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

by Glyn Iliffe

  ‘It hardly weighs anything,’ he told the others.

  ‘Open it anyway,’ said the greybeard.

  ‘Yes, open it, Eurylochus,’ said another. ‘Let’s see what he’s been keeping from us.’

  ‘Stop, you fools, before it’s too late.’

  But Omeros’s pleas were in vain. Eurylochus had already unpicked the knot in the silver cord and was pulling it loose. A terrific blast blew the bag apart and threw Eurylochus across the deck. The escaping gale rushed out in every direction, hurling crew, slaves and livestock against the bow rails and crushing Astynome into the prow. She watched, wide-eyed with terror, as the winds spiralled several times around the galley then drew together into a towering whirlwind that twisted upwards, past the mast and into the sky above. It hovered briefly over the ship, tottering like a great tree in a storm, then with a howl of fury tore itself into three and swooped down over the surface of the sea. Water that had been almost flat moments before was churned into a maelstrom of swirling waves that spun the galley about like a small log. Two children were picked up by the winds and blown across the deck. Astynome caught one by the forearm, but the other was sucked over the bow rail and was gone in a moment, her screams swallowed by the deafening roar. A wave swept over the deck. Astynome grabbed the bow rail with her free hand and tried to steady herself, but felt the other child’s arm slip from her weakening grip.

  ‘Take my arm with your other hand,’ she cried out in her native tongue.

  But the child could not hear her or was too terrified to react. Her pleading eyes looked into Astynome’s and then a second wave washed her away. Astynome reached after her and fell across the bow rail. The sea raged below her, hungry for another victim. And then a new wave broke over the deck and took her legs from under her.

  At the same moment something caught her and pulled her back.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ Odysseus shouted. ‘I’ve got you both.’

  He pushed her down under the shelter of the bow rail and gave the frightened child into her arms. Astynome clutched the girl tightly and looked up at the drenched and wind-blown figure of the king. The mast was behind him, the sail flapping loose and twisting in the ferocious gale. Then she remembered Eperitus.

  ‘Where’s Eperitus?’ she shouted.

  He knelt beside her.

  ‘I don’t know. Can you tell me what happened?’

  The wind almost stripped his voice from him, but she understood what he was asking her.

  ‘They opened the bag.’

  The confirmation of what he must have known took the fight out of him and he collapsed beside her, hiding his face in his hands.

  ‘What have they done? What have they done!’

  The galley pitched again and another wave crashed over the decks. Odysseus struggled to his knees and clutched the bow rail, staring into the storm with tears streaming down his face and a desperate look in his eyes. Then he threw off his cloak and sword and climbed onto the prow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Astynome shouted, seizing a handful of his tunic.

  ‘I can swim to her.’

  ‘You’ll never make it. The sea’s too rough.’

  ‘Then let the sea take me!’ he snapped. ‘A few moments of pain and then the gods can’t torment me any more. Don’t you see, Astynome? They’re never going to let us be together again.’

  She tried to pull him back, but he prised her hands away and looked down at the snapping jaws of the waiting sea.

  ‘Do it! Jump and save us all from the curse the gods have put on you!’

  It was Selagos. But if his words were meant to encourage Odysseus’s madness, then they failed. As the king stared out at the raging waters, Astynome could see the flames of self-destruction slowly fade from his eyes.

  ‘Come back down, Odysseus,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘The gods won’t keep you from her forever, but death will. Come back down.’

  He lowered his face in a final indulgence of his hopeless sorrow, then dropped back down to the deck. He turned his gaze on the Taphian.

  ‘Damn you, Selagos. Now grab hold of those ropes and get that sail under control. If we ever needed your strength, it’s now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE LAESTRYGONIANS

  Cursed by the gods.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Eperitus asked.

  Odysseus turned, surprised to see his friend standing behind him.

  ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.’

  ‘Of course I heard you,’ Eperitus replied, leaning on the bow rail beside the king and watching the dolphins racing alongside the galley. ‘But what do you mean?’

