

  “Is there any point?” asked Cadmus despondently. “Odysseus is not going to tell us what happened. He seems quite happy for Greek valour to be credited with the defeat of Troy, and for the Herdsmen to be blamed.”

  Machaon looked thoughtfully out to sea. “Maybe,” he said. “Perhaps we have been asking in the wrong way ... and in the wrong place. Circe did say we would not get what we wanted from Odysseus, until our ship saw home.”

  “Why would Odysseus return to Troy?” Lycon asked.

  “I don’t think Odysseus has much to do with it,” Machaon replied. “It may be that the gods plan for him to go back to Troy.”

  “Couldn’t we just go home and wait for him?” Hero suggested hopefully.

  Machaon took her hand apologetically. He knew she was homesick for the life they’d once had. He had a feeling that life was gone forever. “I’m sorry, Hero,” he said. “Odysseus is on his own now. I think we should do what we can to keep him alive and moving.”

  “We promised our people we would get the truth from the King of Ithaca,” said Cadmus darkly. “We may have to get more insistent about it.”

  Lycon turned his face north. “He was heading back towards the strait when last we saw him — he might already be dead.”

  “I guess that’s where we’re going then,” said Machaon scowling as his eyes lingered on the livid scars on Cadmus’ shoulder.

  “But Scylla ... ,” started Hero.

  “She won’t get us again,” said Cadmus smiling cheerfully. “This time, we’ll be armed.”

  “No,” said Hero firmly. “You three stay in the hold. I’ll stay at the prow. Scylla takes only men.”

  Her brothers stared at her in amazement.

  “We can’t leave you alone with that thing!” said Cadmus.

  “I’ve already been alone with her,” Hero replied with more resolve than she felt, “and if you face her, I will be alone again after she kills you.”

  Machaon looked carefully at his sister. She did not seem as small as she once had.

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “We will leave this to you, Hero.”

  Cadmus was not happy, but there was sense in his sister’s plan.

  Machaon turned the ship. He asked it to follow Odysseus. The Phaeacian craft leapt towards the north and they knew that the King of Ithaca must still be alive.

  As they approached the strait, the sons of Agelaus embraced their sister.

  “Just say if you’ve changed your mind,” Lycon whispered into her ear. “I’ll say that it is me who won’t abide by your plan.”

  Hero shook her head and smiled, for both Machaon and Cadmus had whispered similar words. She liked that they thought her brave, almost as much as that they did not require her to be so. She stood proudly at the fore of the ship as her brothers slipped below the deck, into the hold.

  Alone, she put her hand nervously on the living prow. “I know you will look after me, my friend. Keep us from Charybdis and I will stand between my brothers and Scylla.” And then she began to pray.

  The faithful vessel hugged the rocks, as it had done before, to avoid the swirling vortex of Charybdis.

  Again, when the heads of Scylla descended to look for prey, Hero’s voice was lost to her. She was glad. She did not know if she could have prevented a scream, and that would have brought her brothers to her aid, and certain death. The heads observed her silently with an elusive sadness. For some reason that she could not understand, the ferocious eyes of the monster touched Hero deeply, and she wept.

  “What happened to you?” she asked tearfully.

  The grotesque heads spoke in unison. “I was beautiful once ... and I loved the God of the Sea. He desired me, and took me to his bed ... but when his wife wreaked her vengeance he left me to answer alone for what we did.” The multiple jaws smiled wistfully. “Ahhhh pious Hero, heed my words. Do not lie with a God ... die before you lie with a god.”

  And then Scylla was gone and the little ship continued close to the edge of the rocks, until they were clear of the strait.

  The sons of Agelaus emerged and comforted their sobbing sister, rebuking themselves for exposing her to such distress.

  “She was not always a monster,” Hero told them.

  “How do you know?” asked Cadmus, surprised that this was the cause of her tears.

  “She spoke to me,” Hero replied. “She is being punished because she loved Poseidon.” Hero’s voice trembled and she whispered, “Have the gods no pity?”

