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

by Glyn Iliffe

  As he spoke a great jet of spume exploded from the water between the galley and the fig tree. It shot high into the air and came down again as a fine rain over the crew. Odysseus stopped trying to hide his concern and cupped his hands over his mouth.

  ‘Man your positions and strike hard with the oars,’ he called at the men on the benches. ‘We’re sailing into mortal danger, but we’ll conquer it as we’ve conquered every other threat we’ve faced together. Do your duty, and Zeus will reward you with your lives. Now pull!’

  Eperitus stared hard at the place from which the stream of water had erupted. The surface was now bubbling ferociously, the churning liquid moving in a wide circle while at its centre the water was sinking rapidly, opening like a mouth before his unbelieving eyes. A terrifying roar filled the air, causing several men to drop their oars in fright as they turned to watch what was happening. But as the crew’s efforts faltered, the galley began to lean to one side and slip towards the growing vortex.

  ‘Row, damn it!’ Odysseus shouted, his cloak falling aside to reveal the breastplate beneath. ‘If you want to see your wives and families again, put your backs into it.’

  Eurylochus threw down his oar in alarm and cried out. Eperitus ran across the listing deck and – tossing Odysseus’s cousin aside – took his place on the bench. He gripped the wet oar and pulled. Behind him, women and children were calling out in terror. He could see clouds of spray rising up into the air behind Eurybates and Odysseus as the ship was pulled inexorably towards the tumult.

  ‘Pull,’ the king hollered, his voice almost lost in the roar.

  As one, the Ithacans heaved at the oars. Eperitus felt his blade bite the water then slip free with a sudden release that almost knocked him from his seat. He pushed it forward again, found the water and pulled with all his strength. Again he felt the pressure as the oar caught, but again the swell dropped away and released it. The sound of the approaching vortex was deafening now and cascades of spray crashed over the ship in waves. The men shouted as they pulled at the oars, some with the pain of their exertions, others in panic as they realised they were being sucked to their doom. Once again the oars bit into the water; once again the Ithacans hauled on the pine oars. And this time they held. Eperitus felt the galley’s backwards momentum slow and stop. He gritted his teeth and thrust the oar forward and down again. The blade snagged, and with the pressure of the water straining at his muscles he dragged the oar backwards.

  ‘That’s it,’ Odysseus shouted. He dared a glance over his shoulder, then leaned forward and shouted again. ‘That’s it. Pull harder!’

  The banks of oars gained a purchase in the churning water and the galley edged forward. As it did so, Eperitus felt it lurch and turn. Squinting through the spray, he saw Eurybates struggling with the rudders as his feet slipped on the deck. More shouts of exertion from the oarsmen were mixed with cries of terror from the slaves. Eperitus glanced at Eurylochus cowering with his arms thrown about the base of the mast. He sprang up from his bench and seized the whimpering coward by the nape of his tunic.

  ‘Get back on that oar and pull if you want to live,’ he hollered over the thunder of the whirlpool.

  He did not stay to see that his order had been obeyed, but sprang up and ran across the deck to the helm, sliding and almost falling in the ankle-deep water as he went. Reaching Eurybates’s side, he seized one of the oars and – obeying a gesture from the helmsman – pushed it to the left. Looking over the bow rail he saw a yawning hole in the water less than a spear’s cast away. All other sounds were drowned by the roar of the great vortex. Through the fine vapour that hung over it, Eperitus could see the blue-grey sand of the channel bed at the base of its gaping throat. White rocks gleamed like teeth, threatening to devour the stricken galley.

  Eperitus felt the strain on the rudder, but it held and the ship straightened. Odysseus ordered his men to pull again and again, and with each hard-fought stroke of the oars the galley edged further away from danger. Here and there men were collapsing on the deck, but somehow the vessel clawed its way to freedom and the opposite side of the channel. With the pressure on the rudder easing, Eperitus handed control back to Eurybates and joined Odysseus.

  ‘Was that the danger Circe warned you about?’

  ‘It’s one of them. She called it Charybdis, a sea monster that sucks ships and their crews down to a watery grave before vomiting them back up as driftwood and corpses. We were lucky.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘The other is Scylla.’