  ‘They were Aeolus’s last words before he sent me away. He refused to give further help to a man who was cursed by the gods.’

  After the winds had been released from the bag, Aeolus had recalled them to Aeolia. But he had not expected the Ithacan fleet to return with them, and his reception on their second visit had been curt and hostile. That had been a week ago, and with the ships still needing proper repairs, Odysseus was anxious to find a protected harbour with plenty of wood close to hand.

  ‘We can find our way back without the gods,’ Eperitus said with a shrug.

  ‘Can we? We’re back in this strange other-world, where the stars are confused and we’ve no idea of the way home. And we were so close, Eperitus. Damn Eurylochus.’

  ‘Damn him? You should have killed him, cousin or not. And that Taphian henchman of his. They’re at the heart of the discontent in this fleet.’

  ‘I’m not a tyrant, Eperitus, and I can’t lead the army by strict discipline and summary execution. Besides, I’ve dealt with the matter.’

  ‘By splitting them up and transferring them to different galleys, where they can just spread mutiny to more of the fleet.’

  Odysseus shook his head and Eperitus regretted pushing the point.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s not an easy matter to deal with. If it’s any solace, I’m glad you’re king and not me. I’d make a horrid mess of everything.’

  ‘You’d get on with the job, Eperitus, and that isn’t such a bad approach. Sometimes I wonder whether I don’t think too deeply about things. It didn’t work with Aeolus – I should have seen that an honest appeal would have served us better. In truth, we wouldn’t even be in this mess if I’d followed my instincts and obeyed Athena in the first place. Sometimes intelligence is more a curse than a blessing.’

  ‘Maybe. But it was intelligence – your intelligence – that conquered Troy, not the brute strength of Achilles, Ajax and the rest of us.’

  ‘Land!’

  Both men looked to the stern where Eurybates was standing on tiptoes and shading his eyes. Eperitus followed the direction of his gaze and saw a bar of land low to the horizon on their starboard side. He wondered what challenges it would hold, but for the crew struggling at the oars for their seventh day – Aeolus had refused them any assisting wind after turning them away from his island – any landfall would be a welcome relief from their labours. Several moved to the bow rail for a better view, causing the galley to list and forcing Eperitus to order them back to their benches. He followed Odysseus to the stern, where Eurybates was already steering a course towards the distant coastline. The rest of the fleet followed, the oars of each vessel dipping and rising in the still waters with renewed vigour as the landmass began to take shape. By now everyone could see they were approaching an island. A handful of low mountains rose from its centre, but only Eperitus’s eyes could see the jagged rocks that encircled its high grey cliffs, waiting to chew holes in any wooden hull that dared come near. He was also the first to see the only break in the barrier: a gap between two steep headlands that opened into a large cove.

  ‘There,’ he announced, pointing. ‘A harbour. It’s the only safe place on the whole coast.’

  Odysseus nodded to Eurybates, who altered course towards the cove. Soon, the jutting promontories that overlooked the entrance were visible to all. Each was skirted by a s
hingle beach, while on the headland on the left a series of irregularities formed a stair to the clifftop above.

  ‘Make for that beach, Eurybates,’ Odysseus said. ‘Eperitus and I will climb to the top and see what we can see of the rest of the island.’

  The beak of the galley bumped against the black shingle and Odysseus jumped down into the water with a cable that he tied fast about a shoulder of rock. One by one, the rest of the fleet passed between the stone sentinels into the calm waters of the cove. Here, in the shadow of the high ring of cliffs, they would be safe from any change in the weather for as long as it took the Ithacans to make their repairs. The splash of anchors being tossed into the water and the shouts of the crews echoed loudly in the enclosed space.

  Eperitus jumped down and joined Odysseus.

  ‘They’re making enough noise in there to bring every enemy within earshot down on us,’ he complained. ‘Let’s pray there’s nothing more than a few goats in this place.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Odysseus replied. He was studying the steps that led up the side of the headland. ‘Look at these. There’s little craftsmanship to them, but there’s no mistaking they’ve been carved by men.’

