OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

About the Author

Stephen Fry is an award-winning comedian, actor, presenter and director. He rose to fame alongside Hugh Laurie in A Bit of Fry and Laurie (which he co-wrote with Laurie) and Jeeves and Wooster, and was unforgettable as General Melchett in Blackadder. He has hosted over 180 episodes of QI and has narrated all seven of the Harry Potter novels for the audiobook recordings. He is the bestselling author of four novels – The Stars’ Tennis Balls, Making History, The Hippopotamus and The Liar – as well as three volumes of autobiography – Moab is My Washpot, The Fry Chronicles and More Fool Me. Mythos, Heroes and Troy, his retellings of the Greek myths, are all Sunday Times bestsellers.

X: @stephenfry

Instagram: @stephenfryactually

YouTube: @planetfry

OceanofPDF.com

Stephen Fry

ODYSSEY

OceanofPDF.com

Στους Έλληνες, αρχαίους και σύγχρονους.

To the people of Greece, ancient and modern.

OceanofPDF.com

Home is the sailor, home from sea,
 And the hunter home from the hill.

Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘Requiem’

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Ithaca

When you start on your way to Ithaca,

pray that the journey be long,

rich in adventure, rich in discovery.

Do not fear the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians

or the anger of Poseidon. You’ll not encounter them

on your way if your thoughts remain high,

if a rare emotion possesses you body and soul.

You will not encounter the Cyclops,

the Laestrygonians or savage Poseidon

if you do not carry them in your own soul,

if your soul does not set them before you.

Pray that the journey be a long one,

that there be countless summer mornings

when, with what pleasure, what joy,

you drift into harbours never before seen;

that you make port in Phoenician markets

and purchase their lovely goods:

coral and mother of pearl, ebony and amber,

and every kind of delightful perfume.

Acquire all the voluptuous perfumes that you can,

then sail to Egypt’s many towns

to learn and learn from their scholars.

Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind.

Arrival there is your destination.

Yet do not hurry the journey at all:

better that it lasts for many years

and you arrive an old man on the island,

rich from all that you have gained on the way,

not counting on Ithaca for riches.

For Ithaca gave you the splendid voyage:

without her you would never have embarked.

She has nothing more to give you now.

And though you find her poor, she has not misled you;

you having grown so wise, so experienced from your travels,

by then you will have learned what Ithacas mean.

C. P. Cavafy

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Introduction

Welcome to Odyssey. This is the fourth book in my series retelling the Greek myths. In order to understand and enjoy Odyssey there is no need, I assure you, to have read the previous three – Mythos, Heroes and Troy. Naturally, I hope that you might turn to them, or have already done so, but the story of the Odyssey stands alone, in every sense.

Having said which, it is perhaps worth a walk round the course before the race begins, to familiarize ourselves with the world we have entered. This might be best achieved by thinking of the three ‘Ages’ that correspond to the first three books of the sequence.

The Age of the Gods

The birth and rise of the gods forms the first part of the book Mythos. After violent acts of overthrow, twelve major divine entities settle themselves upon Mount Olympus to rule the world and its domains. Their king is Zeus, the Sky Father. You can see a list of the main gods with a brief description of their natures and responsibilities in the Cast of Characters at the back of the book.

To begin with, the realm below is populated only by animals, monsters, nymphs and assorted minor deities. In time, however, Zeus and his friend, the Titan Prometheus, create us, humankind, and before long we spread around the world.

Zeus and most of the other Olympians cannot help but busy themselves in our affairs, often punishing what they see as uppity mortal hubris, and just as often involving themselves at the most carnal level with those humans they find comely and attractive.

The Age of Heroes

Many of the children born to one mortal and one immortal parent rise to heroic demigod status – Perseus, Heracles, Theseus and Jason, for example. These are the subject of Heroes – courageous and often complicated figures especially celebrated for their quests and duels with the monsters that intimidate and threaten humankind. Through their victories over these creatures, the world becomes safer and stabler for humans. The first signs of cities, harbours, trade and agriculture appear in the world.

As the years pass and human civilization develops further, its relationship with the immortals begins subtly to change. Humans are obedient in praying and sacrificing to the gods, but more and more of their time and interest is devoted to their own concerns. The gods still interfere on occasion, but become more wary (or weary?) of interbreeding and interfering. Humankind seems more interested in itself, in setting and achieving its own goals.

The Age of Man

The Trojan War, though instigated by divine actions and regularly subject to divine intervention and intrusion, is largely fought, suffered and endured by ordinary men and women. Some of its leading characters have divine blood in their lineage – Achilles, Helen, Odysseus and Aeneas, for example – and certain of the gods assuredly have a passionate interest in the conflict, but, in essence, the Trojan War is a mortal enterprise.

And now it is over, and the Greek fleet and its kings, princes and commanders are anxious to return home.

This is the point where Odyssey begins. It is a profoundly human story, but there are gods and monsters enough to be encountered still. After Zeus, the three goddesses Hera, Aphrodite and Athena feature most heavily in this story, along with the messenger god Hermes. There is a reason for their close involvement, a reason that derives from the episode that triggered the whole Trojan War and its aftermath. Let’s (re)acquaint ourselves with that story …

The Judgement of Paris

One momentous day on Mount Ida, outside the city of Troy, Hermes brought a young shepherd named Paris before the three goddesses, Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. Paris was called upon to award a golden apple to the one he judged the most beautiful. He chose Aphrodite, the goddess of love, who had promised him the reward of Helen, the most beautiful of all mortal women. The other two goddesses disappeared in a puff of smoke and acrimony.

Aphrodite kept her word, helping Paris to bring Helen from her home in Sparta all the way across the sea to Troy.

Humiliated, dishonoured and enraged, Helen’s husband Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, raised a colossal invasion force from all over the mainland and islands of Greece with the aim of winning back Helen and their slighted honour. The fleet of Achaeans, Danaans, Hellenes, Argives – easier to call them ‘Greeks’, although there was no such country as Greece then – sailed east to Troy, to which they laid siege for ten brutal, bloody years.

Aphrodite naturally sided with Troy, as did her lover the war god Ares and the archer god twins Artemis and Apollo. Having been as they saw it spurned by Paris, Athena and Hera took up the cause of the Greeks. Zeus, distressed by the whole affair, attempted some kind of neutrality.

The Wooden Horse

The ten-year deadlock was broken by the most cunning and quickest witted of the senior Greek warriors, Odysseus of Ithaca (later known by his Roman name of ‘Ulysses’), who contrived an extraordinary plan.

One morning, the Trojans looked out from their ramparts to see that every ship and tent of the Greek expeditionary force had disappeared. Outside, on the plain of Ilium, the only thing observable was a huge wooden horse. The jubilant Trojans, convinced that victory was theirs and that the Greeks had fled, leaving this artefact behind as a gift, pulled the contrivance into the city. At night, a squadron of Greek soldiers climbed out of a concealed trapdoor in its belly and opened the gates to let in the main body of their army. The population of Troy was put to the sword and the city set ablaze.

The war was over. For the Trojans, home was destroyed. For the Greeks, home beckoned.

OceanofPDF.com

Storms

OceanofPDF.com

The Gods Look Down

It is common to portray us mortals as the children of the gods, but in reality it is the gods who are children. Like children, the gods have no patience. Like children, they erupt into tantrums when their desires are thwarted; and when they discover that those desires are not what they wanted after all, they stamp their feet and scream in fury. No rage is wilder and more unendurable for mortals or immortals than that which is self-directed.

Watching the smoke rise from the ruined city of Troy and hearing the last weepings of the slaughtered and their survivors, ATHENA found herself haunted by a feeling of dread. Everything she had worked for had come to pass. The impertinent PARIS, who had presumed to judge her beauty inferior to the cheap appeal of APHRODITE, had paid for his insolence, dying in agony outside the walls of his adopted city. HELEN, the prize Aphrodite had helped Paris steal, would soon be on her way back to Sparta in the company of her lawful husband, King MENELAUS. A great wrong had been righted. The victory of the Achaean forces over the defending Trojans was absolute.

As great, golden Troy burned into ruin and rubble, Athena felt no surge of triumph. She watched its citizens being raped, enslaved and hacked to pieces in a frenzied orgy of killing such as the world had never seen. What she felt – she could not call it shame; surely no Olympian could feel shame – was a blend of horror and disappointment that was new to her. Was it possible that mortals were beginning to infect the gods with the perverse self-indulgence of inner feelings? It was for the gods to inspire humankind into imitations of divinity, not for humans to shrink the gods into flawed images of themselves.

With the fall of Troy something else had fallen, but Athena was not able to say quite what it was. She had a sense that nothing in the mortal or the immortal realms could ever be the same again.

She watched the victorious Greeks pulling their carts of treasure and herding their slaves towards the great fleet so long harboured on the Trojan shore.

A thick silence hung over the world; Athena was consumed by the conviction that there had been a shift in the balance of things, that the world of gods and men had undergone an alteration.

Her Greeks had proved unworthy of their victory and all that she had done to bring it about. It was unreasonable of her; it was childish of her; but she blamed them for arriving at the very point to which she had led them. Happily, she found – as we all contrive to find – a fitter target for her anger than herself.

One legitimate cause for rage had been the abominable crime of AJAX, King of Locris. ‘Ajax the Lesser’, some men called him, to distinguish him from Telamonian Ajax, ‘Ajax the Mighty’. That Ajax had died honourably by his own hand before the war’s end,fn1 but this Ajax had proved himself lesser indeed. On a night of unspeakable barbarities and innumerable crimes against all canons of honour, Locrian Ajax had exceeded the worst in depraved brutality and blasphemy. On the very floor of a temple dedicated to Athena, he had dragged the Trojan princess CASSANDRA from the altar to which she clung for refuge.

The act was committed without mortal witnesses, but Athena could not let matters rest. Sanctuary was sanctuary. She whispered details of the desecration to AGAMEMNON’s seer, the prophet CALCHAS, and he relayed it to the princes and chieftains of the alliance, adding that Ajax had raped Cassandra.

Of all the Greeks Athena favoured, she loved none more than ODYSSEUS of Ithaca. It pleased her that the moment he heard Calchas’s description of the crime, he called for the rapist to be stoned.

Ajax fled to a temple to seek refuge, and this cowardly act only inflamed Athena’s indignation. The gross impiety, the shattering insolence of a man who had committed such sacrilege in one temple daring to beg for sanctuary in another: this could not go unpunished. And yet the Greeks – despite the demands of Odysseus and another of Athena’s favourites, DIOMEDES of Argos – refused to cross the threshold of this temple for fear of offending the minor god to whom it was dedicated.fn2

Agamemnon was preparing for the voyage home to Mycenae, loading his ships with the pick of ransacked Trojan booty, as was his due as supreme commander of the invading forces. Amongst his human treasure was the same violated Cassandra, whom he had taken from Ajax. Her fate now was to be carried off captive to Agamemnon’s palace, where she would serve as one of his concubines.fn3 When she was too old for sexual use, she could live out her life in the kitchens.

A daughter of King PRIAM and Queen HECUBA, and therefore a sister to HECTOR and Paris, Cassandra had dedicated her life to service as a priestess in the temple of APOLLO. She was not long into that role when the god Apollo himself fell for her beauty. He offered her the gift of prophecy, which she gratefully accepted. When he moved forward to exact what he considered a just reward for this gift, she repelled him, shocked that he could imagine he had earned the right to her body. In his turn stung and humiliated, Apollo could not take back his gift – no god can – but he could blight it. He spat in her mouth. Thenceforward, no one would ever believe her prophecies, eternally accurate as they would always be.

The terrible cruelty of Apollo’s curse had perhaps been most apparent on the fateful morning that Odysseus’s wooden horse had appeared outside the walls of Troy. The vast besieging army of the Greeks and its vessels anchored at the shore had disappeared. The Trojans celebrated jubilantly and prepared to bring the horse into their city. Cassandra had begged them to have nothing to do with what she rightly saw as a trap. She foretold that only death, destruction and defeat could come from the horse. But of course, she had not been heard.

Since then, she had seen her family all but wiped out and her city reduced to rubble. And now she was in shackles aboard a ship that would carry her to a life of sexual servitude. Strangely, however, she did not complain about this terrible fate. Indeed, she laughed and sang out in appalling detail the story of what would happen to her and to Agamemnon when they arrived back in Mycenae.

All along the beachhead, the ships of the victorious Greeks and their allies were being loaded up with the last of the plunder from the fallen city. Vultures and jackals do not abandon a carcass until every shred of flesh has been picked from its bones. In Athena’s eyes, the Greeks, with their arrogant air of worthiness in victory, were worse than vultures and jackals.

There were exceptions. NESTOR, the aged King of Pylos, had already departed, taking very little treasure with him. The fleets of IDOMENEUS of Crete and Diomedes of Argos were sailing south and westwards to their homes, too. It seemed that, for them, their waiting wives, families and kingdoms were worth more than gold plates and beautiful slaves.

None was more impatient for home than Odysseus of Ithaca. Athena watched him board his flagship. The fleet he commanded comprised twelve ships, each crewed by more than forty Ithacans. In calm waters, they could bend to the oar if need be, but naturally they hoped for good winds to blow them home. Once proper prayers and sacrifices had been cast up, they too would leave the cursed shoreline on which they had been beached for ten long years.

Odysseus, mastermind of the stratagem that finally won the war, had been awarded the great prize of Troy’s queen, Hecuba. A doubtful trophy she was turning out to be. The moment he went aboard, she launched herself at him like a wild animal. He pushed her away as calmly as he could, but she would not stop screaming out the list of horrors that had befallen her. Her sons Hector, Paris, Deiphobus, Troilus, and even her youngest, Polydorus – all dead. Her daughters defiled. Her beloved husband, Priam, the greatest and wisest king the world had known, decapitated before her very eyes by ACHILLES’ murderous son, NEOPTOLEMUS. Hecuba howled out her furious catalogue of despair and grief, culminating in a recitation of the awful fate that befell her grandson ASTYANAX, the only child of the great Prince Hector. Neoptolemus and his men had snatched Astyanax from the arms of his mother, ANDROMACHE, and, laughing, hurled the infant down onto the rocks below the city walls.fn4 Now Andromache was chained up in Neoptolemus’s Myrmidonfn5 flagship, doomed, like Cassandra, to a life of sexual servitude. Hecuba swore before the gods that while she had a voice in her throat, she would never cease to curse the Greeks for these and their other nameless and abominable crimes.

Odysseus liked to think of himself as a patient man, but this demented grandmother shrieking and spitting in his face was more than he could bear. Hecuba was one prize of war he could do without. He lifted her up, swung her over the side of the ship and let her down onto the sand. She snarled and screamed there in the shadow of the ship’s prow until, to Odysseus’s straining eyes, she seemed to turn into the wild dog she so resembled in sound and savagery.fn6

Desperate for home as the Greeks were, they were not so foolish as to neglect the gods. Grateful sacrifices for their victory and survival were offered, but Athena and the other Olympians found these obeisances to be token, hasty, perfunctory … lacking in conviction.

This insolence was compounded by Neoptolemus’s next act of savagery. He informed the Greeks that his father, Achilles, had appeared to him in a dream to demand the sacrifice of the Trojan princess Polyxena, Hecuba and Priam’s youngest daughter. Achilles had been much attracted to Polyxena when he had encountered her in the company of her young brother Troilus, whom he had killed.fn7 Even though Achilles was now dead, he considered himself betrothed, and his shade demanded Polyxena. So claimed his son, Neoptolemus. The cult of Achilles’ glory, combined with a real fear of the merciless violence of which Neoptolemus and his Myrmidon army were capable, proved too strong for the Greeks to resist. The sacrifice was permitted. Neoptolemus led Polyxena to the tomb of Achilles, where he slit her throat. She put up no resistance, declaring that she would rather die a virgin than live a slave. Agamemnon, revolted by the whole affair and perhaps reminded of his part in the sacrifice of his daughter IPHIGENIA,fn8 kept to his ship. With the war won, his authority as commander-in-chief was notably diminished, and he knew it. Odysseus, Diomedes, the great Ajax and many others were better loved and had made greater reputations for themselves. It was time for the exhausted general to return to Mycenae and reward himself with the gentle pleasures, so deeply missed, of hearth and home. His flagship silently slipped anchor and led the Mycenaean fleet away from the beachhead. There was no ceremony, and almost nobody noticed.

In Athena’s eyes, there had been neither grace nor worth in the Greek victory. And now, when she saw the profane Ajax flee the temple in which he had been cowering and reach the safety of his Locrian ships unchallenged, her kindling displeasure flared into a burning fury. She watched the rapist scuttle across the sand and clamber up the mooring ropes of his flagship to safety. Not a single Greek, from the highest to the lowest, had courage or honour enough to intervene. This was more than the goddess could endure.

There existed powers older and greater than she, greater even than Father ZEUS, Bringer of Storms and King of the Gods. The cosmic laws of Time, Fate, Necessity, Justice and Retribution were inescapable and unstoppable.fn9 They could no more be resisted or denied than the laws that guide rivers to the sea or cause a stone dropped from the hand always to fall downwards, never upwards or sideways.

Zeus’s brother POSEIDON might be able to shake the solid earth into city-destroying quakes and whip the oceans into waves higher than hills; HEPHAESTUS might make mountains burst with fire and flame; Zeus might fill the sky with thunder-booming clouds and scorch the world with cracks of lightning, but such displays were less than the whirling of gnats when set against those terrible forces of Time, Fate, Necessity, Justice and Retribution. Before these implacable executors of the deep will of the cosmos, all Titans, gods, men, women and worlds were as fluff and chaff in the wind.

These powers had no face or figure, no personality, presence or place that could be prayed to or placated. But there came certain times when the signs of their working could be most clearly felt. This, now, Athena felt sure, was such a time.

Zeus, whose chief emotion was relief that the war was over, knew well that the Trojan-loving gods – Aphrodite, ARES and Apollo chief amongst them – would be petitioning him to make life as difficult as possible for the Greek ships as they returned home, but for his daughter Athena to grasp his knees and beg for the fleet to be sunk was quite unexpected.

‘For ten years, you have knelt before me, urging for a Greek victory by any means, and now you want them destroyed?’

Zeus’s wife HERA and his brother Poseidon, who like Athena had both always favoured the Greeks, clamoured their agreement. The Greek ships must be tossed and flung into confusion and the worst of them, Ajax, wrecked and drowned. Impiety must be paid for.

‘Very well, very well.’ Zeus passed the back of his hand across his brow. ‘You may start up your storms and scatter the Greeks. But know this …’

‘… and I will need a storm too,’ said Hera.

‘I’ve told you, you may have it.’

‘Another one. A different one.’

Zeus shook his head. ‘You see, this is my point. I’m not putting up with another ten years of you all coming in here and begging for my intervention against this side or that. I’m done with it all. The mortals can make shift as best they can.’

‘I am certain that you do not wish to displease me, husband.’

That look had come into Hera’s eye, the look before which the great sky god always wilted.fn10

‘But why an extra storm?’

‘Poseidon will blow to confusion the Greeks travelling westwards to their homes. But it is necessary that he send a tempest against another ship, a Trojan ship that even now slinks southwards.’

‘Trojan? What Trojan? Which Trojan? Who Trojan? There are none left, surely?’

‘Prince AENEAS.’

‘But for heaven’s sake, I can’t consent to his destruction. He is a son of Aphrodite.’fn11

‘I am not demanding his destruction, only the wreckage of his ship and the complete frustration of his plans.’

‘But why? Aeneas is a devout and decent man. I’ve heard nothing to his discredit. I know you dislike Trojans, but they are defeated. Surely you …’

‘I require it.’

‘No. No, I really am going to have to put my foot down here. Athena, you may have your storm. Ajax’s blasphemy deserves no less. But I’m sorry, dear wife, in this instance I will be firm. This desire to humble Aeneas, already a humble man, strikes us as petty and ignoble. He may pass. Our will is spoken.’

A roll of thunder accompanied this last declaration.

Spots of colour appeared on Hera’s cheeks, but she bowed her head. When she and Zeus found themselves alone, she would let him have the benefit of her thoughts on this public humiliation, but she was not minded to compound it now by making a scene before the other Olympians. She knew that it was useless to argue when he moved grandly into the first person plural and intoned phrases like ‘our will’.

The Fleets

Agamemnon’s flagship led a mighty fleet, befitting the splendour and importance of Mycenae, the largest and most powerful of all the Greek kingdoms. In fact, Agamemnon preferred to call it an empire.fn12 By all the gods in heaven, was he glad to be going home. The army under his command had done what it had set out to do. It had rescued the honour of the house of ATREUS and the reputation of the Hellenes. The indomitable, impregnable Troy had fallen. Helen had been restored to Menelaus. All under the generalship of Agamemnon, King of Men. On his aristeia, his day of glory, he had slaughtered more Trojans than any other warrior. None could doubt his prowess as both commander in the tent and warrior in the field. Yet somehow Agamemnon always felt that the awe, wonder and worship accorded to Achilles, Odysseus, Diomedes, Ajax, Patroclus, Nestor and Teucer had never quite been accorded him. Achilles … well, of course. None came close to Achilles, the nonesuch, the golden nonpareil. That was to be expected. But even Menelaus was held in greater respect and affection by the men in the ranks. Agamemnon loved his brother dearly, but it was, after all, Menelaus whose loose hold on his wife had caused the whole damned disaster to unfold in the first place.

As for the gods! Every single one of those heroes had been aided by an Olympian during the course of the war – every single one except Agamemnon. On the other side, Ares, Aphrodite and Apollo assisted Paris, Hector and the Trojans at every opportunity too. Why was he, Agamemnon, so despised and overlooked?

The burdens of command. No one loves a general. Blamed for every disaster but denied credit for every victory. From the very beginning, Agamemnon had to make decisions that would have torn a lesser man in two. To sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia, or lose the war. To succumb to the humiliating demands of Achilles, or lose him from the field. To take the risk of implementing Odysseus’s scheme to leave a great horse on the plain of Ilium for the Trojans to discover, or follow the safe course of turning down so reckless and untried a stratagem. In the end, he trusted the guileful devil. Plenty warned him against it, but he went with his instinct. No one remembered that now. Agamemnon was not one of the heroes who hid in the belly of the horse; he was the dullard waiting in his ship around the bay with reinforcements. No glory there.

Well, well. He knew self-pity to be an abject failing. All over now.

Soon the dust and stench of war would be out of his nostrils, and he would be home and in the arms of his wife, CLYTEMNESTRA. She was not completely her sister Helen’s equal when it came to sheer physical beauty. Of course, no one was; that was the cause of all the trouble. But Clytemnestra came closer than any other woman he had ever seen. What was more, she had a style and poise about her, an elegance and authority that acted on him like a fierce potion and that Helen, for all her natural grace and loveliness, could not quite match.

He would see his children. ELECTRA must be seventeen or eighteen years old by now, the age Iphigenia was when she …

ORESTES would be just twelve or thirteen, and little CHRYSOTHEMIS barely ten. When Agamemnon left for the war, she had been growing inside Clytemnestra, and Orestes had just begun ordering his playmates around. Had Clytemnestra seen to their education, he wondered? Were they able to sing and recite poetry? Could Orestes ride a horse and swing a sword? And Electra, what of her? He pictured a prince of Corinth or Attica sighing beneath her window.

Let his armour rust. He would devote his life to his family. How much better to be a father of three than a ruler of thousands.

Meanwhile, they were ready to sail, but what was that noise? The Princess Cassandra. Night and day she wailed, forecasting all kinds of nonsense. Her sobs and screams merged with the shrieks of the seabirds overhead as his captain cast off and Agamemnon bade goodbye to the hated shoreline at last.

The twelve ships of Odysseus’s Ithacan fleet had the wind against them when they left Troy. Blown northwards, they made landfall on the Thracian coast, outside the city of Ismarus, the capital of the Cicones.fn13 The citizens there were no match for the war-hardened Ithacans, who slaughtered the men and took the pick of the town’s women and treasure to their ships.

Ten years of brutal fighting had all but banished mercy and compassion from Odysseus, but when his men, baying for blood, brought before him the local prince, MARON, a priest of Apollo, Odysseus felt himself sickened. He turned to his second in command and brother-in-law, EURYLOCHUS,fn14 who – with a group of twelve men, all brandishing swords – had pushed the prince before him.

‘Damn it, are we men, or are we beasts? Before long, we will be drinking blood and feasting on flesh like the Harpies. It is possible to enjoy yourselves without slaughter and rape. This is a virtuous man. Let go of him.’

Eurylochus and the men put up their swords and backed away, leaving Odysseus with the prince, who fell to the ground and grasped him around the knees.

‘You are a good man, sir, a merciful man.’

Odysseus swatted the compliment away as if it had been a mosquito. ‘Don’t think it. I am a tired one, that is more to the point. Tired of killing, tired of travel, ready for home. I’m a careful man too. I have seen what happens when men disrespect temples and their priests.’

Maron smiled. ‘It is not an insult to call a man “good”, you know. But we will have it your way. You spoke of drinking blood. Perhaps I may express my gratitude to you by offering you something better to drink?’

Maron clapped his hands and gave commands to fetch a servant who presently came forward with two goblets of wine. Odysseus took one and drank it down. He gasped with pleasure.

‘DIONYSUS himself could not drink a better vintage than this! I thank you.’

‘I shall send twelve large flagons down to your ship,’ said Maron, ‘but with a warning. This wine is strong – fantastically concentrated. The cup you just drank was twenty parts water. That is the least you must dilute it by. Anything stronger and a single sip will make you feel as if HERACLES himself had clubbed you on the head.’

They drank two more cups of the wine, correctly mixed, and parted on terms of mutual respect. Odysseus returned to his ship and called for Eurylochus.

‘Order the men back to their ships. I want us underway before dawn.’

‘Don’t think the men would like that, my lord. Not while there’s still loot and fun to be had on land.’

It wasn’t a question of whether Odysseus liked Eurylochus or loathed him. The man had fought through the ten years of battle as bravely as any. No one knew the men and their moods better. Besides, Eurylochus was married to Odysseus’s young sister Ctimene, which granted him the privilege of frankness and informality when speaking in the presence of his royal brother-in-law. As to Odysseus’s family back home, there had been no news from Ithaca of his father, King LAERTES, or his mother ANTICLEA, or his wife PENELOPE and son TELEMACHUS …

Such thoughts rekindled his urgency. ‘I don’t care what the men would or would not like. Enough loot has been divided between the twelve ships, and we must catch the next tide.’

In the eyes of many, Odysseus was already something close to a legend. His creative cunning had won the war. Stories of his wit and guile had spread around the world. But the man could shoot an arrow and cast a spear too. He could wrestle and run. He could squat down by the fire and feast with the common soldier as easily as he could – so the whisper went – commune with Athena herself.

But leadership survives on the keenest edge of the sharpest sword. It is always, somewhere deep down, by consent that rulers rule. Grudging approval, silent acquiescence, conditional agreement. The great rulers are those who know how far their authority may be pushed. Eurylochus made it clear – with a great many ‘my lord’s; each, as was his manner, in the heaviest of quotation marks – that the men would not take kindly to an early order to leave Ismarus. No, not kindly at all.

Odysseus had yielded.

‘We will be last home,’ he had muttered. ‘The wind is perfect now.’

But over the next two days, the men continued to ransack, murder and pillage. On the third night, they slaughtered dozens of oxen and sheep and feasted triumphantly on the shore. They did not know that a few survivors of the Cicones from Ismarus had crept out of the city and over the hills to rouse their neighbours. Neighbours who now thundered down in chariots to exact their revenge.

Odysseus left his ship to join in a battle which was bloody and humiliating. Seventy Ithacans lost their lives. Their bodies had been left stripped and open to the buzzards and dogs, deprived of holy burial and the praise songs that were their due. Sailing away from the coast, Odysseus sent word along the ships that the names of each of the dead should be called out, together with prayers for their souls.

‘A bad business, sire,’ Eurylochus remarked. ‘But maybe good will come of it.’

‘Good? What good?’

‘Well, the experience might teach the men that we touch land only for water and provisions and stay no longer than is needed for that. Clear run now, eh, my lord?’

‘Clear? Does that look clear to you?’

Eurylochus glanced back and swore. The horizon behind him had turned black.

The silence between Helen and Menelaus was strung out taut and tight between them like the rigging of the ship that bore them home.

Menelaus had rescued his wife from a monstrous abduction. Paris, son of King Priam, had stolen her away from Sparta and installed her in Troy as his own wife. This abominable act was a gash in the order of things from which rivers of blood had flowed. Tens of thousands of lives had been lost as the Trojans fought to keep her, and the Greeks to win her back. How many widows? How many fatherless children? How many grieving parents? Only the Fates could keep count.

The story told and sung loudly all over the world was of a beautiful queen snatched against her will from her loving husband and children. But rumour murmured to scandal, and scandal whispered to gossip, and gossip winked to the world wondering just how much forcible abducting had really been required for Helen to accompany Paris to Troy? Paris was a most handsome prince. More than handsome. He flowered from the same royal Trojan tree as GANYMEDE and Tithonus, reckoned the loveliest of youths ever to have been seen in the world. The immortals themselves had been unable to resist their beauty.fn15 And another question arose too: surely a woman of such known resource could have found a time in all those long, terrible years of war to escape the walls of Troy and cross to the Greek lines? Any woman of will could have done it. The bribing of a few maids and guards was all it would have taken.

When Menelaus had finally broken into Helen’s bedchamber after the walls of Troy were breached, had she rushed into his arms with wild cries of joy, or had there been a diffidence, a stiff awkwardness between them?

For certain, there was a stiff enough awkwardness now as she kept to one end of the Spartan flagship, he to the other.

They met in the middle for meals. She smiled as sweetly as she knew how. He bowed and pulled her chair back to seat her as if he were not her king, husband and lover, but no more than an embarrassed page or steward.

This day, their third at sea, long out of sight of the Trojan shore, Menelaus resolved to have it out with her.

‘Some dates to sweeten the mutton?’

This first conversational sally was met with a shake of the head and a mouthed ‘thank you’ that made no sound.

By heaven, she is as lovely now as the day I first saw her, thought Menelaus.

‘The wind favours us. Home soon.’

The silence swelled.

‘If you are not hungry, perhaps we can take a turn about the deck. I would so much like to talk to you.’

She rose, still silent, and followed him up.

He gripped the rail hard and spoke more to the salt spray than to her.

‘Helen,’ he said. ‘I had hoped you … I thought you would be pleased at least to be with me … to be in my company. That your rescue would be everything you had prayed for … Instead, I feel …’

‘Oh no! No … of course I am pleased. Of course I am happy. So happy to be going home with … with you, my husband. But you must know what kindness I was shown by King Priam, Queen Hecuba, Prince Hector, Princess Andromache and many others. Not once did they make me feel …’

‘And he? Paris?’ Menelaus could barely speak the cursed name.

‘He … no. He was not so kind. I was a prize he soon tired of. But Menelaus! What is that?’

The change in the tone of Helen’s voice was startling. She was staring over Menelaus’s shoulder. He looked up.

The horizon behind him had turned black.

Agamemnon walked the deck alongside his prophet Calchas.

