Odysseus II

by Odysseus II- The Journey Through Hell (retail) (epub)

  “My poor son,” she said. “Who has blinded you?”

  From over the water came the sound of raucous singing. The Cyclops pointed and a tear ran down his cheek. “Those sailors,” he said.

  “Then they shall die,” the Goddess whispered softly.

  “And what about their leader?” asked the Cyclops. “What will you do with Odysseus?”

  The Goddess gave a slow, cold smile. “I’ve something very interesting in store for him,” she said quietly and sank back below the waves.

  Chapter Two

  2 – The Wind and the Wallabies

  Thersites squatted in the crow’s nest, chewing peanuts. “How long before we get home?” he sighed. “We’ve been sailing for weeks now and there’s still no sign of land; just wave after wave after…”

  But suddenly he dropped his bag of nuts, which cascaded on to the heads of the crew below him. What was that tiny shining blob on the horizon? Was it a boat?

  “Ship ahoy!” he shouted, and the lookouts on the other nine boats took up the cry. “Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!”

  The little blob was getting bigger now, and soon Thersites could see it wasn’t a ship at all. It was shaped like an upside-down saucer, it was made of shining metal, and it was speeding towards him at a hundred miles an hour. It was an island – a huge man-made bronze island, and any second it would smash the fleet to pieces. The sailors shrieked and braced themselves for the impact when – WHOOSH! It opened like a book and the ships sailed right into the heart of the island itself.

  Then GUDUNG! It slammed shut again and the Greeks found themselves bobbing up and down next to a bronze jetty in the middle of a little island harbour, surrounded on all sides by shiny walls. At the end of the jetty was a huge building with two enormous sliding doors in its centre. The Greeks watched in fear as these slowly opened – what kind of monster had trapped them in this huge metal trap?

  But it wasn’t a monster at all. Instead, two tiny little bronze creatures with tiny little metal faces and pointy ears peeked around the side of the doors and then – scuttle! scuttle! – shot off down the corridor behind them.

  “Get ’em!” yelled Eurylochus, and the Greeks burst off their ships and sprinted and slid down the shiny corridors in hot pursuit. Deeper and deeper they wound through corridor after corridor, until suddenly they emerged into a big echoing hall, which was full – not of weapons, or people, but of large bronze playthings. There were swings and slides and roundabouts and big-dippers; there were fruit-machines to put your money in and if you won, lemons and cherries and oranges poured out; there were “Test the Skill of the Charioteer” machines; machines in which tiny soldiers threw spears at tiny Thracian Invaders; and scampering in and out of these miraculous inventions, chattering away and clapping their hands, were dozens of the little bronze creatures in white coats.

  “Can I have a go, sir? I wanna go!” screamed the sailors and searched their pockets for loose change. Then they jumped in the big-dipper cars, clambered on to the swings and crowded round the fruit-machines, jostling each other to put their money in.

  Odysseus slowly shook his head from side to side. What a bunch of yobbos his men were! Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice said: “You are Odysseus, the hero of the Trojan War. Follow me, I have something special for you.”

  Odysseus turned and found himself staring at a tall, upright, old man with long, grey hair down to his knees.

  “I am King Aeolis, the inventor,” he said. “This is my island, I built it. And these,” he said pointing to the pixie-like creatures, “are my children. I built them too.”

  He took Odysseus to a tiny room, far away from the noise of the machines, and gently handed him an ebony box covered in bulls’ heads and double axes.

  “This box is for you – the Greatest Hero of Them All,” explained the King. “To get home, whisper the name of the wind you require, point the box towards your sails, open the lid to the width of one human hair, and it will blow you to your destination. But handle it with care. It took me twenty years to build it, and it is not without danger.”

  But when they returned to the hall, it was in chaos. His men had run out of money and were tilting the machines, smashing the glass, kicking in the panels of the roundabouts and teasing the King’s bronze children by picking them up by their ears and dangling them over the top of the big-dipper.

  “Back to your ships!” roared Odysseus. “We’re going home.”

  With a whoop of glee the Greeks shot off down the corridor, leaving King Aeolis and his creatures knee-deep in broken machines.

