by Glyn Iliffe
Yes. Now you understand, Eperitus. You will be safe with us, You, Astynome, Odysseus, all of you.
A strong hand took his upper arm and turned him forcefully about. It was Odysseus.
‘I know you can hear them, Eperitus,’ he said. ‘They’re calling you to them, aren’t they? Just as Circe said they would.’
‘You’ll hear them for yourself soon and then you’ll understand.’
‘I intend to listen, but you were never meant to. Here, put these in your ears before they have you jumping overboard.’
Eperitus looked at the balls of wax in the palm of Odysseus’s hand, then at Omeros and Polites standing either side of him. He spun round and tried to climb onto the bow rail, but Polites seized hold of his arms and pulled him back. Against his great strength there was no escape. He pinned Eperitus’s arms to his sides while Odysseus held his jaw with one hand and pressed the lumps of soft wax firmly into each ear. At the king’s instruction, Omeros unknotted the filthy scarf from Eperitus’s neck and wound it like a bandage around his head, covering his ears and keeping the wax in place. The voices stopped at once. The power of their music snapped like a bowstring and the beautiful emotions that had filled his eyes with tears crumbled away to leave him empty and sad once more. Then Polites released him and Astynome appeared, slipping her arms about him and pulling his head onto her shoulder.
The strong wind that had driven them forward from Aeaea now fell away, leaving the galley in a dead calm. Odysseus called to the crew to raise the sail and take down the cross spar, but with their ears blocked they looked at him dumbfounded, forcing him to signal his orders. Several rose from their benches to carry out his command before returning and sliding the oars out into the gently moving ocean.
Eperitus sent Astynome back to the stern with the Trojan women and their children – whose ears were also blocked with wax – then joined the rest of the crew at the oars. Odysseus now turned to Omeros and Polites, who were busy kneading the hard wax with their fingers to soften it.
‘We’re approaching the lair of the Sirens,’ he told them. ‘I warned everyone about them before we sailed and now we’ve seen the effect of their voices on Eperitus. Now, stop up your ears as closely as you can and take your places at the oars.’
Omeros offered two balls of wax to Odysseus, but the king shook his head.
‘I want to hear their song.’
‘So you can jump overboard like Eperitus tried to do?’ Omeros asked.
‘No. You’re going to tie me to the mast as securely as you can. If I try to break free or order you to release me then you’re to pull the bonds tighter. Do you understand?’
They nodded reluctantly and fetched a coil of rope. While Odysseus positioned himself against the mast, they wound the cord round his legs and body, pinning his arms to his sides until the only part of him that could move was his head. Then the two men joined their comrades at the benches and pulled the long oars that sped the galley across the becalmed sea.
The air was eerily still, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the blades hitting the water. There were no gulls to be heard or seen hovering over the waves, a sure sign to any sailor that something was not right. Odysseus noticed that the eagles he and Eperitus had observed earlier were nowhere in sight. The island was a hazy blue at that distance, but he could see the white surf that skirted it and also thought he could make out pale flowers gleaming on its grassy slopes. Then he heard the voices. His body tensed and he tilted his head towards the sound of the Sirens’ song.
For as long as he could remember, Odysseus’s consciousness had been dominated by thought. Every experience, every sentiment, every challenge and every pleasure had been analysed, interpreted and filtered through the sieve of his mind; but the beautiful music that now filled his ears spoke directly into his heart. The constant chattering of his thoughts was stilled and tears rolled down his cheeks as his emotions flowed unchecked: joy, sadness, love, anger, belief and fear, rolling together as one as if he were experiencing them for the first time. And perhaps he was, for he had never known such purity of feeling. He thought of his mother and the grief was all-consuming; he thought of Penelope and the depth of his love for her was overwhelming. So many passions, breaking through the crust that had formed around them over the years and leaving him as helpless as a child. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, and there was nothing his normally powerful mind could do to save him from it.
Then, when he was at his most vulnerable, the voice spoke.
We know what it is you fear.
The words were like a sword to his throat.
‘I don’t want to know,’ he shouted, oblivious to the nervous looks from the men on the benches. ‘I don’t want to know.’
What is it to us what you want or don’t want, Odysseus? You are just a mortal, but we are like the gods. And you will hear us.
The voices were as soothing as balm and beautiful beyond comprehension, and yet the words they spoke were like the teeth of a saw severing the taut strings of his emotions.
‘Leave me alone! I’ll do whatever you want.’
What followed was not more words but a vision, forming out of the music of the Sirens’ voices. He was standing at the door of his own palace on Ithaca, unable to enter. The great hall was filled with handsome young men, all of them naked. They stood in a circle, shouting and punching the air with their fists like spectators at a cockfight. He moved his head from side to side, trying to see what they were watching but only able to snatch glimpses from between the crowd of legs. Then they parted, only briefly, while a sweating man was dragged from the floor and pushed out of the circle of onlookers. In that short opening Odysseus saw a woman lying on her back, as naked as the men around her, while another man was already pressing himself onto her. Before the circle closed again he saw the woman was Penelope, and that she was laughing as she pulled the man into her.
