by Glyn Iliffe
‘Very well, then, I’ll go alone.’
‘Take me,’ said Elpenor, who until that point had sat quietly at Omeros’s side. ‘I’ll go with you.’
Odysseus shook his head.
‘Stay here, lad. I wanted Eurylochus to show me the way, but I can just as easily follow the smoke. Other than that, this is a job for one man.’
‘You’re being reckless, Odysseus,’ Eurybates chided him. ‘It’s late afternoon already. Wait until the morning and a few of us will come with you.’
‘The morning might be too late. Take charge of the camp, my friend, and if I’m not back by midday tomorrow then sail without me. Those are my orders.’
‘You say that every time.’
‘And every time I come back, don’t I?’
Dusty beams of sunlight angled down through the trees and lit up the patches of small white flowers that carpeted the woodland floor. The smell of smoke was growing stronger and, though there was no path that he could find through the undergrowth, he knew he was nearing his goal. He became aware of a distant humming, which aroused his curiosity for a while before his thoughts returned to the fate of his men, and in particular Eperitus. Without half his crew the return home would be more difficult, but still possible; without Eperitus, it would be possible but incomplete. He was more than just a comrade in arms; he was a part of Odysseus’s identity. Eperitus had been there with him through all the triumphs and tragedies of his life. He was a living link to all he had ever done, a part of his past that was with him every day. And he was just as essential to his future. With the daily dangers of the war behind them and home – possibly – just over the next horizon, he was suddenly conscious of how much he needed his friend. Eperitus was not just his right hand, but his conscience; like a polished brass mirror that reflected his virtues and his vices. Eperitus kept the excesses of his character in check and reinforced his qualities, and without him he knew he was lost.
‘Are you lost, my lord?’
Odysseus jerked his sword from its scabbard and turned. A man stood a short distance away, silhouetted by a shaft of golden sunlight.
‘Who are you?’
‘A friend.’
‘Elpenor?’
Odysseus shielded his eyes against the light and saw that it was, indeed, the young Ithacan, though he had exchanged his usual brown cloak for a black one – a garment so black that no light seemed able to rest on it; as if a hole had been torn in the living world to reveal the darkness of Hades beneath – and his naïve expression had been replaced with one of weariness with the world.
‘I’ve come to help you, my lord.’
‘If I’d wanted your help I wouldn’t have ordered you to remain with the others.’
Elpenor allowed the allusion of a smile to touch his sad face.
‘But you do need my help. The woman you seek is called Circe, a sorceress whose power you cannot begin to imagine.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘And Athena told me you were intelligent.’
Odysseus’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the goddess’s name. Then he looked at the young man walking in a slow circle around him, his cloak like night as it flowed around his ankles, and saw that his sandals were flanked on both sides with wings – not fastened onto satisfy some strange quirk of the wearer’s character, but living wings that flexed as if restless for flight. Immediately he fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands.
‘My lord Hermes.’
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Odysseus felt fear; as far as most mortals were concerned, Hermes had but one purpose.
‘Don’t be afraid, King Odysseus. I have not come to guide your soul to the Underworld. Your life is still yours – at least for now. If you want matters to remain that way, you’d do well to regain your feet and listen to what I have to tell you.’
Odysseus had seen gods in their full glory before and had little desire to do so again. Cautiously he tilted his head upwards and opened an eye. Hermes, though, had retained his disguise as Elpenor. He rose to his feet.
‘What has happened to my men?’
‘They live, though you would not recognise them. This island is full of creatures that were once men, but whom Circe has transformed into representations of their true selves. Some were foolish enough to threaten her.’
‘And the rest?’
‘It amused her, I think, to keep them as her pets. Pirates became wolves, proud sailors of Phaeacia she turned into lions, others became donkeys or stags as befitted their characters. And what, I wonder, might you have become, Odysseus? A king among the lions – or a prince among snakes?’
Odysseus gave him a sharp look.
‘Were all the animals on this island once men?’
‘Perhaps you are thinking of the stag you shot yesterday?’ Hermes answered with a slight grin. ‘All I can tell you is that not all are, and those that drank of Circe’s potion tend to stay close to her house. Like dogs faithful to their mistress.’
‘And what of my crew?’
‘Pigs, I’m afraid. The sorceress has a way of understanding men.’
‘But there must be a way to release them from the spell.’
Hermes nodded.
‘It will not be easy. Only Circe can undo her own magic and she will not do it under threat. You must win her over, Odysseus, and not by trickery. First she will try to add you to her menagerie, so you must protect yourself.’
‘How?’
‘With these.’
He indicated the carpet of white flowers that pushed up through the dirt, grass and fallen leaves of the forest floor. Odysseus stooped to pick one.
‘Stop!’ Hermes warned, placing his hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. ‘It is not safe for mortals to pluck moly. Aphrodite and Circe detest each other, so the goddess placed these flowers here as antidotes against Circe’s magic for anyone who eats them. As soon as Circe realised this, she knew she could not remove them against Aphrodite’s will so she enchanted them instead. Any mortal who pulls up the moly flower will forget who he is at once.’