‘When we find home harbour in Mycenae, my lord, it will be important to make offerings to both Poseidon and Zeus the moment you land. From then on, all will be peace and prosperity for the house of Atreus. So it is ordained.’

From below came the sound of Cassandra’s voice, hoarse with effort.

‘He knows nothing, dead king. Only murder awaits you. Your death and mine.’

‘That’s good to hear, Calchas,’ said Agamemnon. ‘And what of our voyage?’

‘A clear run home, sire.’

‘Hm,’ said Agamemnon. ‘If that is the case, why should the sky behind you be turning black?’

Between the ships of Odysseus and the ships of Menelaus lay the forty Locrian vessels of Ajax’s fleet. Odysseus had denounced him and demanded his stoning. The ranks of the Greek army had cursed him for provoking the anger of the gods. But his countrymen, the Locrians who had sailed to Troy with him and stayed by his side for ten years of fighting, they adored him.fn16 Ajax was brave, good-humoured, considerate, companionable. He was one of them. He ate and drank with his men, shared the prizes of war with them and knew them all by name. They were proud of his record of valour, his prowess with the spear and his fleetness of foot, second only to that of golden Achilles. But the madness that had overtaken him in the temple of Athena caused great unease. Over years and years, some varieties of wine, no one quite knew how or why, fermented within the wood, the pressure within the barrel growing and growing until it must burst out in a violent fountain. The war over, Ajax had fizzed and exploded like one of those barrels.

His men did not believe that he had raped Cassandra, however. They saw this as a monstrous lie told by Agamemnon’s mouthpiece, the false prophet Calchas. A lie that gave Agamemnon a pretext for seizing Cassandra for himself. After Queen Hecuba, who had turned quite mad, Cassandra was the greatest royal prize of all.

Nonetheless, Ajax was now leaning against the sternpost, sucking oysters from their shells without a care.

‘My lord, my lord!’

Ajax cocked his head as Phainos, his second in command, hurried towards him.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Look! Look!’

Ajax turned. A dark and heavy band was approaching the ship. Not in the sea, but up in the sky. With it came a noise, an unspeakable shrieking.

‘Birds, my lord! Birds!’

Wave after wave of seabirds were flying towards them. So low that Phainos flung himself down on the deck as they screamed and flapped over the ship. Thousands and thousands passed over. The thump and thrum of their beating wings was deep, like the booming of a distant storm.

Ajax pulled Phainos to his feet. ‘They are fleeing that,’ he said, pointing. The horizon behind him had turned black.

Eurylochus signalled to the other eleven ships of the Ithacan fleet to turn about. The storm would outrun them of course, but it would be undignified to hang about like a mouse frozen by an uprearing snake and wait for it to consume them.

‘Tell the men to ship their oars. We’ll let the surge carry us. Pointless to fight it!’ Agamemnon yelled the instructions into his boatswain’s cupped ear. It was hard to know if his commands could be heard over the screams of the wind. Or the screams of Cassandra.

‘The storm is nothing. We will survive the storm. The waters of the wide sea are harmless. Beware the warm waters of home.’

Menelaus and his captain watched as the vessels of their fleet formed up line astern.fn17

‘Just came out of nowhere, sire. Only the gods can whip up storms so fast. This is Poseidon himself.’

‘And we know why,’ said Menelaus. ‘Curse Ajax, curse him.’

Ajax shook his head and laughed. ‘No, not Poseidon. I pray and sacrifice to him with a devotion no other mortal can match. Poseidon loves me. He would never do this.’

‘Poseidon or not, my lord, that is one monster of a storm.’

‘Set the slaves to their oars. Spread sails and make in the same direction those birds were flying. They know where the nearest land is.’

The Isle of the Winds

Meanwhile, far to the west, a rather flustered King AEOLUS found himself in the presence of an unexpected visitor.

Dispensing with the pretence of a mortal disguise, such as had lately become the fashion amongst the gods when visiting humankind, Hera had flown to Aeolia in her favourite transport, a chariot of gold and silver drawn by peacocks. She stepped from it in full Olympian purple, attended by her fourteen nymphs, seven on each side.

Walking backwards and bowing, Aeolus expressed his gratitude at so signal an honour, wondered if wine would be agreeable to her divine majesty, promised that the halls of his palace were to be her home for as long as she required and …

‘Quite quite, very proper. But you need not look so concerned. We have not come to empty your larders and cellars; you may have no fear. It is the service of your four servants that I require.’

The four servants to which she referred were Boreas, Notus, Eurus and Zephyrus – the winds of the North, South, East and West.

Son of Hippotes,fn18 the mortal Aeolus had been entrusted by Zeus himself with the guardianship of these winds. In return, his home, the floating island of Aeolia, was a paradise of vines and fruit trees, and his large family a blessed and happy clan.fn19

‘What can the Queen of Heaven want with my winds?’

‘There is a Trojan prince by the name of Aeneas.’

Hera did not enjoy having to speak plainly to the other gods, let alone to a mere mortal, but she swallowed her pride. Zeus’s refusal to assist her with a storm directed at Aeneas had outraged her. She would, at first, have been satisfied with the ruination of the Trojan prince’s plans; but now, in her fury, she could settle only for his complete destruction. She was motivated in this by more than her hatred of all things of and from Troy. That animus was powerful enough and would endure until the very last of that cursed race perished from the earth.fn20 But the death of Aeneas would ensure the future of her favourite human settlement, the city of Carthage.fn21 The people of this North African city were dear to her heart, as Hera was sure King Aeolus understood. She kept her chariot and shield there. The greatest temple in Africa was dedicated to her.

Hera took her patronage over Carthage very seriously.fn22 One day, she would see it rise above all other cities of the world as the grandest, richest and most powerful empire of them all. ARTEMIS had Ephesus, Athena her Athens, Zeus his Olympia, Aphrodite her Cyprus. Hera would outdo them all with her Carthage. The Punic Empire would rule the world and her name would be glorified with it.

‘But why should … Forgive me, divine queen, perhaps I am being dense … But what has this Prince Aeneas to do with the destiny of Carthage?’

‘An oracle has foretold that the descendants of Aeneas the Trojan will one day destroy my city. This I cannot allow. For reasons that need not concern you, my hus … that is to say, my brother Poseidon declines to send a storm against Aeneas’s ship. So I now require you to release your winds to spin it and smash it onto the rocks and rid history of the possibility of Aeneas and his seed causing future disaster. The life of one man and his crew against the future of an entire civilization. I am sure you understand.’

‘Well … of course. But if Lord Poseidon is unwilling, I would find it difficult … We do not like to act out of step with one another, you understand?’

Hera missed nothing. Throughout their short conversation, she had noticed Aeolus’s gaze flicking to the nymph closest to her left side.

‘DEIOPEA, my child …’ Hera beckoned to the girl, who bowed her head and stepped forward. Aeolus gasped at the beauty of her face and figure.

Hera put a hand to the girl’s hot cheek. ‘I have been trying to think of a household into which dear Deiopea might happily fit. Your own wife – I’m afraid I can’t remember her name – is dead some five or six years since, I believe?’

‘Ten years, my lady.’

‘Ten? How swiftly the years pass. Your children bring you pleasure, no doubt, but a great king should have a great queen, a companion, friend and lover. How happy I am to have hit upon the thought of Deiopea as a fit consort for my friend, my obliging friend, Aeolus.’

Under black skies, a tempest of shattering violence tore into the fleets of Menelaus, Odysseus, Agamemnon and Ajax. The moment it reached them, the sails, rigging and booms of their vessels were blown apart, the masts and stays snapped and crashed, and canvas whipped and wrapped itself over everything, cracking, clapping, slapping and smothering. The helpless ships pitched as high as temples before crashing down with a spank of keel on water that shivered every plank. The men inside bent to their oars and prayed.

Menelaus’s fleet lost two ships – all treasure gone, half the men swept away too. As to where they were … Poseidon had stirred his trident with such force that the sea around them eddied into a giant whirlpool. Whether the final fling of the tempest had cast them south, north, east or west, Menelaus could not tell. The violence of the storm had thrown Helen into his arms, however, and for that he was grateful.

His brother Agamemnon lost one supply ship, but was soon on course for Mycenae.

‘Headed for home and happiness!’ sighed Agamemnon.

‘Headed for blood and betrayal!’ cried Cassandra.

Nine of Odysseus’s Ithacan ships would need repairs, but no lives had been lost. The sails of all in rags, he commanded his men to their oars until land was sighted.fn23

It had given Athena no pleasure to see her favourite, Odysseus, so battered, but it enraged her that Ajax and his fleet had made successfully to the lee of a rocky island where, sheltered from the howls of the tempest, he dared to stand astride his foredeck and laugh up at the sky.

Athena cried out to Poseidon, whom she knew had always favoured Ajax. ‘Listen to this man, listen to him!’

Ajax was bellowing into the wind in crazed triumph. ‘I know it was you who sent this storm, Athena, but Poseidon god of the sea protects me and always will. No puffing, spitting squall of yours can harm Ajax.’

The gods detest mortal presumption of any kind, but the presumption that dares to boast a special relationship between human and god is a blasphemy not to be endured. Poseidon thrust his trident towards the island. The storm that had been hurling itself against the windward shore now spun around the island and slammed into Ajax, smashing him against the rocks. So much for Ajax.fn24

Further out to sea, another tempest boiled. Aeolus, obedient to the wishes of Hera and anxious to win the prize of her beautiful Deiopea, had sent shrieking winds to toss and torment the twenty ships carrying Aeneas and his Trojans.

OceanofPDF.com

Carthage

OceanofPDF.com

Theo and Deo

JUNO, Queen of Heaven, was quietly pleased by the havoc wrought by the spinning chaos of all four winds let loose at once.

For reasons that might already be clear – and certainly will become so – we will call the gods by their Latin names for the length of this excursion, hence Juno just now, not Hera.

A bookshelf could be filled with commentaries on the differences, similarities and congruencies between the immortals of the Greek and Roman pantheons. It is notable that the Romans renamed all the Greek gods they inherited, save one: Apollo. The attributes in each case were similar but not always identical. For example, the Greeks venerated the goddess they called Athena more highly than the Romans their version, MINERVA, who – despite being a goddess of the arts of war – meant less to them than MARS, their adaptation of Ares. Mars represented the more virile, violent and merciless aspects of combat, which suited the militaristic Romans. Their Campus Martius, the ‘Field of Mars’, was the great populous central square mile of Rome. His name lives on in the planet Mars; the month of Mars, March; and in mardi, martedí, martes, marţi, the day of Mars, the Latinate world’s Tuesday.fn1 In the more popular tellings of the origins of Rome itself, Mars fathered the city’s founding twins, Romulus and Remus, and can therefore be considered Rome’s divine patriarch. The Romans truly were a martial people. By strong contrast, Minerva’s linguistic remains are barely to be found anywhere these days. As Athena, she lives on in the name of Greece’s great capital, Athens, but as Minerva … yes, found in the name of a sentimental literary printing press and reasonably popular as a given name for girls in the nineteenth century (and for a Hogwarts housemistress) … but otherwise, almost a minor goddess,fn2 which tells us something of what we need to know about differences in the Greek and Roman view of themselves and each other.

Landfall

Blown off course by Aeolus’s explosive cyclone of the four winds, Aeneas’s fleet was saved only by the intervention of the sea god, NEPTUNE, who favoured the pious Trojan and was never pleased to have his marine empire interfered with by others. He commanded Aeolus to return to his island kingdom and take his blustering winds with him.

Only seven ships of Aeneas’s fleet made landfall on the Libyan coast. Aeneas climbed to the highest cliff to look out to the horizon for any sign of the missing thirteen. There was none. On the shoreline, a great city was rising, not yet fully built but promising wondrous grandeur.

‘What is that place?’ he asked his companion, ACHATES.

‘That is, or will be, Carthage.’

‘An African settlement, so splendid? I have heard of such cities, but I thought they were further inland.’

‘This place is Punic, my lord, not African.’fn3

‘Who rules here?’

‘They call her Queen DIDO. She comes from the land of Cadmus and Phoenix.fn4 Indeed, it was the Phoenicians who first came to trade here. Dido ruled in Tyre as Queen Elissa. She had a brother. A terrible man named PYGMALION.’

‘Like the artist?’

‘Same name, but this Pygmalion was no sculptor.fn5 Dido had married a priest of the shrine of Hercules called Acerbas, the richest man in the kingdom. Brother-in-law or no, Pygmalion had him murdered for his fortune. But Dido was clever and escaped Tyre with all her dead husband’s gold. She settled first in Cyprus and then made her way here to build her new city. They say she will marry Hiarbas, the King of Numidia.’

Turning his gaze away from the coastline, Aeneas saw three huge stags leading a herd of deer into some woods. Creeping forward, he loaded his bow seven times with an arrow from the quiver held for him by Achates; seven times he shot and brought down a deer, one carcass for each of the seven remaining vessels of their fleet, anchored out in the bay. The Trojans feasted on the venison and raised toasts of wine, honouring the memories of the comrades whose ships had been lost in the storm.fn6

Aeneas further raised his men’s spirits with a speech of encouragement. He reminded them that amongst other dangers they had faced the monster SCYLLA, and survived the threats of the CYCLOPES.

‘We have a destiny, my friends, a promised land. The kingdom of Latium.fn7 It is a destiny foretold by too many prophets and revealed by too many oracles for any to doubt it. The city of Troy is lost. But do not doubt that the people of Troy will survive, and will rise to a greatness unmatched in the history of mankind. We sorrow for our lost friends and our lost kingdom, but we praise and thank the gods for our coming glory.’

Just as he finished, a horn sounded out at sea, and they all turned. A low, wide vessel was being rowed towards them. Queen Dido was sending a party of her courtiers across the bay to welcome these visitors to Carthage.

A Divine Plea

JUPITER looked down with sorrow on the blue Mediterranean. The scattered, battered ships of Ulysses to the northeast, the beached remnants of Aeneas’s fleet to the southwest. At his shoulder came the angry voice of VENUS, goddess of love and beauty.

‘It’s not enough that you allow the walls of my beloved Troy to be pierced by the deceit of the vile ULYSSES,fn8 but the city and its people must be destroyed with a violence and cruelty such as has never been seen. All a punishment for my beauty.’

‘Hardly that, my dear Venus.’

‘Oh, but yes! If Paris had presented your favourite, Minerva, with the golden apple, or your wife Juno … how different then the world would be.’fn9

‘Well, perhaps, but now, you see, the thing is …’

‘My mortal son Aeneas, as pure and honest a man as ever breathed, is taunted and tormented by Juno as a mouse is toyed with by a cat. Have you forgotten the future that is written for him?’

‘Come now, Venus. I know you are upset and for …’

‘Upset, my king? Upset? That is a word for some minor misfortune, such as may befall a mortal.’

‘I misspoke. You are …’

‘A headache is upsetting. The loss of a sheep is upsetting. I come to you not “upset”, but fired with a divine rage such as …’

‘Yes, yes. You are angry … very angry. Quite overcome with very … er … righteous wrath. Indeed, and of course. I understand that. But you have to understand that I must balance the demands of many Olympians, all of whom have a stake in the unwinding of human destinies.’

‘Mine is the most urgent. What could be more important than the establishment of a new order, a new empire of mankind that will change the world utterly? You have allowed the Greeks a victory. Very well. They crow and beat their breasts in triumph like apes. They slink home with their ships laden with stolen treasure. So be it. But the final victory, after all their humiliation, will be for the great Teucrian race.fn10 Even you, mighty Jupiter, cannot alter that future. All I demand is that you do not try to frustrate it. Let my Aeneas be. Juno’s jealousy cannot be allowed to wreck the rightful destiny of the human world.’

‘I don’t think it’s fair to call it jealousy …’ A rumbling in the sky accompanied these words. Jupiter was determined to be allowed to finish a sentence. ‘While it is true that my dear wife and queen, Juno, did have … er, issues with Paris and the Trojans, there is also to be considered her patronage of Tyrian Carthage and her deep fondness for its people.fn11 Oracles have foretold its destruction at the hands of the descendants of your son Aeneas.’

‘But that destiny is far into the mortal future! In the meantime, Carthage will rise and rise in prosperity. If the end will indeed see rivalry between the two foremost civilizations of the world, then let it be so. But again I say, even great Jupiter cannot pit his power against the laws of destiny.’fn12

‘I see the future too,’ said Jupiter, his voice darkening as it took on the self-conscious grandeur it always adopted when he swung into prophetic mood, ‘and I tell you that your concern is needless. I have seen it all. Your son Aeneas will travel to Latium, where he will found the city of Lavinium. His descendants, through his son ASCANIUS, known as Julus, will rule for three hundred years. From that line and the loins of your husband Mars will be born the twins Romulus and Remus whose destiny … whose destiny you know. Even my beloved Juno, now so filled with furious hate for Aeneas and all the kin of Priam and Hector, even she will come to favour and revere the race that carries the name of Romulus. I have seen it and willed it all. I tell you furthermore that the day will come when the descendent race of Mars shall vanquish the very homeland of Achilles. Even Agamemnon’s great Mycenaean empire shall fall before them. The once all-conquering people of Argos shall be their slaves. Is that not revenge enough? Do not place yourself in my way, Venus. I am not your enemy, nor am I the enemy of your beloved son. Let the spool of history unwind. Now I shall send MERCURY down to Dido, Carthage’s queen. He will tell her to prepare to receive the Trojans with warmth and generosity. Satisfied?’

It would be blasphemy to say that the foam-born goddess Venus grunted,fn13 but the noise of assent she gave her king was as close to such a sound as might ever be heard to issue from a divinity of her grace and beauty.

In Carthage

In accordance with Mercury’s bidding – and the universal laws of hospitality besides – Dido and her court welcomed Aeneas and his party with great ceremony and respect. The city of Carthage was not yet half completed, but there were walls enough, palace enough, servants enough, food, wine and grandeur enough to honour the Trojans with a sumptuous dinner.

In return, Aeneas entranced his hosts with the story of the fall of Troy. None had ever heard of such astonishing feats of arms, courage and betrayal. It was noticeable to the court, and to Dido’s sister ANNA especially, that not for one moment did the queen take her eyes off the guest of honour. Indeed, Anna thought to herself, he was as shiningly beautiful as any man had any right to be.

Naturally enough, Aeneas told the story from the point of view of Troy and the house of Priam. He dwelt on the cruelty of Achilles, dragging the great Hector’s body three times around the city walls; the cruel deceit of Ulysses in devising the colossal wooden horse that the people of Troy had so gladly and foolishly taken into their city; the savagery of the Greeks as they ransacked, raped, slaughtered and enslaved.

Aeneas described how, in the madness and horror of the last hours of the war, he had carried his lame father, Anchises, and his son Ascanius to the safety of a grove of cypresses outside the city. Only when they had reached this refuge did he realize that Creusa, his wife, whom he had believed to be following behind, was nowhere to be seen. He returned to the hell of the burning city, calling out her name, his voice drowned by the roar of flames.

In the end, it was not his wife he found, but her ghost.

‘I am not fated to travel with you,’ the shade told him. ‘Your destiny lies to the west. The Hesperian lands, washed by the waters of the Tiber, that take the name of Italus – that is where you must go.fn14 A new queen awaits you there. But do not weep for me, son of Venus. Only care for Ascanius, our beloved son. Look into his eyes and see me; that is all I ask. Look into his eyes and see me.’

And so saying, the spirit faded.

‘He has had a wife already, and he will find a new one in Italy,’ whispered Dido to her sister, her face pale.

Anna nudged her. ‘Ah, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a second in between, now, does it?’

The Hunt

The same thought had come into the mind of Juno, who approached Venus, her arms stretched wide with delight. ‘Why, this is perfect!’ she said. ‘Have you seen how on fire with love for Aeneas Dido is? A fine pair they make. Imagine them ruling together as king and queen.’

‘That would suit your plans for your beloved Carthage,’ said Venus. ‘But do you think our father Jove would countenance all that power in just one place?’

‘Let me work on Jupiter,’ said Juno. ‘Tomorrow, Dido is planning to take Aeneas and his men on a hunt in the woods. I shall send a rainstorm that will drive them both into a cave where she can seal her love. What a marriage! Your son ruling with Dido over the greatest empire the world has seen. Perfect for both of us.’

Venus smiled assent but was not fooled for a moment. ‘Anything to prevent my Aeneas from founding a great city in Italy, a city that it is foretold will one day destroy your beloved Carthage.’

Juno smiled sweetly in return. ‘I want only what is best for them both.’

The next morning, all fell out as Juno intended. Dido led the pack with Aeneas, as guest of honour, by her side, his son Ascanius bouncing excitedly in the saddle close behind. Before long, the sky filled with dark clouds. Ascanius’s horse bolted, and rain and hail crashed down on the hunting party, as thunder boomed all around.

Dido remembered a cave, and soon she and Aeneas were alone there, together. With the storm howling outside, he found enough dry wood inside to build a small fire. Their soaking clothes needed to be dried. The firelight flickered over their naked skin.

When they emerged from the cave, clothes dried, the sun was shining. Nymphs were singing in the hills. They sang an epithalamium whose verses told the world that Dido and Aeneas were now one.

Months passed. One afternoon, as Aeneas was working on the ramparts of the city, a shining young man appeared before him. The low-brimmed helmet, the staff, the sandals, the impertinent smile, there could be no doubting who this stranger was. Aeneas dropped to his knees.

‘Well might you bow to me in shame, Aeneas,’ said the god Mercury, frowning primly. ‘My father, Jupiter, is most displeased with you. Most displeased. Look at you, raising the foundations of your wife’s city, languishing here in Libya when you should be obeying the destiny that you know is yours. Your duty is to your son and his line. And it lies in Italy, not here.’

A blown kiss, a wave and Mercury was gone.

Few if any heroes in all Greek or Roman mythology were quite as loyal and well behaved as Aeneas. But the piety that defined him meant that any loyalty to his people was always capped by his rigid obedience to divine will. It is hard for us irreligious types to think much of a man who would betray his lover to please a deity. The romantic hero to us is one who defies divine will. Just as we cannot readily admire the biblical Abraham for being so ready to stick a knife into his own son at the insistence of his god, so we do not admire Aeneas for now laying secret plans to sail away from Dido under cover of night, while knowing that her love for him was so overwhelming that such a betrayal would likely kill her.

But that is what Aeneas set out to do. He summoned his trusted lieutenants, Mnestheus, Sergestus and Serestus, telling them to prepare the fleet in absolute secrecy.

Secrets were as hard to keep then as they are now, and it was not long before Dido heard of Aeneas’s plans. She ran to him, weeping.

‘You cannot be the son of the goddess of love,’ she cried. ‘Your father must have been some granite mountain and your mother a tigress.’

‘Dido, Dido! I do what I do because the oracles of Apollo and the prophecies of the very gods themselves ordain it. If you, a Tyrian, can build a kingdom far away in Carthage, then I, a Trojan, can build one in Italy. We are all the children of the gods, one way or another, and must do their bidding.’

‘No! We are children of PROMETHEUS, and we have our own fire and will.’

With those words, which meant so much more than Aeneas could have guessed, she swept away.

As Aeneas and his men felled timber to patch and renew their ships, so in an open courtyard of her palace, Dido and her sister Anna built a great wooden pyre.

As the Trojan fleet left the harbour of Carthage, a column of smoke rose up behind them. Running to the stern of his ship, Aeneas looked back to witness a terrible but magnificent sight.

The flames rising about her, Dido berated the gods for not finishing off Troy and its people in their entirety. In her final burning agony, she cursed Aeneas and his line, proclaiming eternal enmity between Carthage and the civilization that Aeneas so piously claimed it was his destiny to build: his Latium, his Italy – his Rome.

OceanofPDF.com

The King of Men

OceanofPDF.com

Home!

‘What did I say, my lord? As fair a wind as could be hoped for.’

‘You didn’t see that storm coming, though, did you, Calchas?’

‘I watched a flight of egrets this morning, sire. I read from them that we were caught in a tempest sent by Poseidon to punish Ajax. The sudden impulses of a god cannot always be foretold.’

‘Damnable nuisance, though.’

‘One ship and perhaps three days’ delay. Not so fearful a loss, great king. Already, we have rounded the bay of Argolis. We shall soon be home.’

Agamemnon scanned the horizon. Before him, Laconia and the eastern coastline of the Peloponnese. ‘Unfurl the colours!’ he called back to the crew. ‘If I know her, she’ll be watching for us.’

Perhaps Agamemnon did not know her. Clytemnestra’s dignity hardly permitted her to climb up steps and stare out to sea like a fishwife. She was not watching for him. That task was given to a sentry posted in the watchtower that overlooked the harbour of Tiryns.

Mycenae’s queen was comfortably disposed in a chair in the centre of the palace’s grand megaron while her lover, AEGISTHUS, paced before her, muttering the same phrase over and over again.

‘It cannot be long now. It cannot be long now.’

On the wall, a vast tapestry told the story of the Pleisthenes, the descendants of the house of Tantalus. From one stem sprouted the brothers THYESTES and Atreus, who hated each other. Aegisthus was a son of Thyestes.fn1 Agamemnon and Menelaus were sons of Atreus. The cousins inherited the hatred and were locked in an implacable blood feud, violent and savage even by the standards of the day.

The tapestry, which represented the point of view of the house of Atreus, depicted the story of Atreus’s murder at the hands of Aegisthus, which allowed the throne of Mycenae to fall to his father, Thyestes. Agamemnon and Menelaus escaped to Sparta but soon returned to avenge their father by overthrowing Thyestes and retaking the throne for Agamemnon. Menelaus was bequeathed Sparta (and Helen, of course).fn2 The Atreides had won, it seemed. Certainly, that was the story told by the tapestry.

But – a surprising lapse this – Agamemnon and Menelaus had allowed their cousin Aegisthus (the Goatboy, as they liked to call him) to live. Which is to say Aegisthus had escaped Mycenae and lurked in the shadows, biding his time.

That time came ten years ago, when Clytemnestra returned from Aulis, utterly distraught. She and her daughter had been lured to the Boeotian port where the Greek fleet had been becalmed, a punishment for Agamemnon’s shooting of a stag sacred to the goddess Artemis.

Odysseus was happy to be Agamemnon’s envoy. ‘Come to Aulis with your daughter Iphigenia,’ her husband’s messenger demanded. ‘The Lord Achilles wishes to marry her.’

Was there ever such an honour? Brimming with excitement, Clytemnestra and the girl had sailed to Aulis on the very next tide – there had hardly been enough time to load up with cloaks of gold tissue, silk dresses and jewels worthy of so great a wedding.

But when mother and daughter arrived in Aulis, they discovered a darker purpose behind the summons. Agamemnon’s seer Calchas had proclaimed that Artemis demanded the blood sacrifice of Iphigenia to atone for the killing of that stag. Without it, the fleet would never be granted wind enough to leave Aulis and reach Troy. The entire enterprise would be lost before it began. That is why Iphigenia was sent for; the promise of Achilles’ hand in marriage had been nothing but a ruse, one that Achilles himself knew nothing about. This deceit in his name kindled the first sparks of what would later flare into the almighty row between him and Agamemnon, the feud that almost lost the war.

Clytemnestra would never forget the stench of the sultry, windless air that hung over the port, nor the merciless, bloodthirsty eyes of the Greek rank and file that raked her daughter up and down as they passed through them.

There was no one Clytemnestra could appeal to. The Greek camp, from the highest commander to the lowest foot soldier, was united in its determination to see the goddess appeased and the deed done.

Iphigenia herself lay down on the sacrificial stone with calm dignity.

Clytemnestra’s maids and attendants whispered amongst each other that the queen was more sickened by the mortifying deflation of her excitement and pride at the prospect of the great marriage than she was by the sight of her daughter’s blood spurting from Calchas’s knife. Certainly, she returned to Mycenae humiliated and enraged. She could never forgive Agamemnon. Never.

And not a year had passed before Aegisthus came out of hiding and knelt before her. He had calculated well. They began an intense affair, fuelled by their shared hatred of the King of Men.

Under this new regime at the palace, Clytemnestra’s three remaining children by Agamemnon – Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis – found themselves snubbed, bullied, abused and cast into the kitchens. Only Orestes’ nurse, ARSINOË,fn3 and her husband MENANDER, the children’s tutor, were devoted enough to feed, educate and love them.

But we were examining the tapestry in the megaron of the palace and watching Aegisthus pace before his lover.

‘It cannot be long now,’ he said for the hundredth time.

Clytemnestra inclined her head towards the great hearth in the centre of the room. No fire had been lit there for an age. Instead, a harmoniously proportioned amphora of great size stood in place of the grate, a single flame flickering from it.

‘The oil in that jar has been changed four times,’ she said. ‘I do not believe we will need to change it again before we hear news of –’ The sound of a horn broke in on her words, and she smiled. ‘You see?’

But Aegisthus was gone. She heard the slip, slap, scramble and slide of his sandaled feet as he raced over the polished tiles. She counted down in her mind, gazing always at the flame dancing from the mouth of the jar. It was dedicated to HESTIA, the deity who protected hearth and home. The plainness and simplicity of that goddess and her dominion could not have been in greater contrast to the flashing-eyed lover, queen, mother and wife who stood now in her braided, jewelled finery and turned her glance towards the doorway.

Any moment now. Five, four, three …

‘It’s him! It’s him! No question!’ Aegisthus was back, panting in triumph.

‘Then we shall draw his bath and prepare his welcome,’ said Clytemnestra.

‘Well, well, well! My darling, you grow ever more beautiful! The treasure ships are not far behind. The things you shall see! This is the Princess Cassandra. A daughter of Priam and Hecuba. She is my … er … my prize. I’m sure she will make herself useful around the palace. Where are the children? There you are! All so shy. Electra! My, but you’re a woman! Can this be Orestes? No need to bow, my boy. Chrysothemis! Come and kiss your father. Why are they so pale and so thin? And so shy? Can they be ill? Never mind. What’s that, you say? A bath? Oh, my dear darling wife, there is only one thing I have been looking forward to more. And that can follow the bath, eh, eh?! Or maybe can be included in the bath, what? What? Come here, queen of my heart. The lion has business with his lioness. Look away, my little cubs.’

Frightened, the children ran back to the kitchens.

Clytemnestra muttered to herself as she stirred the perfumed oil into the bath. ‘Thinks he can bring his concubine and flaunt her before me, does he?’

Cassandra spun around in the centre of the great hall like a dancing girl.

‘In this house shall I meet my death!’ she sang. ‘Here shall Cassandra die. And soon.’

Electra, Orestes and little Chrysothemis made their way along the covered passageway that led from the kitchens to the royal apartments until they came to the dividing curtain, through which they peeped.

Mother was pouring oil from a silver flagon into the steaming waters of the bath. Father – could they really think of him as that? – was disrobing with great speed and a song on his lips. Electra gasped and blushed as Agamemnon strode naked to the bath and lowered himself in, shouting joyfully when his bronzed naked skin hit the heat of the water.

‘Aaaah,’ he sighed. ‘Home. Home, home, home. Aren’t you going to climb in with me, my dear?’

‘Just a moment.’

Electra frowned. Why was Clytemnestra carrying a net?

At first, Agamemnon thought it was a joke, a tease, a sex game.

‘How now, wife?’

The net covered his whole body, its weighted ends hanging over the edges of the bath.

