Water kept splashing into his mouth, though he tried to keep it closed. The salt stung his eyes. His lungs ached with the effort of breathing.
One thousand … one hundred…
He trod water again, tried to see if the shore was any closer. But his eyes were cloudy, and he couldn’t see a thing.
He was done.
He knew he was done.
Best surrender with grace, he thought.
The sea sucked him down, and he had time for only a single cry.
Then the water was over his head. First blue. Then green. Then gold—shards of it, like coins sparkling over his head.
He’d seen those coins before, when he was a baby, pitched headlong into the calm water of the Bay of Phocis, his first swimming lesson.
No, not coins. He realised that now. A golden thread above him, where the sun met sea. Like the thread of life woven by the three sisters, the Fates. It was Clotho who spun the thread, Lachesis who wove it into the fabric of the world. Finally it was grim Atropos who—at the end of a man’s life—cut the thread with her knife.
But I’m not a man yet, he wanted to cry out, as if that had ever made any difference to the Fates. As if one could make a sound beneath the water.
A sound.
Like a chittering.
A whistle.
Recalling the sound of a shepherd directing his flock on land.
Life.
And then something surged below him, stopping his descent: a giant hand beneath him; giant fingers cupping him, lifting him up, pushing hard against the wall of water.
Poseidon? he thought wearily. Is it you, mighty god of the sea, uncle to my own Athena? He was too tired to think more.
Looking down for an instant, he thought he saw a pair of Nereids, those beautiful, long-haired sea nymphs that sailors desire. One of them swimming on each side of him, their graceful bodies arcing effortlessly through the water.
And then his head broke through the waves, and he gasped and gasped for air, his eyes dazzled by the light.
The sun blazed like a beacon above him, and his ears were filled with thunder.
The thunder of breakers crashing on the shore.
A final heave of the water threw him forward, and he was suddenly knee-down in shallow water, waves frothing angrily around him. Belching out a stomach full of brine, he crawled painfully up on to the dry beach.
A dingle, a shingle, a wee bit of sand.
For a long while he lay on his side, sucking in air and thinking, The Nereids. I will honour them. I will make sacrifices to them. I will tell my children and my grandchildren how they saved me.
Then rolling over on to his stomach and pushing himself up on to his elbows, he stared out at the sea for some sign of his rescuers.
And then he saw them—two fins coursing through the waves side by side.
“Dolphins!” he cried, his voice as torn and ragged as a cloth on a nail. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have laughed.
He looked behind him at the land. A rocky height dotted with moss and scrub rose up like a castle wall.
“Must … climb,” he croaked. “Must … find … water.”
But he could do neither. His thread of life, so nearly cut, could carry him no further. With a groan, he fell back down on the sand and surrendered to the darkness.
CHAPTER 9: SILENUS
IT WAS THE STINK that woke him.
It smelled worse than the dunghills in the courtyards of his father’s palace. Worse than the goat pens at the height of the summer, when even the flies couldn’t stand the smell.
Opening his eyes, Odysseus found himself in the dim interior of a cave. He was lying on a pile of leaves on a packed earth floor with a shaft of sunlight filtering through the cave mouth.
How did I get here? he wondered. And what is that stink?
He rubbed his nose as hard as he could, but nothing seemed to get rid of the smell.
Then he heard a sound—the feet of some large animal behind him tromping across the cave floor.
He froze, pretending to be unconscious still. Best not attract its attention.
What sort of animal could be large enough to have carried him up from the beach to its lair?
What sort of animal smelled this bad?
Without meaning to, he shivered, remembering some of the tales his father had told. About giant cannibals, and boars big as houses. About monsters who ate the flesh off still-live men.
He slotted his eyes and saw a pair of hairy legs ending in cloven hooves. Not daring more, he had to be content with that one glimpse.
As the monster passed by, the stench went up Odysseus’ nostrils like smoke up a chimney. It was all he could do not to choke.
Now the beast had moved entirely out of his line of vision. He could still hear it shuffling around, but until he could figure out what it was, he didn’t want it to know he was awake.
Suddenly he noticed something strange. There was a thread of music, like a hummed tune, coming from one end of the cave.
