by Glyn Iliffe
Disturbed by their absence, Astynome rose and brushed the sand from her dress. Two of the orphan girls were nearby, practising a dance together to an imagined tune. Astynome called them to her side.
‘Girls, have you seen the fat soldier?’
‘He went with the bad giant,’ answered the oldest, pointing to the trees further along the beach.
The bad giant was Selagos, to distinguish him from Polites, the good giant. Astynome saw a solitary trail of footprints emerging from the tramplings of the crew and followed it in the direction of the trees. She was soon lost in the shadow of the eaves, and before long she heard voices. Slipping off her sandals, she trod gently through the sandy undergrowth until she saw Selagos and Eurylochus talking to each other in the gloom. She crouched behind a tree trunk and listened.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Eurylochus said. ‘Perhaps Eurybates is right. Perhaps we should search for them in the morning. After all, if we leave and find our way back to Ithaca and then my cousin turns up with Eperitus and the others, it could prove, er, awkward.’
‘Why? Because we followed the king’s orders? Stop being a coward and seize the opportunity that’s being offered to you. Don’t you see this is a gift from the gods? With Odysseus out of the way and you his only male relative, you’ll return to Ithaca as heir to the throne.’
‘You forget Telemachus.’
‘The boy? Boys die from all sorts of causes, even more so if they’re princes.’
‘Don’t say such things,’ Eurylochus warned. ‘I won’t murder a child just to become a king, especially the king of an island I can barely remember any more.’
Selagos folded his arms and looked down at Eurylochus.
‘The effects of the lotus won’t last forever. One day you will wake up and remember who you were – your desires and your ambitions. Until then I will look after your interests. We leave at dawn, whether Odysseus returns or not, and somehow we will find a way back to Ithaca.’
‘What do you care about Ithaca?’ Eurylochus snapped. ‘You’re a damned Taphian! And what does it matter to you whether I become king or not? Before you came to Troy a few months back, you’d never met me; now you want to place me on a throne that neither you nor I have any interest in. I sometimes wonder whether you’re doing this for my sake or because you just want to see Odysseus brought down. Which is it?’
Selagos’s eyes narrowed.
‘Whatever I do is out of friendship for you.’
‘Then let’s leave at dawn, like you say. But if you’re my friend, return me to the land of the lotus eaters. I don’t care about anything else. Leave me there and then go your own way.’
‘Perhaps I should,’ Selagos replied, slapping the air between them in a gesture of frustration. ‘And perhaps I would, if I knew how to get there. But I don’t. Odysseus brought us here and only he can take us back.’
He turned away from Eurylochus and stared directly at the tree behind which Astynome was hiding. She did not have time to dart back behind the trunk and feared that any sudden movement now would reveal her presence. But the deepening shadow had engulfed her and, after a moment, the Taphian turned aside and reached for a goatskin propped against the roots of another tree.
‘Let’s not get angry with each other. Here, have a drink of this.’
Eurylochus took the goatskin and raised it to his lips. He lowered it briefly, looked at Selagos with surprise, then took another, longer swallow.
‘Steady,’ Selagos warned, reclaiming the goatskin.
‘That’s the best wine I’ve tasted in years. Where did you get it from?’
‘I heard Odysseus talking about some wine he took from Ismarus, about how good it was. So I stole some.’
Eurylochus raised his fingers to his temple. ‘It’s strong, too. A krater or two of that every day and I could almost forget the lotus.’
‘You don’t need wine for that, Eurylochus,’ Selagos said. ‘After all, it isn’t your only desire.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You still have eyes for Eperitus’s woman. I’ve seen you looking at her.’
‘What of it?’ Eurylochus snorted, reaching for the goatskin and taking another swallow. ‘I’ve less chance of winning her from him than I do of returning to the land of the lotus eaters.’
‘Not if Eperitus doesn’t come back. If we leave at dawn then she’s as good as yours.’
‘She is?’
‘Of course she is. And why wait until tomorrow when you have tonight?’
‘Now what are you talking about?’