Clytemnestra raised a long silver knife and brought it down, crying, ‘For my daughter Iphigenia!’

Aegisthus came running in, brandishing a knife of his own. ‘For my father, Thyestes!’

Electra covered Orestes’ mouth with her hand. He was already covering Chrysothemis’s with his.

Agamemnon roared like a bear and tried to stand. He slipped. Clytemnestra and Aegisthus plunged in their knives one after the other.

The roar became a gurgle that bubbled away to silence.

Chrysothemis wet herself.

Aegisthus and Clytemnestra panted hotly, like euphoric newlyweds. Slippery with blood, they embraced.

‘Here I am,’ said a clear, happy voice.

Cassandra stood before them, her arms outstretched, a serene smile on her face. Her moment had come, and she was glad of it.

Aegisthus and Clytemnestra stepped forward, arms aloft, half afraid to see such rapture. Their blades met no resistance.

Aegisthus looked down. A pool of dark blood bloomed from Cassandra’s body. The smile was still on her face.

‘Who did he say she was?’

‘A princess from the house of Priam, apparently. Quite clearly mad.’

The curtain in the wall behind them moved and caught Aegisthus’s eye. He strode towards it and whipped it aside.

‘Huh. Must have been the wind.’

He did not notice the puddle on the floor.

Arsinoë pushed the children along the passageway and through the kitchens. ‘Come, come, hurry, hurry,’ she clucked. Outside, in the back courtyard, a cart was waiting.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Electra.

‘Don’t you worry, my darling. Old Arsinoë is coming with you.’

Chrysothemis cried in Arsinoë’s arms. Electra and Orestes lifted the flap at the back of the cart and looked out, watching the palace grow smaller and wondering if they would ever see their home again.

OceanofPDF.com

Mother and Son

OceanofPDF.com

The Olive-Tree Bed

Penelope sat up in bed and looked out at the empty sea. The sea that had been empty for so long. Fishing boats had filled the bay, merchant vessels had put in to harbour, all kinds of shipping great and small had come and gone, but to Penelope the sea had been empty for twenty years.

She put out her hand to the branch of the tree and raised herself slowly up.

Such an unusual room.

‘Our secret place,’ Odysseus had called it.

They had just married and Odysseus was pacing out the lines of what would become their home. His father Laertes, Ithaca’s king, made do with little more than the large farmhouse to which he had now retired, but Odysseus, while not a grandiose man, was determined to build with his own hands a fittingly royal residence for his new queen and the many children that would bless their union.

He had guided Penelope to a rock and touched a finger to her cheek before turning with a sweep of his arms towards the clearing of scrub, rock and sandy earth that lay between them and the sea.

‘Behold! The royal palace of Ithaca.’

He leapt from rock to rock, bringing every room, gallery and passageway to life.

‘The main hall. The kitchens. I dig down deep here to make storerooms and cellars big enough to hold thousands of barrels of water and wine. A gateway and courtyard here. But there … an inner yard. And here, a little higher, once I have chopped down this old tree, our bedchamber. See the view over the bay?’

‘Oh no,’ cried Penelope, ‘such a beautiful olive. Must it go?’

Odysseus chewed his lip and examined the tree more closely. Olives lived to a great age. The limbs of this ancient specimen had twisted and curled like the arms of an octopus. It was too old to bear fruit. He had marked it down as good for carpentry and firewood.

Yet again, he reflected, his divine protector, the goddess Athena, had a special connection with the olive tree. Many generations ago, the citizens of Attica’s chief city had gathered to choose an Olympian patron. Some wanted Poseidon, god of water and the waves; others had called for Pallas Athena, goddess of wisdom, weaving and war. Poseidon sent the citizens a bubbling spring of sweet, clear water, and it seemed that he must win. All Athena could offer was an ugly avenue of olive trees. But the fruit of the olive is good to eat and can be used to add savour to all kinds of food. The pressings yield an oil of great value and more uses than can be counted, and the wood of the tree provides an excellent timber. Athena won the competition, and the citizens named their city ‘Athens’ in her honour.fn1

‘Now that I look,’ said Odysseus, bending a branch towards him, ‘I see a future for this tree. I believe that, with a little ingenuity, we can keep it and build the room around it. I think the tree can be shaped into a great and wonderful bed. It will be our secret place.’

Penelope was delighted. ‘And perhaps,’ she said, ‘one of the smaller branches might be shaped into a cradle.’

‘A cradle? Well, I suppose … Oh. Oh. Oh! Can you mean …?’

Penelope laughed and patted her stomach. ‘Nothing to see yet, but there can be no doubt.’

Odysseus moved towards her, arms outstretched.

‘The palace will be finished before he is born.’

‘Or she …’

‘Or she.’

But Odysseus knew in his heart that it would be a boy.

Penelope grasped the olive branch tighter and pulled herself into a standing position. The sea was still empty. She hated herself for staring and staring at it. But the empty sea was easier to face than the full palace, and there was now no longer any purpose in going to sit at her loom.

She could hear them below. It was early afternoon, but already they sounded drunk. She strained her eyes towards the bar of haze that separated the blue of the empty sea from the blue of the empty sky.

Mentes Catches an Apple

Telemachus, as usual, sat alone with his back to them. He picked at his food and tried to shut out the grunts and scrapes and roars and belches from the long table behind him. ANTINOUS was telling a story. A filthy one, it seemed; a story that provoked snorts and sniggers and a powerful banging of cups.

If Telemachus ate somewhere else, it gave the impression that he was afraid of them. But when he sat here alone in the hall, he was a target for hurled fruit and hurled insults, to which he had no reply.

Once again, he sank himself in an indulgent bath of self-recrimination. If only I were older. If only I were stronger. If only I were more properly trained in fighting. I would spear every one of them. Through the neck. If only my father …

A page opened the end door and let in a blaze of afternoon light. Telemachus looked up and saw a silhouette in the doorway. He screwed up his eyes but could not make out the features.

‘Who is that over there?’ he asked the page.

‘A stranger, my lord. He has been here since this morning, just standing at the gate. The … the gentlemen told me to ignore him.’

‘Oh, did they?’ said Telemachus, getting to his feet. ‘Well, we all know that the gentlemen have no sense of honour or duty.’

The page tittered and passed on. Telemachus approached the gate with his hand outstretched in welcome.

‘Forgive me, sir. I have only now learned that you were here. There are those within who have no sense of the obligations of hospitality. Accept, please, the apologies of our house. In the name of Zeus Xenios, you are welcome.’fn2

As he bowed, he knew that these formal phrases, learned from his mother and grandfather, sounded stiff and pompous in the mouth of a beardless youth, but he knew that they should be spoken all the same.

Closer up, he could see that the stranger was a man of middle age with a neat beard and the greyest eyes. His feet were shod in gold sandals and he leaned gracefully on a great wooden staff. No, not a staff. As the stranger moved forward to greet him, Telemachus saw the flash of a bronze spearpoint.

‘Please to come in, sir. After so long in the sun, you must be hungry and thirsty, and ready to sit down.’

Telemachus guided his guest to the table where his own plate had yet to be cleared away. An apple core sailed through the air and struck the stranger full in the face. He did not flinch. The grey eyes did not blink.

It was Telemachus who was stung. Tears of mortification sprang up.

‘I … I …’

‘Think nothing of it,’ said the stranger, who opened his fist to show that somehow he had managed to catch the core. He put it in his mouth and swallowed it whole with what seemed to be great pleasure. He waved towards the men at the far table and called out, ‘Your thanks, my friends.’ The voice was soft but carried far.

The men’s jeers subsided into mutters, and they returned to their dicing and drinking.

Telemachus clapped his hands for service. ‘Meat and wine for our guest.’

Stewards, wine boys and slave girls came forward as Telemachus sat the visitor down.

‘My mother, the queen, would welcome you,’ said Telemachus. ‘But she is … indisposed.’

The stranger accepted the footstool that Telemachus slid towards him but declined with a gently upraised hand the services of the slave girl who knelt to remove his sandals and bathe his feet.

‘You are the son of Odysseus and Penelope?’ he said. ‘Telemachus is the name, I think. How tall you are. Oh, the passing of the years. Yes, I think I do see something of your father in you. Is it the eyes or the mouth, I wonder?’

‘You knew him?’ said Telemachus eagerly.

‘Indeed. But when I was last here, this palace had not been built and you were not yet born. Laertes was the king. But it is my turn to offer apologies. I should have told you who I am. My name is MENTES.’

‘King of the Taphians? That Mentes?’

‘You are well informed, Telemachus. But to answer your question – yes, I know Odysseus your father.’

‘Knew,’ said Telemachus gloomily. ‘My father is dead. Long dead.’

Mentes fixed his grey eyes on Telemachus. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Ten years, ten whole years have passed since Troy fell. He should have been back a long time ago. This island may be small, but news filters through to us. My father’s brother-in-arms Diomedes returned safely to Argos quickly enough.fn3 Menelaus and Helen are back in Sparta. Agamemnon – well, the world knows of the welcome Agamemnon received when he got home. The entire Greek army, Argives, Danaans, Achaeans, Hellenes, Cretans … they are all safely back to their hearths and fields and families. All but Odysseus of Ithaca.’

Mentes was too well mannered to notice the catch in Telemachus’s voice. ‘Perhaps you are wrong,’ he said. ‘Perhaps your father lives. I picture him trapped on some remote island without the means to leave. These things have been known. I am sure that he will find his way and be with you before too long. I am no prophet, but I feel this, I do.’

‘You are kind to give me hope, sir. At least, I think it is kind. Perhaps hope is a waste of time. Perhaps it keeps us from action.’

‘Never abandon hope. Hope is a prayer. A prayer that the gods may yet answer.’

The household bard bowed quickly towards Telemachus as he hurried past, lyre under his arm. He had been called for by the top table. They banged their fists with pleasure as he approached. Presently, sweet music and song struck up.

Mentes smiled. ‘I am glad you have kept PHEMIUS. Odysseus treasured his verse and his voice. You have no memory of your father, I suppose?’

‘I was only a baby when he left. But there is an image that comes to me, maybe a real memory, maybe an imagined one. The harbour wall … mother crying … a bearded face with gold-brown eyes and flashing teeth looming down at me … ARGUS barking and barking.’

‘That is how it must have been. In his absence, your grandfather Laertes has ruled here, I suppose?’

‘At first, yes, but age has …’ Telemachus shifted uncomfortably. ‘… Age has not been kind to him.’

Mentes nodded with understanding. ‘Yet someone has seen to your education. You are polished and polite. You speak well.’

Telemachus tried to hide his pleasure at this compliment. ‘My father’s friend MENTOR tutored me. He and EUMAEUS.’

‘Eumaeus the swineherd?’

‘You are the well-informed one, sir! Yes, my father’s swineherd. But well raised and well schooled. He is the son of a king, you know.’fn4

Mentes looked past Telemachus and towards the top table. ‘It’s none of my business,’ he said. ‘But those men …?’

Telemachus gave a bitter laugh. ‘Men? They are not men. They are pigs, they are dogs. No, they are less than pigs and dogs; they are rats. They have infested our house for years. They call themselves suitors for my mother’s hand. “Odysseus is dead,” they tell her. “You must marry again.” Of course, what they really want is the kingdom that comes with my mother. They want Ithaca.’

‘But should you not be king? If your father really is dead, that is.’

Telemachus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Those back there, they are just a fraction of the infestation. There are more than a hundred swarming around, kings and princes from outlying islands mostly. Even some of the Ithacan lords enriched by my grandfather, but who were too old – or too cowardly – to sail with the others to Troy.’

Mentes frowned. ‘By what right do they occupy your hearth and halls?’

‘By right of strength of numbers. What can I, one stupid boy, do? They have no respect for my royal blood. They slaughter the island’s pigs and cattle without permission. They are on their way to drinking the cellars dry. They treat me like a child. They mock me. I can throw a spear and use a sword pretty well, I think, but I am only twenty. They are grown men, and there are so many of them. Why doesn’t Zeus smash them with a thunderbolt? They observe no holy days and make no sacrifices to the gods of the house and island. I begin to believe that he and all the immortals have left Olympus. They have abandoned us. Or died.’

‘Telemachus, Telemachus, you must not say such things!’ The grey eyes flashed.

‘Your pardon. I should not, indeed. But why the gods do not punish these blasphemous rats is a mystery.’

‘All will be right. In time.’

‘Mentor says that immortal time does not move like our time.’

‘Mentor is very wise.’

‘So while the gods wait, these bastard sons of bitches drink all the wine, eat all the food, abuse the household. Can you wonder my mother keeps to her room? Gods, if my father really was alive and came home. They would piss themselves. Shit themselves. They would run screaming from him like frightened children. He would come at them with sword and spear and hack them to pieces. He would slash their throats and … But he won’t come. He is dead. Odysseus is dead. Of course he’s dead. My father’s dead, and there’s no hope.’

‘Sh. There is always hope. At least your mother has managed not to yield to any of these suitors?’

To Mentes’ surprise, Telemachus laughed. ‘I’ll tell you how she kept them at bay. It was superb. You will love this.’

Mentes was amused by the speed with which Telemachus switched from intense despair to open delight.

‘She started work on a great woven shroud. She told them all that it was clear that her father-in-law Laertes would soon die. She must make a winding sheet that would befit so great a king. The suitors may be godless oafs, but they could hardly object to so sacred and reverent an act, could they? So she weaved and weaved – or is it wove and wove? – well, whichever, she sat at the loom by day working on this great shroud. But at night, she would sneak back to her workroom and unpick almost all that she had done. The suitors were confused and angry at how long it was taking her, but there was nothing they could do about it. What do you think of that?’

‘As cunning as Odysseus himself,’ said Mentes.

‘For over three years she did this. But then a slave girl went and spilled the beans. The suitors made mother finish the cloth under this treacherous girl’s supervision. And now they’re getting impatient for a decision. She must choose one of them, they say.’

A sneering voice broke in, and hands were placed on Telemachus’s shoulders. ‘Not at lessons, boy? Mentor and the pigman must be waiting in the schoolroom.’

‘Today is the feast day of DEMETER, Lord Antinous,’ said Telemachus, blushing fiercely.

‘Ah, so you’ll be dancing round the shrine with flowers round your neck like the other maidens, will you? I must come and watch. But first, introduce me to your friend.’

Telemachus stood and mumbled the introduction.

‘Mentes, King of Taphos – this is Lord Antinous, son of Eupeithes.’

Mentes did not rise. Antinous looked down at him. ‘Mentes the Taphian, eh? Come to try your luck, have you? Back of the queue, I’m afraid. I have the prior claim.’

Mentes gazed at him reflectively. ‘The claim to what, I wonder?’ he said. ‘To being the ugliest man in the Mediterranean world? That I would concede. The claim to being the stupidest? From all I hear, that prize is yours too. The most foul-smelling? That is immediately apparent …’

The smile Antinous had been wearing disappeared. With a snarl he stepped back and reached for the dagger in his belt.

Mentes stood. Telemachus didn’t remember him being quite so tall. The bronze spear tip gleamed. The grey eyes shone with something that Telemachus found at once beautiful and terrible.

Antinous let the dagger slip back into the belt. He gave a sickly grin. ‘Let us have no quarrels amongst strangers,’ he said. ‘It is Demeter’s day. You are, of course, welcome to try your luck with Penelope. All are equal here.’ He turned with a shrug, as if to dismiss Mentes as an eccentric not worth his time.

Mentes watched him go. ‘An unsavoury specimen.’

‘He is the worst. The others are just oafs. But Antinous puts on airs and knows how to lead them. He can be charming enough when he chooses. I think that’s why I hate him the most.’

Mentes smiled. ‘It’s time for action, don’t you think?’

‘Action?’

‘Time to let the suitors know that you are a man and the master of this house. Time they understood that only you and the queen decide matters here. You will set sail and determine once and for all whether or not Odysseus is dead or alive. If you find absolute proof that he is dead, only then may the suitors seek your mother’s hand. But I repeat my conviction that he is alive.’

Telemachus took Mentes’ arm eagerly. ‘And you will stay, sir, and help me in this?’

‘No, no. I must leave. My ship and crew have waited for me long enough. I have copper to trade. Put your faith in your tutor … What was his name?’

‘Mentor, but …’

‘Put your faith in Mentor … Ah!’

The suitors had fallen silent, and the voice of Phemius could now be clearly heard.

They listened as the bard sang of the death of Achilles.

‘I don’t suppose you knew Achilles too?’ whispered Telemachus.

Mentes smiled.

Phemius turned his verse to the subject of Odysseus and the building of the great wooden horse on the plain of Ilium outside the gates of Troy. The servants began to gather at the side archway to listen. Everyone had heard the story a hundred times, but Phemius always found a fresh way to tell it and keep his audience entranced.

A door opened higher up and Penelope appeared in the gallery. Her face was white.

Telemachus turned to his guest. ‘Meet my mother …’ he began.

But Mentes had slipped away.

Pylos

The next morning, EURYCLEA let out a gasp of astonishment when she came in with his bowl of honey and curdled milk.

‘Why, Telemachus, what happened to you? Did a goddess ravish you in the night?’

Inspecting himself in the polished plaque on the wall, Telemachus wondered too. He looked … He could not describe it. His eyes shone. His skin was clear. There was something new in him … an air, a bearing.

He fixed his sword to his belt. Was he taller? That was impossible.

He had dreamed that night of a pair of very grey eyes, and inside the dream he had been sure that Mentes was really a god in disguise. Not any god, but his father’s guardian, great Olympian Athena.

The suitors were shocked when he summoned them together, but the new authority in which Athena had dressed him – if it really was she – gave him courage. Antinous, at first contemptuous, then agreeable, then slyly silent, consented to wait until Telemachus had returned from his journey before pressing Penelope for a decision.

Next he went to Mentor, who understood at once what needed to be done. Telemachus didn’t quite see how it could be so, but Mentor reported back that a ship and twenty loyal crew would be ready by nightfall.

Parting from his mother was more painful, however. In all his life he had never left Ithaca.

She took his hands in hers. ‘If you put yourself in danger, think of it not as courage but a dagger in my heart. You have a duty not to let me die of sorrow. You understand that?’

‘I understand. But my journey will bring joy, it will bring news of father. Mentor says the gods are with us.’

And now Ithaca was far behind them and Mentor and he were leaning over the side of their ship and watching an indistinct blur on the horizon resolve itself into the grand stone-built port of Pylos.fn5

‘Will we really meet Nestor?’

Mentor smiled. ‘Of course. That is his palace – there, looking down over the harbour.’

‘But what will I say to him?’

‘The gods will give you all the eloquence you need. The words will come out in the right order. Nestor will welcome us with the grace and warmth for which he is renowned. And look, news of the arrival of two strangers has already reached his palace.’

As they made harbour, two young men, one of Telemachus’s age, the other bearded and more muscled, came running towards them.

They stopped in front of Telemachus and Mentor, panting and smiling.

‘The watchtower told us that a ship had docked,’ said the younger.

‘Ithacan colours too,’ said the older.

‘You are very welcome to Pylos. Come with us, do.’

The king himself was there to greet them. Telemachus had never seen a man of such great age. The lines were carved deep around his eyes and mouth, but the eyes that shone out of that creased face were as lively and bright as those of his sons, the two boys who had led them to the palace. He held his back as straight as a spear and walked without a staff to support him.

So this was the legendary Nestor. Nestor the wise. Chief adviser to Agamemnon throughout the ten-year siege of Troy. For all his years, he had, they say, ridden his chariot into battle with the other great warrior heroes, and lost his beloved son Antilochus in the bloody carnage of that terrible war. But his fame as a hero had been assured long before that. He had participated in the great CALYDONIAN BOAR Hunt a generation earlier. That must mean, thought Telemachus dizzily, that he had known Atalanta and Meleager. JASON had taken part in that hunt too, Jason. Iolaus as well, the nephew of Heracles. THESEUS had been amongst them. Theseus and Pirithous. Telamon, father of Ajax, Peleus, father of Achilles! Nestor had known them all.fn6

The last survivor of the Age of Heroes was bidding them dispose themselves on cushions and calling for roast meat and honeyed wine for their bellies, and oil for their feet.

‘I hope I am polite enough to refrain from bothering my guests with questions before they have quite sated their hunger and thirst,’ he said. ‘There will be time enough for conversation.’

‘I don’t think this one will ever stop eating,’ said the younger of the two youths, watching Telemachus with big, astonished eyes.

Telemachus put down his plate with a guilty clatter. The elder youth nudged him. ‘Don’t take any notice of PEISISTRATUS,’ he said. ‘Eat as much as you like.’

‘My apologies,’ said Telemachus. ‘I … I had not known I was so hungry. I found it hard to eat on the ship. I am not used to sea journeys. There was a meltemi,fn7 you see, and …’

Peisistratus poked out his tongue and made a puking noise. Nestor stabbed a finger at him.

‘Silence, wretched child!’

But there was no anger in his tone.

‘I am Nestor, the sensible one is my son THRASYMEDES, and this insolent puppy is Peisistratus, whom the gods sent me some twenty years ago as a punishment for some dreadful crime that I must have committed without knowing. Doubtless they will disclose the nature of the offence in their own time. Meanwhile, I suffer.’

Peisistratus rocked back, howling with laughter. ‘Oh, I am a torment,’ he said. ‘A sore trial and torment to your white hairs. A tribulation, I am.’

Telemachus had never seen affection and laughter like this between anyone, let alone the king and princes of a great royal house. He and Mentor sometimes joked about things. Eumaeus was good at telling stories. He could laugh along with the old servant Euryclea. His mother was deeply fond of him, of course, but this … teasing and tickling and – what was the word? – this silliness, this happy silliness was something quite new to him. So this is how fathers and sons were together. Telemachus smiled, but there was an ache in his heart.

Mentor looked towards him, signalling with a nod of his head that it was his turn to speak.

But …

Was Telemachus going mad? How had he never noticed before that Mentor’s eyes were grey? As grey as those of his visitor last week, Mentes of Taphos. It couldn’t be. Surely Mentor’s eyes were brown, like everyone else’s? Perhaps they were related. Grey eyes were not so common. Mentes, Mentor …

But this confused silence was becoming rude. ‘Forgive me, majesty …’ Somehow, the words came out in the right order, just as Mentor had said they would. ‘The wine, the warmth. Of the midday sun, yes, but chiefly the warmth of your hospitality and of the welcome shown by your noble sons. It has robbed me of speech. We should introduce ourselves. We come from Ithaca. This is my friend and tutor, Mentor. My name is Telemachus.’

The king’s sons froze still, and Nestor stared in amazement.

For a moment, nothing was said. Then a smile spread across Nestor’s face, stretching the wrinkles into infant smoothness. ‘My dear boy!’ he cried. ‘Can it really be? Odysseus’s son?’

‘I see it,’ said Thrasymedes with wonder in his voice, ‘I see it in his eyes, father!’ He grasped Telemachus by the arm. ‘I had the honour to fight alongside him.’

‘It is for news of him that we have sailed here to Pylos,’ said Telemachus. ‘Your wisdom and knowledge are known throughout the world, King Nestor. If anyone knows what has befallen him, it will be you.’

But Nestor knew nothing. It was he who wanted information. How was Penelope? Was it true that suitors from all over the place were circling like vultures?

Telemachus answered, hiding his despondency at the king’s lack of news as best he could.

Nestor sensed his disappointment and croaked with sorrow. ‘It grieves me that I cannot help. You see, I was amongst the first to sail from Troy once the city fell. Before Athena sent the storms and Poseidon shook the fleets … I was back here in Pylos in less than a week.’ A thought appeared to strike him. ‘I tell you who you should visit! Yes, of course. You must go to Menelaus and Helen. Sparta is not so far from here. Two days’ ride at most. One, if you can manage without sleep. Peisistratus will accompany you both. Oh. Where did your friend Mentor go?’

They looked about them. Where was Mentor?

None of them had seen him leave.

A screech high overhead made them look up into the great, open square of skylight above. A huge golden eagle was soaring and circling in the cloudless blue.

‘The gods are with you,’ said Thrasymedes.

Sparta

Peisistratus was an easy travelling companion. Like Telemachus, he had been a babe in arms when his father left for Troy. He was sensitive enough to understand that the Ithacan was very deeply worried. He set about cheering him up as they took turns to drive their chariot towards Sparta. Nestor had provided four armoured outriders to serve as protection.

‘Not that there are any bandits hereabouts,’ he reassured Telemachus. ‘No travellers have been robbed, raped or killed on this road for … why, for days.’

Telemachus laughed. ‘Have you been to Sparta before?’

‘Many times. But just for the games, hunting … things like that. Never to the royal palace.’

‘Will we actually meet Helen, do you think?’

‘No reason not to. It’ll be one up on my brother.’

‘But he was there, surely? At Troy when it fell. He must have met her.’

‘No, no. Menelaus went to find her and took her straight back to his ship. Thrasymedes says he did catch a glimpse of her as she was taken aboard, but she was wearing a veil.’

‘But I heard that as she and Menelaus made their way to the ships, a big gang of Greek soldiers blocked their way. They wanted to stone her to death for being the cause of the war. But she lifted her veil and they were so stunned by her beauty that the rocks fell from their hands and they let her pass. That’s the story I heard.’

‘Oh, there’s always a story. You wait a few years and they’ll be saying that the whole Greek army lay down in the mud to let her walk over them.’

‘Or that Aphrodite flew down and magicked her aboard.’

‘In the form of a swan.’

‘Ooh,’ Peisistratus threw him a sharp look. ‘Don’t mention swans if you do see her. Her father was a swan, don’t forget.’

‘Her father was Zeus.’

‘Zeus dressed as a swan.’

‘Not dressed, surely?’

‘Well, in the form of a swan.’

‘And she and her sister Clytemnestra were hatched from eggs.’

‘Along with their brothers Castor and Polydeuces. Who now twinkle above us in the form of stars in the sky.’

‘Do you believe any of those stories?’ asked Telemachus. ‘The gods moving amongst us and transforming themselves into birds and beasts in order to … you know …’

‘In order to fuck attractive mortals?’

Telemachus tried not to look shocked. ‘Well, yes …’

‘Our fathers and grandfathers certainly believed it,’ said Peisistratus with a lofty snort of contempt. ‘Half the royal population of the Mediterranean claims divine blood. But I’ve never met so much as a nymph, let alone a god. Have you?’

Telemachus was silent. He thought of Mentes and Mentor and those deep, grey eyes.

‘Have you?’ repeated Peisistratus.

‘No,’ said Telemachus. ‘No. Of course not.’

Helen and Menelaus

The young men stood at the gate, dusty from their travels. A sentry looked and, uncertain, reported to the captain of the guards. The captain of the guards came, looked and, uncertain, reported to Eteoneus, spear carrier to Menelaus through the ten long years of war at Troy and now his senior attendant. Eteoneus looked and, uncertain, went to report to the king himself.

‘Well, that’s us fully inspected,’ said Peisistratus as he and Telemachus stepped stiffly down from their chariot.

‘Bring the strangers in, bring them in,’ said Menelaus to Eteoneus. ‘Zeus above, if the queen and I had not been the beneficiaries of hospitality over the years, we would hardly be here to tell of it, would we?’

One look at the young pair as they came shyly in convinced Menelaus that they were of blood that was, at the very least, noble. Their shyness was apparent, but not so selfish or awkward as to occlude the exhibition of proper manners.

‘Welcome, my fine young fellows. First, we must do something to relieve you of the dust of your travels, and then we can talk.’ He clapped his hands, and beautiful girls appeared, bowing shyly.

Pushing down their instinct to giggle, the boys solemnly followed the girls through to a huge marble bath, where handmaidens of equal, if not surpassing, beauty scraped them and sponged them and rubbed them down with fragrant oil. Arrayed in fresh tunics, they were brought into the great hall, where Menelaus welcomed them with outspread arms.

‘Much better. Sit, eat, drink.’

It was all Telemachus could do not to gawp pop-eyed at the luxury of his surroundings. King Nestor’s residence and compound at Pylos had been fine enough, but this high-ceilinged palace of ivory, amber, silver and gold was unlike anything he had ever seen or imagined. His father’s royal mansion in Ithaca, of which Telemachus was so proud and fiercely protective and which all Ithacans called ‘the palace’, was but a stable, a cow-byre, a sty, next to this glorious, gleaming, golden and godlike citadel. He whispered as quietly as he could into Peisistratus’s ear, ‘Can you believe all this? I bet Zeus’s palace on Olympus isn’t half as grand.’

Menelaus had sharp hearing. ‘What Zeus has is everlasting, dear boys. This palace and all around it will one day crumble into dust. Mind you, for all that, I’m glad you’re impressed. Best part of ten years and tough dealing to acquire some of these pieces. But when I think back, I’d give up a third of it all to have those dead heroes I fought with standing beside me once again.’

A third of it! Telemachus managed not to smile. So he wouldn’t give it all up to have those heroes at his side once more?

‘You will forgive the disorder everywhere,’ Menelaus said. ‘We have a double wedding in the house. Our beloved daughter HERMIONE is newly promised to Neoptolemus, son of Achilles … for good or ill …’

That last phrase added in so low a mutter that Telemachus felt rude for having heard it.

‘Next week,’ continued Menelaus, ‘we will pack her off to Phthia, where she will marry and be installed as Queen of the Myrmidons. And a month after that, my beloved son Megapenthes is to be wed to Iphiloche, the daughter of my good friend Alector.’

‘We offer our sincere congratulations, majesty,’ said Peisistratus.

‘Thank you! You might have noticed that I said our beloved daughter, but my beloved son? After giving birth to Hermione and another son, Nicostratus, my wife Helen – she will be down presently – has been unable to bear more children. So I got Megapenthes by a slave girl. The practice is common enough here in Sparta, but I know such things are looked on with disfavour in other kingdoms.’

Telemachus could not refrain from gulping slightly. Not because the king was being so free with intimate family details, but simply to hear the phrase ‘my wife Helen’ in reference to her, to Helen of Troy. Or rather Helen of Sparta, as Telemachus had been taught loyally to say, never mind how the world would always know her.

Peisistratus filled the silence. ‘You fought alongside some of the greatest men in history, sir.’

‘I did, I did. Under the sceptre of my brother Agamemnon. You know what happened to him?’

The boys nodded gravely.

‘Every evening I sit here and I weep for him and for all the dead. The one I miss most is Odysseus. You have heard of him and his exploits? Believe me, in his case real life outstrips report and legend. What a man. What a mind.’

‘He is … he is dead too, then?’ Telemachus could only whisper the words.

‘No one knows. His fleet was blown off course by a storm nine or ten years ago, however long it was that Troy fell. As were our ships. Rumours about him fly, but no one knows. No one knows for sure. I do, however, have a …’

Telemachus brought the end of his cloak up to his eyes and then made a show of patting his brow as if to wipe away sweat.

And just like that Helen was amongst them.

This is where years of tuition and training count. To their great credit, the young men refrained from goggling like loons. They stood and executed their bows exquisitely. But inside each his heart hammered and the blood roared in his ears. To Telemachus, her beauty was like a loud noise. A peal of bells. A bellowing of oxen. A clash of arms.

Helen herself, meanwhile, did stare.

‘But Menelaus!’ she said. ‘These young men, have they introduced themselves?’