Hermes bent down and grasped the stem of one of the plants, tugging it out of the soil with a gentle flick of his wrist. He held it out before Odysseus, who looked at its spindly black roots with distrust.
‘It’s quite safe,’ the god reassured him.
‘Is there an alternative?’
‘Of course. Circe’s magic cannot transform those of pure intent. If you approach her with honesty and tell her you want your men back, keeping no other desires hidden in your heart, her potion will fail.’
‘And if she refuses my request?’
‘You will have to return to your galley and sail away with only half your crew.’
‘Then give me the moly,’ Odysseus said, holding his hand out.
Hermes laid the delicate plant on his extended palm and looked him in the eye.
‘Once you have eaten the herb – the whole herb, mind you – you will be safe from her magic. But you still have to persuade her to turn your crew back to their normal selves. After you have drank her potion she will strike you with her wand. When you remain in your natural form, she will think you are a man of pure heart – the one she has been waiting for all these years on her lonely island. Then she will offer herself to you. Do not refuse to sleep with her. It is dangerous for any mortal to refuse the advances of a demigod, but if you want your men back you must give her what she wants. First make her swear an oath by all the Olympians that she will not try to turn you or any of your men into animals again, then it will be safe to lie with her.’
‘And if I don’t want to lie with her?’
‘Then your crew will stay swine until the ends of their days,’ Hermes replied, turning to leave. ‘Odysseus, you must decide between restoring your men and remaining true to Penelope. Choose the former and they may help you find your way back to Ithaca and the woman your heart truly desires; choose the latter and your return may not happen at all. What’s mo
re, only Circe can tell you how to get back home. She will not share that information with you if you deny yourself to her. Good luck, Odysseus.’
Odysseus watched him wander off through the trees until his black cloak had blended completely with the deepening shadows. Then he looked down at the moly in his hand. More than most he knew the help of the gods came at a price, but this time they were asking too much. For a moment he was tempted to toss the little herb away. And yet if Hermes himself had chosen to intervene it was unlikely there was another way to defend himself from Circe’s magic. As for his men, his cunning had helped him through worse trials before and would serve him again now, without the need to betray his wife.
Quickly he put the herb in his mouth and chewed. The taste was bitter and he had to close his eyes and force it down. When he opened them again he caught a flash of white through the trees. A little further on was a clearing with a stone house. Smoke was rising from the roof, and at once Odysseus knew it was the house Eurylochus had described. He ran to the edge of the glade, where lions and wolves were lying on the grass before the portico. Several sties stood at the side of the house. In one he could see a crowd of pink backs jostling against each other. The sound of grunting and snuffling cut to his heart and brought tears to the corners of his eyes. Grim-faced with determination, he strode across the lawn towards the house. The lions and wolves sprang up at his approach and some walked towards him on their hind legs, just as Eurylochus had described. They reminded him of trained bears, evoking nothing, but as they tried to crowd him away from the house, he pushed through them and took the steps up to the covered porch.
Two large doors of polished wood stood before him. Somewhere inside, a woman was singing. He hesitated a moment, then beat the heel of his fist three times against the doors. The singing stopped at once and for while he wondered if he had scared the occupant into hiding. Then the doors swung open to reveal a woman with pale skin and long red hair. She wore a green chiton that left one breast exposed and through which her naked body was clearly visible. Her beauty – like all who had been touched with the blood of the immortals – was flawless and striking, and her large green eyes were entirely without fear as they regarded him.
‘Welcome stranger,’ she said, turning and moving to a long table set for one. ‘Come in and eat with me.’
Her words seemed to compel him, and as he walked forward she pulled round a chair and invited him to sit. He fought against the desire to obey her and remained standing.
‘I’ve come to find my men,’ he began, clumsily. Something about the presence of the woman fogged his thoughts and it was as much as he could do to blurt out the first words that came into his head. ‘I sent half my crew to investigate a pillar of smoke I had seen rising from the forest. We are lost and our voyage has been long and arduous to the point of despair, so I had hoped they would find a ready welcome and a place for us all to seek respite. But only one returned.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That his comrades entered this house and never came out again.’
‘And yet you have come alone. Are you not afraid of succumbing to the same fate as the others?’
‘Of course, but that doesn’t mean I should abandon them to it. Are they here?’
‘They are my guests.’
‘Then bring me to them at once,’ Odysseus asserted.
Circe smiled.
‘You will be reunited with them soon enough. But first, sit down and rest from your troubles while my maids prepare you a broth. Though I am but a woman,’ she demurred, ‘I will not have it said I am a poor host. When you have eaten we can talk more about these men of yours.’
She pointed at the silver-studded chair and this time he sat. A young woman brought a footstool and lifted his feet onto it, while Circe went to the hearth and spooned a steaming liquid from a cauldron into a golden bowl. She carried it to him and placed it in his cupped hands.
‘Drink, stranger, and put your burdens aside while you can. Then I will bring you to your comrades.’