Is there another prisoner in this cave as well? he wondered.
The shuffling feet came closer.
The smell got closer too.
Odysseus squinted his eyes again, looking straight up and into the round, snub-nosed face of a cheerful old grandfather leaning over him. The old man had a long, scraggly beard and thick, grey curls falling over his brow.
Relieved, Odysseus opened his eyes wide.
“Awake at laaaaast, eh?” the old man asked. His voice ended in a high bleat.
“Hsssst,” Odysseus whispered. “The creature.”
The old man looked puzzled, glanced around. “Whaaaaat creature?”
“Whoever carried me here …” Odysseus began. Then he sat up and stared at the old man.
At his bare arms and chest.
At his goat legs.
At the little horns poking through the grey curls.
“Time to eaaaat,” bleated the goat-man.
Odysseus reached behind him for some kind of weapon—a loose rock, a club, a handful of sand—but there was nothing. So he did the only thing he could think of: he scrambled backwards until he felt a cold stone wall behind him.
The creature shook its head. “Don’t taaaaake on so, maaaanling,” he chided. “Do mortals no longer remember old Silenus?”
“The satyr?” Odysseus had thought such creatures mere nursery tales.
“Aaaaat your service,” Silenus said, then did a little capering dance on his goat legs, ending in a surprisingly graceful bow.
Odysseus was suddenly annoyed at being mocked by such a stinking, ugly creature. He stood, careful not to hit his head on the roof of the cave, and said, “I am Odysseus, prince of Ithaca.”
The satyr’s brow creased in thought. “Aaaaaa, yes—Ithacaaaa. Sour grapes. Ugly women.”
“My mother—” Odysseus began.
“Aaaall men’s mothers aaaare beautiful,” Silenus said quickly. “Now eat? Or do you intend to follow drowning with staaaaarving? The gods cannot die. But a maaaan need not choose to die twice.”
Odysseus suddenly realised he was not only terribly hungry but thirsty as well. “Water. I’d like water.” He wrinkled his nose. “That is, if you have any.”
“Here, maaaanling.” The old goat-man held out a small wooden bowl filled with water.
Odysseus reached a bit tentatively for the bowl. Then he swallowed its contents down in a single gulp. “More.”
Silenus got him another bowlful from a large pottery krater by the cave mouth. “Drink slowly, else you will bring it aaaaaall back up. Fresh waaaaater is in short supply on this island.”
“I’d guessed that,” Odysseus said, wrinkling his nose again. But in spite of the old satyr’s advice, he drank the second bowl as quickly. And when he felt the water threatening to rise up, he calmed himself by closing his eyes and waiting for the spasm to pass.
“Now eat,” Silenus said.
Odysseus watched warily, but when the old satyr p
assed him a large palm leaf heaped with nuts, berries, and boiled roots, Odysseus was suddenly so hungry, he quite forgot his host’s smell. He devoured the humble meal as if it were a palace feast.
“Eat the leaf, aaaas well,” Silenus said.
Maybe a goat can eat that, Odysseus thought, but all he said aloud was, “I thank you, kind sir, for the food and drink. I confess I was startled by your appearance.”
“Staaaartled …” the satyr said, and smiled slyly.
“I wasn’t afraid,” Odysseus said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Not aaaat all.” Silenus nodded.
Before Odysseus could answer, something scuttered across the floor. The old satyr snatched up a club from somewhere behind him and brought it down with a loud whack. Smiling, he picked up the dead shrew by the tail. “Caaaare for seconds, young prince?”
Odysseus shook his head. Suddenly the nuts, berries, and water rushed up again, and he barely made it outside the cave in time.
Once his heaving stomach was emptied, Odysseus sat down in front of the cave mouth. It was quiet outside. Even the seabirds had grown silent.
The old satyr offered him a bowl of water, and this time Odysseus sipped it, making the single bowl last a long time.
Silenus dropped down beside him. Outside, the goat-man’s stench was bearable.
Just.
“How caaaame you here?” Silenus asked. “I raaarely have visitors.”
“Rarely?”