  Odysseus turned to Aeolis to apologize for the mess. But the wise old man didn’t seem to care too much. “We can fix all this in a day or two,” he said. “It’s the box that took me years. Be careful with it.”

  Once they were on board, the island opened up, and Odysseus whispered into the box. Suddenly a warm south-west wind slapped the sails. They were on their way!

  For five days they sailed and Odysseus never slept. He was nearly home now and he was determined that nothing would go wrong. He steered, he navigated, he hoisted the mainbrace – then, on the sixth morning, his eyelids began to droop.

  “If I can only stay awake another hour,” he thought. “Ithaca’s just over the horizzzzz …” and as his island home came into view, his head slumped on to the ebony box.

  Thersites was leaning over the side fishing for crabs. “‘Aaah!” he went. “Look at sir, he’s fallen asleep. He works so hard looking after us all, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” replied Eurylochus, “and he’s so popular. Think of all those lovely presents people give him.”

  Thersites frowned as he pulled a little crab out of the water, broke off its legs and stuck it in his mouth. “It’s funny about the presents, isn’t it? I mean, why does old sir always get them, and never us?”

  “Exactly,” snapped Eurylochus. “We’re completely presentless, and yet there’s old Mr Popular with more gifts than he knows what to do with.” And their eyes slowly focused on the ebony box. “What do you think’s in there – money, jewels … gold?”

  The two sailors looked around to make sure that no one was watching, then quietly tiptoed over to their captain, lifted his arms, slipped out the box and flipped back the lid.

  PHEEEEEOOOOW! A mushroom cloud of whirling wind shot into the air. The sails billowed and ripped, the boat turned 180 degrees, and went hurtling back in the direction from which they’d come. Odysseus jerked awake just in time to see his beloved Ithaca disappearing from view. He cursed, he raged, he stamped, he shouted, but it was too late.

  Soon they were back at the island of Aeolis, but this time there was no warm welcome.

  “I gave you my life’s work,” said the King bitterly, “and you wasted it. I wash my hands of you.” And the little creatures uncovered a bronze bellows the size of a whale, and began pumping it up and down. Immediately a howling gale of biting, cold wind hit the Greeks and sent the ships spinning and speeding away from the bronze island once more – but not towards Ithaca. This time they were heading in the opposite direction, towards the frozen wastes of the far North.

  It grew colder and colder till the decks froze and the men’s beards turned to icicles and snapped off. On the third day, two icebergs covered in penguins loomed out of the mist and smashed together, crushing the leading boat. On the fifth day a giant blue squid wrapped its tentacles around the last boat and dragged it below. Then on the seventh day the whole sea froze over. Thick, green ice completely surrounded them, growing thicker and thicker by the minute until CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Three more ships were crushed like walnuts in a nutcracker. And as their masts sank slowly beneath the ice, Odysseus thought he could see the face of the White Goddess way below on the bottom of the ocean – and she was winking at him.

  He was afraid they were all doomed, but then, as quickly as it had come, the ice disappeared and, slowly at first but then faster and faster, the five remaining ships lurched forward, caught in an
invisible current that dragged them towards the unknown.

  But for once, when they got there, the unknown didn’t look too bad. As the ships slowed down, the Greeks saw ahead of them a pretty little fiord, covered in snow and Christmas trees. The leading boats coasted in, and the menjumped out on to a stone harbour, slightly hysterical and very glad to be alive.

  Only Odysseus’ boat remained moored in the fiord. “Remember the Cyclops,” he told Eurylochus. “We don’t want more trouble.” He cast his eyes across the surrounding hills. Everything did seem quiet enough.

  The men on land soon came across a sweet little village, tucked into the side of a snow-capped hill. All the houses were made of wood and outside them were big, roasting pots. “They must be for cooking moose,” joked one sailor, and certainly there was a slightly odd smell around, of a meat they didn’t recognize. They headed on a bit further, and came to the town square. Round it were long wooden tables, covered in shallow soup bowls, as though a crowd of people had been having a meal.