  As Odysseus spoke, Eperitus heard the same yelping he had noticed before. They looked up at the sheer cliff now looming over the galley. High above them was a lip of rock, and as Eperitus stared through the mist that still filled the air from Charybdis, he thought he saw movement.

  ‘What is it?’ Astynome asked. ‘The danger’s over, isn’t it? I hid beneath the tarpaulin like you ordered, Odysseus.’

  Eperitus held out his hands towards her as she crossed the deck towards them, but before he could speak, the strange, puppy-like barking erupted from the cliffs above them.

  ‘Get back, Astynome,’ Odysseus shouted as he reached for his shield and spears, tossing one to Eperitus. ‘Get back now.’

  Eperitus sensed that something terrible was about to happen. The whole crew had heard the barking and now looked upward. Several shouted out in horror or threw themselves to the deck with their hands pressed over their heads. A handful reached for their swords. Gripping Odysseus’s spear tightly, Eperitus stared up to see something large and black moving down the cliff face towards the galley. The sight of it turned his flesh cold.

  It scrambled down the rock with the agility of a lizard, its six heads on their long, flailing necks darting this way and that as they identified their victims among the crowd of screaming men, women and children below. The monster was right above them now. One of its enormous heads darted forward and long scaly jaws closed about the head and shoulders of a man. His screams were muffled but audible as it plucked him from the deck. Two more heads dropped down towards the galley and seized two more men. One was bitten in half as Scylla’s teeth snapped through flesh and bone, leaving the rest of his body from the waist down still standing on the deck as blood and intestines spilled from the monster’s mouth. The other victim was Perimedes, who struck out at his attacker with his sword but only managed to drive the snarling head aside before it closed its teeth around his abdomen and pulled him shouting in pain and terror into the air. Odysseus cried out in anger and hurled his spear at the black body clinging to the side of the cliff, only to see it bounce harmlessly off its armoured scales into the water below. A moment later, two more heads had snatched up two more men, dropping severed limbs and a rain of blood onto the galley as they bit into their prey and swallowed them down. Before Eperitus could think to act, the sixth and final head shot down towards Astynome.

  She threw herself onto the deck and covered her head. Eperitus ran forward to try and stop the hideous creature, but he already knew it was too late. Then, in the instant before it took her, Polites threw himself between them. His shield was on his arm and the monster’s snout shattered it to pieces. It withdrew slightly then darted forward again. Polites seized hold of its jaws, trying desperately to hold them apart before they closed around him. But even his strength was not enough. The teeth closed about him and snatched him into the air.

  As Polites cried out for help, Odysseus shouted to the remaining crew to take up their oars. The sudden lurch of the galley beneath his feet brought Eperitus back to his senses. He saw Astynome pushing herself up from the deck with one arm, her long, dishevelled hair hanging like a curtain over her face. Instinctively he moved towards her, only to hear again the pleas of Polites and Perimedes not to leave them to their fate. Scylla – seeing that the galley had already moved beyond the reach of her heads – retreated up the cliff face, there to devour her victims at her leisure. Eperitus turned to Odysseus.

  ‘Order the crew to turn the
ship around. We have to help them.’

  ‘And lose six more men?’ the king snapped. ‘Are you mad or stupid?’

  ‘You can’t leave them. Polites has fought at your side for ten years! He’s my friend and he sacrificed himself for Astynome.’

  ‘And what will you do? Fly up the cliff face?’

  ‘At least take us back within bowshot so I can put them out of their misery.’

  ‘It’s too late for that now,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Do you think I want them to suffer? Do you think I wouldn’t turn back if I thought there was something I could do to save them from that monster?’

  Eperitus’s eyes flashed with anger.

  ‘But you knew it was there, didn’t you. Circe told you it would come down and take six of the crew; that’s why you put on your armour and had your spears and shield at the ready – much good that it did any of us.’

  ‘Of course I knew, but what choice did I have? Would you’ve rather I had risked the ship and the whole crew to the jaws of Charybdis?’