“Well, never before, aaaactually.” He sighed, and his long beard fluttered.
Odysseus thought about telling the old satyr the truth about his escape from the pirates. But the truth was so unheroic. If he was to gain the satyr’s co-operation, he’d have to impress it. He gave a moment’s thought to what he would say and a deep crease grew between his eyebrows, but the creature didn’t know the significance of that.
“I set out from Ithaca with five ships under my command,” Odysseus said, thinking five surely sounded better than one. And my command was grander than saying he’d been nursemaided by a merchant captain. “We sailed south to the land of the Egyptians, where we burned their cities and took their cattle, women and gold.”
Silenus leaned forward, his dark eyes bright with interest. “Is thaaaat where you injured your leg?”
“No, that was later,” Odysseus said, really getting into the story now. “We were attacked by Poseidon’s watchdog, a great serpent of the sea. It swallowed my first ship, bit the second in half, and then started to pluck the men from my own ship one by one by one with its huge yellow teeth.”
Silenus showed his own teeth, which were the colour of sand.
“I seized my spear,” Odysseus continued, “ramming it into the monster’s neck, but not before one of the serpent’s teeth gored me. Ignoring the pain, I ground the spear deep into the monster’s flesh. It struggled frantically, and I was whipped off the deck and flung far across the sea, far out of sight of my comrades.”
“Aaaaaaa,” said Silenus.
Taking this for a sound of appreciation, Odysseus continued with grand gestures. “Seeing an island, I swam for it. And … here I am.” He took a sip of the water. Really, he thought, it could have happened that way.
Silenus rubbed his beard. “Perhaaaaps,” he baaed slowly, “customs have changed since I was maaaarooned here. Aren’t you raaaaather young to be leading a waaaar baaaaand?”
“I am a prince,” said Odysseus. “Do you doubt me?”
“You’re right, maaaanling. What a poor host I aaaam to doubt aaaa prince’s word. Or thaaat a prince’s wound so recently got is aaaalready so well knitted up.”
Odysseus glanced down at the scar on his thigh, which was a dark line now, no longer the pulsing red of a new goring.
“Why should I question aaaaa story thaaat is the only real entertainment I’ve haaaad in my long exile?” The goat-man grinned.
Odysseus had the grace to look embarrassed. But only for a moment. “Marooned, you said. Exiled.”
This time it was Silenus who seemed uncomfortable. “It was aaaa misunderstanding,” he said. “Some nymphs. Too much wine. The usual thing. But I’m a saaaatyr. Whaaaat did they expect?” His voice rose in indignation. “How could I know this paaaarticular misunderstaaaanding haaaappened in Aaaaartemis’ saaaacred groves? No sense of humour, thaaaat one. None of the gods know how to laugh. Very full of themselves, they are. Aaaaartemis got her brother Aaaapollo to straaaand me here. A punishment. Long forgotten. On their paaaart. Not mine.”
Odysseus finished drinking the water. “Haven’t you even tried to escape?”
The satyr looked at him and shrugged. “Ever seen aaaa goat swim? I thought not. Still, perhaaaaps you’ve been sent by the gods to end my exile.”
Setting the bowl down, Odysseus asked carefully, “What do you mean?”
“Follow me,” said the satyr, standing.
Odysseus stood as well, but carefully. He didn’t want to lose another stomachful of water.
Ambling in a rolling gait, the goat-man seemed entirely at ease. He led Odysseus along a small rocky ledge that jutted out over the sea. Odysseus had to pick his way with a great deal more care.
On the lee side of the path were stunted trees from which a single little wren was singing its own morning song.
“I caaaan work my passaaaage,” Silenus was saying. “I’m aaaa good cook, just drop me off aaaat the first convenient spot. Cytheraaaaa, perhaps, where delicious Aaaaphrodite first rose out of the sea. Or Naaaaxos.” He smacked his lips. “Yes—it’s faaaar too long since I saaampled the sweet Naaaaxos wine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why—one of your ships is come to find you, O prince,” Silenus said, beaming. “Look down there in the baaaay. You could tell them how I rescued you. You could taaaake me aaas aaaa paaaassenger.”
