Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  “How did you know he would win?” Machaon asked Demodocus.

  “I didn’t know,” the bard replied, “but I thought it quite likely. We Phaeacians are fond of sport but we are not very good at it ... we make brilliant boats, and nice linen ... but that’s about it.”

  It seemed that Alcinous too, now held that same opinion, for when Odysseus had finished challenging every man in Scherie, the old monarch suggested instead that they return to the feast and the entertainments of Demodocus. The Phaeacian King also took the opportunity to pledge to Odysseus gold and clothing from each of the nobles present, as friendly gifts for his voyage home.

  And so they took their places once again, at the table of Alcinous, and the blind bard returned to his tale of Menelaus, the Sacker of Troy.

  The Herdsmen could only watch in amazement as Demodocus’ subtle plan fell inexorably into place. Odysseus, whose blood and pride had been stirred by his recent victory against younger men, was able to take the praise of his old rival no longer, and he did as Demodocus always intended he should.

  “Demodocus!” he said as he stood from the silver throne. “I give you the highest possible praise. When the muse took your eyes she compensated you with a gift far more valuable than mere sight, but your tale of the Greeks, their achievements and toils, is not the truth of what happened on the plain of Troy.”

  “My friend,” said Alcinous, “perhaps now is the time when you should tell me and my noble lords the name by which you are known in your own land. If you take issue with Demodocus’ tale, tell us who you are, to make such a claim. Clearly you have some knowledge of the fall of Troy that we do not. I call on you to do what is courteous, and give us an account of your travels.”

  The hall was hushed, expectant. Hero’s knuckles were white on the back of Nausicaa’s throne and she prayed silently — for what, exactly, she did not know.

  “Lord Alcinous, my most worshipful prince,” began Odysseus, “you have called on me in the name of courtesy to provide you a true account of my troubles, which to date I have concealed in the name of friendship to the gallant Agamemnon. He believed that trickery would compromise the nobility of our victory. But Agamemnon is now dead, and it is for me to give history the truth of the fall of Troy.”

  Hero held her breath. Finally, they would know.

  “I am Odysseus, son of Laertes. The whole world talks of my stratagems, and Olympus itself knows my reputation. My home, my kingdom, is under the clear skies of Ithaca.”

  A murmur ran through the hall. The name of Odysseus was not unknown to the Phaeacians.

  “I was the strategist of the Greek expedition to Troy. The ploys that your good bard has credited to the noble Menelaus did not happen. All who know the King of Sparta will attest that he is indeed a fearsome warrior, but he has no reputation as a man of particular acumen.”

  Again the hush was disturbed for a moment by the gasps of the crowd.

  “We Greeks had besieged the holy citadel of Troy for ten long years, with neither side gaining any firm hold on victory. The Trojans had the advantage of returning each night to the arms of their wives, whilst we camped wretched upon their shores. It was the walls of the city and not its men that stood against us.

  “I realised that we would gain victory only when the walls were breached. I knew that it was something that needed to be done by stealth and device, rather than force. To do that, we needed to know the mind of Priam, King of Illium, for it was his will that kept the gates locked.

  “Our chance came when Paris of Troy was killed by a Greek arrow. I knew that all the remaining sons of Priam would step forth to claim for themselves, Helen, whom Paris stole from Menelaus. There was bound to be at least one disgruntled prince when the decision was made.”

  Hero glanced towards the back of the hall. She knew her brothers to be present, but her frail eyes could not distinguish them from amongst the other noblemen. She wished she could stand with them now.

  “Priam awarded Helen to Deiphobus, over the suit of Scamandrios,” Odysseus continued. “Scamandrios was furious and, that day after battle, he did not return to the city, but went instead to Ida to nurse his injured pride. I met him there and, in his resentment, he let me into the mind of his father. He told me that Priam was tired of the war, and that all he wished for was an end to the siege. He said that if the forces of Agamemnon were to offer some token of peace, then Priam would call off his men, happily. As the night wore on, Scamandrios enjoyed more of our wine, and he told me a great deal about his city — the location of buildings, the palace, the assembly and more importantly how the mechanism that opened the great gates was operated. We parted as friends and I saw that he was returned unmolested to the city of his father.”

  Machaon looked at his brothers as the accusations of Scamandrios became less perplexing and more contemptible. They remembered their father, gasping for breath through bloody lips that denied betrayal till the last.

  Odysseus continued. “And so I saw what must be done. I devised the cunning stratagem by which we would enter Troy and open the gates ourselves. I ordered that a mighty wooden horse be built, inside which we concealed the pick of the Greek forces, myself included. We left the horse at the gates of the citadel and Agamemnon took his fleet to a point nearby, but out of sight. Priam, seeing that his enemy was gone, took the horse as the token of the peace for which he so hoped. He had it pulled within the walls, though he closed the gates after it, for Priam was a cautious man. When night fell and the Trojans either slept or celebrated, we abandoned the hollow horse and opened the gates from within, to the returning Greek forces. And so we ravaged Troy, scattering into the streets, declaring our victory in blood and leaving ruin in our wake.”

