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

by Glyn Iliffe

  ‘And those for Thrinacie?’

  Almost every other man lifted their hands into the air. Last of all, slowly, Eperitus added his vote to theirs. Then he turned and walked to the front of the ship where Astynome sat with the children. Odysseus knew he had lost more than his authority and any certainty of returning to Ithaca. He had lost his closest friend and ally.

  They steered the galley into the narrow inlet and tossed the anchor stones overboard. Odysseus and Eurybates remained on the ship while the crew and slaves went ashore. His eyes heavy with impending sleep, Odysseus watched the men make hasty fires from the plentiful driftwood that had washed up at the top of the beach and then sit down to eat a simple supper of hot broth. A few returned to their grief for the men who had been lost, weeping openly as they allowed their sufferings to consume them. Others found consolation with the slave women. Most, though, threw themselves down on their blankets and fell asleep. After a while the only sounds Odysseus could hear were the moaning of the wind and the fateful sounds of livestock in the distance. He lay down on a sack of grain and drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming he had returned to Hades to speak with the ghost of Eperitus; but every time Eperitus opened his mouth, all that came out were the pitiful cries of Polites, begging for an end to his pain.

  It was in the last watch of the night that the storm arrived. Odysseus awoke to the feel of raindrops on his cheek. Before he could find a piece of tarpaulin to drag over himself, the night sky exploded with a flash of lightning closely followed by a loud crash of thunder. The wind screamed more fiercely and brought in heavy curtains of rain. He could hear shouts from the beach as men, women and children dashed for cover in a cave under the high cliffs. Odysseus crawled under a square of old sail and, despite the cacophony of the storm, soon fell asleep again.

  He woke to grey light filtering through the walls of his tarpaulin. The wind was still howling outside and the galley was rocking on the choppy waters of the inlet, though the rain had stopped drumming against the canvas. Poking his head out, he saw a low ceiling of slate-coloured cloud that stretched across the sky for as far as he could see. Beyond the mouth of the cove the ocean was a tumult of high, white-capped waves that no galley would be able to survive for long. He recalled Teiresias’s warning that Poseidon would avenge the blinding of Polyphemus by imprisoning them on Thrinacie. Had they sailed on to Phaeacia Poseidon would have been unable to harm them because of his promise to Athena. Now he and his men would have to sit out the storm until the god of the sea forgot about them or his men forgot their oath and ate Hyperion’s cattle. And he would not allow the latter.

  For the first two weeks the least of his worries was the food supply. Circe had given them livestock of their own and plenty of grain and wine, and there was a good supply of fresh water on the island. The sun god’s herds and flocks would often venture to the top of the beach and gaze down at the Ithacans with a passing curiosity. For their part the Ithacans would stare back at the fat oxen and the well-fed sheep with temptation, but remained mindful of their oath not to touch any of the precious animals. Instead, their greatest challenge was boredom mixed with a rapid loss of discipline that led to frequent fights. At first these were over women, but, increasingly, food and the dwindling stocks of wine were the cause. Eperitus no longer cared for the men under his charge and had left them to the chaotic leadership of Eurylochus, while keeping his own company with Astynome and her orphans. Odysseus, too, had abandoned his countrymen to their own devices. As long as they did not go near the native herds and flocks or try to steal from the stores of food, he preferred to ignore them. Hyperion’s livestock he left under the watchful eye of Omeros and two other men he could trust, who followed the docile animals from one part of the small island to another, counting them regularly to make sure none had been taken. Responsibility for the remaining food was given to Eurybates and another loyal soldier. They kept the stores on board the galley, which had been beached and dragged into the cover of the cave. From here they could keep a close watch on the dwindling provisions and dole out only what Odysseus permitted the rest of the crew to have. This caused more resentment and open voices of rebellion, especially when rations were halved in the third week and halved again in the fourth. But none were ready yet to openly challenge Odysseus’s authority.