Odysseus shielded his eyes from the sun that sparkled off the water. Where the satyr pointed, a ship lay on its side, pulled up on to the sand. A black-tarred ship. He recognised the fish markings on its side.
The pirates’ ship.
CHAPTER 10: THE PLAN
“THEY’RE COLLECTING WAAAATER FROM the spring,” said Silenus. “Been there since this morning. But I was aaaafraid to show myself in caaaase—like many maaaanlings—they’re cruel.”
“Crueller than the gods?” Odysseus asked.
“The gods do not eat goats,” said Silenus.
Odysseus stared down at the busy scene below.
“You don’t look very haaaappy,” Silenus said. “I thought you’d be haaaappy to see your shipmaaaates.”
“That isn’t my ship,” Odysseus told him. “Those are pirates.”
“How caaaan you be sure?”
Odysseus sat back on his heels. “I’ve run into them before.”
“Before—or aaaafter—the fight with the sea serpent?”
Above them gulls flew in circles, screaming at one another.
Odysseus sighed. “There was no sea serpent.”
Silenus nodded. “I knew thaaaat.”
Odysseus said carefully, “Then know this: those pirates would cut my throat as well as yours.”
“Aaaa,” Silenus said. He flopped down on to a rock, with his elbows on his hairy knees. “I knew you weren’t really a prince. Moment I looked aaaat you, I knew. You’re not taaaall enough. Not fine enough. Now Perseus—there was aaaa true prince. Aaand Hercules—the muscles on thaaaat boy. Aaand—”
“I am a prince,” said Odysseus. “For what it’s worth.”
“Not worth much,” the satyr said. “It’s not princes we need now. We need aaaa hero.”
“A hero!” Odysseus stood.
“Who is aaaa sailor,” said Silenus, standing and sidling over to Odysseus, but thankfully downwind.
“I grew up around boats,” said Odysseus. “I’m an islander, after all. I’ve sailed from one end of Achaea to the other.”
Silenus looked suddenly sly. “If we found aaaa boat—even aaaa
small boat—could you get us to the mainlaaaand?”
Odysseus rounded on the satyr. “You have a boat? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Well, it’s a very smaaaall boat. Haaaardly worth mentioning.” Suddenly the sun hid behind a dark cloud, and the old satyr’s face became full of shadows.
“How small?”
Silenus looked around, as if afraid of being overheard. “Some while back—months, years, I’ve lost count—this fishing boat waaaashed on to the beach. You’d be surprised—really you would—what I’ve found in the shaaaallows.”
“Get on with it,” growled Odysseus.
“It waaaas wrecked, of course. But I fixed it.”
“So why haven’t you sailed off?” Odysseus asked.
“Goats and waaaater. Baaaad mix. Baaaad. Baaaad. Baaaad.”
Odysseus looked back over the ledge. There was an awning set up next to the pirate boat. He assumed the two girls lay under it. But he couldn’t see Mentor anywhere.
“Where is your boat?” Odysseus asked suddenly.
“On the other side of the island,” said Silenus. He joined Odysseus in looking over the ledge. “But we could taaaake their boat.”
“You really don’t know anything about ships, goat-man,” Odysseus said. “That’s a full-size war galley. We couldn’t even get it back into the water, let alone hoist the sail. We couldn’t—”
Silenus sniffed loudly. “I smell something sweet.”
“The wind must be blowing away from you then,” Odysseus muttered, turned, and saw Mentor tied to a date tree.
He’s alive! Odysseus bit his lip. Thank you, Athena.
“Wine and women, women and wine,” sang Silenus, sniffing. “Nothing sweeter for paaaassing the time …”
Odysseus grabbed the goat-man by the horns and pulled his head around to face him. “Listen, Silenus—I can sail your little boat. But first we have to rescue a friend of mine.”
Silenus tore from Odysseus’ grasp to look over the side again. “But there are two … twenty … thirty baaaad men there.”
Odysseus yanked him back by the little goat tail. “Then we’ll have to come up with a plan.”
Making a plan was easy. Odysseus thought; it was a lot like telling a story.
Odysseus in the Serpent Maze Page 5