‘We were waiting until you had arrived, my love, before going into names and bloodlines.’

This was as it should be. The accepted rules of hospitality forbade instant curious enquiry.

‘Surely you can see, though … I can’t be mistaken. I see before me a young Nestor and a young Odysseus. I cannot be wrong.’

Peisistratus stepped forward, the first to recover. ‘I have indeed the honour of being a son of Nestor, your majesty. Peisistratus is my name. And this is my friend, Telemachus of Ithaca.’

‘Telemachus!’ Helen stepped forward to embrace him.

Helen of Troy was in his arms and weeping! The wildest dream could not conjure such a scene.

Soon they were all talking in as fast and friendly a fashion as friends who had known each other all their lives.

‘Never knew a man like your father,’ Menelaus said to Telemachus. ‘For brains, of course – everyone knows about his wit and his cunning. But his spirit! His courage. And strength too. Saw him throw a full-grown pig ten podes once. Not a word of a lie.’

‘You know what he did?’ Helen said. ‘He had himself whipped till his skin was peeling off his body. Then, smeared in dust and dirt, he went to the gates of Troy as a beggar. No one challenged him when he entered. No one knew him. I did, though. I recognized him and smuggled him into my chambers. He told me news of Menelaus. With his words, his kindness, his understanding nature, he unpicked every spell Aphrodite had woven to make me forget Sparta and home. He assured me that I was … that I was forgiven.’

Menelaus took her hand. ‘Nothing to forgive, my dear.’

Soon the talk was of the ten-year war and its heroes. Was it true that Hector, though Trojan, had a noble and good character? What did Priam look like? Did the gods really appear at the height of battle?

Peisistratus asked about the death of his brother Antilochus. ‘They say he sacrificed himself to save my father from the Ethiopian warrior MEMNON.’

‘One of the bravest things I ever saw,’ said Menelaus. ‘But surely Nestor himself told you of it?’

Peisistratus shook his head. ‘He never speaks of Antilochus. The subject gives him pain, and so we never press him.’

‘Everyone loved that lad. When Memnon slew him, it sent Achilles into one of his rages. He waded through the very heart of the battle, killing and killing. Never seen anything like it. He got his revenge soon enough too. A spear straight through Memnon’s chest. But that didn’t cool Achilles’ fury. That was the day he fought his way to the very gates of Troy and was shot in the foot, in the heel, by … by that …’

The name ‘Paris’ hung in the air, unspoken.

Telemachus dared not look at Helen.

She seemed unperturbed. ‘I think, Menelaus, you should tell them everything you know of Odysseus after the war. Telemachus has come a long way for news.’

‘Of course, of course. But tell me first, how are things at Ithaca? Queen Penelope in good health?’

Telemachus told him about the suitors and their feasting, blaspheming and abuse of the palace staff. How Antinous and the others were trying to force Penelope to accept that Odysseus would never be seen in the world again. The pressure on her to choose a husband from the pack of animals that was closing in around her.

Menelaus and Helen expressed their horror and disgust, their readiness to help if help they could.

‘But first,’ said Menelaus, signalling for wine to be poured and the servants to withdraw. ‘I told you that no one knows for sure where your father is, but I do know something. Where shall I begin? Would it bore you if I told you a little of what Helen and I did once we left Troy? It leads to news of Odysseus.’

‘Bore us? Never, sir.’

‘Very well, then.’

The Sea Speaks

‘Your father was one of the very few to leave Troy and go straight home without encountering disaster,’ said Menelaus, nodding to Peisistratus. ‘A lesson there, perhaps. Ever wise, Nestor did not linger to fill his ships with treasure and slaves as the others did. As I did. As your father did too, I’m afraid, Telemachus. Diomedes was the other exception. He swiftly made his way back to Argos safe and sound. Oh, and then there was Idomeneus – how unlucky he was. Left early, but on his way back to Crete met with a beast of a storm. The story goes that he knelt on the deck and prayed to Poseidon. Promised him that if he and his ships were spared, he would sacrifice to the god the first living thing he saw when he made landfall on Crete. And what was the first living thing he saw? His own son.

‘But as for the rest of us … The very day after Nestor and Diomedes weighed anchor and slipped away, our troubles began. You know what happened to Locrian Ajax, I suppose? Poseidon destroyed him. Wretched fool deserved no less. But we were all caught up in the worst storms any of us had ever seen. The Ithacan fleet too. All of us, all tossed about like leaves in the wind. Our Spartan fleet found ourselves in Egypt of all places. I shan’t go into all the details of the next seven years. We were unlucky in one way because circumstance, pirates, betrayal and opportunity kept us from Sparta and home all that time. But we were lucky in that … Well, we survived and, by heaven, we gathered some treasure as we went. Damned near sank our ships, we were so loaded with gold and … Yes, all in all, the gods were mostly kind.’

A cough from Helen.

‘Yes, my dear, I’m coming to it. Well. After seven years shuttling around the seas, we found ourselves back in Egypt, on a small island just west of the Nile’s great delta. Pharos, it’s called.fn8 Couldn’t get off the wretched place. I’d not made the right sacrifices to the gods, or something of that kind. My useless seers had no idea what we were supposed to do to escape this hell. Been marooned for twenty days, running out of food and fresh water, approaching starvation, when, one evening, I went for a walk on the shoreline, scavenging for any dead fish that might have been beached up there – that’s what we were reduced to. And suddenly I was aware of this girl coming towards me. Shimmering she was. I realized at once she must be some kind of immortal. No one lived on Pharos, and, if they did, they wouldn’t have looked so astonishingly, so astoundingly …’

Another cough from Helen.

‘… so astonishingly … er … healthy. Extraordinarily well, she looked. Anyway, as she approached, she frowned. As if she was angry with me.

‘“Hey there, stranger! What are you, a fool or a madman? No one but an imbecile would stay here for more than an afternoon. You have been here for almost a whole moon.”

‘“With all respect, lady, we’ve had no choice. I must have offended some god somehow. We’ve tried and tried to leave, but something happens to stop us every time. I can see that you are immortal; your beauty tells me that. Which is to say, your healthy glow tells me that. Perhaps you can advise us?”

‘“Your best hope is to ask my father, PROTEUS. The one they call the Old Man of the Sea. There is nothing he does not know.”

‘“He’s here? On Pharos?”fn9

‘“He comes here every day. You see that cave? At noon, he comes in from the sea to rest there. Hundreds of seals come up with him and surround him as he sleeps. So what you need to do is choose three of your strongest and ablest men and hide with them in the cave early in the morning. Once he has come in and fallen asleep, you’ll have to make a rush at him and hold him tight. Really tight. He’s slippery and strong, and he’s always angry. Whatever you do, don’t let him go. It’ll take the four of you. Not just because he’s so strong and slippery, but because he can change his shape.fn10 Into any animal and any thing. So you’ll really need to keep your wits about you. If you hold him fast for long enough, he’ll relent and tell you what you want to know: how to get off the island. But he can tell you more than that. Ask him anything.”

‘“Thank you, thank you, goddess! What is your name? How should I remember you in my prayers and sacrifices?”

‘“EIDOTHEA is my name. Friends call me Eido.”

‘“And may I ask why you show such kindness to a poor stranger?”

‘“Maybe it’s because I like it when my father is bested. Or maybe it’s because your red hair amuses me.”

‘And then she dived into the waves. That’s the immortals for you. You never quite know, do you?

‘Well, we had a small supper of clams, sea urchins and strange squashy marine creatures that have no name and frankly don’t deserve one. Next morning, at dawn, we prayed to all the gods we could think of and made our way towards the cave that Eido had pointed out to me. As we arrived there, she came out from the sea carrying with her the skins of four seals. Inside the cave, we dug out four hollows to lie in and she covered each of us with one of the skins and went away.

‘Hell of a wait. The smell, the revolting, rotten, fishy stink, would have been too much for us if Eido hadn’t spread a tiny smear of ambrosia under our nostrils. Its divine sweetness more or less counteracted the horrific stench.

‘All through the morning, we could hear and feel hundreds of seals sliding their way across the sands towards us. Into the cave they came, honking, snorting and slobbering as they settled down to their rumbling sleep. Then, from under our pelts, I could hear the Old Man humming to himself. Next came the sound of him counting the seals. Eido had warned me he did this every day.

‘“But when he discovers that there are four more than there should be?” I had asked her.

‘“Oh, the numbers always vary. He has to report the tally to Poseidon every night. I think it’s the god’s way of keeping my father under his thumb.”

‘At last, the count was over, and the sound of Proteus snoring now mingled with the rasping splutter of the seals.

‘I whispered to my companions, as planned. “One … two … three … now!”

‘We pushed off the skins under which we had been suffocating for so long, staggered to our feet, kicked aside the sleek, slimy, sleeping seals in our way and fell on Proteus. Seizing a limb each, we pulled him out of the cave so quickly that he was still coming to by the time we were on the beach. Now we crammed ourselves around him, hugging him tight. The blazing heat and light of the fierce midday sun shocked us all, but him most of all. Once he realized what was happening, he roared in rage. But what that roar became! Suddenly we found ourselves clutching a lion, a snarling, roaring lion!

‘“Keep fast, boys, keep fast!” I managed to gasp out. Next it was a great writhing serpent we were clinging on to, then a leopard, a huge, tusked boar, a tree. But we never relaxed our grip, not for a second.

‘These transformations must have been tiring because we could feel the resistance slowly weakening. At last, with a groan and a wheeze, Proteus returned to his original shape. He glared at me through clouded, fishy eyes.

‘“Oh, it’s you, is it? The son of Atreus.fn11 Why have you seized me against my will? How dare you?”

‘“We have you, Old Man, and we will let you go when you have answered my questions. They are very simple for a deity who knows all there is to know. For one thing, you’ll be aware of how long we have been marooned here and how hard we’ve tried to leave. So tell us, which god is keeping us here? How have we offended them? How do we placate them? There. That can’t be too difficult for the wise, all-knowing Proteus, surely?”

‘“Pah! That’s simple enough for you to have worked it out yourself. The fact is, you were so busy looting and ransacking Troy that you forgot to make the proper sacrifices to Zeus and the other gods before you left for home. And since then, to make matters worse, you’ve enriched yourselves beyond the needs of any man – again, all without proper thanks and votive offerings to the gods. You have been trying to sail north and west. You must point your ships the other way, towards Egypt, and sail up and through the Nile. Burn sacrifices as you go, pray, build a few altars. Do your duty by the Olympians, and only then will you be able to sail back to Sparta.”

‘You can imagine what a fool I felt. He was right. Of course he was right. I should have known. Yes, I had “thanked” the gods by word and the occasional prayer, but I had forgotten how much they need real prayer, the real smoke of real burnt meat, and the real praise songs of real worship. But before I let Proteus go, there was more I had to know.

‘“My fellow Achaeans, my brothers-in-arms. Have they all got safely home?”

‘All but three, he told me. First, he described the death of Locrian Ajax. It was hard to sympathize. What was he thinking to have defied the gods in such a way? The war must have turned him mad. But then Proteus told me about my brother’s fate. I wept like a child at the news. I cried out that I wanted to die. If I couldn’t avenge Agamemnon, life would mean nothing.

‘But he gave me that fish-eyed stare again. “It’s not for you to make such drama. Maybe you will get to kill Aegisthus, or maybe your nephew Orestes has already done so.”

‘This calmed me down a bit. “You have been gracious, Old Man. Forgive the force with which we held you. We shall do all you have said.”

‘“Wait! Did I not say that there were three of your comrades who had failed to find home? Your particular friend, Laertes’ son, is the third.”

‘“Odysseus! Don’t tell me he too has perished?”

‘“Laertidesfn12 is trapped on the island of Ogygia, a prisoner of the nymph CALYPSO, who is mad for love of him. He dreams of Ithaca, Penelope and his son Telemachus. But he has lost his crew, his ships and any means of finding home. For years, he has been trapped there; who knows if he shall ever leave?”’

Menelaus broke off. Telemachus had gone white in the face and was trembling. Menelaus thought it tactful to carry on for a while and give him a chance to recover.

‘Well, he went on a bit prophesying my fate – all nonsense, I’m sure.

‘“For all that you are slow to sacrifice to the gods, they like you,” he said. Some such rot. “Indeed, they do. After all, you are a son-in-law of Zeus himself.” There was more like that. I shan’t bother to repeat it.fn13 And then … “My skin and scales were not made for this burning sun. You have had from me what you wanted. Farewell, son of Atreus.”

‘Before we knew it, Proteus had slipped and slid across the sand and into the surf, and we were left alone on the beach, being stared at disapprovingly by a great circle of seals.

‘As for the rest. Well, following those instructions, we pointed our ships towards Father Nilus, and all was fine after that. I built a memorial to my brother Agamemnon; we stopped to burn sacrifices to Zeus and the other eleven Olympians, not to mention a hundred different local gods. And finally, we turned about, sailed out to sea and picked up a fair wind to Sparta.’

Helen had taken Telemachus’s hand. ‘It’s good news. Good news! The Old Man of the Sea is many things –’

‘Literally, many things! A lion, a snake, a –’

‘Menelaus, you’re not helping … Many things, but not a liar. Your father is alive.’

Olympian Games

‘I must ask, dear father,’ said Athena to Zeus, ‘when your plan will come fully into being?’

‘Hm? My plan? What plan?’

‘Your plan for all humanity to be ruled by none but tyrants, criminals and fools. Your plan to ensure that justice is banished from the earthly realm. Your plan to usher in an age without treaties, promises, honour or law. That plan.’fn14

‘Eh?’ Zeus looked around the other gods in puzzlement. ‘I don’t have such a plan. Do I?’

They shrugged and shook their heads. Athena was having one of her rhetorical moments. Might as well get it over with.

‘Because if one of the best, wisest and most just mortals walking the earth at this time is to be cruelly imprisoned for years and years, then what can justice and honour mean? What can anything mean?’ Athena cried. ‘Let rivers stand still in their course. Let fruit fall upwards from trees. Let fire chill the bones, and air be hard as stone. Let the very –’

Zeus groaned. ‘Odysseus! This is all about that damned Odysseus again.’

‘“Damned” is right, father! The man has been held captive by an immortal for seven years. Damned, for sure. To a mortal, seven years can be an unendurably long time. Seven years, entirely alone. Damned indeed. No ship, no shipmates. Just Calypso weaving a prison for him with her perverted magic. Damned, damned and double-damned. Meanwhile, in far Ithaca, evil men are plotting mischief against his house. His son Telemachus, a noble youth who has done no harm to man or god, has spent nearly a year travelling abroad for news of his father. How those evil men would love to see that young man dead, and Penelope forced into matrimony. And for what great trespass is Odysseus to be damned? Why, for the sin of wanting to be home. For the monstrous crime of having the wit and imagination to find a way to end that terrible ten-year war? Damned for the transgression –’

‘But, but, but just a moment! Wasn’t it you who begged me in the first place to send a storm to confound Odysseus and the other Greeks returning home?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, father, that was ten years ago! Which is a very long time for –’

‘Very well, very well, very well! Let it be known that Odysseus is to be allowed home with all possible speed and ease. Hermes, go down and inform Calypso of my will. The son of Laertes is to leave her island forthwith. No divine hindrance – but no divine aid for him, either. She is to fashion him a simple vessel of some kind. Well, what are you waiting for?’

Hermes slipped on his golden sandals, raised his staff, tipped his low-brimmed helmet and was gone.

Zeus turned to Athena. ‘As for the boy Telemachus. You have already visited him as Mentes and guided him as Mentor. You can protect him again if it pleases you. Now, Ganymede! A draft of nectar. Hebe! A cooling cloth to my brow. Apollo – music! Athena!’

‘Yes, dear papa?’

‘Athena … you can leave me.’

OceanofPDF.com

On Calypso’s Isle

OceanofPDF.com

The Message

Like a seabird swooping and dipping over the waves for fish, so Hermes skimmed the blue waters of the ocean, letting its spray wet the wings of his sandals, a feeling he loved. On reaching Ogygia,fn1 he landed softly on the sands, making his way to the interior on foot, enchanted by the scents and sounds of the island. To his mind, the grandeur of Olympus and all the mighty palaces and halls of gods and mortal kings were pompous and hollow next to the sweetness and delight of earthly habitations such as this.

He arrived at the mouth of Calypso’s cave. He knew she was inside, for he could hear her voice raised in song and, in the silences between, the hush and knock of her shuttle as she worked her loom. She had lit a fire. A trail of cedarwood smoke filled the morning air.

One heel raised, Hermes stood there contrapposto, admiring the scene.fn2 All around the cave grew poplars, alders and cypresses, home to long-feathered hawks, owls and seabirds. Springs of clear, cool water bubbled from the rock. The ground was carpeted with violets, red clover and wild parsley; around the cave itself, vines trailed, laden with grapes so plump and lustrous they looked ready to burst.

Calypso knew him at once. Immortals always recognize each other, no matter how rarely they meet. She sat him down and served him ambrosia and red nectar. When he had finished, he sighed and leaned back, looking around.

‘You’ll want to know why I’m here.’

‘No doubt you will tell me in your own good time,’ said Calypso. She knew why he was here of course. Every morning for the last seven years, she had awoken with a dread that this day might come.

‘My father Zeus, the father of us all …’

‘The father of us all,’ echoed Calypso dutifully.

‘… has sent me with this message. You keep a most unlucky prisoner here. You know that he yearns for another island – Ithaca – and yet you deny him any means to leave your Ogygia. Zeus commands you to release him now. It is not the man’s fate to remain so far from his own land and people. He is destined to return to the hills and hearth of his Ithacan home.’

‘Oh, the hypocrisy! Zeus may have his Io, his Ganymede, his Callisto, his Danaë. Demeter can consort with Iasion.fn3 And you – you, the perfect Hermes. How many mortal boys and girls have you had the pleasure of? Because, yes … yes, my Odysseus is the son of Laertes, grandson of AUTOLYCUS, is he not? And who was the father of Autolycus, Autolycus the thief? Why, you!fn4 All of heaven’s tribe may consort with mortals, but not Calypso. Calypso must live alone and unhappy …’

‘Now, steady on …’ Hermes took her hand. ‘None of these affairs turned out well, you know. Callisto? Turned into a bear. Danaë? A shower of gold. Io, a cow. And Demeter? Her liaison with Iasion, if I can put it so poetically, ended with Zeus smashing the poor lad with a thunderbolt, as I’m sure you’ll remember. Yes, we have our fun, but that fun – like everything in the wide cosmos – is fated to dissolve. You’ve had seven years of pleasure, Calypso, an eye-blink for you but a long time for a mortal. Now’s the time to let him go. Zeus has made known his will. I don’t need to tell you what a misery your life will become if you even think of disobeying.’

He watched her cry for a while before stroking her wet cheek with his finger. She lifted up her head. ‘I welcomed him after Zeus himself had smashed his ship and left him to drown. I fed him, clothed him and loved him. I even offered to make him immortal. But Zeus’s will is Zeus’s will. So yes, I’ll send him off now. I have no ships here, so he will have to go with what he can build himself. For all he knows and I know, Zeus will change his mind one more time and destroy him with another of his thunderbolts. But don’t worry. As far as I am concerned, your great-grandson is free to find his way home.’

Despite herself, Calypso smiled. To call the eternal shining youth Hermes a great-grandfather seemed absurd.

Hermes rose to his feet, returning the smile. ‘You are doing the right thing. The miseries that my father could rain upon your head if you dared to disobey.’

A wink, a shuffle, a flicker, a shimmy, and he was gone.

The Farewell

A wide field of blue above a wide field of darker blue. Odysseus sat on his favourite rock and stared out. Sometimes the swift flight of a cormorant, gannet or tern might interrupt the purity of his view. Less often, a fishing vessel laboured with agonizing slowness from left to right or right to left; but usually, as now, he was left with an empty screen which he could people with the living and the dead. Diomedes, the dearest of his brothers-in-arms, whom, in a moment of madness, he’d once attacked with a knife. Diomedes would be back in Argos now. Achilles was treading the fields of Elysium in bliss. Agamemnon would be home and happy, too. Menelaus and Helen in Sparta once more. The lords and princes of Thessaly, Thebes, Corinth and Crete, all home. All but Odysseus of Ithaca. Why did the gods despise him? He had thought himself on good terms with Athena, at least. He made the proper offerings. Credited the gods with any successes that came his way.

Most men would call him blessed. On this island paradise, an immortal nymph of transcendent beauty serving him, pleasing him, loving him every day. He did his duty, but thought himself cursed. She knew that wherever his body might be, his mind was always in Ithaca.

And now, he felt her as much as heard her.

‘Still staring out to sea, weeping?’

He said nothing.

‘Perhaps you will answer me if I ask another question. How would you like to leave this island?’

Odysseus said nothing.

‘I have decided the time has come. Take some tools, cut some wood and make timbers for a raft. I have cloth enough to make you a sail. Son of Laertes, at least face me when I bring you the news you’ve waited seven years to hear.’

Odysseus turned to look at her. ‘What fresh trick is this? There are no tools of bronze on this island with which I could cut wood. You’ve made sure of that.’

‘You will find them all the same. A chest of axes, saws and knives is now outside my cave. I have made it so. I’ll give you food, water and wine enough for your journey home.’

‘Home?’ The word could hardly find passage through Odysseus’s throat. ‘What are you plotting? Oh, I see. I get it. Yes, of course. The gods have decided to have fun with me once again, have they? My little raft might float across a flat sea for a while; but soon enough, you or Zeus, or another one of you, will boil up the waters and crash the winds into me. Oh, what sport you will have with Odysseus. How Olympus will shake with laughter.’

Calypso stepped forward and held his shoulders. ‘Has life really made you so cynical? Look into my eyes. I swear by the sky above and by my honour. More than that – you know there is no greater oath an immortal can make than this – I swear by the cold, black waters of the River Styx itself that I wish you nothing but what you wish yourself. See me swear it. Feel it come from my deepest heart. Odysseus, trust me.’

He looked into her eyes a long while.

She took him by the hand and Odysseus followed her to the cave. There outside, just as she had said, was a chest of tools, bronze blades glinting in the sun. Inside, she showed him the cloth he could use for a sail.

‘Let us eat first. You will need strength if you are to swing those axes.’

As they ate, the hope and shock inside Odysseus began to reveal themselves in an energy and force that he had not shown since the first weeks of his stay on the island. Calypso watched him with sad amusement.

‘Can leaving me really give you so much joy?’

Odysseus was grateful that his mouth was full, excusing him any speech.

Calypso sighed. ‘I looked at myself in the waters of the stream this morning. And, you know, I thought I saw the face of a beautiful immortal. A face that will never change. Never age.’

Odysseus said nothing.

‘Tell me, how old is your Penelope now?’

‘Just a year short of my own age,’ he mumbled through his mouthful of bread.

Calypso examined her nails. ‘I wonder how she’ll look.’

Odysseus swallowed the bread. A smile spread across his face. ‘Well now, let me see. To the lines etched by the passing of the years, you must add all the cares that have haunted her for more than twenty years. Looking after my mother and father, Laertes and Anticlea, as they grow older and more infirm. Tending to the kingdom. Bringing up my son, Telemachus. Worrying if that wretch of a husband of hers will ever come home. All this will have carved more and deeper lines into her face. She was lovely when she was young. So lovely. But never a beauty that could match yours, Calypso. It was a human beauty, far inferior to the appeal of nymphs.’

Somehow, to Calypso’s ears, the word ‘nymphs’ sounded almost like an insult.

‘Penelope’s youth will have faded by now, for sure,’ Odysseus went on. ‘But it will have transformed into something deeper. She will have the kind of depth of beauty only women have. A woman’s fine grace. Personality. Character. No, you needn’t worry. Penelope could never match a girl like you for youth and beauty. You might even think her ugly. When I see her, I will know that she is Penelope. My wife.’

Calypso compressed her lips. Another thought struck her. ‘I do what I can to make this island delightful, you know. We are protected from the storms and high winds. When it comes, the rain falls in a light drizzle that is enough to freshen the earth and cleanse body and spirit. No wolves or bears threaten here. Flowers of every colour bloom and send their sweet perfume into the air. Pomegranates, lemons, grapes, olives and figs can be picked warm from the trees. The hushing of the surf and the trilling of the crickets lull you to sleep in the evening, and in the morning, the music of the birds welcomes you to another perfect day. But I suppose Ogygia is a poor place indeed compared to Ithaca?’

Odysseus openly laughed. ‘Oh my goodness, you’ve never seen such a rocky, scrubby, barren, unforgiving spot,’ he said. ‘It’s all our farmers can do to grow weeds there, let alone cereals and fruit. We have the sourest wine, the raggediest sheep, the scrawniest cattle of any island in the wide Ionian Sea. Trees and houses are blown down every year in the gales. Some years, the rain never comes, and the earth turns to sand. Other years, the whole island slops with mud. Believe me, Ithaca is no Ogygia. But it’s something else … it’s …’ His eyes now filled with tears and the word came out hoarsely, ‘… home.’

The sun finally set and darkness fell on the island. Calypso wiped away her own tears and took his hand. ‘One last time,’ she whispered.

‘One last time,’ Odysseus said, letting her lead him to bed.

The next morning, early, Odysseus was felling trees with a joy that such a task had never brought him before. Twenty small trees yielded twenty logs for the base of his raft. He stripped a larger trunk into a mast and set himself to saw and split planks for a dry deck.

He remembered supervising the men as they erected the great stockade between the plain of Ilium and the shoreline during the first weeks of the war. And then, ten years later, watching Epeius oversee the construction of the wooden horse, both of them obsessing over every detail. How glad he was then, and how glad he was now – as he took a copper-headed adze from Calypso’s chest of tools – that his father Laertes had insisted he be schooled in woodwork and joinery from his earliest age.

‘A boy should be able to fell a tree and build a cabin before he is sixteen.’

Odysseus had built with his own hand elements of the palace in Ithaca that he and Penelope had called home for so short a time. His mind dwelt on the great bed he had fashioned from an ancient olive, a noble old tree that she had begged him not to fell. One day, they would sleep in that bed again.

He carved out dowels and joints for the gunwales, and pegs and cleats to take the rudder and sail. He stood back to survey his work.

Calypso appeared with the sailcloth and baskets of provisions.

‘Bread, fruit, smoked meat; and here, skins of wine and of water to last you three weeks.’

Odysseus took them, delirious with happiness. ‘What made you change your mind after all this time? Was it my sulking?’

‘I … Never mind why. Just have faith that with all my heart, I wish you safe passage. I will it, and the gods will it.’

Odysseus handed Calypso one of the long wooden poles he had made to act as levers and facilitate a smooth launch. Together, they eased the raft to the water’s edge.

‘Well, I suppose this is where we say goodbye,’ said Odysseus, pushing off and climbing aboard. He knew these were lame words, but he could think of no others.

‘I love you, you dreadful man,’ said Calypso.

The sail caught the breeze, and her figure alone on the sand grew small. He watched her for a while, his hand raised in farewell, before he turned towards the horizon and home.

The Wrath of Poseidon

Calypso had told Odysseus to keep the Great Bear and the Seven Sisters – the Pleiades – to his left.

‘Keep on in that direction, and you will pass Scheria, the island home of the Phaeacians. That will confirm you are on course for Ithaca.’

For seventeen days Odysseus sailed, dozing during the day and watching the stars by night. At last, on the eighteenth day at sea, he made out on the horizon the soft purple outline of the Phaeacian hills.

‘Thank the gods,’ he breathed.

But which gods should he thank? There was one Olympian who had not been present when Athena had pleaded with Zeus for Odysseus to be freed from Ogygia and finally allowed home. Poseidon had been absent. He had not heard Zeus’s command that nothing should impede the Ithacan king.

‘So,’ growled the sea god, ‘Odysseus thinks he can travel my waters with impunity, does he? Imagines that I have forgiven him for what he did to my son?’fn5

Poseidon stirred his trident in the water, churning the waters of the sea and whipping up the winds from every quarter. Next he forced the clouds together into a great thunderhead that crashed above Odysseus’s helpless raft. The waves roared and reared, the raft spun round like a child’s toy.

Odysseus hugged the mast and cried out in furious anguish. ‘Of course, of course! The punishment is never enough, is it? Dear gods, why couldn’t I die outside the walls of Troy alongside my friends? A hero’s funeral and fields of asphodelfn6 would be my reward instead of this torture.’

One great crack of lightning, the mast was gone and Odysseus was in the water, clinging to the edge of his raft. His ears fizzing and lungs bursting, he knew that this was the moment. His death had come. There was no possibility of rescue. He relaxed his grip on the side of the raft and smiled.

The White Goddess

But someone had seen him. Once, she had been the mortal Ino, daughter of Cadmus. Now, she was LEUCOTHEA, the White Goddess, Queen of the Ocean. She broke from the water in front of him like a shearwater.fn7

‘You poor man, what have you done to anger Poseidon so? It must have been something simply unforgivable. Yet, for all his fury, you seem to be alive and whole. Do as I say, and all will be well. Strip off your clothes and swim clear of this broken raft. The light is clearing and you can see Scheria over there, the coastline of Phaeacia. Take this veil and wrap it about you. It is immortal and will keep you safe. But the moment you tread land, you must untie it and throw it back into the sea. Turn away as you do so. You hear?’

And with those words, the goddess dived (like a shearwater) back down below the waves.

At first, in the chaotic fog of his mind, Odysseus wondered if she had been part of some delirious dream. But then he saw and felt the fine reality of the veil between his fingers.

‘But why the hell should I abandon my raft?’ he wondered. ‘Broken as it is, it still floats. Does she want me to drown? No. I’m not moving.’

But even as he resolved to stay aboard, Poseidon, with one careless flick of his trident, sent a final wave. It towered over Odysseus like a cliff face before crashing down and smashing the raft to pieces.

Odysseus scrambled to his feet on one plank, riding it over the water like a horse.fn8 He knew he could not balance like this all the way to Scheria, so he pulled off his clothes and tied the veil around his waist. He dived from the plank and struck out for the shore.

Somehow, when he was upright on the raft, the Phaeacian coastline had looked close enough to be attainable, but now that he was in the water, it seemed appallingly out of reach. He swam for one hour, two, three, four … Now, to his salt-stung eyes, the island looked further away than before.

For two long days, he breasted the waves, swimming, bobbing, floating, drifting and fighting, before finally he touched a rock jutting up from the seabed. He had reached the shore of Phaeacia. The waves banged against him, his hands slid on the weeds that slimed the surface of the rock, but he was not going to give up now. He clung hard, waited for a pause in the crashing tide and leapt across to another rock. In this way, Athena or his own fevered brain urging him on, he sprang from rock to rock like a mountain goat leaping from crag to crag, until at last he came to a break in the line of them. He tumbled onto the sandy outlet of a river and pulled himself further and further inland, like a turtle making for its nesting ground.

Far enough in to feel safe from the threat of the waves, Odysseus rolled into the shelter of some reeds. Before he dropped down into the sleep he so desperately craved, he remembered the veil around his waist. He pulled it from him and hurled it with all his remaining strength towards the water, half expecting the wind to blow it back towards him. But its enchantment carried it far away out to the wide sea.

A white arm burst from the water, caught it, and pulled it down below the waves.