‘You want her, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Then take her! Show her you’re a man and perhaps she’ll begin to respect you.’
Eurylochus chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, then shook his head.
‘And if Eperitus comes back he’ll kill me.’
‘Eperitus isn’t coming back. Whatever lives in those caves has murdered them all. Even Odysseus knew they were going to their doom, or why else would he have told us not to wait more than two days for them? Besides, you showed your courage on the galley, the day we found the lotus eaters. What’s stopping you now with Astynome all alone? I’ll even make sure nobody else interferes.’
Eurylochus took another swallow of the wine and belched loudly.
‘When?’
‘Midnight. We’ll gag her and bind her in case she tries to call out or fight, and then we’ll bring her here. Now, give me that wine before you unman yourself completely.’
Astynome watched them walk off towards the beach, Eurylochus swaying wildly even with Selagos’s arm hooked through his. When they were lost to the darkness, she rolled back against the rough bark of the trunk and closed her eyes. Her first thought was that Eperitus had to come back. Her second was that she should run and hide, but she knew she would soon be missed and the whole crew would come looking for her. Perhaps Eperitus would return before nightfall, she told herself. But she knew he would not. The same instinct that told her he was alive also denied her any hope of his coming back that evening. There were more knots in the thread of her fate that had to be unravelled before that could happen. No, if she were to survive then it was up to her to save herself.
Then she opened her eyes.
She knew what she had to do. And it had to be done before midnight.
Chapter Twenty-One
NOBODY
Stone grated against stone as the door to the cave was rolled away. The Cyclops pushed the laurel branches aside and ushered his sheep and goats inside. They were led by a ram the size of a calf, with thick brown wool and horns so long they spiralled back on themselves twice. The animal jumped onto the Cyclops’s stone seat by the fire and stood sentinel as the rest of the flock flooded in around him. From his hiding place beneath the overhanging rock – which he shared with Odysseus, Omeros and Elpenor – Eperitus’s vision was temporarily blocked by the oversized creatures as they bumped and jostled their way into the recesses of the cave. When they had passed by, he could see the colossal herdsman standing over the hearth, his gruesome face lit by the orange flames. His lips were pulled back from his pointed teeth in a terrifying grimace and the single eye rolled this way and that as it searched the shadows for a sign of his prisoners. After a while he rolled the stone back into place, shutting out the last of the evening light and entombing the Ithacans in darkness.
Eperitus passed the wineskin to Odysseus.
‘Do it now,’ he hissed.
Odysseus reached for the neck of the skin and Eperitus saw that his hands were shaking. The king looked guiltily at his captain. Omeros and Elpenor were transfixed by the sight of the monster and did not appear to notice.
‘Not yet,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Let him milk his animals first. I don’t want him distracted by thoughts of that.’
The Cyclops waved the huge ram from the rock by the fire and sat down. Pulling up two large bowls, he began milking – first the sheep, then the goats. After he had squeezed enou
gh milk from each animal, he plucked their young out of the pens and put them to their mothers, as he had done the night before and many hundreds of times before that. Then, while Eperitus was expecting him to begin curdling the milk, he leapt to his feet with a bellow that shook columns of dust from the ceiling and in three strides was at the back of the cave. He groped among the shadows and pulled out a man, whose shrill cries were even more intolerable to Eperitus’s ears than the roaring of the monster.
‘It’s Drakios!’ Omeros shouted, rising to his feet and aiming his spear.
The twang of a bowstring echoed through the cave, followed by another and then a third. In the darkness Eperitus could not see the fall of the arrows, but by his enraged scream he knew they had found their mark in the Cyclops’s thick hide. In his fury, the herdsman clenched his fist about Drakios, crushing him to a pulp. Then, with his other hand he reached into a corner of the cave and plucked out another Ithacan. By the bow falling from his hand Eperitus knew it was Antiphus.
Omeros gasped in horror, and then lifted his spear and took aim. Before he could hurl it at the Cyclops, Odysseus pulled the weapon from his grip and threw it into a corner.
‘Don’t be a fool! Throw that and you’ll be next.’