Odysseus screamed his anger and despair. He tried to rush into the great hall but realised the ropes that tied him to the mast were holding him back.
‘Release me,’ he shouted. ‘Untie me now!’
The faces of Polites and Omeros appeared before him, their fingers pulling at the ropes. But instead of loosening his bonds, they pulled them tighter. Then, when the faces were gone, he heard the voices again.
We know what it is you fear.
‘No,’ he pleaded. ‘Haven’t I already said I’ll do whatever you want?’
The voices began to sing again, lovely and terrifying beyond measure, conjuring up a new vision before his eyes. A young man in a ship with his comrades, his face hauntingly familiar.
‘Telemachus,’ Odysseus called, wanting to reach out but feeling again the tight cords that pinned his arms to his sides.
Another ship filled with armed men drew alongside, crunching through the oars of Telemachus’s galley. The crew of the second ship leapt aboard, striking down Telemachus’s comrades with their swords. Odysseus strained against his ropes as Telemachus drew his own weapon before disappearing beneath a crowd of attackers.
‘Stop this,’ Odysseus begged, closing his eyes. ‘Stop it.’
The image faded and was replaced by the voices of the Sirens.
You will find peace with us, Odysseus. Only with us. Steer for our island and we will relieve you of the burdens you have carried for so long. Are we not like the gods?
‘I want to. I’ve had enough of all this. I want to rest.’
Then join us. Order your crew to row for our island.
‘But I can’t.’
Doesn’t a king do as he pleases? the voice asked, more sternly now. Tell your helmsman to turn aside. A great feast awaits you and your men.
‘But their ears are blocked with wax. They couldn’t hear me even if I did as you command.’
There was a moment of silence. Then the air was rent with a terrifying scream, as hideous as the song had been beautiful. Odysseus’s skin crept at the sound of it. As the scream died away it was followed by the bea
ting of wings. He opened his eyes and saw a figure on the prow, a figure so repugnant it filled him with terror. It had the body of an eagle, but one the size of a donkey. Its talons grasped the bow rail as it swayed slightly with the motion of the ship, but its head was that of a girl, a mere child, so small and out of place on its feathered shoulders. And yet the head was more dreadful than the body, for its eyes were blood red and its mouth hung open to reveal long curving fangs that ran with drool. Even with their ears plugged and their backs turned, the crew sensed its shadow fall across them and looked around in horror. They cried out as one and, abandoning their oars, fought with each other to get away from the Siren. Many simply threw themselves to the deck in abject surrender to their fate. But the monster paid them no attention. Its eyes were fixed on Odysseus as it hopped down to the deck.
‘We will have blood,’ it declared.
There was no music in its voice now and the words were spoken rather than understood. Odysseus’s mind was released from the chains that had bound it, but his body remained tied to the mast. Grinning, the Siren opened its jaws, spread its wings wide and with a single beat floated towards him.
Odysseus narrowed his eyes and tried to look away as death swooped upon him. Then, with a shout of anger, a giant figure leapt between him and the monster, landing a powerful blow on its jaw and sending it flapping into the benches. Polites now turned towards Odysseus, his face contorted with the fury of battle, and pulling a dagger from his belt he ran towards the king. As he sawed at the ropes, a handful of Ithacans – Omeros and Perimedes among them – drew their swords and formed a hesitant semicircle around the Siren. By now the creature had regained its balance and had retreated to the bow rail once more, hissing its hatred at the humans that dared to defy it. In the same moment a shadow fell across the deck and Odysseus felt the beat of great wings fanning the air. The second Siren swept in and seized Polites in its talons, lifting him from the deck and slowly into the air. He cried out for help but was already beyond the reach of his comrades and being carried out towards the nearby island. Odysseus looked on in despair and saw now that the white flowers he had seen littering the small hill that rose from the sea were the bones of men, many bleached white and more still with the desiccated skin still stretched across their ribcages.
Then he heard the sharp twang of a bow and saw the Siren jerk and twist in mid-air. Polites fell from its grip, his arms and legs flailing as he plunged into the waves. The monster dropped in his wake, flapping helplessly for a moment before beating down with its wings and forcing itself upward to make good its escape in the direction of the island. Its sister followed, crying out its anger but unwilling to continue the fight.
Eperitus, who had fired the shot, now threw aside his bow, mounted the bow rail and dived into the sea.
‘Follow him,’ Odysseus called.
Tearing at the partially severed ropes until one of his arms was free, he pointed at the small, dark figure of Eperitus in the becalmed waters. Many of the shocked crew saw his gesturing and returned to the oars. Others freed Odysseus from the ropes and, taking the twin rudders from Eurylochus, he quickly steered the galley towards the two stricken men. As they fell gasping onto the deck – hauled aboard by half a dozen of their comrades – Odysseus turned the ship westward and shouted at the crew to row. They did not need to hear him to throw their strength into pulling the oars, but no sooner was the dread island out of sight behind them than a long strip of coast appeared on the western horizon.
Eperitus joined Odysseus at the stern. His hair was still damp and he was shivering, despite the blanket around his shoulders.
‘That shot would’ve made Antiphus proud.’