  Eperitus stepped towards him, his fists clenched, but felt soft hands around his arms pulling him back. It was Astynome.

  ‘Odysseus is right,’ she said. ‘What’s more, he’s your king and your friend.’

  ‘No he’s not, Astynome,’ he growled. ‘He’s a murderer.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  POSEIDON’S REVENGE

  Selagos grinned to himself. The crew were distraught at the loss of their comrades, many openly weeping so that only fear of the six-headed beast and the great whirlpool kept them at their oars. But as soon as they had reached the safety of the open sea it was easy to see the rebellion in their eyes. During the long, easy sojourn on Aeaea they had forgotten their anger against Odysseus, so it was with satisfaction that Selagos saw the fleeting scowls they directed at their king and heard their whispers against him. Some muttered that Odysseus had knowingly led them into danger; others complained that he had abandoned six good men to the monster, suggesting they could have turned about and fired arrows at its eyes or climbed the cliffs to its lair. Brave sentiments, Selagos thought, and most meant them, though it would have only led to more deaths. They could not see that in their grief, though. The loss of their comrades – whose screams were heard for some time afterwards as they sailed away – had left a hole in them that could only be filled with anger. Anger against Odysseus.

  It was a resentment he understood well. Not that he cared anything for the oaf Polites or the other Ithacans, nor even for Perimedes, his fellow Taphian. His reasons for hating Odysseus stretched much further back and struck far deeper than that. He had only been an infant when his father had joined Eupeithes’s small army of Taphians, attracted by the Ithacan traitor’s offer of land and livestock if they helped him usurp the throne from King Laertes. That was over twenty years ago, but he still remembered his father promising his family a farm of their own and all the food they could eat. While the revolt had succeeded in the absence of Odysseus – who had travelled to Sparta to compete for the hand of Helen – it was quickly defeated upon his return. And when the survivors came back to Taphos, Selagos’s father was not among them.

  Years of hardship followed. Selagos’s mother was barely able to feed her seven children and resorted to the lowest means to put scraps of bread into their hungry mouths. Like all Taphians, Selagos had learned to fight, and as the bastard son of a prostitute mother he had become tougher and more brutal than the rest. Then Eupeithes arrived with gifts of food and clothing for the families of those who had died serving him. It was the first time Selagos had enjoyed a full stomach since his father’s death. Eupeithes was no warrior, but the young Taphian respected that he had recognised and honoured his debt to those who had supported his rebellion. In his turn, Eupeithes had seen something in the tall, ferocious lad that brought him back year after year with more gifts of food for him and his family, nurturing his loyalty and ensuring that his potential for height and strength was fulfilled. And then, a year before the war against Troy had begun – when Selagos was fourteen and nearly as tall and broad as most Taphian men – Eupeithes came with different gifts: a sword, a shield and a long spear in the Taphian style. They were the weapons of his father, which Eupeithes had claimed from his dead body and kept for the day that Selagos would be old enough to wield them.

  As the young man tested the weight of the shield on his arm and stabbed the blade into imaginary enemies, Eupeithes said he knew how his father had died. At once, Selagos forgot the weapons and sat down opposite the Ithacan noble. As he listened, Eupeithes told him the full story of the rebellion on Ithaca, of its initial success and ultimately of its defeat through the schemes of a young prince. And at last Selagos had a name on which to pin all his suffering and hatred. From that moment, he knew his purpose in life was to kill Odysseus.

  Less than a year later, Odysseus visited Mentes, chieftain of the Taphians, to beg ships for the war. It was all Selagos could do not to walk into the welcoming feast and attack the Ithacan king. But Eupeithes had pre-warned him against rash acts, promising that one day the gods would give him the opportunity to avenge his father. And then, in the final year of the siege of Troy, the gods heard his prayers. Eupeithes appeared again, unexpectedly, after an absence of several years, and told him that Odysseus had sent back ships to gather replacements for the Ithacans who had died over the years of the siege of Troy. His own son, Antinous, had been called to arms, but the governing Kerosia had passed a law allowing men to send proxies in their place. If Selagos would take Antinous’s place in one of the ships, Eupeithes would provide a farm and livestock for his brothers and mother. What was more, if Selagos could stop Odysseus from ever reaching Ithaca he would make him a rich man on his return. Selagos had agreed to take Antinous’s place in exchange for a farm for his family, but he refused Eupeithes’s offer of payment to assassinate Odysseus. That he would do for the sake of his father’s honour and for revenge – even if it cost him his own life.