  Her brothers were startled — they had never before heard Hero come so close to censuring her gods. They did not know what to tell her — there was nothing they could do for Scylla. And so they left the loathsome strait behind them as the Phaeacian ship forged ahead in pursuit of the seemingly indestructible King of Ithaca.

  They sailed and drifted at the whim of the winds for many days. At night they could see the constellation they called Agelaus to their left and so they knew they were being borne south across the glinting sea. The Herdsmen talked often of how they could get Odysseus to reveal the truth — they knew now they would need to outwit him somehow, to trick him into claiming his deed. The manner in which they would do this, however, remained as elusive as the King of Ithaca himself.

  Hero enjoyed the long, gentle days upon the boat. Her brothers began to look themselves as the bruises left by their time with the Ithacans faded and their strength returned. She had no wish to go back to the deafening quiet of the sea when she sailed without them.

  The sons of Agelaus regarded their sister a little differently. They had always protected her, but it was she who had saved them from the sea. It was she who had taken them through the strait and faced Scylla alone. It was she who had seen past the appearance of the monster to find sympathy for its plight. They had always loved her, but now they admired her.

  Of course none of this stopped Cadmus threatening to throw her from the ship when her piety got out of control.

  They made land again on a lush island off a vast mainland coast. It was a mountainous isle. The thatched roofs of its village huts stood out on the steep slopes. Even from the shore they could see a great palace built into the side of the mountain, but there was no sign of Odysseus.

  “You must trust her,” said Hero stroking the living prow. “She knew how to find you, she will take us to Odysseus.”

  And so they beached the Phaeacian ship in a small wooded cove, where she could not easily be seen. They took weapons but they wore them discreetly, and they set off to look for the Ithacan King.

  They made their way to one of the villages. The people of this island, which it appeared was called Ogygia, were ebony-skinned and welcoming of travellers. They opened their arms and their homes to the children of Agelaus, and told them of a man who dressed as they did and who had come to their shores clinging to the wreckage of a ship. Their goddess, Calypso, who governed their land, had taken him in and cared for him. She lived in the palace on t
he mountain.

  “He got here quickly,” commented Lycon.

  “Perhaps he found a more friendly current than we,” suggested Cadmus.

  Lycon shrugged. “It’s hard to tell whether Odysseus is hated by the gods or beloved of them.”

  They left the villagers and proceeded up the mountain path that led to the home of Calypso.

  “What do you propose to do?” Hero asked her eldest brother.

  “We’ll just see what he’s planning to do,” said Machaon determinedly. “We may have to take him back to Troy on the end of a blade.”

  Calypso’s palace was built upon a network of caverns in the mountain. It had no doors but cave openings, which were augmented with towers and great curved walls. It was surrounded by elaborate gardens, which merged into the natural vegetation of the mountainside.

  They did not approach directly, but explored the lands about it. And so it was that they came upon a mammoth rock that protruded out from the mountain and overlooked the villages and the beaches below. On the very end of the protrusion stood a small woman with a girlish figure. Her skin was ebony like the people of the island, but the hair, which framed her face with large cascading curls, was golden. Long before they saw her, they could hear her sobs as she wept on the rock ledge.

  They moved towards her cautiously.

  “Are you unwell?” asked Machaon. “Can we help you somehow?”

  The woman looked up with large, red-rimmed eyes, and then she flung her arms around Machaon and cried into his chest. Machaon looked helplessly at his brothers who stepped back in alarm. Hero appeared equally appalled by the woman’s grieving familiarity.

  “Welcome,” gulped the woman without releasing Machaon. “I am Calypso. This is my island.”

  She disintegrated into sobs again, and Machaon sighed. He wondered if this was some strange custom.

  “I am Machaon, son of Agelaus,” he said finally because he could think of nothing else. “These are my brothers, Cadmus and Lycon, and our sister, Hero.”