  ‘These weren’t made by men. The steps are much too high. Perhaps we’ve found our way back to the land of the Cyclopes.’

  ‘By all the gods, I hope not,’ Odysseus said, tugging at his red beard. ‘No, that’s impossible. We’ve maintained a true north-easterly course, away from the Cyclopes. But it’s worth having a look around before we settle down for the night.’ He turned back to the ship and signalled to two men who were watching them from the bow rail. ‘Perimedes, Oicles, get down here. And bring your weapons.’

  The steps were roughly hewn and steep, but at the top they were rewarded with a clear view of the harbour below – half-filled by the Ithacan fleet – and the country beyond. The island was covered with dense woodland that crept down from the sides of the mountains to fill the undulating contours of the land. A thin trail of smoke was rising from a fold in the hills to the west.

  ‘At least that confirms the island’s populated,’ Eperitus commented.

  ‘Yes, but by whom?’ Odysseus replied. He paused in thought, his arms folded. ‘Take Oicles and Perimedes and head for the smoke. If you find who made it and they’re friendly, send Oicles back with a message for the rest of us to join you. If they’re hostile, get back here as quick as you can. We’ll not do anything else until you return.’

  Eperitus nodded and, with Oicles and Perimedes trailing behind, set off along a dirt track that led into the woods. Inside, the trees were tall and their trunks thick with age. The late season had turned the canopy a variety of browns, reds and deep oranges, while dusty spokes of sunlight penetrated the gaps in the canopy to illuminate the gloom. The ground was thick with fallen leaves, but the path remained clear as it led them twisting and turning to the north-west.

  ‘Someone maintains this path,’ Perimedes said as they walked, his spear resting casually over his shoulder. ‘Someone tall enough to reach all the way up there and strip off new branches.’

  Eperitus saw where whole boughs had been torn away high above them.

  ‘Why would anyone bother to pull down branches?’ Oicles asked, dismissively.

  ‘To keep them out of their faces.’

  ‘That high up? Don’t be a fool, Perimedes.’

  ‘He’s right though,’ Eperitus said. ‘You saw the size of those steps we had to climb. Whoever made them – whoever made this path – is twice our size. You remember the Cyclops.’

  ‘You’re saying there’re more of those things?’ Oicles said. ‘Then why in the name of Hades are we looking for them? Shouldn’t we just go back to Odysseus and tell him the island is full of monsters?’

  ‘Not until I’ve seen them with my own eyes,’ Eperitus replied and continued walking.

  Perimedes followed without objection and, after a nervous glance into the murky depths on either side, Oicles joined them. The path continued upwards and then began descending again. After a while the woods started to thin out and they saw open land through the trees ahead of them. Eperitus signalled for his companions to slow down and spread out. Clutching his spear in both hands, he approached the eaves at a crouch and hid behind a tree. Peering cautiously from behind it he saw he was at the edge of a sunlit meadow that lay between two arms of a low mountain. Before him the ground sloped away over a ridge before rising up again on the other side. Hearing the trickle of water, he advanced to the edge of the ridge and saw a stunted tree growing from a rocky outcrop below. Its branches overhung a pool of bubbling water from which a small stream trickled away down the hillside. A figure was moving at the edge of the pool and Eperitus instinctively dropped to his stomach. Hearing Oicles and Perimedes approaching behind him, he motioned for them to get down.

  ‘What is it?’ Perimedes whispered as he crawled up beside him.

  ‘A woman, I think.’

  ‘She’s big!’ Oicles said.

  The figure was indeed tall and broad-shouldered, though with narrow hips. She was dressed in a long blue tunic of coarse wool and was filling a clay jar from the spring. Eperitus knew at once she was not a Cyclops, and the fact she was dressed in homespun clothing suggested civilisation. As he watched she began to sing. It was not a language that he recognised, but her voice was clear and melodious and dispelled the last of his caution. Giving his spear to Perimedes, he stood up and walked down the slope.