OceanofPDF.com

The Cursed Children

OceanofPDF.com

Focus on Phocis

King STROPHIUS of Phocis was poorly named. He was a simple, uncomplicated man with simple, uncomplicated ideas. His friends, and he had many, would have been more likely to describe him as solid as an oak than slippery as an eel.fn1

Some twenty summers ago, Strophius had married Menelaus and Agamemnon’s sister, Anaxibia. After a little while, the union produced a son, Prince PYLADES, of whom they were fond and proud. It had been a disappointment when time revealed that Anaxibia would never bear any more progeny, but the gods had – in the most unlikely way – provided them with three much-loved foster children.

Seven years ago, in Mycenae, Anaxibia’s brother Agamemnon had been murdered by Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus. Before that unnatural monster could turn her attention to her own two children Electra and Orestes, they had been spirited away by their nurse Arsinoë, along with their younger sister Chrysothemis. Aunt Anaxibia had been only too pleased to bring the children up as her own and Strophius assented happily.

‘Company for Pylades,’ he had said.

And how right he had been. The four cousins got on well with each other; but, from the very first, Pylades and Orestes were inseparable. Each had now reached their nineteenth year, and Strophius was anxious for Pylades to complete his training in statecraft. Until this time, he and Orestes had always been taught together, but the particularities of the kingdom of Phocis meant that Pylades’ tutelage from now on would have to be undertaken on his own.

Orestes was the rightful heir to a kingdom too. But back in Mycenae, the adulterous union of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra had borne fruit in the form of a daughter, ERIGONE, and a son, Aletes, who was being raised as the next king.

That Pylades’ future should be so assured and Orestes’ so uncertain was an unspoken source of unease.

‘We have a month to go before I start my lessons,’ Pylades said as he, Orestes and Electra sat by the fountain in the inner courtyard of the Phocian palace. ‘The festival of Demeter is coming up. What shall we do?’

‘I promised Arsinoë and Menander that I would pay them a visit,’ said Electra. ‘You should come too, Orestes. They always ask after you.’

‘Ah,’ said Orestes. ‘The Seal and I are going on a hunt. I’ll … I’ll give you a present for him and a poem for her.’

Orestes liked to call Pylades ‘the Seal’. The reasons were complicated. Pylades’ great-great-grandmother, Psamathe, a Nereid, had turned herself into a seal to evade the attentions of Aeacus, King of Aegina. Aeacus had taken her anyway, and she had borne a son, Phocus.fn2 Phocus’s son Crisus begat Strophius, Pylades’ father. As far as Orestes was concerned, therefore, Pylades was as much seal as human.

Electra sighed. Boys were unreliable when it came to their obligations. She left the next day, and after her brother and cousin had waved her goodbye, they mounted their horses and headed for the eastern hills. This was no formal hunt and they took no one with them, not so much as a single groom or attendant. They liked to be alone together.

Pylades and Orestes were extraordinarily in love, to the amusement of Strophius and Anaxibia, who likened them to Patroclus and Achilles.fn3 Such close companionships were common and blessed by the gods. The time would come when each would have to think about marriage and children; but, for the moment, their passionate fondness each for the other was a source of delight and envy all around the kingdom.

‘Parnassus?’ said Pylades, pointing to the far blue hills to the east.

‘I’ve another idea,’ said Orestes. ‘Follow me, and see if you can guess.’

It took Pylades an hour of riding to realize their destination. ‘Delphi! You’re heading for Delphi.’

‘Might as well see what the future has in store.’

They rode on in silence. Pylades could understand why his friend, who had suffered the almost unimaginable horror of seeing his mother murder his father, might want to know what the future held for him. But Pylades knew, as did the whole world, that the clan of Tantalus was triple-cursed. Tantalus himself is eternally tormented in the underworld;fn4 his descendants Pelops, Atreus and Agamemnon were all victims (and perpetrators) of nameless atrocities, curse piling upon curse like Pelion on Ossa.fn5 Suppose the oracle at Delphi had only terrible news for the next generation? Whatever the proclamation or prophecy, Pylades would support his lover. To the uttermost.

The queue outside the oracle was a long one that day. Fruit sellers moved up and down the line.

‘Now, have you handsome, generous, beautifully dressed young gentlemen ever seen figs as good as these?’ said a sycophant, offering up his pelanos, the cake of figs that formed part of the payment owed to the oracle.fn6

Orestes bought the pelanos. Now sellers of lambs and kids approached. Before entering the oracle it was necessary to make a sacrificial offering.

The offering was made, and, at last, it was Orestes’ turn. He beckoned Pylades to follow him into the cavern-like interior.

‘One at a time,’ cried a male voice from the darkness within. ‘Only one may … Ah, no. You are seen. You are a pair and you may enter as a pair. Come forward.’

Arms around each other, they edged nervously towards the voice. As their eyes grew accustomed to the dark, elements began to emerge. Pylades could make out the veiled figure of the Pythia, Apollo’s priestess, seated on her golden tripod.fn7 They knew that they could not address her directly, only through the priest, whose hand was outstretched. Orestes paid him the fee of two obols and handed over the pelanos.

The sulphurous air made Orestes cough. Eyes streaming, he spoke out as best he could. ‘I am Orestes, son of the King of Men, Agamemnon, son of Atreus, son of Pelops, son of Tantalus, son of great father Zeus.’

‘We know who you are. What would you with us? Speak.’

‘I want to know how to reclaim the throne stolen from my father.’

‘Every day that King Aegisthus and Queen Clytemnestra rule in Mycenae is an affront to the gods. The blood crime must be avenged. The abominable murder of Agamemnon must be avenged. And you, Prince Orestes, must be the avenger.’

‘I … I understand. But must I kill my mother as well as –’

‘We have answered. Leave us.’

‘But –’

‘Go!’

They rode away at a gallop. When Delphi was far enough behind, they slowed their pace.

‘I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you do this on your own,’ said Pylades.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you are planning to go to Mycenae, then I’m coming with you.’

‘But your schooling. You have all those lessons ahead of you. Land management, legal documentation, livestock breeding …’

‘Eugh. Anyway, that can be put off for a year or more. My father will understand.’

‘But it might be dangerous, Seal. It will be dangerous.’

‘All the more reason not to let you go alone. It’s not a subject for debate. I am coming with you. That is that.’

Return to Mycenae

It was Arsinoë’s idea to visit Agamemnon’s tomb.

‘The gods will bless us,’ she said. ‘You’re a naughty girl not to have gone before.’ Nurses who raise their charges from the nipple are accustomed to speak to them with embarrassing freedom in adulthood, princesses of the blood royal or not.

She and Electra stood in the stoa, the colonnade that formed the entrance, and looked up at the bleak mausoleum itself.fn8 Agamemnon’s name and likeness were nowhere to be seen, but along the architrave was inscribed the legend ANAX ANDRON – ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν – ‘King of Men’.

‘She had the cheek to pay for that. Yes, and weep fat tears in front of it, too,’ said Arsinoë.

They burned leaves and knelt down, each mouthing their own prayers.

‘Would you mind,’ said Electra after a few moments, ‘would you mind if I was alone with my father for a while?’

‘Dear child. You were always close. He hupped you on his knee, sang you songs and called you his most beloved. Do you remember?’

‘I remember,’ said Electra.

Arsinoë rose with a creak and a sigh, bestowed a kiss on Electra’s head and shuffled away.

A raven flew up to the roof. The stonework of the burial chamber amplified its rhythmic cawing until it sounded in Electra’s ears like a repeated accusation. She tried to remember the significance of ravens. She felt that they were connected somehow to Apollo. Yes, had the god not once punished a white raven by turning it and all its descendants black for ever?fn9

‘Oh, my father, my father! Why were you so trusting, so careless of your life? How could you conquer the whole noble race of Trojans yet be laid low by two such murderous dogs? Why did you leave your daughter?’

‘And your son too.’

Electra spun round. The setting sun behind them, she made out the silhouettes of Orestes and Pylades. She rose to greet them.

‘Going on a hunt, were you?’

‘More than you know, cousin,’ said Pylades.

They found a marble ledge and sat down. Orestes told his sister about their visit to the oracle.

‘And will you do it?’

‘If you mean am I going to kill Aegisthus, then yes.’

‘And … our mother?’ Whispered, the word came out all the louder and seemed to hiss around the portico.

Orestes frowned. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I should give her the chance to explain.’

‘Explain? What is there to explain? She murdered our father. In the coldest of cold blood. Leaving no chance for him to expiate or prepare his soul. There can be no crime more foul.’

‘Avenge! That is the direct command of Apollo,’ said Pylades.

At the sound of the god’s name, Electra looked instinctively towards the roof’s colonnade. The raven winked down at her, cocked its head to one side for a moment and took off with a harsh cry.

‘Here’s a way to do it,’ she said.

Orestes and Pylades leaned in to listen.

Revenge

Clytemnestra stood back to admire herself in the long plaque of polished bronze that served as her mirror. This new long gown of emerald-green and gold suited her well, she believed. Brought out the little chips of green in her eyes.

She could hear Aegisthus’s voice in the council chamber, raised in anger against his chamberlain. Fond of her husband as she was, she wished he could regulate his temper. Shouting at the upper servants was undignified.

Even as she smoothed the fabric down, she saw in reflection the poor chamberlain, red-faced and shaking, pass by behind her.

Not a minute passed after that but the wretched man had returned and was bowing before her.

‘Your pardon, majesty. A visitor at the gate who would have words with you.’

Clytemnestra raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do you bother me with visitors at the gate?’

‘It is Menander, ma’am.’

‘Menander? Do I know a Menander?’

‘If it please your majesty, he used to be a tutor to your … to the Prince Orestes and Princess Electra, ma’am. Before the … that is to say, when …’

Clytemnestra’s lips curled into a smile. ‘Yes, yes, yes. I remember him. Does he say why he wants to speak with me?’

‘He says he bears news, ma’am.’

‘He may approach.’

Clytemnestra slid a golden comb into her hair and waited until she could see in the mirror the chamberlain escorting the visitor into her presence. She turned with a faint smile. Menander knelt, and the chamberlain backed awkwardly out.

Clytemnestra examined her nails and allowed a silence to fall.

‘Well, Master Menander,’ she said at last. ‘It has been a time. Let me see … seven years, I think?’

‘Seven years, majesty,’ mumbled the tutor.

‘Seven years since you and your ugly wife removed my children from this palace. No, you needn’t snivel and grovel. You did King Aegisthus and me a great favour. Three fewer mouths to feed. What do you want with us now?’

‘I bring sad news, my queen. Your son, Orestes, he … he has passed into the underworld.’

‘Orestes, dead? How?’

‘An accident while hunting, I believe, majesty. A representative from the court at Phocis is on his way to bring you the ashes and tell you more of it. It is my understanding that the Princess Electra travels with the embassy.’

‘You may leave us. My compliments to your wife … Arsinoë, I think her name was. Still ugly?’

‘Oh, ugly as you like, ma’am. Ugly as ten toads.’

‘Very well, you needn’t sound so pleased about it.’

‘No, ma’am.’

When he was gone, Clytemnestra called for Aegisthus and told him the good news. They lifted their heads and whispered thanks to heaven. The fear that Orestes was alive and growing to manhood had occupied their minds for some time. Any day, he might raise an army to seize back the throne that he doubtless considered his.

‘We are safe, my love!’ cried Aegisthus. ‘The gods are good to us.’

After lunch, he went to his chambers to do who knew what. To sharpen his sword blades and spear tips, count his gold, drink wine – she never knew what he got up to.

She was settling to her loom when the chamberlain appeared before her once more.

‘The Princess Electra and her delegation, your majesty.’

And there, suddenly before her, was the daughter of her blood, Electra. She was beautiful. She was lustrous. She had flashing eyes and very determined lips.

Clytemnestra rose. ‘My dear daughter. You are welcome.’

Behind her were two young men, both with very set faces. One was carrying a jar.

‘I am only here to bring you the ashes of my brother, Orestes.’

Clytemnestra indicated a table behind her. ‘You may set them down there. Tell me, my dear, how did the poor boy meet his end?’

Clytemnestra did not notice that the young man carrying the jar, after leaving it on the table as instructed, had slipped out of the room.

‘He went out one morning with a hunting party …’ Electra began.

Clytemnestra’s guess as to what Aegisthus got up to in his rooms was not far off the mark. He did like to whet the blades of his weapons. He did like to count his gold. He did very much enjoy cups of strong wine. His attention today was on an animal-hide chart of his residences, however. Besides the great palace in Mycenae, he had halls and castles up and down the entire length of the Peloponnese. He had felt for some time that his properties in Arcadia were insufficiently grand for his status and was taking much pleasure in drawing up plans for a whole new complex of royal buildings.

He became aware of a presence in the room.

‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’ he grunted, without looking up.

‘Apologies, your majesty. I thought you would want to see me.’

Aegisthus looked up. A young man, Doric accent, sword in his belt.fn10 ‘Oh. You’re the delegation from King Strophius. Yes, yes. Bad business. My stepson. What happened exactly?’

‘Well, your majesty …’ The young man looked around the room. ‘He was out on the lower slopes of Parnassus. A wild boar had been marauding around the villages there, so we all gathered for a hunt.’

Quite casually, the young man plucked a spear from the wall.

‘Prince Orestes, he had his spear, you see. Held it in his hand like this and suddenly …’

With one swift movement, the tip was at Aegisthus’s throat.

‘What the hell?’

‘… and suddenly, Prince Orestes was in Mycenae, standing before the bastard son of a mongrel bitch who conspired to kill his father, the greatest king that ever lived.’

Aegisthus’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘You!’

‘In the name of Apollo, I claim my revenge.’

Orestes thrust. The spear burst through the flesh of Aegisthus’s neck. A fountain of blood sprayed out. Orestes pressed harder, and the tip pushed through into the chair behind Aegisthus, pinning him. He shuddered and thrashed, and was still.

Clytemnestra leaned forward, an expression of great sympathy and sorrow on her face. ‘So this boar, this wild boar …’

‘Like the Calydonian Boar itself, it was,’ said Electra.fn11 ‘He had no chance.’

‘And it killed Orestes?’

‘No, mother, Orestes killed it.’

Clytemnestra spun around. Orestes came forward. She saw a spray of scarlet on his tunic.

‘Yes, I thrust a spear through the vile old boar then, just as I did now.’

‘Aegisthus!’ Despite herself, Clytemnestra cried out in pain.

‘And now you, mother,’ said Electra. ‘You too have to pay for what you did to my father.’

‘You would not. You dare not. Your own blood.’

‘You massacred my father. We saw. We saw you do it. We saw you crawl up behind him.’

‘He had your sister Iphigenia killed! How can such a crime rest unatoned? And he dared come to my house with that Trojan whore!’

‘He was Agamemnon, King of Men!’ Electra was on her feet. She pointed a finger at Clytemnestra. ‘He was worth a thousand of you and you killed him. Do it, Orestes, do it.’

Orestes had drawn the sword from his belt and brought it up to point at his mother, but it shook in his grip. ‘I … I’m not sure I …’

Pylades came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Apollo ordered it. The command could not have been plainer. When was an oracle ever so clear?’

‘Orestes, you must!’

‘My son, you cannot, you –’

But Orestes could. He pushed the point of his sword into her stomach. She screamed. Electra took out a dagger and rained down her own blows. Pylades watched and mumbled a prayer.

Electra laughed and shouted with joy. ‘My father’s soul is avenged!’

Orestes fell to his knees, sobbing. He put his hands to his head. Pylades squatted down to comfort him, but Orestes stood and pushed him aside.

‘What have I done? What have I done?’

‘You have obeyed the oracle. You have righted a great wrong.’

Orestes shook his head. ‘Then why … then why are they here?’

Electra and Pylades exchanged glances. ‘They? Who?’

‘Can’t you see them? There they are … there!’ Orestes stabbed the empty air around him.

The Gods Confer

There were times when Zeus seriously considered transforming himself into a shepherd from Phrygia or Thrace or somewhere similarly remote and uninteresting, and keeping to that lowly condition for blissful eternity. No commands to give, no judgements to make; at least, none more pressing than when to move the sheep and goats to fresh pastures, or which to milk and which to fatten for slaughter.

The row had erupted when Athena enquired of him, mildly she supposed, whether or not it was right for the FURIES to have started tormenting Orestes of Mycenae.

Hera was outraged. A traditionalist by temperament, she would have disapproved of any major change in the established order of things on principal. But as a mother and queen herself, the idea that a blood crime such as royal matricide might pass without orthodox punishment …

Aphrodite and Artemis took up her cry. Dionysus burped his agreement from the corner.

Zeus turned to Apollo, who had been strangely silent. As a rule, the god of prophecy, reason and the bow spoke in agreement with Artemis, his beloved twin.

‘Well …’ he began. ‘There are two ways to look at this …’

‘Of course there are!’ snorted Hera. ‘It is those two ways we are discussing. One is sanctified by time and deep law, the other is no more than a … a desperate plea on behalf of a favoured mortal.’

‘Not quite, dear mother,’ said Athena. She always called Hera ‘mother’ despite the world being quite aware that Athena’s real mother was Metis.fn12 To acknowledge that would be to acknowledge Hera’s helplessness in the face of Zeus’s infidelity, which the gods were too wise to do. Prefacing mother with ‘dear’ was less usual, however, and caused Hermes, who was watching from beside Zeus’s throne, to giggle.

‘Prince Orestes,’ continued Athena, ‘in taking the life of the adulterous and murderous Clytemnestra was doing the direct bidding of Apollo. Is that not right, Apollo?’

‘That is indeed correct,’ Apollo said. ‘The revenge was called for. Mother GAIA spoke from the deeps. My priestess relayed the edict as my will.’fn13

‘But Mother Gaia’s children, the Erinyes, have duties older than whatever fancy might move your priestess on any given day,’ said Hera.fn14

‘Fancy?’ Apollo’s blue eyes sparkled with indignation. ‘The oracle is never …’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Zeus, intervening hastily. ‘I’m sure Hera meant no disrespect to your fine oracle.’

‘In any case,’ said Aphrodite, ‘I cannot believe that you, our lord and king, the great Sky Father and ruler of the world, would wish to see a member of the house of Atreus, of all rotten clans, go unpunished?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Zeus, now paying closer attention. ‘There you have a point.’

‘Oh, but father,’ said Athena. ‘Isn’t it time?’

‘Time?’

‘Time for mortals to be left to settle their own affairs. Aside from other considerations, look how they … well, look how they breed. At first there were few enough to allow us to pay attention to each one. We were able to subject them to our laws and our will. But there are so many now. They are building their cities and are trading between them. Look what my Athens has become. But even she is outshone by the splendour of Hera’s great city of Carthage. We all know too what will happen in Italy …’

‘Yes, but what has that to do with allowing Orestes to go free from punishment?’

‘I am not suggesting that he go free, father. I am suggesting he is judged.’

‘Explain.’

And Athena explained.

The Furies

Electra and Pylades were close to despair. Ever since the murders of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus – or ‘the executions’, as Electra preferred them to be known – Orestes had been behaving … the kindest word Electra could use was ‘strangely’. He had become unable to sit or stand still. He cared nothing for his appearance. He ate so little that he had grown dangerously thin. He talked to himself, mumbling words that neither his lover nor his sister could catch. He would disappear for weeks on end, going they knew not where. Aside from the distress this caused for the two who loved him best, it was causing great concern throughout the Peloponnese. Orestes was now the rightful ruler of the region’s most powerful kingdom. If he continued to present himself as unfit to reign, others were waiting, only too willing to cut him down and take his place. There had been an unspoken agreement for many years that Orestes should one day marry Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen, and thus unite the thrones of Sparta and Mycenae. The news that he had killed his own mother, Helen’s sister, ended any prospect of such a match. Respect for the young man had been replaced by revulsion.

‘I know what we must do,’ said Pylades. ‘I must take him back to Delphi. Only the oracle can tell him how to heal his broken mind.’

It took Pylades much wheedling and persuasion, many promises and threats before Orestes consented to go. They rode in a two-seater chariot driven by a trusted servant; but all the same, it was a horrible journey. Orestes screamed, laughed maniacally, sobbed, and at one point stood up and tried to throw himself onto the road.

It seemed that they were expected in Delphi, for the moment their chariot arrived, attendants in long white shifts came forward to escort them to the front of the queue for the oracle. They were followed to the entrance by murmurs of displeasure from those who had been waiting in the sun for hours and even days.

The voice of the Pythia called them in.

‘Orestes, Mycenae’s new king. We know of your troubles. We know what it is you want to hear.’

‘I want to hear nothing!’ Orestes yelled directly to the priestess. ‘I want silence. I want all the noises in my head to stop.’

‘Orestes, Orestes!’ Pylades put his arm around his friend. ‘Remember where you are. This ground is sacred.’

‘We are neither affronted nor offended, Orestes,’ said the Pythia. ‘The Lord Apollo commanded you to act as you did. You avenged the slaying of your father. But now the Erinyes torment you. They pursue you. They give you no peace. It is their purpose to punish and avenge blood crimes. They are almost as old as Mother Gaia herself. Even shining Apollo cannot call them back.’

‘But what can be done?’ Pylades cried. ‘This cannot be fair or just.’

‘Orestes must complete two tasks. Only then will he be free to take up his throne, his life and his destiny. First, by command of the great goddess Athena, he must go to the city of Athens. She alone can placate the Furies and balance the scales of justice. On the Acropolis, make sacrifices to the goddess, and then take yourselves to the heights of the Hill of Ares. Her works will be made manifest there. When this is completed, return here, and you will receive instruction as to your second task.’

Orestes seemed not to hear. He had frozen stiff. Pylades thanked the priestess, turned him around, and pushed him out of the sulphurous cavern and into the open air.

The sunlight on his face appeared to do Orestes good. The tension went out of his body, and for the first time in many months, his mouth relaxed into something that might almost have been called a smile.

The Trial

Athena had done her work before their arrival. She had whispered to the elders of Athens, who – surprised perhaps at their own wisdom, shrewdness and foresight – had put together a court of adjudication. Twelve judges were now seated on stone chairs on the Areopagus, the Hill of Ares, ready to try Orestes’ case. Witnesses had been summoned and a large, excited crowd of citizens was sitting itself on the ground to watch and listen. Never had a forum of this kind been assembled in remembered or recorded history. Everybody was eager to discover how such a proceeding might work.

The moment Orestes and Pylades arrived, guards took Orestes into custody, binding his hands behind his back and standing him on a raised stone, facing the judges. It was agreed that Pylades could speak for his friend. He addressed the court with what he hoped was gravity and authority.

‘Is it really necessary, good citizens of Athens, for me to retell a story whose horrible details are so well known? Already our worst poetasters are making money with vulgar verses that cast my friend Orestes as either an avenging hero or a bloody assassin. Neither role is fair or just. He is a man, a son and a brother who has been a puppet of fate since the day he was born.

‘Sixteen years ago, when he was but a child, his mother formed an adulterous liaison with their father’s cousin Aegisthus. Orestes and his sisters were banished from the royal apartments that were their rightful home and left to the care of a nurse and tutor, eating and living with the servants and slaves in the kitchen. All he could do was pray for the safe return of his father, Agamemnon, King of Men, and the restoration of order in Mycenae.

‘The great Agamemnon did duly return. Instantly, with a bestial savagery that, like one of Poseidon’s great earthquakes, sent shocks through the known world, Clytemnestra herself, with cowardly, merciless cunning, ended the life of the noble warrior king. What she began, Aegisthus himself finished, slaughtering a Trojan princess and priestess of Apollo, Cassandra, in contempt of all laws of honour.

‘Orestes and his sisters escaped to the court of King Strophius, where I have had the honour to know and love them, to grow with them from childhood, to witness the nobility of character and sweetness of nature that I declare before you to be the known virtues of this estimable prince.

‘Did he dream of revenge? Why, of course. Which of you, in those same circumstances, would not? However, the actions he took were pure, honest and validated by divine mandate. He betook himself to the oracle of Apollo at Delphi. There he was directly instructed by the Pythia, by the very mouthpiece of the god himself – directly instructed, I say – to avenge the murder of his father. For this, you would have him stand bound like some common criminal …?’

One of the judges raised a hand to interrupt. ‘Forgive me, Prince Pylades. What you say is most compelling, but you must know that anyone may claim that they act under the direction of an oracle, but how can this be proved? What a lawless world we would inhabit, were the mere avowal of oracular warrant to be admissible as an excuse for every crime.’

Pylades paused, taken aback. ‘Honourable sir … you … you cannot expect me to demand the presence of the priestess herself to bear witness? Let me say before you all, and before all the gods on Olympus, that I accompanied my friend. Yes, into the very interior of the oracle. I stood by him. I heard every word directed to him, and I swear now, upon my life and the future of my soul, that what I have reported is the absolute truth. The priestess of Apollo commanded him to avenge the death of his father. It could not have been clearer.’

The judge waved his hand as if in assent. The citizens sitting all around sighed and nodded their approval. It seemed that everyone believed Pylades.

‘And so,’ Pylades picked up the thread of his oratory, ‘Orestes and his sister Electra, without any relish or crazed violence, exacted their revenge. Two unnatural criminals were executed according to eternal law and divine will. Were this the whole of the story, any tribunal brought together to hear it would not only forgive Orestes, they would commend him. But there is more. Having obeyed the oracle, my friend then suffered the unendurable agony and torment of pursuit by the Furies. They have blasted his mind and his peace, robbing him of every feature that combined to make him the wise, sweet, honourable and virtuous man I am proud to call my dearest friend. He is brought here for punishment, but my plea to the court is that it be recognized that he has been punished enough already, and that for justice to be done, the public acclamation of his absolution and exoneration should be made here and now by this venerable assembly. No, it is more than a plea. It is a demand.’

Pylades gave a short bow and stepped backwards.

A murmur of appreciation greeted his final words. Even the judges nodded their approval. The same judge who had challenged Pylades earlier – he seemed to be the senior spokesman for them all – called for silence.

‘And now I believe we have someone who will speak against the accused man?’

A young girl stepped forward. She was strikingly beautiful, her hair dark, her eyes flecked with green. She looked no older than fifteen or sixteen.

‘And your name, please?’ asked the judge.

‘I am Erigone, daughter of King Aegisthus and Queen Clytemnestra.’

A gasp, a murmur, a general shaking of astonished heads. Orestes staggered forward and almost tripped.

Pylades steadied him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure she will have nothing of importance to say.’

‘Do you see her eyes?’ said Orestes. ‘So like my mother’s.’

‘What would you have us hear, Princess Erigone?’ asked the judge.

‘Well, my lord, I could stand here and demand vengeance for a girl whose beloved parents were snatched violently from her.’ Pale, trembling slightly but resolute, she turned to address each judge directly. ‘The lawful blood vengeance that would have been my right. But instead I come to plead a deeper cause. Since the war at Troy and its blessed result, those kings, princes, lords, chieftains, husbands, sons and brothers who survived the violence have returned to their homes. After such catastrophic bloodshed, we demand a new order, a new way of living that will never allow the gods to pull us into such a terrible conflict again.

‘This court is a sign of that new order. It is a sign that the curses, blood feuds and vendettas of our savage past are no longer to pollute our way of living. The gods themselves know that Justice, Fate and Law are older, deeper and more powerful forces in the cosmos than they are. We men and women, we mortals, can achieve justice and obey the law in our own way without the capricious and brutal intervention of the gods. The primitive cruelty of oracular proclamations and divine revelations brings us nothing but sadness, terror, and rivers of blood like the one that has brought us here. We speak here under the aegis of your patroness, Athena, whose qualities of understanding, judgement, wisdom, learning and insight are the ones we most need now if we are to reconstitute the world according to reason and sense, rather than impulse and bloodlust. She is the only god we need.

‘I do not condone the death of Agamemnon. But he consented to and arranged the slaughter of his own innocent child, Iphigenia. As if this were not enough, he dared to cross the threshold of his wife and queen in the company of a Trojan captive with whom he planned brazenly and openly to consort. Was this not provocation enough?’

One or two of the judges nodded in sympathy, but what Erigone said next astonished everyone.

‘I say no. It was not provocation enough! I say my mother and father should never have slain Agamemnon. In doing so, they committed a monstrous crime.’ She allowed the fire, force and shock of her words to echo around. ‘But, it grieves us all to know,’ she continued more quietly, ‘that they did slay Agamemnon. They took him mercilessly, by surprise. Allowing the King of Men no last words, no shriving or purgation, no chance to yield up his soul. His children, Orestes and Electra, knew that the murder of their father was a monstrous crime that went against all canons of natural law. But that was the moment the chain of vengeance should have been broken. How could taking the life of their mother, their own mother, be an acceptable act of retribution?

‘We Greeks expect each generation to improve upon the one before. We like to believe that we invented the idea of progress towards perfection. Orestes had the opportunity to do more than repeat the violent pattern of his brutal ancestors. He could have done what we are doing now. He could have placed Clytemnestra and Aegisthus on open trial, allowing the citizens and wise elders of our community the chance to make a judgement and formulate a punishment.

‘I accuse Orestes, therefore – yes, of an abominable crime against nature – but also of a hasty and arrogant assumption of the role of justice, a role which no individual should have the right to make. If we are to be an equitable and proper community, a society of wise and fair citizens, then we must make clear here, on the Areopagus, what we stand for.

‘I demand that Orestes be punished for the sake of our future. Let his punishment be a warning to all those who might ever consider making justice and the law their own private affair.’

Now it was her turn to bow and step backwards, and for a murmur of approval to follow her address.

The leading judge rose to his feet. ‘The rhetoric and reason of both speakers are to be applauded,’ he said. ‘This tribunal must now vote.’ He looked down the row to his left and then to his right. ‘Firstly, do you find that Prince Orestes has committed a crime deserving of punishment? The vote shall be given as a yes or a no. If a majority votes “yes”, we will move on to the sentence, which can be death, banishment into perpetual exile, or ostracism for a named length of time, and which will be for us to decide.’

The judges coughed, tutted, whispered to each other and, at last, finally quietened down. Pylades watched them closely for any sign of their voting intentions. He had been confident enough when he finished speaking that their sympathy was all with Orestes, but the force and weight of Erigone’s words filled him with doubt and fear for his friend.

The leftmost judge was on his feet.

‘Yes.’

The next stood up. ‘Yes.’

Merciful heavens. Pylades screwed his eyes closed.

‘No.’

On it went, down the row.

He thought he had counted seven votes of ‘yes’ before the last judge rose and declared a loud ‘No!’

The leading judge waved both his hands. ‘Citizens. We are tied at six votes in each direction!’

People in the crowd began shouting the words ‘Yes!’ and ‘No!’ Pylades would have feared for their safety had not a low boom sounded.

A tall woman stepped from behind the row of judges. She was dressed in armour, and a light seemed to emanate from her.

Athena!

Pylades threw himself down, aware that everyone else was doing the same thing – crouching down, facing the ground, not daring to look.

‘People of Athens!’ A voice that was somehow soft and personal, yet wide and commanding, sounded in Pylades’ head. ‘It seems that I have been left the deciding vote. I cast it in favour of Orestes, who is now pardoned and may go free, his name and honour restored. May this court be instituted to sit here, in this very spot in Athens, from this moment on and for countless generations. Its fame shall spread across the world, teaching how citizens, not kings or gods, may sit in fair judgement of each other. When that judgement is equal and undecided then, as in this case, may the final vote always fall in favour of mercy and acquittal.’

