The Voyage of Odysseus (The Adventures of Odysseus Book 5)

by Glyn Iliffe

  Eurybates joined the king.

  ‘What are they doing? They’ve pressed us all day and pressed us hard, and now they’re just going to let us go?’

  ‘Maybe they’re beaten,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Perhaps they’re afraid to attack us again and are only staying to defend the town.’

  ‘Then the gods have favoured us,’ Eurybates said. ‘I only wish we could have given our dead a proper burial.’

  ‘Their memories will be honoured,’ Odysseus said, looking at the large new mound alongside the barrow of those who had fallen the day before. ‘We can do no more than that.’

  An urgent shout made him turn. Eperitus was standing at the prow of the centremost galley and pointing towards the two mounds. Then a horn blew from the town’s battlements and hundreds of Cicones rose up from the long grass on either side. While Odysseus had been watching the spearmen and chariots at the top of the plain, large companies of their countrymen had crept up under cover of the vegetation and folds in the ground to outflank the Ithacans. It was only a matter of luck that he had withdrawn his men when he did, or the Cicones would have surrounded them and cut them off from the galleys.

  As the long, rolling horn call died away, a dozen chariots came hurtling down the slope from the town walls. Dense ranks of spearmen followed in their wake. At the same moment, the warriors on either side of the Ithacans lowered their spears and charged, shouting as they came. Odysseus thought quickly. To hold an attack on three sides was impossible, even for seasoned fighters. But the trap had been sprung too soon and one hope remained. The ships were close in and several gangplanks had been run out into the shallow water. If they were quick, half of his men could make it on board before the Cicones reached them. The rest would be hacked to pieces in the surf, but it was better that a few survive than the whole army be trapped and cut down one by one. He gave the order to break ranks and run.

  At once, the disciplined lines dissolved and every man sprinted for the beach, Odysseus with them. The Cicones closing on either side hurled volleys of spears in desperation, some finding targets among the Ithacans, but the majority, thrown hastily, missing their aim. A few men threw away their shields and weapons as they fled, frantically trying to lighten their load as they dashed for the ships. Odysseus saw Antiphus in the chaos and shouted to him to get as many archers up the gangplanks as he could, to cover the retreat of the army from the decks of the galleys. Antiphus raised his maimed hand in acknowledgement and disappeared into the throng. Odysseus glanced back over the heads of his men and saw the chariots gaining on them rapidly, the horses’ hooves thundering over the dry ground and raising a wall of dust behind them.

  ‘Get to the beach!’ he shouted, waving the last few soldiers past. ‘The chariots won’t follow us onto the sand.’

  He watched the foremost vehicle catch a straggler. With great skill the driver steered the horses slightly to the left, while his companion plunged the point of his lance between the fleeing man’s shoulders. He tumbled to the ground and was ridden over by a second chariot. A third was closing on two other Ithacans, one of whom was struggling beneath the burden of his armour and weapons. Odysseus recognised Eurylochus at once. Despite his dislike for his cousin he felt an anguished wrench as he watched the spearman in the chariot aim the head of his lance at his back. He shouted a warning to Selagos, Eurylochus’s companion. The Taphian turned in mid-flight, swung his spear and deflected the lance downward into the ground. The Cicone was too slow to release his hold on the shaft and was lifted out of the chariot to fall into the long grass. Selagos seized Eurylochus by the elbow and dragged him towards the beach.

  Afraid of becoming bogged down on the soft sand, the rest of the chariots peeled off and returned up the slope. By now the bulk of the Ithacans had reached the beach. Many were already running up onto the galleys, while the rest crowded behind, some fighting each other to get onto the gangplanks. But the flanking companies of the Cicones were close behind them. Many Ithacans had turned to meet the threat, fighting them on the beach or waist-deep in the water where the surf was already pink with blood. Knowing the spearmen from the town would soon be upon them, Odysseus ordered the rearmost ranks to turn and form a defensive line. As he joined the shield wall he felt a shadow fall over him and looked up to see Polites. Omeros was beside him, and the sight of their calm, determined faces was reassuring. And yet he wished Eperitus was at his side.