‘But –’
‘There’s nothing we can do for him now.’
Eperitus did not share Odysseus’s cool grasp of the situation. He could not. He had known Antiphus for twenty years, fought alongside him in countless battles, saved his life and been saved by him on many occasions. They were brothers. No, they were more than brothers, for Antiphus meant more to Eperitus than the family he had known back in Alybas. And as he saw his friend cry out in pain and horror, he abandoned all care for his own safety and dashed forward, sword in hand. An outcrop of rock lay halfway between him and the monster. Leaping onto it, he sprang high in the air, his blade already swinging in an arc towards the Cyclops’s thick neck. But the creature had sensed his approach. Releasing Drakios’s crushed corpse, he lashed out with his long, ape-like arm. The blow knocked the breath from Eperitus’s body and sent him flying back into the shadows, where he hit the floor hard and rolled back against a boulder. Stunned, he fought the pain that threatened to overwhelm him and tried to push himself up on one arm. For a moment it held his armoured weight. In that instant he looked up and saw Antiphus, his limbs locked tight within the Cyclops’s fingers and his face a mask of terror. Behind him was the great eye of the herdsman, a bloodshot disc with a saucer of deepest black at its centre. Then his mouth opened to reveal crooked yellow fangs, running with saliva as they closed over Antiphus’s head. Eperitus’s strength gave and he fell, sinking into the haze of his unconsciousness.
He did not know how long he had been insentient when he woke, but as he opened his eyes it was to the sound of Odysseus’s voice. Not close at hand, but at a distance, his captivating tones followed by a stony echo.
‘You may not be an honourable host, Cyclops, but my men and I – those of us you have left alive – respect the gods. I said we would pay you for what we have taken, and I’m a man of my word. Here, take this wine for the cheese and the animals we have eaten. You’ll not think you’ve had the worst of the bargain when you taste it.’
Eperitus raised himself on one elbow and looked up, blinking and widening his eyes until they found their focus. A little to his right was the rock from which he had launched his attack on the Cyclops. It was spattered with black gore that glistened in the firelight. In its shadow Eperitus could discern a severed foot, though whether this belonged to Drakios or Antiphus he did not want to know. To his left the Cyclops was sitting cross-legged by the fire, his body bathed in flickering yellow light and his face a mesh of shadows. Standing before him, separated only by the blazing hearth, was Odysseus, a large olive-wood bowl held out before him in both hands.
‘Do you think that because we Cyclopes don’t work the land like men that we can’t produce our own wine? My father is Poseidon; he sends the rain and parts the clouds for the sunshine, and the grapes grow by themselves. A fine crop year in, year out, without us having to lift a finger. I don’t need your wine.’
‘All the same, here it is. Take it or leave it,’ Odysseus said, placing the bowl on top of the rock that the Cyclops normally used for a seat. ‘We brought it as an offering in the hope you might treat us with kindness and tell us the way home. Doubtless Aeolus would have accepted it.’
‘Aeolus? What do you know of Aeolus? He’d have turned you out like the beggars you are.’
‘Then he doesn’t honour the gods. Another Cyclops, perhaps.’
At this the Cyclops gave a roar of laughter and slapped his knee with his bloody hands.
‘Ho, you clearly don’t know Aeolus! A Cyclops he is not. More a man than anything, though not mortal like you poor wretches. And with powers greater than any king of men.’
‘Surely not, my lord. For a king’s greatness doesn’t lie in his wealth or the size of his armies. It’s in his respect for the gods. All the power in the world won’t save a man if the Olympians are against him, but if they’re for him then what other power does he need? Yet if this Aeolus would have turned suppliants away like beggars, then he despises the gods and has no real power at all.’
‘Only the weak talk of power as something to be conferred or denied by the gods,’ the Cyclops responded with a snort. ‘But Aeolus’s power is his own, as you would have found out for yourself if you’d visited his island. Like me, he is not one to be treated with disrespect.’
‘We passed an island on the way here, half a day’s voyage to the south-east. That must have been Aeolus’s home.’