  “Must have been beetroot soup,” another sailor observed, seeing as how the bowls were stained red. Then someone else found a bowl with a drop of soup left at the bottom and had a sip to see if his friend was right. But it had gone a bit hard and tasted foul. “Nope, it’s certainly not beetroot,” he said, then took a closer look at the bowl.

  Only it wasn’t a bowl at all. It was the top half of a skull!

  Then he realized what he had just tasted. Blood! Suddenly, from inside the wooden houses came a chorus of terrifying crackles.

  “Cannibals!” yelled someone and the sailors began scrambling back to their boats. Charging across the square were hundreds of burly men and women with leather skirts, yellow plaits, metal helmets and massive knives and forks which they hurled at the Greeks, bringing them down in a hail of cutlery.

  A few survivors reached the ships and began to pull out to sea, but now gigantic snowballs were tumbling down the hillside and smashing them to pieces.

  The harbour turned red and the air was filled with the cries of dying sailors. Then there was silence, absolute silence, broken only by the sound of the occasional dead Greek being dragged up the hillside and plopped into a sizzling pot.

  Only Odysseus’ boat was safe. His sailors stared in frozen horror at the carnage. Then, “Row men, row!” yelled their captain.

  Panic-stricken, they heaved on their oars. No one spoke, no one cried, every ounce of strength was devoted to getting away from the horror they had witnessed. They rowed till their muscles ached, their hands bled and their palms were covered in blisters the size of mushrooms. All that night they rowed, until the harbour, the fiord and the frozen North had been left far behind them. Then just before dawn, they saw the dark outline of an island. A little wave carried them up on to the beach and they flopped over the side on to the warm sand, and lay there starving, shivering and exhausted.

  Odysseus’ mind was reeling from what had happened. Nine hundred of his countrymen killed. Was he to blame, or was some unseen force still out to punish him for what had happened at Troy?

  At that moment he sensed something looming out of the darkness. His old hunting instinct told him what to do, ln a flash he had drawn his bow and THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! pumped three arrows into the shadowy creature. There was a whimper of pain, then the thing crashed on to the beach.

  Thersites scampered over to see what it was. “It’s a deer,” he said sadly. “See its little face, it looks almost human …” but he drew his knife and began cutting it up, nevertheless.

  “You are revolting,” wailed Eurylochus. “How can you eat flesh when you’ve seen your comrades squashed by a squid, battered by icebergs and chopped into tiny pieces by fork-wielding cannibals? I’m going to become a vegetarian!”

  “Do what you like,” replied Odysseus. “There’s meat here for those who want it. If you don’t, find something else. I’m too tired to argue.” And he slumped down on the sand and fell fast asleep.

  “Well, I’m going to search for fruit and nuts,” said Eurylochus, and a dozen men went with him. They struck off into the forest which lay beyond the beach. Trees which were twisted into dark threatening shapes loomed out at them and scratched their faces. Bats whirled around their heads, and crackly insects dropped from the branches and buried themselves in their beards. But as dawn broke, they broke through the undergrowth and, to their amazement, saw ahead an elegant, white marble house surrounded by a smooth, sloping lawn dotted with statues. And from inside the house, lights blazed, music played and there was the sound of laughter.

  They ducked behind a bush shaped like a peacock and watched. The smell of food wafted out of the house towards them – food that smelt so appetizing that their stomachs began to gurgle.

  Then Eurylochus felt something tickling the back of his neck. He shrugged and wriggled, but whatever it was, it didn’t go away. A cold feeling hit the pit of his stomach – it wasn’t a spider, was it? … Or a poisonous scorpion waiting to strike? Slowly he moved his hand and reached round to feel his neck. His fingers touched something huge, warm and hairy. He turned in terror and found himself face to face with an enormous lion.

  He gave a tiny squeak of fear, slumped to the ground and FLOMP!

  The lion flopped on top of him.

  “Help!” he moaned. “Help!” But his men couldn’t save him. They were too busy looking after themselves.

  From out of the darkness, their eyes sparkling with hunger and their fangs gleaming, a pack of tigers, jackals, bulls and rhinoceroses was coming towards them. Closer, and closer, and closer.