  ‘Please, my lady,’ he began.

  At the sound of his voice the figure turned sharply and dropped the clay jar on the grass. She had a lumpish, oversized body and a heavy-jawed face, but the eyes belonged to a child of no more than perhaps five or six years old. Eperitus was as shocked as she was and stepped back in momentary horror before collecting himself and holding up his hands.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I just want to speak with you.’

  The girl turned to run, but Perimedes and Oicles had skirted round behind her and blocked her escape with levelled spears. She stumbled back, her face filled with desperate fear.

  ‘Where is your father?’ Eperitus asked.

  Whether she understood was not clear, but she pointed up the slope to where an arm of the mountain formed a low cliff. In its shadow were several large wooden dwellings, unprotected by a ditch or stockade. At the centre of the village stood a tall building with a high roof, from which a twist of dark smoke was rising. It was the same one that Eperitus and Odysseus had spotted from the headland.

  ‘Antiphates,’ the girl said, pointing harder. ‘Antiphates.’

  Eperitus caught a glimpse of her teeth as she spoke and felt a shudder of revulsion. His hand automatically clutched at the pommel of his sword and he had to consciously pull it away. Then, mastering his unease, he retrieved the jar the girl had dropped and placed it in the grass at her feet. She did not touch it, but simply stared at him as he backed away up the slope to join his comrades.

  ‘Surely you’re not going up there?’ Oicles protested. ‘That thing’s just a child; imagine the size of the adults!’

  ‘We have our orders.’

  ‘But you saw her teeth.’

  ‘Of course I saw them!’ Eperitus snapped.

  He strode towards the village. Perimedes caught up with him and handed him his spear.

  ‘Oicles is right, Eperitus.’

  ‘Odysseus told us to find out who lives here and make contact with them. And that’s exactly what we’ll do.’

  ‘He wasn’t asking us to throw our lives away!’ Perimedes persisted. ‘Whatever lives up there is dangerous. I can feel it in my blood. I think we should go back and report what we’ve seen.’

  Eperitus did not reply because he had the same feeling. But if the fleet was to lie up and lick its wounds from the storm then they had to know what sort of people inhabited the island and whether they posed a threat.

  Deep, rumbling voices came from behind the closed doors of the first house they pa
ssed, though Eperitus did not understand the words that were spoken. He had an overwhelming sense, despite the girl’s clay jar, her woven dress and the carefully constructed dwellings of the village – all signs of a civilised and functioning society – that they were walking into a nest of unspeakable savagery. He wondered whether the villagers were aware of their presence and whether hostile eyes were already watching them. But as they walked quietly between the large wooden huts, they did not hear a door open or the sound of a single footstep. Not until they reached the threshold of the largest building. Its towering doors swung open before him to reveal a woman of almost twice his own height. She wore a plain dress and cloak and her weathered face was brutal and ugly, with a heavy jaw that reminded him of the child at the spring. Her eyes were almost entirely black and stared at him from beneath a single eyebrow, as surprised to see Eperitus as he was to see her. Clutching at the door jamb, she leaned back into the palace and shouted.

  ‘Antiphates,’ her voice boomed, following the name with a flow of unintelligible words.

  Eperitus stepped back hurriedly to stand between Perimedes and Oicles, whose spears were at the ready.

  ‘Put them down,’ he instructed. ‘We don’t want to provoke them. They could be friendly.’

  Perimedes gave him a look that told him exactly what he thought of that. Another giant stepped from the gloom of the open doorway. He wore a scarlet cloak and a woollen tunic that reached down to his knees, and across his brow was a silver diadem. He glowered at the men with dark, bloodshot eyes.

  ‘I am Antiphates, lord of the Laestrygonians,’ he announced in a voice that struggled to form the words. ‘Who gave you permission to come to my island?’

  ‘Our ships were damaged in –’ Eperitus began.