The last echo of that huge voice had hardly finished ringing in Pylades’ head before it was replaced by a most hideous chattering and rustling. He felt the temperature all around him drop.

Orestes, who had fallen so hard onto his knees that they bled, now whined and cried out, ‘Will they never leave me?’

Once again, Pylades heard inside his head the deep, sonorous tones that he knew could only belong to Athena.

‘The Erinyes, ancient spirits of justice and vengeance, are angry with me for depriving them of their prey.’ The rustling and chattering increased in volume and intensity. ‘But I command you, Furies of the blood of Ouranos, to find a new and better path to justice. Become forces of magnanimity, not revenge. I call you to that higher purpose and rename you. Here, below the Seat of Ares, will be the shrine of the Eumenides, the Kindly Ones.’fn15

The earth beneath Pylades’ feet shook. He looked up. A swirl of dust was all he could see behind the line of judges’ thrones. He got slowly to his feet. Everyone around him, Orestes included, now stood. They exchanged glances. With a leap of joy, Pylades saw radiance in his friend’s face. Orestes smiled and shook Pylades by the shoulder.

‘Seal!’ he whispered. ‘I’m back! But what happened?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Pylades. ‘I thought I saw … I thought I heard …’

The lead judge was attempting to cover up his own confusion. ‘Citizens! Citizens! As chief of this tribunal, it has been made clear to me … that is to say, I have decided … that … in the event of a tied verdict, it is only right for the court to fall on the side of mercy and absolution. I declare, therefore, that Prince Orestes is cleared of all charges against him and may leave with his … his … name and honour … er … restored.’fn16

OceanofPDF.com

The Idol

OceanofPDF.com

To Tauris

Pylades looked out from the rail and watched the dolphins leaping over the bow waves. Through the mist of spray that rose from their arched backs, the warm light of the dying afternoon sun fanned into a shimmering rainbow, which Pylades chose to interpret as a promise of good fortune.

If all went well, Orestes would soon be released from the bonds that had encircled him since the killing of Clytemnestra. Already, the Furies – the Eumenides as they must now be called – were harrying and tormenting him with less shrill violence. They still chattered in his ears and caused him distress. The oracle had made clear that a second task must be completed before they would depart entirely and Orestes might be deemed truly purged before the world.

‘Apollo demands that Orestes go to the land of the Taurians,’fn1 the Pythia had ordered when he and Pylades had returned to Delphi after the trial. ‘There he must find the wooden image of Artemis, and bring it to Athens, where it must be set in a new temple raised to her glory.’

This strange decree is what now took them over the water. Pylades knew that should they complete the task successfully, and there was no reason to suppose they could not, it would mark the end of their time together. Orestes would return to Mycenae to ascend his throne. Perhaps, after the sensation of the judgement at the Areopagus and the cleansing of Orestes, Menelaus and Helen would now permit his marriage to their daughter Hermione.

Pylades, meanwhile … his duty was to return to Phocis, where King Strophius was waiting to spend a year educating him in matters of statecraft before abdicating in his favour. Pylades would need to marry also. Orestes often teased him that Electra liked his looks and enjoyed his company. Well, perhaps …

‘Land! Land ahead!’

Pylades saw no land. However, he trusted the eyesight of the captain of the fifty-man penteconter that had transported them so swiftly from Piraeus, so he looked again. Orestes came up to join him.

‘So. What’s the plan?’

‘If you squint your eyes, you can just make out lights twinkling on the horizon. Yes?’

‘Aye, Captain Seal.’

‘Oh, hush. By the time we get close, it will be pitch dark. I think we should find a small inlet where we can hide the ship and go secretly by night to the temple where the statue stands. We should be back out to sea with the thing safely stowed aboard before first light.’

‘Hm … Just the two of us?’

‘Why not?’

‘Do we know how big this image of Artemis is? We’ll feel pretty silly if it’s a colossus that would take half a ship’s complement to carry.’

‘The oracle would have told us if that were the case. It’ll be portable. The main thing is that we have to be so damned careful. It’s well known that the Taurian King THOAS and the priestess of the temple of Artemis hate Hellenes like us. If they find a Greek anywhere in their kingdom, they bring them to the temple, where she sacrifices them. No exceptions.’

As they neared the coastline, they arranged with the ship’s captain a system of signalling with torches from the shore: one sign to indicate that they were ready to be picked up, another that there was danger, a third that the ship should leave without them, and a fourth that the crew would be welcomed and could safely disembark – every contingency Pylades considered plausible was accounted for.

Trekking from the cave towards the capital was no easy matter. It was fortunate that the city was on a hill; its lights offered an amenable beacon, but the country they had to cross to reach it was difficult. They laboured over rocks, streams and boggy marshes.

‘Hey, Pylades, I wonder if they have wolves here?’ said Orestes.

‘No!’ a strangely accented voice boomed out. ‘But they have sheep. And sheep have shepherds. Catch ’em, boys.’

‘Run, Seal, run!’

They stood no chance, of course, and were caught and captured within moments. Ropes were tied around them, and soon they were being roughly pulled towards the very place they had been aiming for, the temple of Artemis. The leader of the shepherds was happy to talk.

‘Bad luck on you two. But our King Thoas, he pays big money for Hellenes like you, and we are poor men with large families. They give you a good meal and the best wine before you are laid on the slab. That’s a cheering thought, at least.’

It wasn’t, but Pylades felt it would be impolite to say so.

They tripped and bumped along stony paths for two hours before the climb to the temple began. As they neared it, the shepherds banged their staffs together and let up a great hullabaloo. In answer, the wooden gates of the temple opened with a creak and a groan. Two sleepy guards emerged.

Pylades and Orestes were thrown into a stone cell. The clink of gold coins came to their ears; before long, they heard the shepherds singing their way back to the countryside.

In the morning, the captain of the guard dragged the two young men to the central chamber of the temple, threw them onto the ground and told them to await the priestess.

Pylades looked up to the altar and nudged Orestes, who followed his glance to a carved image of Artemis on the stone table. It was barely a hand’s breadth high. They giggled.

‘Silence!’ The captain of the guard kicked Orestes hard in the side. ‘This is holy ground.’

‘Indeed it is,’ came a commanding female voice. ‘And who have we here, polluting it?’

‘Two Hellenes, your graciousness. Shepherds found them in the hills, making their way here. They heard one of them call out to the other with the name “Pylades”. And maybe “Seal”.’

‘Seal?’

‘Pretty sure that’s what it was, my lady.’

‘Which one of you is Pylades, and which one Seal? You may look at us.’

They looked. The priestess was tall, regally beautiful and supremely self-composed. She reminded Pylades of … He could not quite say what or whom, but the association made his heart beat faster.

‘I am Pylades, ma’am.’

‘A good name. “Gatekeeper”, no?’

‘Your Greek is perfect, lady.’fn2

‘It is the language I love. So you,’ she turned to Orestes, ‘you must be Seal.’

‘No,’ said Orestes. ‘Pylades is Seal too. It’s complicated.’

She looked at them.

‘Such fine-looking young men. It will tear at my heart to sacrifice you.’

‘Perhaps you should spare yourself that agony,’ said Orestes. ‘We won’t mind. We’ll just be on our way.’

‘Back to Greece?’

‘Back to Greece.’

‘Tell me … No news reaches us here … The war is over, that much I know. But what of Helen and Menelaus?’

‘Back in Sparta.’

‘Achilles?’

‘He died. Paris shot a poison arrow into his heel.’

‘Odysseus?’

‘Lost at sea, they say.’

‘Ha! That devious bastard deserves no less. And what of … what of Agamemnon?’

‘The King of Men is dead also,’ said Orestes. ‘He was murdered by his wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover Aegisthus.’

She rocked for a second and put a hand to the altar to steady herself. ‘He … he had children, I believe?’

‘They live. Two daughters, Electra and Chrysothemis. There was a third – the eldest, Iphigenia, but she … she died.’

‘Was there not a son?’

‘Orestes. He is alive. Fully alive.’fn3

The priestess closed her eyes for a moment.

‘It would be a pity to sacrifice you both. Here is what I will do. I have a note I wish to write. If one of you will take it to Mycenae and deliver it into the prince’s hand, he will live. I shall sacrifice the one left behind.’

‘Pylades will take the note,’ said Orestes at once.

‘No, he will not,’ said Pylades. ‘He most certainly will not.’

‘Yes. He. Will.’ Orestes glared at Pylades. ‘I absolutely insist.’

‘Well, well,’ said the priestess, amused. ‘I see that you are more than friends. Wait awhile and I shall compose the letter.’

When she was gone, Pylades turned furiously to Orestes. ‘You must be the one to go.’

‘No!’ said Orestes. ‘I was compelled to come here, you were not. I am the one who aroused the Furies. I am the one who killed … who did what he did. I will not allow you to stay. You are going, Seal. Let me hear you say it.’

Pylades submitted. ‘I am the one who is going.’

The priestess returned, a roll of parchment in her hand.

‘Have you settled on which of you will deliver this message?’

‘He will,’ said Orestes, jerking a thumb in Pylades’ direction.

‘It seems it will indeed be me,’ said Pylades.

‘You promise, in the presence of the goddess, here in this hallowed place, to deliver the message?’

Pylades raised his hand. ‘By the silver bow of Artemis herself, so I swear. Only its loss by shipwreck or piracy will keep me from doing so.’

‘Yes … that is well said. We cannot risk its loss at sea.’ The priestess frowned and considered. ‘Very well. Here is the solution. You must learn the letter’s contents. If it is lost, you will still be able to repeat it. It is for Orestes, son of Agamemnon. Do you think you can memorize it?’

Astonished and bewildered, but keeping his countenance, Pylades bowed. ‘I believe so, madam.’

‘Very well, I shall read it to you.’ She unrolled the parchment. ‘“She that was sacrificed in Aulis sends this message. Her family may believe her dead, but Iphigenia is still alive. Fetch me back to Mycenae, Orestes, my brother, before I die. Rescue me from this barbarian land. Free me from the murderous priesthood that forces me to put innocent strangers to death. Unless you do so, Orestes, my existence will be a stain and a curse upon our house. The very –”’ She broke off. ‘What is it?’

Orestes had leapt to his feet. He was staring at the priestess in stunned incredulity.

‘Apollo, oh Apollo! This is why you sent me here!’ He turned to her, his face shining. ‘Iphigenia! Sister! How can you be alive?’

‘Sister?’

‘I am the brother you call upon. I am Orestes.’

Her face darkened. ‘You’d trick me, would you?’

‘No trick, sister, I swear.’

‘You would say anything to save your skin. Prove you are Orestes.’

‘Prove that I am your brother? How could I do that?’

‘Ha! I thought not.’

‘No, wait …’ Orestes was thinking fast. ‘When you were … I don’t know, ten years old, maybe eleven … you embroidered the scene of the quarrel between our grandfather Atreus and great-uncle Thyestes. It hangs in the megaron, above the shrine to Hestia. Oh, oh! And once you showed me a secret. In your chamber, in a concealed cupboard, you kept a spear. The very spear that our ancestor Pelops used to kill Oenomaus. I pushed the tip of it into the palm of my hand and pretended it had drawn blood. You screamed. Remember?’

‘Orestes! Oh my brother!’

The screams, the tears, the laughter. The exclaiming, the head-shaking, the wondering.

‘But, Iphigenia, what I don’t understand,’ said Orestes, ‘is how you can be alive? The whole Greek army saw Calchas plunge a knife into you on the sacrificial stone in Aulis.’

‘So they all believed. But Artemis substituted a deer at the last minute and swept me away here, to the land of the Taurians. And oh, how I hate being trapped in this place, brother. At first, I was so angry with our father for what he did, or thought he did, that the idea of killing Danaans, Achaeans, Argives, Hellenes – satisfied my lust for revenge. But I sickened of it soon enough. King Thoas, though – his hatred of the Greeks seems to grow every year. But now tell me what I don’t understand – if you didn’t know that I was living here, what in the name of all that is sacred brought you to this awful place?’

‘I consulted the oracle at Delphi. Apollo sent me here,’ Orestes pointed to the altar, ‘to take that image of his twin, Artemis, to Athens. If I do that, I will be released from my punishment. You see, I am being pursued by the Erinyes, and –’

‘Why? What have you done?’

It was hard for Orestes to tell the story of how he had killed Clytemnestra. Iphigenia’s initial response was horror and fury. Surely their mother had been right to kill Agamemnon after what he had done to Iphigenia? Orestes and Pylades pleaded for understanding. In the end she came round to some sort of accommodation.

‘It is our family. It is the curse,’ she said. ‘And perhaps this final act of appeasement will see an end to it all.’

‘So the oracle promised,’ said Pylades.

‘Now listen.’ Orestes went to the altar and picked up the image of Artemis. ‘Our ship is anchored off the bay below the red cliffs. This is what I suggest …’

A fanfare of trumpets broke in on them. Iphigenia quickly snatched the idol from her brother. King Thoas, a large, brutish-looking man with a thick beard, entered, rubbing his hands.

‘Well, well. I was told we had a couple of Hellenes to deliver to the goddess. And look at them. So young and clean, so innocent-looking. Little Greek babies. How Artemis will relish their blood. Have you begun the first rites, Iphigenia?’

‘No, my lord … for in truth, I am troubled.’ Iphigenia revolved the figurine in her hands.

‘Troubled?’

‘When these two came here into the holy shrine, this statue turned and shut its eyes!’

‘It did what?’

‘Yes, my lord. It turned round to face the other way. And when I picked it up to look more closely I saw that its eyes had closed.’

‘Well, they’re open now.’

‘Yes, my lord, but I know what such a manifestation means.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘It means,’ said Iphigenia, ‘that these two have some blood crime on their hands. I cannot sacrifice them until they have been purified, and this holy statue too, in the waters of the sea.’

‘Hm. Very well, let’s go and do that, then.’

‘Great king, I will do that, but you must remain here. The temple itself needs to be cleansed. You may achieve this with torches. The flames will purify the air. My priests will instruct you in the manner of it.’

‘Well, why can’t they do it themselves?’

‘They could …’

‘Excellent.’

‘But if you were to do so, it would glorify you in the eyes of the goddess. She would bestow great benefits upon you, sire.’

‘Right. So. Off you go, then. Hurry …’

Iphigenia chose the prisoners’ escort very carefully.

It was only towards the end of the day that Thoas finished the fumigating with sulphurous torches – a painstaking and malodorous process – and resanctified the temple. It occurred to him that Iphigenia and her sacrificial victims had been away a long time. He and his guards hurried to the bay over which the red cliffs loomed.

‘This is where she bathed them?’

‘I believe so, my king.’

‘Then where the hell are they now?’

The captain of the guard looked out to sea. A single penteconter at full sail was already halfway to the horizon. Even at that distance the captain could see the diamond sparkle in the water as fifty oars dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled.

Yes, Orestes did marry Helen and Menelaus’s daughter, Hermione. In time, Menelaus, as his father-in-law Tyndareus had done before him, yielded the throne to the younger generation. Orestes and Hermione ruled as King and Queen of Mycenae and Sparta.

Yes, Pylades did marry Electra. The couple reigned in Phocis. They named their son after the old king, Strophius. It all seemed to tie itself up into a neat and pretty happily-ever-after bow. The curse was finally lifted. The house of Atreus had suffered enough.

OceanofPDF.com

Odysseus: ‘A Man Who Has Seen Much Sorrow’

OceanofPDF.com

The Stranger on the Shore

A salt-caked, sun-burned, wind-scoured man lies face down and naked on a beach. Sandflies skip on the scarred skin of his back. From a distance you would take him to be dead, but come nearer and you will see the bellows of his chest opening and closing.

Behind the thunder of the surf and the scream of gulls can be heard the sound of human laughter. The squealing, gasping laughter of young people at play.

A leather ball rolls at speed across the sand until it is stopped in its course by the sleeping man’s head. The muscles on the man’s back twitch and bunch as he wakes. He raises his head and shoulders. His eyebrows compress into a frown as he tries to makes sense of the damp, sand-crusted ball in front of his eyes. He has never seen such an object in all his life.fn1

How long a life? It might be forty years, it might be sixty. The muscle tone belongs to a younger man, but the white-streaked hair and harsh lines of suffering on the face tell of one who has endured five lifetimes.

The distant laughter from behind the rocks now catches and holds its breath.

The man engages the sinews of his legs to stand upright. For all the effort and pain that every movement brings him, we can see at once that he is strong, balanced and athletic.

His sudden broad, masculine nakedness causes a gasp of shock along the bay, then shrill peals of delight, then muffled giggles, then panicked splashing, until finally there is only the loud silence of seabirds and breaking waves. Whoever they were – the piercing pitch of their hysteria suggests children or young girls – they have run away.

All but one.

The man shades his eyes and sees wet clothes draped over the rocks. From behind the largest of these rocks a form emerges, features flattened into silhouette by the late afternoon sun behind. The form comes closer, hesitant but determined.

As the man stares, the outline resolves into the figure of a girl. The man reaches quickly down to tear off a branch of thick leaves to cover his nakedness.

The girl is no older than sixteen. While she shows no fear, she cannot keep from her eyes a look of astonishment. Perhaps something more than astonishment.

When the distance between them is no more than the man’s height, she brings herself to a stop.

He tries to speak, but his throat is dry and the words stick.

The girl speaks. ‘Who are you?’

‘Don’t be afraid.’

‘I am not afraid.’ The girl is pleased to hear, through the stranger’s parched croak, the proper tones of Attic Greek. ‘Who are you?’

The man spreads his free arm, the one that is not pressing the leaves to his manhood. ‘A traveller. Lost and far from home. What is this place?’

She stares. Can he be joking?

A weak cough escapes the man’s throat. He quickly barks out another, but stronger, as if to make the first seem deliberate. ‘Are we on an island, or is this the mainland? The sea cast me up here.’

She looks around, as if the answer were obvious and written in every dune and windblown pine. ‘This is Scheria.’

He looks up at the sky with a frown. The mists of his memory begin to clear. ‘Of course. The home island of the Phaeacian people?’

‘Just so. My father, ALCINOUS,fn2 is the king.’

The man bows. ‘Princess.’

‘There is no need to mock me.’

‘I show supplication. All that I am is all that you see. I am lost. Everything I have is lost. My men, my ships, my everything. I have been imprisoned on an island for seven years. I am as I stand before you, naked and alone.’

‘Oh, you poor man …’

The stranger’s savagery of demeanour ought to be alarming, but the girl reads a fierce blend of inexpressible suffering and inextinguishable hope in his eyes. It touches her.

He gives another cough.

‘You must be starving.’

‘If I may presume upon your kindness and …’

She finds herself dropping her knees in a kind of curtsey. ‘On Scheria we honour Zeus and the laws of hospitality above all things.’

Now she throws her head back over her shoulders and calls out for her attendant maidens. They have been peeping over the dunes, watching, and come now shyly forward, giggling and bowing.

‘Girls, look. Here is a stranger. Find him food and some clothes. Let him wash himself.’

The bravest of the girls beckons and the man follows. He is given bread and wine and a flask of olive oil.

Adding a little sand to the oil, he scrubs himself down, rinsing off with seawater.

The girls run away, their laughter louder yet. Only the first girl, the princess, stays behind.

She says in answer to the question in his eyes, ‘Our city is over the hill. If you go through the gate …’

‘Can you not guide me there?’

‘If I were seen in your company, people might think … My father …’ She breaks off, angry with herself for blushing and stumbling over her words.

The stranger seems to understand. ‘Of course. Through the gate then …’

‘Past the temple of Poseidon and the marketplace, then through the palace gates at the end. They are always open. My father will be in the hall hearing petitions and settling disputes. Ignore him. Seek out my mother instead, Queen ARETE.fn3 At this time of day, she will be by the fire, spinning.’

‘I shall do just as you say.’

‘Sir! Aren’t you forgetting something?’

He looks about him like a puzzled child.

‘You can hardly expect to be received in that condition. Come over to the rocks with me.’ She extends a hand. His vulnerability has brought out a calm maternal spirit that she did not know she possessed. ‘We were washing our clothes. Let me see what might fit you. Try this chiton.fn4 I’m afraid it is still damp.’

‘Not as damp as the sea.’

She turns her back to allow him to dress himself.

‘You are kindness itself.’

He steps into the chiton, which is too small for him. ‘Tell me, though, the leather sphere that awoke me, what is that?’

‘Oh, this?’ She goes over to the ball and throws it to him. ‘We play games with it.’

He catches it, hefts it in his hands, pleased with the weight and feel. ‘What sort of games?’

‘Tossing, kicking, catching games. Now go where I told you. I need to collect up the rest of these clothes before the sun sets.’

‘May I know your name, princess?’

‘NAUSICAA.’fn5

‘I shall see you at the house of your parents, then, Nausicaa.’

The stranger obeys Nausicaa’s instructions. He passes the temple of Poseidon, ignoring the stares of wonder he attracts as he shoulders his way through the crowded agora. No Phaeacian will ever forget the sight of this wild man striding towards the palace with the bearing of a warrior yet wearing without embarrassment the gold-trimmed chiton of a gently born female.

He finds the Queen of the Phaeacians, just as the princess had told him, spinning at the hearthside. Conforming with the custom of those in supplication, the stranger kneels down and grasps her knees.

‘Why, you poor man,’ says Queen Arete, unconsciously echoing her daughter’s words. ‘I don’t believe I have ever seen someone so exhausted. You are in time to join us at table. Here is my husband. Why don’t you sit between us?’

The traveller is touched to be treated with such kindness and respect. King Alcinous and Queen Arete are too well bred to ask him questions, but they can tell that this is a man who has seen much sorrow, much pain, much suffering – much life. There is one question the king cannot forbear from putting to his guest. With puzzlement, he says, ‘I’m sure I have seen that gown before.’

‘Silly man,’ says his wife. ‘It’s Nausicaa’s.’

‘How the deuce did he come by it then?’

‘I gave it to him, father …’ says Nausicaa, joining them. ‘You have always taught me that no virtue is higher than guest friendship.’

‘Ah, yes. Quite right. Good girl. Here’s to xenia.’ Alcinous raises a cup of wine and beams around the table.

Queen Arete looks at Nausicaa’s flushed face and averted gaze and smiles. She remembers the old saying, ‘It is easier to conceal an elephant under your arm than to hide the look of love in your eye.’

Alcinous bangs down his cup. ‘Now that you have eaten, we must have some entertainment. You will love the songs and stories of our visiting bard. What have you got for us, DEMODOCUS?’

The stranger has not feasted better for weeks. Perhaps months. He cannot remember. And now there is to be music and song. He hopes that the bard’s poetry will not be so dull as to send him to sleep. That would be discourteous.

The old poet addressed as Demodocus, comes forward eagerly at the king’s command. He takes up his lyre and looks heavenward as he tunes the strings.

From the moment Demodocus opens his mouth, the stranger is jerked far from any idea of sleep.

‘I sing of warriors, I sing of heroes,’ booms the bard, ‘I sing of those who massed in fleets against the city of Ilus. O Muse, let me tell of Agamemnon, King of Men. Let me tell of Great Ajax, mightier than an oak, who perished by his own hand. Of golden Achilles, swifter than the wind. Let me sing of the twisted ways of Ithacan Odysseus, contriver of plots …’

Well into his stride, Demodocus begins to recount a story he knows well.

‘Stop! Stop!’

Demodocus halts mid-speech, open-mouthed. No one but the king has ever interrupted him before, and that had only been because the hall needed to be evacuated when one of the tapestries on the wall caught fire. The whole court looks towards the wild-eyed stranger who has dared to bang the table and cry out with such fierce authority. Nausicaa sees that tears are wetting the stranger’s cheeks. She nudges her father.

‘My dear fellow,’ says Alcinous. ‘What can the matter be? Demodocus is sometimes a little out of tune, but …’

Nausicaa takes the stranger’s hand. ‘Nobody meant to upset you …’

‘It is nothing,’ says the traveller, allowing the tears to fall unchecked. ‘Only he tells it wrong. He tells it quite wrong. I know. I was there. I was there from the first. From the very beginning.’

‘My dear fellow!’ The king is astonished.

The stranger wipes his eyes. ‘You have shown me great hospitality, and I mean no slur on your rhapsode – Demodocus, are you called?’

The bard nods warily.

‘I am the one you sing of, the one you call “twisted”. I am that same Odysseus of Ithaca, contriver of plots.’

Demodocus tries to fall to his knees and stammer out an apology, but the stranger stays him with a hand on the shoulder.

‘No, no, I beg you. That was as good a description of me as I ever heard. “Sly”, “slippery”, “cunning”, “deceitful” – those are the usual words.’

‘We heard you were lost, sir,’ says Queen Arete. ‘Years ago, the news spread that you and all the Ithacans had perished.’

‘The gods spared me, for reasons known only to them,’ says the stranger called Odysseus.

It is as if everyone in the court has frozen into statues, so close and still is their attention.

‘You will know how we laid siege to Troy for ten years. You will know that I … contrived a plot as friend Demodocus would say.’

‘The horse of wood and gold and ivory in which you and a thousand men hid themselves!’ whispers Nausicaa, wide-eyed.

‘Not quite a thousand, princess,’ says Odysseus. ‘Thirty were all that would fit and all that were needed. The Trojans carried us into the heart of their city. After night fell, we emerged, opened the gates and let in our army.’

‘From all we have heard,’ says King Alcinous gravely, ‘no mercy was shown that night.’

Odysseus bows his head.

Queen Arete is severe. ‘Andromache’s infant boy tossed over the city walls. Those of the royal house of Priam who were not slaughtered – raped and taken into slavery. There was no glory in your victory.’

Odysseus looks down into his lap and is silent for a while.

‘I do not mean to chide you, sir.’

‘You cannot chide me more than I chide myself. We were savage indeed. All that fighting had made us so. For ten long years, our sleep was possessed by dreams of severed limbs, of bursting brains, of tumbling guts … Your pardon, princess … So much violence and death turned us without knowing it into creatures wilder, crueller and more crazed with the lust to kill than the dragons and monsters that Heracles and the heroes slew to make the world safe. But the night we burned Troy down – you are right, madam, that night we overstepped all bounds. The gods saw to it that we paid, however. We all paid …’

Odysseus allows his cup to be refilled. He raises it towards Demodocus.

‘If I tell you how it really was, you will be able to sing the truth to the next guests fortunate enough to gather under this roof and enjoy your famous Phaeacian hospitality. But don’t sing of heroes. There are no heroes in this tale. Only men and women. And gods … always gods.’

All the guests in the hall look towards Odysseus as he prepares to speak. King Alcinous and Queen Arete are as spellbound as the stewards, maidservants and pages who stand lining the walls, mouths open in amazement. Usually, when a rhapsode rhapsodizes, the servants are all too happy to sit in their kitchens, emptying what is left in the flagons of wine the guests have returned, and singing their own songs. But this chance to hear first-hand the adventures of one of the world’s most famous warrior kings is not to be missed.

Odysseus looks around with a smile and begins his story.

The Land of the Lotus-Eaters

Very well. After leaving Troy, the twelve ships of my Ithacan fleet made the mistake of stopping off to raid the land of the Cicones. I say the ships made the mistake – it was my error, of course. Against my better judgement, we stayed ashore there a night too long. The Cicones fought back, and we were humiliated into making for the ships and escaping out to sea, in time to meet the fury of a storm the likes of which none of us had ever experienced. Punishment perhaps for what Locrian Ajax did. Punishment for … for who knows what? You always know when the gods are angry. You don’t always know why.

We didn’t lose a ship, but more than half the vessels of my fleet needed some kind of repair. Once the storm had cleared – you know how it is, it’s like an infant after a bout of tears. All smiles and sunny laughter, as if the tantrum never happened. So it was now. You’ve never seen a bluer sky nor a flatter sea. Storm? What storm?

And the island we found! After the grey and black of the tempest and the blue of the sea and sky, to see such green as we hove to and made our landing … it cheered our hearts.

I should have known. Maybe you know. It’s an established fact that there are no greater sailors in the world than you Phaeacians; maybe, on your voyages, you too have encountered the Land of the Lotus-Eaters? No? Well, let me describe it.

With green hillocks rising up in the centre, the island is embraced by soft chalk cliffs, broken by sandy bays, in one of which we found haven and dropped anchor. With such grassy fields this land would be the perfect place to raise sheep and cattle, you might think, but you’d look in vain for any livestock. As I now know, the people who live there subsist on one food. A fruit that grows there in abundance. They call it the lotus.

The men scrambled up the paths that led from the bays in search of water and timber for refitting. I stayed aboard my ship and watched them go, directing the repairs that could be undertaken without any additions from the island.

After several hours, it became apparent that no one from the shore party had returned. They had been well armed; more battle-hardened fighters you could not find in the world. It seemed unlikely that they could have been surprised and taken by hostile inhabitants, but to be on the safe side I took my sword and fitted a breastplate before taking one of the cliff paths to find out.

When I reached the top, I saw what a beautiful island this was. The trees were in full leaf, flowers bloomed from every bush, clear water bubbled from springs, and the birds sang with what seemed to be the joy of life. And then I almost stumbled over one of my men, PERIMEDES, lying in the grass.

‘Hey there,’ he murmured, looking up at me with the most ridiculous smile on his face.

I shook him. ‘Hell’s the matter with you? Are you drunk?’

And then I saw another and another. The whole roster of my scouting party were lying on their backs, looking up at the sun, grinning, humming, and giggling like children.

I went from one to the other, trying to get them on their feet. I saw now that it was not wine that had infected their minds, but the fruit, that damned lotus fruit, that they’d been gorging on.

One of the islanders now approached, bearing like a priest a tray loaded with the bloody things. ‘Welcome, visitor!’ he called out to me in a voice so soft and friendly that it made me want to choke the life out of him. ‘Come join us. Take this fruit, why don’t you, and forget about life’s cares.’

I aimed a kick at the tray that sent the fruit flying into the air. The priestly islander let out a sob and fell to the ground, scrabbling to gather them up again.

I pulled up one of my crew and slapped his cheeks, left and right. Through blurred eyes he grinned up at me. ‘That feels funny,’ he said.

‘Get back to your ship,’ I yelled. ‘All of you, back to your ships. Don’t you want to see home again?’

Their replies sent a chill through me.

‘Home? What home?’

‘Who needs home?’

‘This is our home.’

‘Let us lie in the sun.’

‘You should go away. You’re spoiling the atmosphere.’

‘Let the bliss happen.’

‘Just leave us be.’

The priest began berating me for bruising his lotus fruit. I threw a punch that left him lying as flat as my crew.

I ran to the cliff’s edge and called down to my ships. Between us, my clear-headed shipmates and I brought the drugged men back down to the shore. They struggled. Gods, how they resisted. They thrashed and flailed as though they were being led to slaughter. We had to lash them to the rowing stations and wait. Wait for the madness to leave.