  “I order you to help me!” cried Eurylochus, but by now the men were out of earshot, backing away in terror from the approaching hungry pack. “To the house, the house!” yelled a petrified sailor, and the others took his advice and charged in panic towards their only hope of safety.

  “Let us in! Let us in!” they begged, hammering on the door. Slowly, it opened, the doorstep flooded with light and a deep, husky, woman’s voice said “Hi boys, I’m Circe. Come on in.”

  Inside, the walls and floors were dazzling white with black furniture and enormous bright green pot-plants. All was peaceful. A python hung from the chandelier, there was a small dance-band made up of two baboons with flutes and a puppy on drums, and dancers shuffled round a dance floor – a goat and an ostrich dancing cheek to cheek, and a few wallabies doing a tango.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Circe. She was tall and thin, with wild black hair, a black silk dress, bright red lipstick and a string of pearls.

  “Mmmm!” the men nodded and Circe showed them to a black, polished table.

  Immediately, out of the kitchen dashed a dozen chimpanzees with red bow ties and plates piled high with vegetarian food.

  Now some people might have thought it puzzling to be served at table by monkeys; and most people would have found it strange to be entertained by a band of baboons. But these men were so hungry, and so relieved to be away from the wilder animals, that they just didn’t notice – more’s the pity.

  They snatched the food from the waiters’ hands and began cramming it in their mouths, rubbing it in their faces, and plunging their arms in it up to their elbows.

  The band stopped, the dancers stopped, and Circe smiled.

  It was an evil smile.

  “You eat like pigs,” she said. And then hissed, “Now become pigs.”

  But the men weren’t listening. They just kept stuffing themselves with food. And at first they didn’t notice that they were finding it more difficult to eat, and that their hands were hard and didn’t seem to have any fingers any more. And then they did begin to notice – that their noses were suddenly longer, and that they kept slipping off their chairs. But when they tried to cry out to complain, it was too late. Instead of voices coming out of their big hairy mouths, they just snorted like pigs. Exactly like pigs.

  Meanwhile Eurylochus’ lion had fallen fast asleep. The first mate wriggled out from underneath it and crawled to the house. He peer
ed through a window. But where he expected to see his men, he saw pigs scrambling over the floor. Filled with fear, he counted. He had had twelve men. There were twelve pigs.

  He raced back across the garden, through the wood and down to the beach.

  “Sir! Sir!” he cried. “Our men are pigs.”

  “They certainly are,” replied Odysseus. “Let me get back to sleep!”

  But when Eurylochus explained what had happened, Odysseus sprang into action. He bloomin’ well wasn’t going to lose any more men today.

  “Fetch a sword,” he said, “then take me to the White House.”

  “No way!” replied Eurylochus. “I’m getting off this island quick.”

  Odysseus looked at him with contempt, then turned and walked inland alone.

  When he arrived at the house, he knocked on the door. Once again it swung slowly open. “Hi. I’m Circe. Come on in.”

  Odysseus followed the tall, dark woman and she sat him down at table and snapped her fingers. Immediately the twelve chimps appeared with plates of steaming food. Odysseus took a spoonful of curry.

  “I like your snake,” he said.

  “Yes,” replied Circe, “he’s an old friend.”

  She glanced up at the python, and in a split second, Odysseus had flicked the curry in a plant-pot and his spoon was empty.

  “A little more?” she asked. Odysseus shook his head.

  Then suddenly the band stopped, the dancers stopped, and Circe smiled that evil smile.

  “Very well,” she hissed. “You eat like a gazelle. Become a gazelle.”

  But nothing happened.

  “I said become a gazelle.”

  Again nothing.

  Then a look of panic flashed across her eyes. “You didn’t eat, did you?” she demanded.

  “No,” replied Odysseus, leaping across the table and drawing his sword. “Now die, witch!”

  But Circe dropped to the ground and clutched Odysseus round the knees. “Spare me!” she begged. And the wallabies and the chimpanzees clutched him round the knees too, “Yes, spare her!” they implored.