  None, perhaps, except Selagos. Not that he had ever been foolish enough to speak out against the king, but if Odysseus feared any man in the crew it was the Taphian. On several occasions he had caught Selagos studying him through narrowed eyes. He was always quick to look away and carry on playing dice or pursuing whatever activity he was busying himself with, but Odysseus was not fooled. He had watched the man fight in the final battles of the war and knew he was a powerful warrior and a natural and cunning leader. That made him far more dangerous than Eurylochus. What was more, Odysseus suspected Selagos was using his fat fool of a cousin to stir up trouble with the crew. The only thing that eluded Odysseus’s mind was why. What could a Taphian gain from challenging him?

  Not that any challenge from Selagos, Eurylochus or the rest of his rebellious crew would have been any concern if Eperitus had still been at his side. The rift between them troubled him more than anything else. Without the loyal presence of his captain his authority as king was weakened, perhaps fatally. His chances of making it back to Ithaca were also reduced to the point that he now doubted he would see his home again. And he felt alone. The burden of leadership had always been a solitary one, but with Eperitus’s friendship and loyalty it was bearable. Now it was crushing him. He had spoken to Eperitus of course – he made a point of doing so several times a day – but the replies were brief to the point of curtness. Something had snapped between them when Polites had been taken by Scylla. The oneness of spirit between himself and Eperitus was gone.

  He wished he could undo what he had done. Looking back, he regretted not being open with Eperitus about the dangers that lay beyond the Sirens. It would have meant an argument about the best course of action, but at least they would have faced their decision together. Instead he had followed his own mind; trusted, as usual, to his own judgement rather than the counsel of others. Now he was paying the price with the loss of the greatest friendship he would ever know. And Eperitus was not the first friend he had driven away with his selfish schemes. Indeed, his duplicity in winning the armour of Achilles had caused Great Ajax – a man whom he loved and honoured – to take his own life. Worse still, he had betrayed Penelope. Before sharing Circe’s bed he had felt certain he would one day return to his wife’s arms, that it was fated to happen because he had remained true to her through all the hard years of the war. But now he had destroyed the one pure thing that remained in his life, and with it any right he had to return to her.

  Then there was Athena. By refusing the goddess’s command and trusting to his own plan for ending the war he had forced her to abandon him. Only an arrogant fool would be so reckless as to think he knew better than an immortal. And yet it was to the gods he was turning now. As the gales that imprisoned him on the island continued; as he saw his crew turning against him; as their food stocks dwindled; and as he had forced his only true friend away, he looked to the only source of hope left. Too long he had relied on himself rather than the power of the immortals, and it had led from one disaster to another. But if Athena could be persuaded to forget her anger – if somehow he could prove himself worthy of her love again – would his fortunes not change? And so every evening he would slip away to a part of the island where he would not be disturbed and offer his prayers to the gods, hoping that as the last of the food was eaten and as the storms continued, his promises of kingly sacrifices on his return to Ithaca would appease them.

  Eurylochus’s stomach growled loudly. He had spent some time staring down at his waist and wondering if it had shrunk again, and the more he looked the more he convinced himself it had. This was despite the fact he had been bribing Eurybates’s assistant to give him twice the rations of anyone else in the crew.
After all, the size of a noble’s stomach was a sign of his wealth – and he had no intention of returning to Ithaca looking like a peasant farmer.

  There were, of course, fine herds of fat oxen and flocks of plump sheep wandering about the island, oblivious to the ravenous eyes that followed their every move. Eurylochus had tried to persuade a few of his shipmates to push a cow off one of the cliffs, assuring them Odysseus would permit the eating of the animal if its death appeared natural. But none was prepared to risk the wrath of the sun god, let alone face Odysseus’s sword. And the king had promised death to any man – which Eurylochus knew included himself – if just one of the creatures was slain.

  He picked up a stick and poked the fire. A few sparks flew upwards followed by a wisp of grey smoke. The smell of it reminded him of cooked meat and made his stomach groan even louder.

  ‘Damn it, there must be something to eat!’

  ‘What about your rations?’ Selagos asked in a tired voice.

  The Taphian sat a little to his right, his arms folded across his knees and his chin rested on his forearms.

  ‘A few oats and a strip of salted pork?’ Eurylochus sneered. ‘I ate those for breakfast. Do you have any of yours left?’