‘It was a big target and I have sharp eyes,’ Eperitus replied. ‘Though when I saw Polites fall I thought I’d hit him instead.’
Odysseus smiled, the first happiness he had felt since the haunting visions the Siren song had put in his mind.
‘What did they say to you?’ Eperitus asked. ‘I saw your pain, even if I couldn’t hear it.’
Odysseus looked away.
‘Nothing. Just lies. That’s their power: not their song, but their false words.’
Eperitus nodded. ‘I hope so.’
Astynome came with a cup of wine for each of them and a fresh blanket for Eperitus. Odysseus watched her affection as she wrapped her arms about him and closed her eyes in a moment of contentment. He wondered whether Penelope would be as loving to him on his return, or whether her heart had grown cold and unfaithful during their long separation. Partly it was the vision the Sirens had put in his mind that darkened his thoughts; partly it was the shadow of despair Hades had left on his heart. Would he ever be free from that darkness, he wondered? Astynome must have seen the sadness in his expression, for she released her hold on Eperitus and threw her arms about him.
‘Have no fear, Odysseus,’ she said. ‘You’ll see her again.’
The wounds from the Sirens’ song were still fresh, and her words brought tears to his eyes. He blinked them away and put his hands on her shoulders.
‘Astynome, listen to me. Soon we will pass through a narrow channel with tall cliffs on both sides. When you see a cave high up on one side, take those children you care so much about and hide beneath a tarpaulin or a piece of old sail. Do you hear me?’
Astynome nodded. ‘Why?’
‘Just do as I ask. Now, go back to the prow and remember what I told you.’
She looked at him questioningly, then nodded again and left.
‘What’s in the cave, Odysseus?’ Eperitus asked.
‘Death,’ Odysseus answered, gripping the twin oars so hard that his knuckles turned white.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS
The entrance to the northern channel lay between two steep-sided cliffs. The galley slipped between them into a narrow gorge where tufts of vegetation clung to the craggy walls and the cries of seagulls echoed from one rock face to the other. These towering battlements had an oppressive effect on the crew, whose conversations trailed away to leave only the haunting voices of the birds and the swish of the oars over the water. A sense of anticipation hung in the cool evening air and after a while even the gulls were quiet in their nests as they watched the galley slip past.
Eperitus felt it more than most. He could not rid himself of the Sirens’ warning that Circe was sending them to their destruction. Without the music of their voices the words alone felt hollow and could have been dismissed as the lies he hoped they were. But why had Odysseus told Astynome to hide beneath a tarpaulin, and why had he refused to answer any of Eperitus’s questions? He had to trust that Odysseus knew what he was doing, yet the king’s reticence to share the coming danger unnerved him.
The chariot of the sun had long since disappeared behind the clifftops, leaving the galley in deep shadow. The meandering gorge had narrowed, and with no sight of open water Eperitus was reminded of the tunnel he had followed into the Underworld. He glanced across at Astynome, huddled in the prow with the Trojan orphans. She smiled back at him and he felt comforted. Whatever surprises lay ahead, he would face them for her sake.
A subtle change in the air and in the compressed sound of the oars through the water told him the channel was widening. He could smell something foul, too, that reminded him of the Cyclops’s cave. He rose from the bench where he had been sitting beside Polites and tried to filter out the sounds and smells around him, attuning his senses to whatever was waiting for them beyond the next bend. As he did so he heard a noise that seemed alien and strange in that barren place: the yelping of puppies. He frowned and tilted his head, but the loud caw of a gull overhead broke his concentration and after that he heard the sound no more.
He joined Odysseus and Eurybates in the stern. The king had wrapped his cloak about himself and Eperitus noticed his shield was uncovered and propped against the side of the ship with both his spears.
‘What is it, Eperitus?’ he asked.
‘The
gorge widens after the next bend.’
‘Into the sea?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Odysseus looked disappointed but not surprised. Before long they were passing round the skirts of the next bend in the channel. Suddenly the steep walls that had enclosed them now warped apart to form a narrow body of restless water. At the far end the cliffs closed again to leave a gateway to the open sea, and in the blue distance Eperitus could see a low island on the horizon, its white bluffs caught by the dying rays of the sun. Was that Thrinacie, he wondered, the island Teiresias had warned them about? With the sun sinking fast it seemed unlikely they would pass it by without spending at least one night on its shores. A third of the way along the cliffs to the left was an old fig tree, its great, shaggy head hanging low towards the water despite its roots having nothing more than bare rock to cling to. A little further along on the right-hand side, high above the spume that crashed against the rocks below, was the mouth of a cave. The rank odour Eperitus had detected came from there, and the smell of the briny sea and the clean air above could do nothing to mask it. This had to be the cave Odysseus had warned Astynome about. He looked askance at the king and saw the doubt in his eyes. Odysseus licked his lips nervously and glanced across at the helmsman.
‘Keep as far away from that fig tree as possible, Eurybates.’
Eurybates nodded and eased the galley gradually to starboard. Odysseus clasped his hands behind his back and began rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet.
‘What is it?’ Eperitus asked him. ‘Listen, if that cave holds danger why not steer closer to the opposite bank?’