  Machaon unclenched his fist slowly. The horse. Why had they not seen it before? Why had they not seen it in time?

  “And the Herdsmen of whom our bard sang,” asked Nausicaa suddenly. “Were they not involved in your deception, great Odysseus?”

  “The Herdsmen!” the King of Ithaca scoffed. “They were little more than savages — with bestial loyalty to Priam. We would not deal with them. They were destroyed along with their Trojan masters.”

  Machaon grabbed Cadmus’ arm knowing his brother would flare. “Let us be savages,” he whispered. “We are not traitors.”

  “The truth is known,” said Cadmus angrily. “We can kill him now!”

  Machaon shook his head. “Odysseus was always our enemy, Cad. We cannot fault him for acting like our enemy.” His eyes darkened. “It is Scamandrios who has acted without honour.”

  Odysseus continued in his description of the sack of Troy, the distribution of the spoils, and his travels since. The Phaeacian nobles were fascinated and left their seats to gather about the King of Ithaca. The sons of Agelaus saw their opportunity and slipped out of the hall.

  Nausicaa saw them go for her eyes had been upon the Herdsmen, and taking Hero’s hand she too slipped out with the girl thought to be her maid.

  And so the sons of Agelaus found their sister and the princess of the Phaeacians outside the feasting hall, where Odysseus now held the court with his words.

  Cadmus put his arm around Hero’s shoulders. “Well, it is done,” he said.

  At that moment Demodocus came fumbling out of the hall. Checking first that no one was about, he focussed and beamed at them. “What did I tell you?” he said.

  Machaon clasped his hand. “Demodocus, we are in your debt. Our people shall know your name.”

  The bard grinned. “Come, let us leave this place while all eyes and ears are upon Odysseus. His tale promises to be a very long one with only one hero.”

  They left the grand mansion of Alcinous, with its golden furnishings and clean linens, and walked out of the city. Without speaking of it, they headed towards the place where they had left their ship, where they had first met the bard and the princess.

  Cadmus ran ahead to ensure that there was no one to see the only daughter of the king conducting herself in a ma
nner so unbecoming to her station. Nausicaa clutched Machaon’s arm in alarm as the cry of a wolf pierced the dusk.

  “What was that?”

  Machaon smiled. “That’s just Cad,” he reassured her. “He’s letting us know that the way is clear.”

  “Why is he howling?” the princess asked without removing her hand from his arm. “He did not appear insane.”

  “It is the way of our people,” Machaon replied. “We are kin to the wolf.”

  “But you are shepherds,” Nausicaa said, bemused. “Does the wolf not prey on your flocks?”

  Machaon laughed wryly. “Perhaps the wolf, too, is falsely accused.”

  Nausicaa had sent servants to the vessel just after dawn, and its hold had been restocked with every sort of fine fare as well as the excellent linens and clothing for which her country was famed. As the sun began to set, they built a fire by the ship and shared a meal. Demodocus talked gleefully about the success of his plan.

  “Rest assured,” said the bard, “word of this wooden horse will reach the world in days. Phaeacian sailors love to talk as they churn the sea, or when they come into port. You may tell me again how exceptional I am ... ”

  Cadmus conceded with good humour. “It seems your words were more effective than my sword, my friend.”

  “Indeed,” Lycon agreed with a smile. “Odysseus is ruthless, but he is clever. One must match wit with wit. We are just Herdsmen.”

  Demodocus continued triumphantly proclaiming the agility of his own mind. The Herdsmen were happy to let him gloat. They might never have discovered the truth without him.

  Hero clasped her knees and watched contentedly. They would go home now. Her heart smiled at the thought. Nausicaa was subdued, as too was Machaon. The princess and the Herdsman sat close, and in the deepening darkness they shared an unspoken sadness.

  They did not pull the ship back into the water until the stars were out. The sons of Agelaus bowed formally and kissed the hands of Nausicaa.

  “Goodbye my friends and good luck,” she said, her words thick with tears. “Remember me at times, for I will not forget you.”

  Hero embraced her, touched by the deep sadness of the princess’ farewell. They took their leave of Demodocus too, with gratitude and friendship.

  “Men like you will always be the subject of great tales,” Demodocus said warmly, “but it is the bards who will determine how those stories will end, and who will be cast as hero and villain. Come back, my friends, and I will ensure that the Herdsmen of Ida are given their due.”

  Cadmus laughed. “We Herdsmen prefer to be unnoticed,” he said, “but we remember our friends. You shall see us again.”

  As the cool evening breeze coaxed their ship from the rocky shore, they watched from the deck as the figures of Nausicaa and Demodocus diminished in the distance.

  “You know, Mac,” said Cadmus gently, “we could have stayed a while. You could have ... ”

  Machaon smiled. “Cad, she is a Phaeacian princess.”

  “We wouldn’t have held it against her,” said Lycon placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We could have taught her to be useful.”

  Machaon laughed ruefully. “You heard Demodocus — Nausicaa will be won by the most wealthy and noble of men. I am a landless Herdsman and, whilst I am proud to be a son of Agelaus, we are not exactly noble.”