  The ring of bronze and the thump of sword against shield were joined by the twang of bowstrings as more and more Ithacan archers lined the decks and found targets on the flanks of the battle. Then a wall of shields and spears appeared at the top of the beach and with a triumphant shout the main force of Cicones dashed down upon the rearguard. A volley of arrows thinned the charging warriors but did not halt them. An instant later they crashed into the Ithacans. Odysseus stopped a man with the point of his spear through his throat, while Polites flattened another with a blow from his shield boss. The air around them was full of the shouts of men fighting and dying, but all the time more Ithacans were pouring up the gangplanks and more arrows were finding targets among the Cicones on the beach and in the water. The rearguard fell back, pushed by their enemies into the vacuum left by their retreating countrymen. Odysseus felt the water washing over his feet and sucking away the sand beneath his sandals. He parried the thrust of a spear and replied by slashing his own weapon across his attacker’s face. The point sliced through his eye and sent him staggering backwards, howling with pain. Others were falling all around him, Cicones and Ithacans. Now they were thigh deep in the surf, struggling to stand as the water ebbed and flowed. Odysseus’s heels kicked against something hard and a voice called down to him. He glanced back to see a soldier standing on a gangplank and waving to him to come up. As Odysseus watched, a spear caught the man in the chest and brought him down into the water.

  ‘Omeros, get on the ship,’ he ordered, seeing the bard still at his side. ‘I’ll follow.’

  Omeros drove back his opponent with his spear, then turned and ran up the gangplank. The Cicone tried to follow but was knocked back into the water by a blow from Polites’s shield. The giant Ithacan thrust his sword through another man’s chest before following Omeros. Halfway up he paused and offered Odysseus his hand. The king took it and was hauled onto the slippery walkway. A furious shout erupted behind him and he felt the thick wood bouncing beneath his feet as the Cicones followed, almost at his heels. Then he heard the hiss of arrows and the cries of his pursuers as they fell back into the sea.

  He reached the deck and turned to stare at the scene below. The water was thronged with the bodies of the dead and the living, but of the latter almost none were Ithacans. Those few that were left were surrounded by foes and could not hope to reach the ships. Instead, the walkways were being mounted by the Cicones, trying desperately to gain the decks of the galleys above while dozens of spear points drove them back again. The enemy’s archers had now reached the top of the beach and were sending volleys of black-fletched arrows into the crowded ships. Odysseus heard the death cries of slaves behind him, at least one of them a child. Already two of the galleys were being rowed out to sea. Knowing there was no hope for anyone not already aboard, Odysseus ordered the gangplanks to be dropped into the water and for all but a few archers to man the benches. The anchors were cut and the oars fed out into the sea, slowly driving the bulk of the galley away from the enraged Cicones.

  Chapter Thirteen

  CAPE MALEA

  A final volley of arrows fell into the waves astern of the galley. Eperitus slung his shield across his back and offered his hand to Astynome, who was taking cover with some of the other women behind sacks of grain.

  ‘It’s safe now,’ he said, pulling her up to stand at his side.

  All twelve ships had escaped, but it had been a close fight. Many Ithacans had died and the survivors were mixed and scattered across the fleet, but if Odysseus had not commenced the withdrawal when he had, they would all have perished. Even
Eperitus, from his elevated position on deck, had been too focussed on the Cicones before the town walls to notice the hundreds of men crawling on their bellies through the grass on either side of the plain. Only when Odysseus’s order to withdraw had caused a few of them to raise their heads did he spot them and call out a warning.

  The curses of the Cicones could still be heard, carried to the ships on the back of a strong northerly breeze. Then a lone voice answered them. It was the voice of Odysseus from one of the other galleys, smooth and forceful, calling out a lament for the men who had fallen. As the sound of it rolled across the water, his enemies on the beach fell silent and the sobbing of the women in the galleys was hushed. Across the fleet, men pulled in their oars and stood to listen as their king extolled the skill and courage of their comrades, his words as stirring and powerful as any bard’s. As he shouted out the ritual salute to the dead, they raised their fists and echoed it in a great roar, filling the air with their pride and grief. Twice more the salute was repeated and then the crews fell silent, many slumping to the benches and sobbing openly as they mourned their countrymen.