  ‘Of course.’ Selagos reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out a piece of dried meat. ‘Here, you have it. I have no need of it.’

  ‘Really?’ Eurylochus asked, looking at him as if he were mad.

  Fearing Selagos might change his mind, he snatched it from his fingers. The brown pork was as hard as wood and very salty, but after biting off a chunk and leaving it in his mouth to soften, it tasted as good as any other food he had ever eaten. His impatient stomach almost cried out in desperation, but Eurylochus wanted to suck all of the flavour out before he swallowed it.

  ‘Starvation is the most miserable way to die,’ he complained.

  Selagos raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘You are not nearly starving yet, my friend. When it comes you’ll know.’

  ‘I don’t intend to wait that long. I have an idea for killing one of those stupid oxen.’

  ‘You don’t have the guts, and nobody else is going to do it for you.’

  ‘Because they’re afraid of Odysseus. But there’s one man who isn’t, the only one my cousin would never contemplate harming. Eperitus.’

  The usually taciturn Selagos gave a dismissive snort.

  ‘That man hates you almost as much as you hate him. Even if he has fallen out with the king, why would he slaughter one of those animals for your sake?’

  ‘I… I don’t know. Maybe a bribe or –’

  ‘Forget such foolish ideas. Besides, tomorrow you can kill and eat as many cows as you like.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Selagos said in a low voice, staring hard at Eurylochus. ‘You’ve told me many times you could do a better job of leading these men than Odysseus. Do you still mean it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And if the chance came, you would take it?’

  ‘Is this what you’ve been brooding on all this time?’

  ‘Answer me.’

  ‘Yes,’ Eurylochus replied, hesitantly. ‘If the chance came, but I don’t see –’

  Selagos gripped his arm.

  ‘If? The chance is here, now. There is no food left. Other than Eurybates, Omeros and one or two others, the crew would turn against Odysseus in a moment. They’ve had enough of him leading them from one calamity to another, and since he’s been spending every day away from the camp, the men have come to look upon you as their leader. All you need to do is give the word. Even Eperitus has come to see him for what he is.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate his loyalty to Odysseus, Selagos. Their friendship may have gone cold, but Eperitus will fight for his king if his authority is challenged.’

  ‘I know that,’ Selagos said, turning and looking through the flames to where Eperitus stood alone on the beach, staring out to sea. ‘But he has a weakness. The woman.’

  ‘Astynome?’

  Even speaking her name stirred something inside Eurylochus. For almost two years in the confines of the galley, as they wandered aimlessly from one landfall to another, he had watched her with an ever increasing desire. Not only was she more beautiful than any woman he had ever set his heart upon, he wanted her simply because she belonged to Eperitus. To have her for himself would be doubly sweet because it would mean taking her from him. After all, Eurylochus had claimed her first during the sack of Lyrnessus, and that made her his by right.

  ‘Yes, Astynome. Right now she’s on the eastern side of the island where the lightning-struck tree overlooks the small inlet. I told her she could find some roots there to feed the Trojan children.’

  ‘And are there?’

  ‘Enough to keep her busy for a while. I promised her I’d tell Eperitus where she was, but of course I haven’t. If you don’t go after her soon, though, he’ll go looking for her himself.’

  ‘Go after her?’ Eurylochus exclaimed. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘To take her hostage. We need to give Eperitus a compelling reason not to interfere when we make our move.’

  ‘By all the gods, you mean this, don’t you? You really mean to take control.’

  ‘Do you think we’ve been playing a game all these months, Eurylochus? Every time you challenged Odysseus, did you think it was just harmless fun? Do you think Odysseus will just forget your insults when he’s safely back home again? He won’t. If you take on a king, you have to be prepared to pay the price. The least you can expect is exile; execution is more likely. Unless you deal with him first.’

  ‘I can’t kill the king, Selagos. My own cousin.’

  ‘Who said anything about killing him? While you’ve been worrying about your hunger, I’ve been busy speaking to the others. Every man who voted to land here is ready to help us. When Odysseus returns this evening we’ll disarm him and hold him prisoner, along with any of those fools who still support him. With fifty of us against less than ten of them, there won’t be much resistance. Then we can eat as much beef and mutton as we want until this gale blows over. After that we’ll maroon him and his followers and sail back to Ithaca, the only survivors from the war.’