As she spoke, her hand reached out and found a gnarled stick that had been lying on the seat of a chair. Odysseus felt the warmth of the bowl against the palms of his hands and smelled the rich aromas wafting up from the broth, powerfully alluring despite the dangerous drug that he knew it contained. Not wishing to arouse Circe’s suspicions, he pushed aside his hesitation and raised the bowl to his lips. It was hot but drinkable and the taste and feel of it as he swallowed soothed away the tiredness that had hung about his limbs like leaden weights for weeks. He took another mouthful, then placed the bowl on the table and looked up at Circe. She was smiling, but there was no warmth in her expression. Instead her beautiful features were hard and cold as she raised her stick and struck him on the shoulder.
‘Your wish is granted, stranger. Go join your friends in the pigsty.’
Odysseus hesitated, half expecting to feel the first pains of the unnatural transformation Circe had intended for him. But when no signs of change came, and when he saw Circe’s look of triumph turn to doubt and confusion, he reached for his sword and drew it. Realising her magic had not worked, she looked down at his blade and stumbled backwards.
‘What kind of man are you that you can drink my potion and be touched by my wand but retain your human form?’
‘Not the kind you can turn into a lion or a wolf, or indeed a pig!’ he answered, stepping towards her.
‘But I have the power to turn any man into a reflection of his true self,’ she insisted. ‘Unless… unless you are the one I was told to expect: a man whose noble character would be able to resist my enchantments.’
Odysseus’s mouth was touched by a sneer. ‘All men are animals at heart, even if their souls struggle against the yearnings of their inner nature. Now, take me to my men and release them from your spell.’
Despite her shock at the failure of her magic, she looked at him and laughed.
‘They are what they were meant to be, and the threat of your sword won’t save them from that.’
He lunged forward and seized her by the hair, forcing her down onto the table and pressing the edge of his weapon against her soft white throat.
‘Do as I tell you!’
She glowered up at him, half in pain, half in anger. He could feel the soft warmth of her body beneath him as she struggled against his greater bulk. One hand gripped his wrist while the other still clung to the gnarled wand.
‘You seem to forget I am not a mortal. If you harm me, all you will do is invoke my anger. Not that you can harm me!’
She struck his sword with her wand. He felt the pommel go soft and pliant in his hand and, looking down, saw that he was holding a blood-red snake. It hissed loudly as it curled round to face him, its long fangs and flickering tongue hideous and threatening. He reeled back in shock and threw the serpent onto the table. It clattered loudly across the surface, a sword once more.
‘What is your name?’ Circe asked, pushing herself up from the table with her elbows.
Her hair had come loose and lay tangled across her chest, while the skin of her neck was marked red where Odysseus had pressed his sword against it. He watched her chest rising and falling rapidly and saw that the blood had risen to her white cheeks, but if anything she looked more beautiful in her vulnerability than she had with all the self-confidence of her powers. He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes. My men and I mean no harm to you. We simply want to return home.’
She drew close and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his.
‘Many men have come to my shores over the years, but none like you. In all that time I have slept alone, waiting and suffering, surrounded by those who failed the test. You did not fail.’
Odysseus drew back and shook his hand from hers.
‘My lady, I too have spent years sleeping alone, keeping myself for the one whom destiny has chosen for me. But I am not the one you are waiting for.’
‘You are the one, Odysseus, and has not your destiny brought you here? Come to bed with me and end this emptiness we both feel.’
‘You ask me to treat you with the tenderness of a lover, and yet you have acted with nothing but contempt towards me. First you use your magic on my men, then you try the same with me. But by the will of the gods you have failed. Now, restore my men to me and tell us how to return to Ithaca and we will honour you with half the treasures we’ve brought back with us from Troy.’
Circe smiled and drew close again, taking his hand and holding it against her hip.
‘What need do I have for gold, or copper cauldrons, or slaves? Everything I require is on this island, and I have my nymphs to serve me. No, there is but one thing you can offer me, Odysseus. Sleep with me and your men will be freed. Deny me,’ she added, taking his hand again and leading him towards a door at the far end of the room, ‘and they will remain swine forever.’
Odysseus followed her like an animal being led to water. The intelligence that had always offered him a solution to every challenge now seemed lost in an impenetrable fog. In twenty years he had never once betrayed Penelope’s trust in him, though as a king he could have taken any woman he wanted and she would have been powerless to stop him. Their marriage, though, had not been founded on a need for wealth or alliances, or to establish power; indeed, he had spurned Helen and her father’s kingdom of Sparta with her, just to be with Penelope. And while he had not seen her for half of their married years, the love that had bound him to her had never waned or been displaced by desire for another. But the choice now was not between one love and another, or between love and lust; it was between faithfulness to Penelope and the lives of his men; between struggling on with half a crew through a netherworld that offered no escape, or having a full complement of sailors and the help of a sorceress who, Hermes had said, could tell him how to return to Ithaca; between an ever diminishing hope of seeing his family again, and the near certainty of it. Even if he could bring himself to abandon twenty men who had proved their disloyalty again and again since leaving Troy, what of Eperitus and Polites? In particular, how could he abandon his one true friend: the man who had stood by him in everything, saving his life on countless occasions, not to mention his honour, sanity and sense of humanity? He could not. If he wanted Eperitus back, if he ever wanted to see Penelope and Telemachus and Ithaca again, what choice did he have?