  Sails now fell open like great white flowers among the ships, as the different captains took advantage of the wind to take them as far away from Ismarus as possible. The helmsman on Eperitus’s galley, an old mariner with skin like leather and a beard like snow, called out the order to release their own sail. Soon the vessel was darting across the open waves like a dolphin, competing with the ships on either side.

  ‘Where to?’ the helmsman shouted over the wind and the snapping of canvas.

  ‘Follow Odysseus,’ Eperitus called back.

  ‘And which one is that?’

  ‘Whichever takes the lead.’

  Astynome placed a hand on his unhurt shoulder and lowered him onto a nearby bench. He was not wearing his breastplate, and as she peeled back the bandage from his wound her eyes narrowed a little.

  ‘You’re fortunate the stitches haven’t broken. But you should have left the fighting to the others. And where’s that sling I prepared for you?’

  ‘You talk as if we’re already married,’ he replied with a smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, returning his smile and flushing a little beneath her tanned skin. ‘But you need the sling to rest your arm – if you want the wound to heal, that is.’

  He pulled the strip of knotted cloth from a fold in his tunic and tried to loop it around his neck and arm. She took it from him with an impatient tut and, after replacing the bandage, fitted the sling gently and efficiently. She was right of course, he admitted, and not just about the bandage. When the Cicones had tried to storm the gangplanks there had been more than enough Ithacans on board to throw them back. Perhaps it had been the frustration of standing helplessly on deck while his comrades were being cut down in the water, or perhaps it was the sight of Selagos exulting over his killing of two Cicones that had provoked his pride and drawn him into the battle. But he had overestimated his strength, and the first man he had faced had barged him aside with his shield, pushing it into Eperitus’s wounded shoulder and knocking him onto the deck. It was Antiphus who had come to his rescue, plunging his sword into the Cicone’s stomach before hurling him overboard.

  ‘Can’t have you die lying on your back, can we,’ he had said, smiling at Eperitus before helping him to safety.

  ‘I’ll fetch you a little wine,’ Astynome said.

  ‘No. Take some to each of the men. They’ve had a hard day and they need something to raise their spirits. Get a few of these women to help you, too. Then you can bring a cup to me.’

  She did not demur, but set about his request as if it were an order. Eperitus joined the helmsman in the stern, noticing with concern the clouds descending upon them from the north. They had appeared a short while before the retreat to the ships, nothing more then than a dark fringe spreading over the hills. But now they filled the evening skies above land and sea, whipped into an angry mass by the ever-strengthening winds.

  ‘I don’t like the look of that,’ he said to the helmsman, Baius, pointing to the ceiling of cloud that was already overtaking them.

  ‘Neither does Odysseus,’ he said, tipping his chin towards the lead galley. ‘He’s changed course for that island, but if I know anything about weather – and I’ve been thirty years at sea, not counting the war – then the storm’ll catch us before we’ve covered half the distance. We’d be safest steering for the mainland.’

  ‘At the risk of being found by the Cicones again. I’d take my chances with the sea.’

  Baius raised a white eyebrow, but said nothing. Eperitus leaned back against the bow rail and watched Astynome and three of the younger women taking wine to the men on the benches. Their shoulders were hunched and their heads hung low with exhaustion and grief, only stirring as cups of wine were pushed into their hands. By now the ship was beginning to pitch and yaw on the restless sea, making it difficult for the women to pour the wine. Then the galley plunged into a trough and threw Astynome forward. Eurylochus – as sure-footed as any Ithacan on a ship – stood and caught her. When she turned from his grip and tried to struggle free, his grip tightened.

  ‘Steady now,’ he laughed, raising a pink fleshy hand to her breast.