Once the repairs were done and every last man could speak to me without giggling or trying to kiss me, I gave the signal to weigh anchor and leave the cursed spot. I tell you this, of all the terrible places I have ever visited – lands peopled by monsters, giants and unimaginable beasts, realms governed by flesh-eating tyrants – none was more dangerous than the Land of the Lotus-Eaters.fn6

The Cyclopes

Mind you, the next island we happened upon, well, I can’t pretend it didn’t have its hazards too. Let us call it less ultimately dangerous than the Land of the Lotus-Eaters but more immediately frightening.

Now, many words, phrases and epithets are attributed to Odysseus of Ithaca. The more kindly disposed call me ‘clever’ and ‘wise’. Ha! The stories I’m going to share with you will soon correct that notion. I’ve heard ‘versatile’, ‘adaptable’ and ‘resourceful’. Those I can live with. It’s more common to hear words like ‘cunning’, ‘wily’, ‘crafty’ and ‘subtle’, usually accompanied by a sniff of disapproval. Not especially likeable, those names. But the word that I think best explains me is ‘curious’. You see, I like to know. New people, new places and new ideas, they appeal to me. A blessing and a curse. As you will see.

Anyway, we arrived at this new island by night and in fog, but the next morning we were favoured with clear sunlight. I summoned the men, gathered some supplies and explained my purpose.

‘If I’m right, then this must be the island home of the Cyclopes …’

There was something of a murmur at this announcement. Maybe more of a groan than a murmur.

‘A race of one-eyed giants not, shall we say, celebrated for their intelligence, grace or imagination. But what do we really know of them? We know that they don’t build ships for travel, trade and intercourse with other peoples. They don’t, I have heard, even cultivate their good soil. They let their flocks of goats and sheep run wild over the land and take everything they need from them. Cheese, milk, meat, wool and skins. Grapes grow wild in abundance here, so they make wine, but without system. It tastes dreadful, I’m told. I wonder, though, do they respect the gods and welcome strangers? Let’s find out!’

As payment for any hospitality we might receive, I carried a goatskin of that very strong vintage that Prince Maron of Ismarus had presented to me. I had spared him and his family when we raided the Cicones, and in gratitude he gave me twelve jars of their extraordinarily concentrated wine. For every measure, it required twenty of water to dilute it down into something that wouldn’t knock you out cold. When mixed right, it was of the most miraculous quality.

Leaving my lieutenant Eurylochus in charge of the ships, I selected twelve of my bravest men, and off we went.

The Cave

We had not gone far before we encountered the mouth of a huge cave. The tracks leading in and out made it clear that it was inhabited. Besides the unmistakable signs of sheep and goats, we could see footprints too enormous to have been left by anything but some kind of giant.

So of course we went in. Not without a few comments from the men.

‘Are you quite sure, my lord?’

‘Maybe we should … er … wait outside?’

‘Nonsense. In we go.’

The interior of the cave rewarded my curiosity a hundredfold. The scale of it was remarkable. On one side, rows of drying racks loaded up with cheeses; on the other, livestock stalls – lambs and kids penned in separate folds according to age, from newborn to full-grown. Buckets and bowls filled to overflowing with milk and whey. The rich smell, the wild bleating – this was a whole farmyard in a cavern. The men gave whoops of delight.

‘Let’s throw as many of these cheeses as we can into our bags, sir.’

‘Yes, my lord, and we can drive the animals down to the ships and be out of here before anybody knows a thing.’

‘Certainly not. We stay to meet our host.’

By the twelve gods, I should have listened to them. But no, as ever, my curiosity had got the better of me, and I brushed their objections aside.

Two of the men started a fire, and after offering the largest wheel of cheese – the size of a millstone – to the gods, we tucked in. Then, with daylight fading in the cave’s mouth and the ewes and nanny-goats squealing ever louder as their udders filled, we sat in the firelight and waited for our host to show up.

One-Eye

We heard him before we saw him, of course. The ground shook as he approached. He strode in, threw down an enormous bundle of firewood and then – to my horror – rolled a colossal boulder across the cave’s mouth, completely sealing the entrance. We instinctively shrank back into a corner. He didn’t look in our direction but sat on a stool and, with a tenderness that belied his grotesque appearance, began to milk his eager ewes and she-goats, humming and clucking to them like an old wet-nurse as he did so.

I had never seen anything like him. Telamonian Ajax was a big man. Memnon the Ethiopian, who came to fight for the Trojans late on in the war, he was reckoned a giant and probably counts as the biggest human I ever saw. But could I call this Cyclops human? He had arms, legs, a trunk, a head like a human, but the size of him, the monstrous ugliness. All made more terrible by that one eye in the middle of his forehead. Maybe it was his lack of a second eye which deprived him of enough sideways vision to have discerned us, but we were to discover that what he lacked in sight, he made up for with the swiftest reflexes and keenest hearing. The milking finished, he went to rekindle the fire. The man behind me drew in his breath at the full sight of him in the firelight, a sound I could only just hear but which made the Cyclops whip around to us with a growl.

‘Oh ho! And what have we here? Pirates? Thieves?’

The men whimpered, not that I blamed them. The sight and sound of him could have emptied the bladder and bowels of the bravest. Happily, Athena, Apollo, Hermes … some god took pity and fired me with enough courage to step forward and speak in a clear voice.

‘We are Achaeans, good sir. Men of Agamemnon’s army, on their way home from the war in Troy. The winds have not been kind to us, but we hope you might offer us hospitality in the name of Zeus, the stranger’s patron.’

He stared down at me and then let out a great snorting guffaw of a laugh. ‘Zeus? Ha! Do you think the Cyclopes care that for your Zeus?’ He tried to click his thick, stubby thumb against his thick, stubby middle finger but no noise ensued. He clapped his hands together instead. A sound like thunder. ‘Hospitality? I’ve only spared your life because I’m tired. So, where d’you moor your ship, then? Up the coast or close by?’

I could sense this was a trap. ‘Ship?’ I said, with what I hoped came across as a resigned and bitter laugh. ‘That’s a joke! What ship we had was smashed by the rocks at the far end of the island. We were lucky to swim ashore and scramble to land.’

He said nothing, just stared with his one eye. And then, entirely without warning, he stretched out his hand and plucked up two of the men behind me. The poor bastards whined and wriggled in his hand like puppies. Then he smashed their heads down against the ground as casually as if he were banging out seeds from a pod. Their blood and brains burst out and soaked the floor. With a low growl of pleasure, he ripped the men apart like chicken wings and ate them raw – guts, flesh, bones and all. We wailed and cried out to Zeus in horror, but the Cyclops paid no attention. He picked up a great bucket of milk, which in his huge fist looked like a thimble, and washed his grisly meal down. One enormous belch, and then he laid himself down before the fire. Within seconds, the whole cave resounded with his snoring.

I tiptoed forward, feeling for my sword. Straight down under the ribs I thought. I could launch my whole body weight onto the sword. That should do it. And then I realized what a fool I was.

One of the men whispered hoarsely in my ear. ‘Go on, sir. Do it! Do it, or I will myself.’

‘No, you won’t, you idiot. Listen to me!’ I hissed. When I was sure all the men had their eyes on me, I pointed to the blocked entrance of the cave. ‘Kill him, and then what? With all our combined strength, we wouldn’t have a hope of shifting that a finger’s breadth. We’d die in here. Let’s wait until morning, and I’ll see if an idea comes to me.’

Morning came all too soon. The ogre woke up, scratched himself, let the most appalling noises emerge from his mountainous body, and staggered to his feet. His eye swept the cave and seemed to take us in, but he said nothing. Hooking the stool towards him, he set to once more and relieved his pleading livestock of the milk that had swollen their udders overnight. He dropped the last goat and, in almost the same movement, snatched up another two of my men and crunched them down whole.

Next he rolled the boulder clear of the entrance, went out of the cave, turned around and called his animals to him; when the last straggler had trotted out, he pulled the stone back as easily as if it had been a tunic button, sealing us in once more. The sound of his whistling to the flock faded away, and we were alone.

We lit the fire again – more for light than for warmth.

‘Well?’

I looked up. All eight of my men had their eyes fixed hard upon me.

‘Well what?’

‘Any ideas, sir?’

There was bitter irony in their voices, but I smiled. ‘As it happens, I do have an idea.’ I suppose Athena had put it in my head. Then again, who put it in hers?

Leaning against the cave’s wall was an olive tree. This is to say it had once been an olive tree, but for the Cyclops it clearly served as a shepherd’s staff. A spare, I thought, since I had spotted two of them in that same place before and seen him pick up the other to take with him when he left the cave.

Under my companions’ puzzled gaze, I cut off a man’s height from the trunk and set to tapering the end into a point. When it was sharp enough to pierce skin, I rolled the end in the fire to harden it.

‘Now,’ I said cheerfully, laying the pole down in the shadows amongst the mud and dung in the corner, ‘why don’t you draw lots to see which of you is going to help me tonight?’

‘Help you do what, my lord?’

They were brave men, but not very bright. ‘What do you think, pick my teeth? I’ll need four of you to help me drive the sharp end into the ogre’s eye.’

They drew straws, and the four that won – or was it lost? – were the exact four I would have chosen for the job. Maybe great-grandfather Hermes lent a helping hand.

‘Nothing to do now but sleep,’ I said.

Escape

We heard him coming back from pasture, tenderly chiding his animals and calling them by name. Such unspeakable brutality marching with such soft affection. The gods will have their little jokes.

Once again, he drove in the herd and rolled the stone over the cave’s entrance before sitting to milk the ewes and she-goats. I had planned to approach him the moment he finished and begin the conversation I had sketched out in my mind, but he too quickly moved from putting down the last ewe to picking up two more of my men. Their brains were dashed out, and he was washing them down with another pail of milk before I could do anything. Could I have saved them? You’ll understand when I say that I still wrestle with that question at night; on the nights when sleep is slow to come.

I stepped forward bearing a wooden cup of the Ciconian wine, undiluted.

‘Great one,’ I said. ‘You may not know how to behave like a host, but I know how to behave like a guest. Here is wine to accompany your meal of human flesh.’

He snatched the cup and drank the wine down. ‘Damn, that’s good,’ he gasped. ‘Pour me another and tell me your name. I have a valuable gift for you.’

I poured him another cup, and another, and one more. When I was confident that he was befuddled by the wine’s strength, I spoke up.

‘Cyclops, I shall tell you my name, as you have asked, and in return I will demand the gift you promised me. My name is “NOBODY”. Nobody. My family, friends and comrades all call me “Nobody”.’

‘Nobody, eh? Well, Nobody, here’s your gift. Your gift is …’ He tittered and hiccupped. ‘Your gift is that I shall eat you … last of all. Ha-ha! Ha! Haaaah!’

And with that, his eye rolled up, and he fell backwards in a dead stupor. His laugh turned into a heave, and the heave now erupted in a great torrent of vomit. As his head hit the ground, a river of wine gushed from his throat – amongst it, pieces of human flesh. It was all we could manage not to throw up too.

Once the rhythm of his thunderous snoring had started up, I made for the corner, picked up the pole, and pushed its end into the fire, this time to roast it red hot. Green and young as the olive wood was, it almost caught fire. I pulled it out and summoned my four men.

They took the pole, raised it up and thrust the point straight down into the Cyclops’s eye. I took hold of the other end, twisting and twisting, my entire body weight bearing down. The glowing tip pierced his eyeball, which fizzed, hissed, sizzled and then exploded in a fountain of blood. He let out a roar that shook the cave. The animals screamed. Leaping to his feet, he stamped about, pulling out the pole and screeching like his terrified livestock.

The terrible din raised the neighbouring Cyclopes, who thundered towards the cave and crowded around its sealed entrance.

‘POLYPHEMUS, what is it?’

So he had a name, did he?fn7

‘What’s happening?’

‘Who’s in there with you, Polyphemus?’

‘Nobody!’ Polyphemus shouted back.

‘Then what’s up?’

‘Nobody has tricked me, and Nobody is trying to kill me!’

‘Oh! Well, if nobody is hurting you, you must be having some kind of dream.’

‘Say a prayer; go back to sleep. That’s my advice.’

‘But Nobody has blinded me,’ sobbed Polyphemus.

‘Probably drunk,’ I heard one of the Cyclopes remark as they moved off. ‘Never could take his wine.’

‘Nobody gave me strong wine!’

I couldn’t help hugging myself.

We seven darted easily out of his way as he banged about the cave, trying to locate us. He had accidentally stamped the life out of four of his precious goats before he gave up. Weeping with fury, he yelled out.

‘I know you’re hiding back there somewhere, Nobody. You and your friends will never escape. I’ll count every animal out. I’ll bite your arms and legs off one by one and laugh as you scream.’

This gave me much to ponder. Then, during the night, another brainwave. While Polyphemus slept, I made my way to the pen where he kept his rams. They were big, strong animals – strong enough, I calculated, to bear the weight of a man. Taking bunches of willow twigs, I tied the rams together, three abreast. It took me most of the night to do this six times, but it was worth it. I told the men to grab the thick belly fleece of the middle ram in each trio and hang there, face up. There was one ram left over, a black one, the largest of them all. I got myself under him and hung on, too.

By the time dawn broke, the rams had become accustomed to us clinging on to their bellies and made no fuss.

We heard Polyphemus stagger to his feet, groaning and swearing in his miserable blind agony. It was pathetic but earned no damned sympathy from me. All I could think of were the six good men he had killed and eaten.

Somehow, he managed to do the milking and even make himself some kind of breakfast. At last, he rolled the rock away, and daylight flooded the cave. Through the thick wool of my ram, I could just make him out, squatting in the opening and calling his animals to him. Where once his eye was, there was now nothing but glistening mush edged with dried blood.

As each goat or sheep came forward, they seemed to nudge and nuzzle him lovingly, as if they knew something was wrong. He cooed and cradled them, feeling their backs to make sure that nobody was riding them out to freedom. Or, rather, that Nobody wasn’t riding them out to freedom.

When the groups of rams three wide trotted up, I held my breath.

‘What? All crowding through at once? So keen to be out of here, are we?’ He ran his hand over their backs, but not – the gods be praised – underneath.

When the last trio was through, it was my turn. The great beast I was hanging under must have been a favourite, for he stopped it and buried his head in the fleece of his back.

‘Ah, PROBATOS, Probatos! But you are never the last to leave. You can tell something’s wrong, can’t you? That bastard Nobody …’ he shouted to the back wall. ‘You can hear me, Nobody, I know you can! I’ll find you, split your skull and smear your brains all over the wall of this cave. And Probatos here will drink your blood.’

With that, he smacked the animal on its back, pushed it out and rolled the boulder back into position.

Probatos, perhaps a little unnerved by my weight and his master’s unusual behaviour, bucked and skittered his way over the rocks at the mouth of the cave before charging full pelt for the fields.

I let go and rolled free onto the grass. My men were up ahead, running and laughing. We rounded up all the sheep and goats we could manage, drove them down to the shore and loaded them on our ship.

All we had to do now was row to the harbour where the other eleven vessels of the fleet were waiting for us.

But oh no, I just couldn’t help myself.

We were all safely aboard and still within hailing distance of the shore when I turned and saw Polyphemus stumbling about, calling in vain for his flock.

From the sternpost I yelled at the top of my voice, ‘That’ll teach you to ignore the sacred rites of hospitality. Zeus has punished you.’

The Cyclops wrenched away a whole section of the top of the cliff with his bare hands and hurled it towards us. It overshot our ship but landed with such force that the resultant wave nearly pushed us back to shore.

The men redoubled their efforts with the oars, and we got ourselves clear.

But again I couldn’t resist taunting the Cyclops. The men tried to shush me, but my blood was up.

‘Seriously, captain. He may not be able to see, but he can hear and locate us.’

‘Please, sire, you saw what the last rock nearly did to us.’

I was pumped with such pride, and with such fury at the horrible deaths of six good men, that the combined persuasive powers of my wife Penelope and my mother Anticlea could not have deterred me.

‘Hey,’ I yelled back to the shore. ‘Let it be known that my name isn’t Nobody. Only a dribbling imbecile could have believed that. You can tell the world you were bested and blinded by none other than Odysseus of Ithaca.’

I know. Far from modest.

Polyphemus groaned and sent up a prayer. ‘Father! Earth Shaker and god of the sea. This is your son Polyphemus. May Odysseus never find passage home. Or if the Fates decree that he must return to his family, may he do so only after years of torment and misery, alone, with all his treasure, companions and ships lost. And may he find his home blighted and tormented. Hear me, oh father Poseidon, Tempest Maker and Tamer of Horses, hear my curse.’

I don’t want to spoil my tale, good people, but I don’t think I am giving too much away when I say that Poseidon did hear, and heard clearly.fn8

The enraged ogre summoned all his strength to hurl one more gigantic clod of earth at us, but we were too far ahead, and it fell short, sending a surge that helped propel us towards the inlet and the rest of our fleet.

Eurylochus and the others were thrilled to see us, of course – they had been on watch for two days and nights in a state of the greatest anxiety – but they grieved at the loss of their six comrades whom Polyphemus had killed and eaten with such brutal depravity.

We sacrificed the great ram who had been my saviour, sending the smoke from his seared flesh up to Zeus in thanksgiving for our safety and praying for the souls of our companions, whose earthly remains we had been unable to honour with burial.

The Winds

We put in next at the floating island of Aeolia, where King Aeolus of the Winds gave us the most glorious welcome. Aeolus lives more like a god than a king. A fashion far different from that which we endured in the cave of Polyphemus or amongst those dreamy Lotus-Eaters. We stayed for a month, and every single day, huge feasts were spread out in the hall. In the evenings, King Aeolus would lean back on deep feather cushions and listen to my tales of the wonder and wickedness of war – rather as you are now (although I think your cushions, King Alcinous, are a more manly horse hair). Musicians played, and at night we all slept in soft beds under the same great roof.

This was a manner of living not only different from the islands we had recently visited, but a world away from my household in Ithaca too. After four weeks of this lavish hospitality, I feared my men and I would grow soft and fat. Perhaps this was not so very different from the Lotus-Eaters after all.

Aeolus has six sons and six daughters. I was a little surprised to learn that they are all married to each other – with his permission, apparently, or perhaps even under his direction. I never quite found out which. Nor did I discover if they shared the same mother. Not for me to question the customs of others. Aeolus’s current queen is the loveliest nymph, rumoured to have served until recently in the personal retinue of the goddess Hera.

It was a warm and fond farewell. He pressed into my hand the most marvellous gift: a leather bag tightly tied with a silver knot, into which he told me he had trapped the winds. He placed this in the hold of my ship and wished us all safe passage home.

For nine days and nine nights, we sailed. Aeolus had set the West Wind, Zephyrus, to blow us gently homeward.fn9 On the tenth day, we sighted Ithaca! In the far distance, I made out trails of smoke rising from the beloved mauve hills and knew that – at last, at last! – I was home. All the terrors, burdens, anxieties and agonies of command that had besieged me since … in truth, since I could not tell when … fell from me now as the outline of my dear home island grew and grew on the horizon. I leaned back with a smile, finally at peace. The tensions in me relaxed, and I fell into a deep sleep.

Dear gods, how I was to pay for those twenty minutes of rest.

As I slept, the crew began to mutter and grumble.

‘Oh, it’s fine for Lord Odysseus. He’s the guest of honour, praised and pampered wherever he goes.’

‘Did you see what Aeolus presented him with?’

‘That oxhide bag … Wonder what’s in it?’

‘The silver drawstrings must be worth a fortune on their own.’

‘But can you imagine what’s inside?’

‘Gold and pearls!’

‘Jewels!’

‘Why should he keep them all to himself? We fought alongside him.’

‘We risked our lives just as much as he did.’

‘More!’

‘In a few hours, he’ll step onto the quay and order all his treasure to be carted over to his palace.’

‘He strides off, rich and royal.’

‘We trail back to our shacks …’

‘Probably find some man living there with our wives.’

‘It’s not fair.’

‘We can at least look inside the bag.’

‘Share out some of the spoils.’

‘We’ll leave most of it behind for him.’

‘Where’s the harm in that?’

‘Just take our fair share.’

They crept down to the hold and brought the bag up on deck. Four men took a drawstring each and pulled.

The winds blew out in a screaming hurricane. The men were thrown backwards and almost overboard as our ship and the eleven others of the fleet were tossed around like leaves in a tornado. I awoke face down on the deck.

There followed a nightmare of pitching and tossing. The tiller could do nothing. The oars, had they been tried, would have snapped like celery. All we could do was let that screeching cyclone take us where it would.

At last, it seemed to ease, and one of the men yelled with excitement that he could see land ahead. Perhaps the whirlwind had spun us in a circle, and we were back at Ithaca? But no …

The winds, like prime horses that know their way home, had pushed us all the way back to Aeolia.

We put in, and I sheepishly made my way to the court of King Aeolus. He was, of course, astonished to see me.

‘Why, man, I thought you would be in Ithaca and at your own fireside by now. Never met a fellow keener to reach home. Why return?’

‘Great king. The malice of Hypnos and Eris …’fn10 I began, but something in Aeolus’s demeanour told me that this kind of pompous poetic explanation would not go down well. ‘Sir, the fact is … I fell asleep, and my treacherous, despicable men …’

He heard me, arms folded, eyes cold. After a terrible pause, he raised his arm towards the sea and slowly extended a finger.

‘Get out. I don’t know what you’ve done to offend the gods, but it’s clear they hate you. I know better than to offend them. You’ll get no more help from me. Go.’

I turned and trudged in silence out of his hall, my face aflame with humiliation.

And now we had to contend with a windless world. The men, in sullen despair, plied the oars for six whole days. They knew that on this occasion it was not my curiosity that had caused this disaster but their own, which made every stroke of the oars harder and heavier.

On the seventh day, we reached the island of the LAESTRYGONIANS.fn11 Have you heard of them? I had heard rumours that they were gigantic, that they ate human flesh. I used to laugh at rumours like that. Travellers’ tales designed to tickle and terrify children, I always thought. But after what we had suffered at the hands of the Cyclops, I was prepared to believe anything.

The fleet headed to the cliff-fringed harbour town of Telepylus, founded, they say, by Lamos, another child of Poseidon. As it happened, my ship was the rearmost of the fleet. The eleven ships ahead steered in a line into Telepylus. The harbour lies between two rows of sheer cliffs. The water of the strait is calm and still. There was no room for my vessel, the last in the line, so I moored and tied up in a small bay on the shore.

A tender with a landing party of six left the foremost ship, which was anchored in the calm of the harbour. I watched as the craft beached and the men scrambled out. I lost sight of them. Five minutes passed. Suddenly, two of the men burst into view and threw themselves into the tender. As they struggled to ship the oars, an enormous boulder dropped out of the sky and crushed them. The most enormous creature – half as big again as Polyphemus – strode out, plucked them from the boat and swallowed them whole.

Eurylochus, by my side, touched my shoulder and pointed with a trembling hand. All along the headland, the outlines of enormous giants were appearing. They had raised above their heads rocks the size of small houses and began to throw them down onto the eleven ships of the line, smashing them to pieces. Far back as we were, I could hear the wrenching and splintering of wood and the screaming of my poor comrades. Next the giants started to shoot arrows and throw javelins, spearing the men like fish. And soon they were leaning down, in the manner of buyers at a market, to pick up their meat and carry it away – to cure and cook and eat later, I supposed.

I realized the danger my ship was in. I unsheathed my sword and slashed the mooring cables. ‘Row!’ I shouted to my crew. ‘Row for your damned lives.’

The men needed no further urging. They set themselves to their rowing stations, pulled hard at the oars, and we shot away faster than crocodiles on the Nile.

But of those eleven ships we left behind, not a man was left alive. Nearly five hundred good Ithacans had managed to survive not only the most terrible war in man’s history but the wrath of the vengeful Cicones, the seductions of the Lotus-Eaters, the murderous ferocity of the Cyclopes, and the worst storms that the gods had ever hurled at humans. But their luck had run out, and they had been butchered without mercy, food for the savage Laestrygonians. Our whole proud fleet was now reduced to one ship of just thirty-eight souls, plus Eurylochus and me.fn12

Once we were safely out to sea, the men fell forward to rest on their oars, gasping for breath. I could feel their eyes turn on me and I wondered if Polyphemus’s curse ran in their ears as it was running in mine.

May Odysseus never find passage home. Or if the Fates decree that he must return to his family, may he do so only after years of torment and misery, alone, with all his treasure, companions and ships lost.

I hailed the puff of breeze that now came as a sign that the gods were at last favouring us.

We hoisted sail and let that wind take us where it would.

It took us to …

Odysseus turned to take a fresh cup of wine from the steward who had stood behind him throughout the long recitation of his adventures.

King Alcinous and Queen Arete were in the same attitudes on their couches. The nobles in the hall were leaning forward. The serving girls, pages and stewards lining the walls were as still as statues.

‘It is late,’ said Odysseus apologetically, ‘and I have been talking and talking. Perhaps you have heard enough.’

‘Sir, if you have the energy and the disposition, we could listen to you until cockcrow and beyond,’ said King Alcinous.

A murmur of assent filled the hall.

Odysseus drained the cup, set it down and cleared his throat.

OceanofPDF.com

Circe

OceanofPDF.com

Aeaeafn1

Very well, then. Another day, another island. This one looked promising: fertile and fringed with sandy bays whose perfect crescents smiled a welcome. No impossible mountains in the interior, no grim, gaping caves, no towering cliffs from which to hurl boulders.

I knew that I had to do something to repair the ill feelings that simmered amongst the men. They blamed me for Polyphemus’s curse, but deeper down they knew they had to blame themselves for opening that damned bag of winds within the very shadow of their home island. Self-recrimination makes for a dark atmosphere. Most of the time, men will take their mood from their leaders, so I grabbed a spear and sprang down onto the beach.

‘I shall explore the lay of the land,’ I said. ‘Looks friendly enough. Look, there’s a freshwater stream just there. While I’m gone, replenish our stock of water. Shan’t be long.’

I could tell immediately that if there was a human presence on the island, it was a small one. Once I had scrambled up through the dunes and into the interior I saw no well-beaten paths and no evidence of human habitation. The ground began to rise as I penetrated further, and I soon came to the top of what appeared to be the highest hill. I surveyed my surroundings. The island was a serene, emerald jewel, ringed by gold and sapphire, seemingly untouched by man or god. But, no! What was that? In the middle of the woodland, rising out of the brush, I made out a column of smoke. No question about it.

On my way back, I found and speared a stag, which I managed to carry back to our beach. The sight of this cheered the men, but when I told them about the smoke I had seen, their mood dropped, and they started to mutter and shake their heads. It was hard to blame them, but I clapped my hands together like an enthusiastic tutor and laid out my plan, doing my best to exude a confidence and optimism that in truth I did not feel.

‘We’ll divide into two groups of twenty each. I shall lead one and Eurylochus the other. Eurylochus’s group will form the scouting party and find out what that smoke is all about. My group will stay back, guard the ship and prepare a fine meal for Eurylochus’s team when they return.’

‘Tell you what, sir,’ said Eurylochus. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I and my team guard the ship, and you go and find out what that smoke is all about?’

I smiled broadly but inwardly cursed the man. Eurylochus was a brave and capable lieutenant, but there were occasions when he could be pig-headed and donkey-stubborn. To my own discredit, I never quite managed to train him not to question my orders in the presence of the men.

‘All right,’ I said with a cheerful laugh, ‘shall we let the gods decide?’

It took time, but it was the fairest way. We shook stone lots in a bronze helmet. Ten white pebbles, ten black. White for the scouting party, black for those staying to guard the ship. I picked black, Eurylochus white. He took it with good enough grace.

‘Come on then, boys,’ he said, leading them away.

While we waited for their return, my team got to work setting the ship to rights, tarring some leaks in the hull, stitching up tears in the sails – the usual running repairs. I helped gut the stag and build a good fire.

We were butchering the carcass, setting apart the portions for our consumption and those reserved for divine sacrifice when Eurylochus burst out of the dunes. His face was white and he was trembling all over. Tears were running down his face. Never, in all the dangers we had faced in war or peace had I seen him in anything like such a state. His face and arms were scratched all over, and blood oozed from his skin.

At first, he was completely unable to speak. We plied him with water and then with some of the strong wine, only half diluted. He coughed, he groaned, he moaned, he sobbed. Finally, in laboured gasps, he spoke.

‘By all the gods, sir, I’ve never seen anything like it! Never. We did as you directed, sir … made our way through the woods. No trouble. No trouble at all. Then we came to a clearing … and in it stood … what should I call it, a palace? More a grand mansion, a villa … a stately, elegant villa it was … surrounded by the loveliest garden – flowers, herbs, ripe fruit dangling from the trees … a stone table running the length of a lawn of daisies and grass … paradise … We could hear singing inside, women’s voices, and the working of a loom … but the loom fell silent, and there she was, standing in the doorway. And round the corner came three lions and two wolves! And they nuzzled up to her like pet cats and dogs, tame as you like. She stroked them and patted them and then … then she spread out her arms towards the men and gave a smile that was like … it was like a burst of sunlight, and the men all ran forward. Can’t blame them. When did any of us last see a beautiful woman, sir? And this woman … a goddess she must have been. But I held back … I don’t know why … well, someone had to report back to you, didn’t they? Smiling, she sat them down at the table, poured wine into amber bowls. Into the wine she stirred barley and honey and sprinkled something else … a herb of some kind I suppose … and the men lifted up their bowls to their lips and drained the bowls, and she smiled … she never stopped smiling, and that made the men smile too, the dumb fools … Then she took up this wand … and she pointed it towards the men … and … and …’

Eurylochus fell forward with a great sob. I took him by the shoulders. It was time to be tough. I slapped his cheeks – once, twice, three times. ‘Come on, man, remember who you are! You are Eurylochus of Ithaca, one of the heroes of the Trojan War. You are not a frightened child, you are a soldier of Agamemnon’s army.’ I handed him another cup of wine and he nodded, ashamed.

‘I know, sir. I know. B-but … if you had seen what I saw …’

‘She was pointing her wand at the men, you said.’

‘That’s right, sir. Then she raised it and tapped them over the head with it, one by one … and the men … they were laughing, but their laughs turned to grunts, and as I watched, bristles started to push out of their skin, and they dropped to the ground, and the grunting turned to squealing … This creature, this nymph, whatever she was – witch … this witch … she had turned them into pigs, sir! Still smiling, she herded them into sties. Now, calm as you please, she began tossing old apple peel, nuts and berries over the fence to them. And they fell on them all, snorting and fighting each other … If my eyes hadn’t seen it … But the worst of it, sir … I could tell the men knew they were not swine but men, and there was a panic and a pain in their screaming that tore at my heart.’

Eurylochus took another slug of his wine. I took the cup from him and had a sip myself. He stretched out his hand for more.

‘Come on,’ I said, letting him drink. ‘Finish your tale.’

‘Well, I turned and ran back, tearing through briars and brambles; I didn’t care. We must leave, sir! We must leave this place now!’ He threw down the cup of wine and staggered towards the ship.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I am not abandoning our men. I shall go and bring them back.’

Eurylochus turned and cried out, ‘But they are pigs now! There’s nothing you can do for them. Do you know any spells to turn swine back into men?’

‘Look after him,’ I commanded the men. ‘See if you can get him to sleep. I shall be back with all nineteen of our missing comrades.’

I made my way up the dunes. I could hear Eurylochus’s sobs and the calming voices of the others.