The Cyclops leaned forward on his knees and stared at Odysseus.
‘You think to play games with me, little mouse? I don’t know which is more insulting: that you believe me stupid enough to fall for your tricks, or that you still think you can escape and find your way to the home of Aeolus. You can’t. You will die here, two by two. And if you insult me again tonight, then don’t think I haven’t room in my stomach for more human flesh.’
Sensing the threat, Eperitus rose to his feet and walked over to join his king. Only when he reached his side did he realise his scabbard was empty and that his sword must be lying somewhere in the shadows, among the layers of dung. Both Odysseus and the Cyclops barely seemed to register his presence.
‘You shouldn’t gorge yourself and ruin such a rich meal,’ Odysseus said. ‘And a costly one at that. They were two of my best men and one was a great friend. Something you’ll never know living in this lonely hovel with nothing but sheep for company. The least you can do is honour their memory by drinking down their flesh with the wine I’ve brought you.’
‘They did taste good,’ the Cyclops conceded with a sneer, and picking up the bowl he drained it in one draft.
Eperitus saw the faintest flicker of a smile cross Odysseus’s mouth as the monster dropped the empty bowl back down on the rock.
‘That was good wine, my friend,’ the Cyclops said, leaning back and taking a deep breath. ‘Very good indeed. Give me another draught and in return I will give you a gift.’
‘Fetch me some more,’ Odysseus hissed, pointing Eperitus to where he had left the skin.
Eperitus grabbed the bowl from the rock – not wanting to spend any longer within arm’s reach of the herdsman – and retrieved the wineskin, which he handed to Odysseus. The king filled the bowl almost to the brim and walked forward with it held out before him. The Cyclops licked his lips and took Odysseus’s offering between thumb and forefinger, raising it carefully to his mouth so as not to spill any. Again he drained it to the dregs. This time, as he slapped it down on the rock, it bounced out of his fingers and rolled to a stop at Odysseus’s feet.
‘More!’ the Cyclops demanded.
‘I’m curious,’ Odysseus said, picking up the bowl.
The Cyclops frowned.
‘About what?’
‘About this man, Aeolus.’
‘He’s n
ot a man. Why don’t you listen? I told you he wasn’t a man.’
‘But like a man, you said. An immortal, but not a god I think.’
‘A favourite of the gods.’
‘Then surely you are wrong about him. If the gods favour him then he must first honour them. And if he honours the gods then he would have followed Zeus’s commands and treated us as his guests, not thrown us out like you suggest.’
‘What does it matter?’ the Cyclops shouted, throwing up his hands.
‘Of course it matters! Either he respects the gods or he doesn’t.’
‘Then he respects them! But if he’d taken you under his roof to keep favour with the gods, then the last thing you’d have been was welcome. Know this, little mouse: he does not take kindly to visitors, unless they come from Olympus. Why else would he live on an island ringed with bronze walls?’
‘You’ve visited this place?’ Odysseus asked, refilling the bowl and offering it to the Cyclops.
The monster eyed it greedily, savouring the dark liquid before tilting back his head and pouring it down his throat.
‘Visited? Don’t you ever listen, you fool? Didn’t you hear me say he hates visitors? Are you stupid?’
This time the bowl fell from his hands and bounced off the rock into the shadows. The Cyclops laughed as Eperitus ran to retrieve it.
‘Ho, little men scuttling about like mice.’
‘Then these bronze walls could just be a lie, invented by some sailor you devoured.’
‘Who’s lying?’ the Cyclops boomed. ‘Am I lying, did you say? Not I, little mouse. I haven’t visited Aeolus because he doesn’t like visitors, least of all Cyclopes. But I’ve stood on the hilltops up there,’ he gestured to the cave roof, ‘and seen his bronze walls in the distance, many a time, gleaming in the morning light.’
He dropped his elbows onto his knees and let his head fall into his hands. Odysseus looked round knowingly at Eperitus, so pleased his plan was working that he seemed to have momentarily forgotten his grief at Antiphus’s death.