  By now Eurylochus had forgotten all about his hunger. All those times he had defied Odysseus, he had never really imagined it would come to this. But Selagos had moved without him. He had drawn up his plans, bided his time carefully and made sure that enough of the crew were on their side. Zeus’s beard! Virtually every other Ithacan had been told about the plot. There was no going back now, even if he wanted to. His stomach was so knotted up he felt like he could vomit. And yet Selagos seemed as calm as if he were simply organising a boar hunt. The sight of his stolid, powerful face reassured him a little.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be here with you, rather than holding Astynome hostage? Can’t one of the others kidnap her?’

  ‘Two things:’ Selagos began, ‘if there is a fight, I don’t want the others seeing you run off in a panic. It will unnerve them and undermine your authority. I also know how you feel about Eperitus’s woman. While she’s your prisoner, what’s to stop you doing all those things you’ve been wanting to do to her all this time?’

  ‘And what if I take her and come back to find your rebellion has failed, or the rest of the men have lost their nerve? Eperitus will murder me.’

  ‘No-one’s going to lose their nerve. But if you’re scared then threaten her with something that’ll keep her quiet. Don’t forget she nearly got you killed by the Cyclopes. I think she owes you an apology, don’t you?’

  Eurylochus remembered how he had barely escaped the Cyclopes with his life. He also recalled the day they had spotted the land of the lotus eaters, when he had forced a kiss upon her and she had bitten his lip. Eperitus had almost killed him after that. The memory sparked anger but also revived his lust for Astynome. He reached for his sword and slipped the baldric over his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll do it. I
’ll take her to the cave facing the inlet. Send someone to me when Odysseus and Eperitus are your prisoners. And in Zeus’s name, make sure you tie them up securely.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Eperitus. He’s not a king; once he surrenders to us I’ll cut his throat myself. Then Astynome’s yours forever.’

  Eurylochus threw a glance at Eperitus, still staring out to sea, then walked as quickly as he could to the grass bank at the top of the beach. Things were moving so fast now his mind could hardly comprehend the implications of what he was doing. And what if Selagos failed to capture Odysseus or kill Eperitus? But it was enough to know that Astynome would soon be his. Against her will, admittedly, but his all the same.

  Chapter Forty

  SELAGOS STRIKES

  The chariot of the sun was descending towards the clifftops on the western side of the bay, nothing more than a white disc behind the ceiling of cloud. Out at sea the waves were as powerful and destructive as they had been every day for the past four weeks. Not a man among the Ithacans had known anything like it. A sure sign the gods were against them. But it seemed to Eperitus the gods had been against them from the moment the fleet had assembled at Aulis.

  He listened to the howl of the wind and the laughter of the children playing on the beach. He had not seen Astynome since his visit to Omeros guarding the herds and flocks, checking on them as Odysseus had asked him to do before he departed to pray to the gods. On such a small island she could not be far, but even a short absence made him miss her. The shelter he had made from driftwood felt as good as any well-built home when she was in it, and the small amount of privacy it afforded them had helped them to rediscover their intimacy – something that had been impossible on the communal deck of the ship and in the crowded hall of Circe’s house. Sometimes they would make love, but only at her instigation, because he was afraid he might harm the new life that was inside her. So mostly they talked as they lay together beneath the furs, about their child and the farm they would have, or about Odysseus and what would happen when they returned to Ithaca. Astynome would gently encourage him to turn aside from his anger and be reconciled with his friend, but he refused to forgive Odysseus for abandoning six of his men, even though reason told him it had been the right choice. He felt too bitter about too many things, from the death of Polites back to the loss of Iphigenia and even his father’s treachery when he had been a youth in Alybas. Those wounds had never fully healed, and Odysseus had become the target for the poison they left in him. But over time he knew Astynome would be the antidote. She had a good heart and a discerning mind that was already leading him out of his dark past to a future where his conscience could find rest.