  The light was failing rapidly as they approached Thrinacie, the island where Hyperion kept his herds and flocks. Odysseus listened to the lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep and remembered the warnings Teiresias and Circe had given him not to land there. He listened also to the groaning and weeping of his men. The deprivations of the war had made them hardy, but the long, wearisome voyage had stretched them to the limit of their physical and mental endurance. Their eyes had witnessed things that the logical human mind was not equipped to understand and the latest horrors had brought them to the edge of an abyss. He felt it himself. He was exhausted. He needed to throw himself down on firm ground and grieve for the men who had been taken. But not at the price of losing Ithaca. It was so close now he could sense it, as if it lay just beyond the darkening horizon.

  ‘I can see a cove,’ Eurybates said. ‘Beneath that high cliff. We’ll be safe there, my lord, and with this wind rising it couldn’t have come sooner.’

  ‘Damn the wind. That island is a far greater danger to us. Turn the prow westward and keep going.’

  ‘Into the night? Are you mad?’

  The challenge came from Eurylochus. Odysseus watched his cousin rise up from the benches, Selagos’s hand in the small of his back, urging him forward.

  ‘You drive us too hard,’ Eurylochus continued. ‘Even if you don’t feel the strain, we do. What we need is rest, and yet you insist on sailing in the darkness when there’s a perfectly safe island just a bowshot away.’

  Many of the crew openly voiced their agreement, and not just the same rabble that usually backed Eurylochus.

  ‘We can’t go on.’

  ‘Listen to Eurylochus.’

  ‘My friends,’ Odysseus said, raising his hands for silence, ‘I understand your tiredness and I share your grief, but you don’t understand what you’re asking for. We’ve overcome too many perils together to throw it all away now. Land on that island and it’s not monsters you’ll face but the gods themselves! Be patient. One more day’s sailing to the west
is another island, Phaeacia, where the people are great sailors and will lead us back to Ithaca –’

  ‘Another hollow promise,’ Eurylochus protested. ‘Just like all the other phantoms you’ve been chasing ever since you failed us at Malea. Can’t you see there’s a storm brewing? You may be made of iron, but we’re beaten. Why force us on into a gale that will tear the ship apart and drown us all when we can shelter in that cove for the night. It’ll raise our spirits to have a hot meal and some wine, followed by a good night’s sleep. You say we risk the anger of the immortals if we land there. Well, I’d rather face their anger on land than on sea, which is what we’ll be doing if we carry on. Do as we ask and we can set sail in the morning to this island of Phaeacia or whatever other destination you pretend to know about.’

  His words were greeted by a chorus of cheers that rang with rebellion. Odysseus felt his anger rising.

  ‘Do as you ask, you say. Or do you mean do as you tell me? Am I king or are you, Eurylochus? Or perhaps we are all kings now? If that’s where this is leading then we’re all doomed. I’ll concede this, though: every man will reveal his mind by a show of hands. If I have the support of the crew then you’ll do as I tell you and sail to Phaeacia. If not, I’ll give orders to lay up on Thrinacie for the night. But if we do that, you must all swear not to kill any of the sacred herds or flocks we find on the island. They belong to Hyperion and are not to be slaughtered by men. Circe has supplied us with enough food to last us a month, so be content with that. Do you agree?’

  All but one of the crew voiced their agreement. Odysseus looked at Eperitus, who had listened to his speech with crossed arms and a cold expression. He knew the king had finally surrendered his authority and would pay the price for it, but in the end he answered Odysseus’s question with a surly nod.

  ‘Who will follow me to Phaeacia then?’ Odysseus asked.

  Omeros and Eurybates raised their arms followed by five or six more.