  As Eperitus ran forward from the stern, Astynome stamped her heel on Eurylochus’s foot and thrust an elbow into his ribs, causing him to cry out. At the same time the ship lurched heavily again, sending her stumbling forward against the mast and beyond the range of Eurylochus’s arms. Before Eperitus could throw himself at Odysseus’s cousin, a bellowed command from Baius had the ship’s crew springing from their benches and running this way and that across the deck to alter the angle of the sail. One of them stumbled into Eperitus, jarring his hurt shoulder and provoking a shout of pain. Pushing the man aside, he staggered forward across the swaying deck towards Eurylochus.

  Selagos got there first, thrusting his great bulk between them and laying his hand on Eperitus’s already stinging wound, squeezing it hard. Eperitus reeled back, just as the galley plunged into another trough and a large wave broke across the deck. Selagos and Eurylochus disappeared behind a wall of spray and Eperitus was thrown against the mast. A hand took hold of his and, wiping the seawater from his eyes, he saw Astynome staring back at him.

  ‘We’ll be safer in the stern,’ she shouted.

  The edge of the storm was now upon them. The wind howled in Eperitus’s ears and the deck beneath his feet sloped and bucked like an angry colt, tipping him this way and that as he struggled to keep hold of Astynome and she of him. Women and children were huddling together for shelter, while all around them men were trying to secure the supplies of grain, wine and water that were on deck. The bleating of goats mingled with the shrieking gale as they were trussed up to the bottoms of benches and then left to the mercies of the storm. As they reached the helm, Eperitus pulled Astynome down onto a pile of canvas-covered sacks. Reaching for a coil of spare rope, he tied one end around her waist and the other to a wooden bollard used for attaching the braces.

  ‘What if the ship sinks?’ she protested.

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘She may yet,’ Baius shouted beside them as he pulled on the twin rudders, his muscles bulging with the strain. ‘And if she does then we’re all as good as dead anyway, tied up or free.’

  ‘I’m more worried you’ll be swept overboard,’ Eperitus said. ‘And while you’re here you can pray to Poseidon to deliver us safe and sound on that island.’

  As he spoke, the wind rose to a scream, tugging and snapping furiously at the sail. Baius knew what was coming and, cupping a hand around his mouth, bellowed out an order. A wave washed over the side of the ship as it was sucked down into another trough, nearly sweeping several of the crew into the sea. Men clung to benches and the mast, holding on with all their strength while the slaves hugged the deck and each other in desperation. Then with a great tearing sound the sail flew apart into two halves. One of the braces snapped and the heavy spar s
wung in the gale. Eperitus rushed forward with several others and took hold of the halyard, the wet rope rough against his palms. Others seized the braces and tried to steady the two ends of the yard.

  ‘Swing it round!’ Baius yelled. ‘Swing it round before it has us over.’

  Eperitus felt the vessel’s sudden instability as the men struggled to sway the heavy spar lengthways across the ship. Their bare feet slipped on the wet deck and it was not until Selagos threw his great strength onto one of the braces that they were able to get the yard and the tattered remnants of the flaxen sail under control. Together they eased it round so that it was fore and aft, then, on Baius’s command, Eperitus and the men on the halyard began to ease away. More men rushed forward to catch the falling yard, while yet more threw rope around the sail to secure it to the spar. All the time, the galley pitched and rolled and waves swept over the sides to drench everyone in seawater. Overhead and from horizon to lurching horizon the sky was black with cloud, from which sheets of rain swept down to add to the misery of the Ithacans. Eperitus glanced back to see that Astynome was still safely in the helm, where she was now holding on to two pale-faced children. Beyond the confines of the ship the rest of the fleet had disappeared, though here and there he caught glances of distant objects that might have been galleys. He thought of Odysseus and the others he had come to love over the years, and prayed to Athena she would protect them.

  A hand on his arm pulled him towards the benches. He sat down heavily and lifted the oar into place, sliding it out into the water. Looking along the length of wood, he saw the black waves rise up to swamp the blade, then plunge down beyond its reach again. How the oars were to bite and pull in such an ocean was beyond him, but without a sail they had no choice but to row. And even if they made the island they had seen rising up from the horizon, the chance of finding a landfall that was not beset by rocks and other perils seemed impossibly small.