  “I don’t think Nausicaa would have cared,” said Hero timidly, for this was the type of conversation she usually left to her brothers.

  Machaon lay back on the deck. “Maybe not at first,” he said quietly, “but one day she’ll want clean linen again.”

  “So what now, Mac?” asked Cadmus, deciding that this was a topic best left alone.

  “We go home and find our people. Pan will probably want his boat back.”

  “Do you think that they have started rebuilding Troy?” said Lycon thoughtfully.

  “Maybe,” Machaon replied. “It’s hard to imagine a world without Troy — though I can’t say I’m too excited about building a kingdom for Scamandrios.”

  “You think Scamandrios remained?” Cadmus was dubious.

  Hero’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Whether he did or he didn’t,” she said coldly, “we will find him.”

  The Herdsmen glanced knowingly at each other. Their sister was after all an Amazon.

  And so they left the land of the Phaeacians, just ahead of the ship that would bear wily Odysseus to Ithaca. They turned their faithful vessel and their hearts towards home, finding a path through the waves guided by the constellation they had come to know as Agelaus.

  AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THIS NOVEL MADE ITS journey to completion under the pull of many oars. I’d like to acknowledge and thank those rowers here.

  My dear friend, Alastair Blanshard, who knows the ancient world well. He’s not unbelievably old, just very learned. Many years ago he unwittingly set my course this way.

  Rebecca Crandell, who cast a writer’s eye over my manuscript, who helped me stop the leaks and came along for the ride.

  Deonie Fiford who edited the final draft and made sure it could withstand the waves.

  Cheryl Slocombe, and the staff and students of Glen Waverly Secondary College who tested the seaworthiness of this novel.

  Alison and John Green, who are Pantera Press, and who gave my writing safe harbour.

  Xou Creative who designed the beautiful flag under which my story sails.

  My husband Michael, who I shanghaied, and my boys who have stowed away, to keep me company on every voyage.

  My father who has always manned the lifeboat in case any of my expeditions go horribly wrong, and my sisters who anchor me with their support.

  Leith and Jason Henry whose enthusiasm for my work, and whose example made me want to go further, faster.

  Wallace Fernandes who helped me test the water to make sure it would reflect the stars.

  Dick Thompson, Michelle Wainwright, Sarah Kynaeston, MaryAnn Marshall and Jo-anne O’Brien, who have been on board from the very beginning.

  The battered copy of Homer’s Odyssey which has been my compass in writing this novel.

  There are others I could mention, but now I’m completely out of nautical allusions, so I shall stop here with simple thanks to all the brilliant people I call my friends, and my readers, who are both welcome and valued.

  Thank you all.

  SG

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  And check out the rest of the Hero Trilogy:

  Trying War

  The Blood of Wolves

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  If you like Chasing Odysseus then look out for the next book in the series (coming in 2012)

  Please enjoy the extract from the sequel

  THE PHAEACIAN SHIP WAS awash with waves of excitement and relief and homecoming. The sons of Agelaus each climbed the mast to see for themselves the violet ranges and white beaches that came over the distant horizon. They described what they could see to Hero who stood at the prow and urged the craft forward. Cadmus howled, for he had always used the cry of the Herdsmen to express his joy, and on this occasion his brothers joined him, giddy with thoughts of home and kin. It was in this raucous manner that the living ship of Pan came into the shallow waters of the Trojan harbour.

  Soon they were close enough for Hero to see that they were no longer surrounded by endless ocean and just momen
ts away from that welcome shore. The water was cast in rose and gold by the sun which slipped towards the sea in their wake.

  And then the scream, strange, agonised. Confusion stilled them.

  “Gods, it’s the ship!” Lycon gazed in horror at the flaming arrow which protruded from the arched prow. The Pheaecian craft shuddered and reared.

  Machaon moved quickly, swinging over the side as he reached for the arrow. Cadmus held grimly to his brother’s arm, while Machaon reefed out the shaft and cast it into the sea before the flames could spread. A second arrow just missed his head and embedded in the hull. The ship bucked in pain. Cadmus dragged Machaon back onto the deck. Another arrow hit the mast. Hero screamed. Lycon clambered out of the hold with their weapons.

  “Hero, get into the cabin,” Machaon shouted as he notched an arrow into his own bow. He hesitated, unsure of where to aim.

  “Mac!” Cadmus pointed. Two ships came up behind their own, from beyond the headlands.

  “What in Hades ... ?” Lycon ducked as yet another missile whistled past his ear.

  “Hero, get into the cabin!” Machaon returned fire, but with the attacking ships at their rear they had no choice but to continue to the beach. They were being herded to shore.

  Cadmus howled, this time with no jubilation. It was a cry for help, a call to whatever remained of their brethren in the mountains.

  “Gods!” Machaon’s eyes were turned upon the beach. The armoured lines had streamed out from the trees. The warriors stood to receive them, chanting. “Bremusa, Bremusa, Bremusa ...”