In truth, however brave and assured I might have sounded back there, I had no plan. There was a sword in my scabbard, a knife in my belt and a bow and arrow slung over my shoulder. What use they would be against an enchantress of such apparent power, I could not imagine. But I could at least try.

I made my way to the middle of the island. Eurylochus’s party had cut a swathe through the woodland which made finding the direction easy enough. I reached the clearing where the enchantress’s villa stood, just as Eurylochus had described. There was the building itself, cool and elegantly grand, and there the garden with the long table, the flowers and the fruit trees. Amongst the tall flowers, I saw the frisking tail of a lion and made out the backs of a pair of she-wolves. Did I imagine that I could hear the grubbing and truffling of pigs coming from somewhere, too?

I was summoning up the courage to go forward when – out of thin air, it seemed – a youth stepped in front of me. He had the first hint of down on his cheeks and chin, and a sparkling look in his eye.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t my great-grandson, Odysseus,’ he said. ‘Or should that be great-great? So hard to keep track.’

‘Hermes!’ I gave a kind of flustered bow.

‘Do you seriously think your silver sword and wooden arrows are any match for an immortal like CIRCE?’

Circe! Of course! I should have worked it out.

‘So this is Circe’s isle?’

‘Welcome to Aeaea.’

I had heard of Circe, of course.fn2 A daughter of the Titan of the sun, HELIOS, and some water nymph or other,fn3 renowned for her matchless skill with herbs and potions. Her sister Pasiphae married King Minos of Crete and gave birth to the monstrous Minotaur. Her niece Medea helped Jason win the Golden Fleece. When Jason found another bride, Medea slaughtered her own children by him. And the bride, of course.fn4 This was the bloodline from which Circe sprang. What a family.

‘If you go in,’ said Hermes, ‘she’ll give you a drugged drink, just as she did your friends. But I will give you a magic herb that counteracts her potion. It will make you completely immune. Here’s what you do. You go in, you drink the drink, and she will tap you with her wand, but because of the herb I’ve given you, nothing will happen. Immediately, you whip out your sword and point it at her throat. Then she’ll whisper that she wants to make love with you. But, still with her at the point of your sword, you make her swear a divine oath that she will do you no harm and use no magic against you. If you don’t, then she’ll get you naked, make love to you and rob you of your manhood for ever. So make her swear. An immortal cannot break an oath. Even a god of lies like me, would you believe? It’s true! Or is it? Haha! No, but shush. Where was I?’

‘I’m pointing a sword at her throat?’

‘Oh yes. And only after she has sworn not to hurt you do you accept the offer to go to bed with her. Which you will, I am sure, find no hardship.’

Hermes bent down and plucked from the ground a small plant with a black root and a white flower.

‘We call this moly. You see it lying around anywhere, don’t pick it. None but we immortals can dig it up.’ He tore off the leaves and petals and handed them to me. ‘Slightly bitter, but give them a good chew.’fn5

‘Slightly bitter?’

Hermes laughed at my screwed-up face. ‘Your old great-grandpa wishes you luck,’ he said, and in a flash, he was gone.

I swallowed the last of the moly and, once the worst of the bitterness had passed, I stepped into the garden. One of the she-wolves came up and licked the back of my hand. The lion purred and coiled itself languidly around my legs.

‘They like you,’ came a soft voice.

And there she was. Circe. She radiated power and beauty. I suppose I stared at her like a smitten boy. How could I help it?

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I am a stranger to this place and hungry. I don’t suppose …?’

‘Please,’ she said, smiling and beckoning me forward.

It all happened just as Eurylochus had described. She filled a bowl with wine, mixed it with honey and barley meal, and took a pinch of something else which she sprinkled onto the mixture before passing it to me.

‘Drink,’ she said. ‘I’m told it’s good.’

I took the bowl and greedily drank it all down.

‘Whoever said that was telling the truth,’ I said. ‘It’s delicious!’

She smiled and waved her wand at me.

I smiled back.

She tapped the wand on my head. ‘Away with you, pig,’ she said, ‘and join the others.’

I smiled.

Her smile faded. She lifted the wand again, but I pulled out my sword and put the point to her throat, just as Hermes had instructed me to.

She gave a great shriek and fell to her knees, grasping mine like any peasant supplicant before their lord.

‘Who are you?’ she hissed. ‘No one drinks my potion without surrendering to its power. No one. Ah!’ Her face cleared. ‘You are Odysseus! You must be he. Every time Hermes visits the island, he warns me that this man Odysseus, a child of his own blood, will come here one day and overpower me. You are he, I know it! Put your sword away; you don’t need it any more. Let us to bed.’

I kept the sword point exactly where it was, close to pricking the skin of her throat.

‘Don’t you move a hair’s breadth,’ I hissed. ‘You turned my men into pigs, and you tried to do the same to me. Now, you’ll take me to bed and rob me of my manhood. Nothing could induce me to sleep with you, my magical goddess, until you have sworn to me by the River Styx and all the gods that you will never do me harm and never prevent me from leaving. Swear it!’

She stayed on her knees and swore the oath.

While we were in bed, I heard activity in other parts of the villa. Circe put a finger to my lips and told me it was her handmaidens, nymphs of the woods and streams, preparing a feast.

They came forward, smiling shyly, and led me to a bath where they poured hot water over me and rubbed me with oils until I felt the bone weariness of the past weeks melt away.

They dressed me in a fresh tunic and cloak and led me to the table. The finest food and wine was set out there and the handmaidens spread their arms for me to help myself. But I could not eat. I just couldn’t.

Circe took my hand. ‘I have promised I’ll do you no harm, and I will keep that promise. Surely you know that. Eat!’

‘Goddess, I cannot. How could anyone eat like a prince knowing his friends are now swine, snorting for acorns in a sty? Only set them free, return them to their human forms and I shall eat and drink with something more than pleasure.’

She stood and left the room, her wand in her hand.

I watched as she opened the gates of the sty and beckoned the poor hogs out. They snuffled and ran around in circles at her feet, squealing piteously. But then she took some ointment from a jar and smeared it onto the head of each pig. Within seconds, the bristles had receded, and they were standing up on two legs and being converted back into their proper shapes.

My nineteen comrades were whole again, were men again, and – maybe I was imagining it, or maybe not – they looked cleaner, fresher, younger and fitter than they had for years. They wept with joy when they saw me, and we took each other by the hand and hugged and laughed and wept some more.

‘Where is Eurylochus and the other group, sir?’ one of them wanted to know.

When I had explained, Circe spoke again.

‘Go to them. Tell them to beach your ship in the cove and come up to join us here.’

I went down to the ship. The men were overjoyed at the prospect of visiting the enchanted palace, but Eurylochus took some persuading.

‘Are you mad? She’ll turn us all into lions or wolves, or pigs or squirrels …’

‘You have my word that she is now our friend.’

‘Your word? The word of the man who led our friends into the Cyclops’s cave, where they were eaten whole?’

I itched to whip out my sword and slice his damned head off there and then, but Eurylochus was not fundamentally a bad man. Besides, he was my brother-in-law.fn6

In the end, I persuaded him, and he came. Like all the others, he was soon experiencing the delights of those nymphs with uninhibited enjoyment: not just the food and drink and baths they provided so luxuriously, but their … personal qualities, too.

Circe and I had the pleasure of each others’ bodies, and we all feasted and drank and bathed like the legendary Egyptian kings.

So welcome were we made, and so satisfying and delectable was the hospitality, that weeks soon passed, then months.

Circe gave birth to a son by me. We called the baby Agrius.

After a whole year had gone by, a few of the men approached me.

‘Never thought we’d say this, sir, but … Well, don’t you think it’s time we left and headed for home?’

Circe might have kept her promise not to enchant me with herbs and potions, but she had bewitched me nonetheless with the beauty and graces of her person and character. I went to her, clasped her knees in supplication and reminded her of her promise.

She listened gravely but then told me the most extraordinary thing.

‘Odysseus, my dearly beloved. Of course I will let you go. There can be no question of your staying here against your will. But I have to tell you now about a vision that has come to me. From the gods, or from the depths of Gaia herself – I cannot tell the source. I only know that what I am about to tell you is important and true.’

She put a hand to my cheek and spoke directly to me. It was impossible to doubt her sincerity.

‘Odysseus, you will never reach home unless you first visit the underworld and consult the shade of the great Theban prophet TIRESIAS.fn7 He, and only he, knows how you will be able to find your way to Ithaca.’

I was distraught. ‘But Circe! No mortal can visit the realm of HADES! It is impossible. Yes, generations ago, Orpheus went down to reclaim his lost Eurydice. Much good it did him. And we all know that Heracles found his way there and somehow came away with Cerberus.fn8 But I have neither Orpheus’s gift with the lyre nor Heracles’ strength. I haven’t a chance. Not a chance.’

She smiled and stroked my beard. ‘Oh beloved, have a little faith. I can arrange it all for you. This is what will happen. You board your ship, hoist your sails and let the north wind that I shall supply carry you all the way to where Oceanus’s stream meets a flat shore that leads to the Grove of PERSEPHONE.fn9 There you beach your ship and make your way by foot to a large rock where the rivers of the underworld meet. At this spot, and listen very carefully, at this spot you must dig a ditch which you fill with milk and honey. Over that, you sprinkle white barley flour. Then you take one black ram and one white ewe – now listen, I will make sure all these things are on your ship before you leave – trust me. Trust me. Where were we? You take a black ram and a white ewe, turn them to face the entrance to the underworld and slit their throats, letting their blood pour into that trench. The moment you do that, the souls of the dead will come floating out, begging to drink. You must not let them drink. Hold them back until the shade of old, blind Tiresias approaches. When he has told you what to do and how to continue on your journey, then and only then can you let the other shades have their fill. Is that clear?

I nodded dumbly.

‘Then repeat it to me, word for word.’

She made me recite the order of the ritual five times before she was satisfied.

After that, it was all bustle.

Oh, I suppose I should mention … One sad disaster befell us before we left the island. The youngest of our party, ELPENOR, a sweet boy but not the brightest grape in the bunch, had fallen asleep on the roof of Circe’s villa. The noise of our preparations for departure woke him up and – anxious not to miss us – he stepped off the roof, forgetting that he needed a ladder to get down. He fell head first and broke his neck.

‘Beat us to Hades,’ murmured Eurylochus, which I thought in poor taste.

The Underworld

Our ship was ready. Circe had filled every spare corner of the hold with wineskins, grain, salted and smoked meats, dried fruit and jars of milk.

‘Keep the seals unbroken, and the milk will stay fresh,’ she promised.

A glossy black ram and white ewe were penned in, munching at the hay in the feedbags hung over their heads.

Circe and I lingered on the shore while the crew tightened the stays, fastened the tackle, and prepared to sail.

‘Farewell, son of Laertes.’

Circe smiled, but I could see sadness in her eyes, and I suppose she saw the same in mine.

The north wind we had been promised filled our sails. It was easy going all the way to Ocean’s great stream, close to the land of the Cimmerians.fn10 As we sailed on, the sunlight was blotted out by threads of mist that slowly thickened around us into dense fog. The wind dropped, the ship slowed. Only a few men were needed to row us forward on such flat, motionless water. The temperature quickly fell. Apprehension, as much as the chill, caused us all to shiver. No sun, no birdsong, no visibility further than half the length of our vessel. One of the men, perhaps to give himself courage, began to whistle. Eurylochus silenced him with a swift kick. We endured an hour or more of this noiseless going, the hairs on the backs of our necks prickling, our imaginations bodying forth numberless horrors.

At last, the hull ground against shingle. The men led the sheep and carried the sacks and jars we would need. We trekked over slimy mud until we came to the place Circe had described – the Grove of Persephone.

Eurylochus and his second in command, Perimedes, held the sacrificial sheep. I dug out the trench and poured in the milk and the honey, then the wine and water, before sprinkling it all over with the barley meal. We prayed. I promised sacrifices to the dead when we got home.

I cast my mind back to Circe and how she had spelled out the instructions for this summoning of the dead. No, I had forgotten nothing.

We held the sheeps’ heads over the ditch, and I quickly slit their throats. The moment the blood gushed down into the trench, the spirits of the dead were around us, swimming and swarming and sweeping through the air, wailing and shrieking. Men, women, children, warriors with their flesh ripped open, every kind of person killed in every kind of manner. They came from everywhere, rising up out of the ground and descending from the mist. All with one purpose.

You must not let them drink.

They sobbed and they clamoured as the men and I held them at bay with our swords, spears, curses and threats. Only when I had spoken to Tiresias could I let them drink. So Circe had commanded.

But the first to approach made me cry out with astonishment. It was the ghost of Elpenor, the young fool who had fallen from the roof.

‘You left my body where it was, sire, above ground and unmourned!’

‘My poor boy, I’m so sorry. The preparation for leaving … so much commotion. I neglected to give the command to bury you.’

‘Then I am doomed, my lord Odysseus. Doomed to eternal restlessness.’

‘No!’ I said, deeply moved. ‘I promise you this. We will return to Aeaea, we will bury your body with full honours and prayers for your soul. It is the least we owe you. You have my absolute word.’

Elpenor smiled and his shade faded from my sight.

Now at last I saw the shimmering ghost of dead Tiresias approach, golden staff in hand. Blind in life, he could now see, for he recognized me.

‘If you want to know your future, put down your sword, son of Laertes, and let me drink.’

I stepped back and tried not to show the disgust I felt as I watched him bend down and lap greedily at that strange mixture.

He straightened and wiped the back of his hand against his blood-streaked beard, sighing with the satisfaction of a man who has feasted well.

‘I know how much you long to get home, Odysseus. But what you did to Polyphemus enraged Poseidon, who will take a great deal of placating. Your future is clear to me. I should say futures. Different paths spring from different choices for all. Firstly, I can tell you that you will find home, and you can do so swiftly and easily. Before long, your ship will land on Thrinacia, the island on which Helios keeps his cattle and sheep. The sun god loves those beasts more than he loves any man or woman. If you leave them untouched all will go well. You will soon reach Ithaca and all will be well there. But if you harm a single one of those sacred animals, I foretell the loss of your ship and every last one of your men. Your homecoming will be delayed by years. By years, Odysseus. You may, in the end, reach Ithaca, but your home will be overrun with rapacious suitors who will make free with your land, your palace and everything you possess, all in pursuit of your wife’s hand in marriage, for everybody will believe you long dead.

‘Your wit and strength may at last overcome those suitors. But your debt to Poseidon will not yet have been fully paid. Finally home and in the bosom of your wife and son, scores settled and peace established at your hearth, you will immediately have to leave Ithaca, an oar on your shoulder, to search for the land whose people have never heard of the sea, who use no salt, have no understanding of ships or sailing, and do not so much as know what an oar is. When a stranger hails you there, points at the oar on your shoulder and asks why you are carrying a winnowing fan, you are to plant the oar in the ground, make sacrifices to Poseidon and, as you make your way back home, to each of the twelve great gods in turn. Do this, and a gentle death from the sea awaits, after a prosperous old age surrounded by those who love you.’

‘Tiresias, if this is my destiny then I accept it and thank you for the honour you have done me.’

The spirit bowed and receded. Still lost in thought, I did not at first recognize the shade who now came up to drink. But when she raised her head from the trench, I knew my mother – Anticlea, daughter of Autolycus. It sent a spear of pain through me to see her here. She knew me too, of course.

‘Odysseus, my son! Not back home from Troy yet?’

‘All these years, I have pictured you and my father at home in Ithaca. Oh, mother, it sorrows me to think of you in this terrible place. Tell me, how were things when you died? How are Penelope and my boy Telemachus? Is my father still alive, or is he with you here?’

‘Laertes is alive. But age has not been kind to your father. Infirm and unhappy, he lives away from the palace at his farmhouse. A simple, rough life. And now a life lived alone.’

‘Unhappy?’

‘Odysseus, he misses you. Your wisdom and kindness are missed by everybody. I missed them so much that I died.’

‘Oh, mother …’

‘Penelope mourns too, of course. But she is well. She is faithful to you and longs for your return. Telemachus is a fine boy. You would be proud. You will be proud. But hurry home, my dear boy, hurry home. The longer you stay away, the greater the danger for them all.’

I tried to hug her, but she was a cloud, a form without substance, and her wraith slipped through my arms.

Another ghost stepped up to drink now, and I could not help crying out with shock at the sight of him.

‘Agamemnon! Not you? What happened? Were you lost at sea in the terrible storm when we left Troy?’

‘Perhaps it would have been better if I had,’ said the King of Men, with a sombre laugh.

The story he related horrified and saddened me. In ghastly detail, he told how that unnatural creature, his wife Clytemnestra, threw a net over him when he was bathing and stabbed him as he lay trapped and helpless.

‘And as I died, the last thing I saw was her and that vile rat, my cousin Aegisthus, cutting down the innocent Cassandra. Listen, old friend, I know you’re devoted to your wife Penelope, and you believe she is devoted to you, but trust no woman, no matter how beautiful, no matter how much they tell you they love you. Swear it!’

I bowed my head but stayed silent.

He seemed to understand for he changed the subject.

‘Tell me, Odysseus, what news on your travels of my son Orestes? And Electra? They must be alive, surely, or I would have found them here.’

‘Agamemnon, how could I possibly know?’

The sight of this once all-powerful figure, the King of Men, reduced to so plaintive, pitiful and pathetic a state filled me with sorrow and a kind of anger against the gods. The world knew that Zeus hated the clan of Tantalus and Atreus. But such pain and loss, such failure after so great a life. Who could deserve that?

The spirit of Agamemnon melted away, to be replaced by someone whose presence here I could surely celebrate.

‘Achilles! Achilles, my dear friend. I came here to consult Tiresias. He has unrolled my future for me. I haven’t reached home yet, but I am confident that I will. What about you, though? Already there are more songs and poems in the world telling of your glorious exploits than of any mortal that ever lived. And down here I know that you must be the prince of the dead, admired and adored by all who meet you. Elysium is your home and the fields of asphodel, yes? Yes?’

‘Yes, I am allowed the “honour” of the Elysian Fields. Yes, I tread the meadows of asphodel. Yes, they call me “prince”, and praise me as some kind of hero. But I tell you this, Odysseus …’ He almost snarled these words out. ‘I would rather live as a dirt-poor peasant, eking out the most wretched living tilling barren soil, than ruler of this whole kingdom. It’s a kingdom of the dead. You see their forms, your hear their voices, but they are … we are … There is no life, no joy, no hope. The peach is sucked of all its juice. There is no meaning here. So you damned well live, old friend. Leave this cursed place and live every day with all the force and fire you can summon.’

I was silent for a while, saddened beyond anything to hear such words from golden Achilles. I found a way to cheer him up by filling him with news of his son, Neoptolemus. I told of his skills and courage in the field, leaving out the more unpleasant stories that revealed the boy’s seemingly endless capacity for bloody and merciless cruelty.

Achilles’ shade left me and loped away across the asphodel, glorying, I suppose, in proud thoughts of his magnificent son.

By now the multitude of dead souls began pressing me so hard to drink that I could hold them back no longer. The men had been huddled behind me, white with fear, horror and disgust. The signal to return to our ship could not have been more welcome.

We rowed back the way we came until we found Ocean’s stream once more. There we picked up a good stiff breeze and sailed with a cheer back into the blue and sunlit sea.

Return to Aeaea

I had not forgotten the promise I’d made to the soul of young Elpenor. But by the time we sighted the soft green hills of Aeaea we were all exhausted. We dropped anchor in the bay, jumped from the side of the ship, waded through the surf and flopped onto the sand, where we slept amongst outraged avocets and disconcerted terns.

We awoke to the welcome sight of Circe’s handmaidens coming down with wine, meat and sweet smiles. Once we had breakfasted, I sent a party of men up to Circe’s villa to retrieve Elpenor’s body while the rest of us chopped wood for the pyre. Weeping, we burned his mortal remains in full armour and raised a mound in which we planted his oar.

Circe then came down to greet us.

‘Oh, you brave boys! You have visited and returned from Hades’ kingdom. How many can say that? You are welcome to stay tonight, but tomorrow you must be gone by break of day. I will tell you the exact route you must take. Meanwhile, feast and frolic!’

She lay with me that night, and I related everything that had happened in the realm of the dead.

‘That’s done then,’ she said. ‘And now we must get you home. I’ll give you the winds, but you will encounter hazards. Your first is the tiny rockbound island of the SIRENS. Have you heard of them?’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘Everyone has heard of the Sirens. But I thought they were just something to frighten children with, made-up travellers’ tales.’

‘They are as real as the sand beneath us and the stars above our heads, Odysseus. There are two of them. They sit singing in the centre of their tiny island, surrounded by the chewed bones of their victims. Their song has terrible power. No sailors who hear its ravishing strains are able to resist steering, entranced, towards the sound. Their ships founder on the rocks and the Sirens leap on board to tear them to pieces and feast on their flesh.’

‘Do we have to pass the island then?’

‘There is no other way home. But I can tell you how to survive it.’

She told me the way, and I smiled. ‘I will do as you say.’

‘But once you are past the Sirens you still face agonizing choices. One way is to try the Planctae …’

‘The Wandering Rocks?’fn11

‘You’ve heard of those too?’

‘I only know that they are dangerous.’

‘Sail close to them and they can collide or clash together to crush any ship close to them. Even if you avoid collision, the sea between them is too turbulent for any mortal vessel.’

‘The other, then?’

‘Two cliffs which present a very different danger. Halfway up one there lives a creature as hideous and terrifying as any monster that ever lived. The progeny spawned from the interbreeding of Typhon, the Hydra and the Chimera would be lovable kittens compared to the vile Scylla.’fn12

‘Scylla?’

‘Odysseus, the sight of her would make your blood run cold. She has twelve legs that trail from her like an octopus’s tentacles, six heads with long, long necks, each head equipped with three rows of fangs. When she senses prey below her – dolphins and seals make up her usual diet, but humans are what she really craves, if she can get them – she stretches down her neck, opens her dripping jaws and … they don’t have a chance.’

‘So best avoided then.’

‘Certainly, but here’s the problem. Venture too far from Scylla’s cliff, and you will be within reach of CHARYBDIS, the whirlpool. She lies below the opposite cliff, on top of which grows a lone fig tree. She can suck down a ship three times the size of yours, and when she belches it up it’ll be nothing but splinters and the crew inside all drowned. There is absolutely no hope once you’re pulled into her orbit. Dreadful as Scylla is, the most she can do is pluck out six of your crew. If you have to favour one side as you go, choose Scylla.’

‘Six! I have to sacrifice six men just to get through?’

‘If you keep rowing fast enough, it’ll be no more than that. As you row through, cast up a prayer to Crataeis, Scylla’s mother. Phrase it right, and she will command her daughter to stop. Now, your next island …’

‘Oh, gods, not another one,’ I groaned.

She slapped my leg. ‘Don’t be like that. This next island is almost as lush and lovely as mine. Thrinacia is its name, and it …’

‘… is where Helios keeps his cattle?’

‘There! You knew that too. His daughters, the nymphs Phaethusa and Lampetia, tend his seven herds of oxen and seven flocks of sheep. These sacred animals are immortal. They neither die nor give birth. But if you or your men …’

‘Tiresias told me. If we harm so much as the smallest of them, disaster will fall.’

‘Good. There you are, then. And now, all too soon, Eos is opening the gates of morning. Her rosy fingers will soon paint the sky, and it will be time for you to leave me for ever. Oh, I shall miss you, Odysseus, you wise and wondrous wanderer.’

I kissed her softly and sadly. ‘And I shall miss you, Circe, you wise and wondrous witch.’

She laughed, but then grew serious. ‘You should know,’ she said, ‘that I have another of your children in me. He will be a brother for Agrius. What name shall I give him?’

‘I will be home by then,’ I said, ‘so call him TELEGONUS – “born far away”.’

Siren Rock

We said our farewells, each bravely smiling, and I called the men to their duties. The cables were cast off, the sail hoisted, the rowing team took to their benches, the helmsman steered us around the sandbanks and, before long, the last of Aeaea and its beguiling goddess dwindled into nothing behind us.

The winds Circe had promised bellied the sails, so I climbed onto the afterdeck and bade the men ship oars for a moment, while I addressed them.

‘We are approaching the island of the Sirens, men … Yes, I know, I thought the same, but Circe assures me they are real. No one has ever heard their song and survived – hence they have remained no more than fancy or rumour. I intend to hear that song and live to tell the tale. And this is how it will happen. I want you all to come forward one by one …’

I had in my hand a thick ball of beeswax. I tore off small pieces and rolled them into pellets with my thumb. The combination of the warmth and pressure from my thumb and the heat of the sun softened them. I gave each man two plugs of the wax and told them that on my command they should press them into their ears, sealing them fully so that they would be able to hear almost nothing. But first, I was to be tied upright to the mast, facing forward, and bound as tightly as possible.

‘Now listen!’ I said. ‘Whatever you see me do, however wild my gestures and expressions, you are to ignore me. Even if I scream, plead and weep loud enough for you to hear, you are to pay no attention but just keep on rowing.’

Ahead of me, I saw the hazy outline of a small island. It grew bigger and clearer faster than I had expected.

‘Right. Quick. Wax into your ears; oarsmen take your stations.’

At first, I heard nothing but the spray from the bow waves and the cry of a few seabirds circling above us. And then … something began to steal into my ears. I don’t know what I had been expecting. Some distant and alluring strain that I would probably be able to resist, even were I not lashed to the mast. But what came to me seemed to sound right inside my head. It was so clear, so creamily warm, seductive and bewitching. But the shock of it, what I had not expected at all, was that the song addressed me, directly and personally.

‘Odysseus, Odysseus! Bravest and best of all the Achaeans. Come, come to our island. We have so much to say to you. We know all that will come to pass. Steer your ship, and we will tell you everything. Would you like to know about Telemachus, your son? What Penelope is doing this very minute? Would you like to know exactly how many days there are between now and your sighting Ithaca again? But more … we can tell you what men and women will say about you fifty years from now. A hundred years, five hundred. Odysseus, they will be telling and retelling your story three thousand years from now! And, oh, the strange ways in which they will choose to tell it. It will astonish you. How we long to tell you.’

I know that my plain telling of this makes it all sound tame and ordinary. You will think that you could have resisted such a song with ease. It is hard for me to convey a proper sense of what I felt. But I knew I had to hear more. You would have felt the same, I promise.

I nodded to Eurylochus and Perimedes, who were sitting on upturned barrels, facing me. They did nothing. The rest of the men were at the oars. A few of them were looking at me and – damn them – laughing.

I nodded to Eurylochus and Perimedes again, as strongly and meaningfully as I could, wild urgency in my eyes.

They ignored me.

‘Odysseus, Odysseus,’ the Sirens sang, ‘we have waited for you of all men. You have to hear more. You will not believe the changes that are coming to the world. Such astonishing, marvellous news. You will be the first to know. Only come to us. Come to us.’

I loosened one leg enough to be able to stamp my foot on the deck. I yelled. The yell turned into a scream.

Finally, Eurylochus and Perimedes stood up. Thank the gods, they were coming towards me!

I wriggled, writhed and squirmed. ‘Untie me, untie me now!’

Eurylochus was chewing something. Perimedes had a faraway look in his eye. The pair of them came forward and – you know what they did? – they tightened my bonds! The bastards just casually, but forcefully, pulled on the ropes I was bound with and tied new and tighter knots. That done, they turned round and calmly took their seats again.

I filled the air with savage oaths and threats. The men rowed on. Eurylochus chewed. Perimedes looked into the distance.

The Sirens’ song was beginning to fade away.

‘Odysseus … Curse you, curse you! …’ The honey-sweet strain soured into an angry scream.

I cried out in relief and dropped my head.

After a long while, the knots were loosened, and I was standing free. The men were removing the plugs of wax from their ears, anxious to know what I’d heard.

‘I’ll tell you later, boys,’ I said. ‘But first, look ahead.’

Scylla and Charybdis

A long line of land faced us. To one side, a narrow channel between high cliffs; and to the other side, another narrow channel between high cliffs.

I shaded my eyes and stared hard through the faint haze. On the leftmost cliff, I could just make out the outline of a lone tree. Circe had mentioned that a fig tree grew above the cliff closest to Charybdis, the whirlpool. Therefore the cliff opposite must be the home of the terrible Scylla; across to the other side drifted and stirred two gigantic rocks. We all saw in that direction a great plume of spray and heard the heaving and boiling of the violently agitated sea all around.

‘Those are the Planctae, the famed Wandering Rocks,’ I said. ‘Any attempt to steer between them would be suicide. So, to get to the open sea beyond, the sea that will take us home, we have to choose that channel there.’ I pointed to the cliffs of Scylla and Charybdis.

I warned them in detail of Charybdis, whose smoking spray we could now see as we steered slowly towards her. Fatal to go too near her powerful influence, I said. We all die if we do. We must steer a course closer to the other cliff, I said, not mentioning Scylla. Not a word did I say about that terrible creature and her long neck and gnashing jaws. I curse myself for it to this day. It was cowardice. It was dishonourable. Not the act of a leader of men. Yet it was necessary. So perhaps exactly the act of a leader of men. For me to choose between the monster and the whirlpool was easy compared to choosing between concealing or revealing a truth that would have kept the men rowing or had them put up their oars and refuse to go on. We had to go on. I had to hide the truth. Six good, brave men, comrades and brothers-in-arms, would have to be sacrificed.

I am ashamed to say that I adopted with sinful ease the breezily confident manner that was required. I stood at the mast and cheered them on.

‘That’s it, my boys, up your strokes now. See the spume rising up like smoke? That’s the whirlpool. That’s Charybdis. Helmsman, keep to the opposite cliff.’

The power of the whirlpool to our left as we passed was terrifying. We steered as far from it as possible, but we could see it sucking the water down into a swirling vortex that reached the very bottom of the sea. I counted to myself and had reached the number sixty when, with a thunderous roar, a vast waterspout was vomited up from the deep. Circe was right – once pulled into that churning frenzy, we would have had no hope of survival.

We were halfway through when what only I knew would happen, happened. Scylla was upon us. Six long necks stretched themselves down as far as the deck, the heads at the end of each snapping and snarling. In an instant, six of the crew were snatched up in the razor-sharp teeth. We stared up in horror at those poor, beautiful, brave men flailing and thrashing in the six drooling jaws.

I remembered Circe’s instructions and mumbled hasty prayers to Scylla’s mother Crataeis. As if such a thing could have a mother. At once the creature retracted those long necks and pulled the struggling, howling men to the clifftop. They shouted out my name as they shot upwards. That will live with me for ever. Were they shouting out in recrimination or in desperate farewell? Perhaps they were crying for me as a frightened child cries for its parent? I will never know, but in my darkest moments I hear only accusation in those dying screams, and again and again I see them stretching out their hands to me and calling my name. In all my travels up and down the wide seas of the world, I never saw anything that so wrenched my heart and sickened my soul.

But we were through with the ship and most of its crew were alive and well. I had to believe that I made the right choice.

Just one more island to negotiate, and our journey home would be guaranteed.

The Oxen of the Sun

We put in at the beautiful island of Thrinacia. The sun was setting and we could hear not far away the lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep being led into their folds for the night.

‘I’m sorry, men, but we’re not staying,’ I said. ‘This place isn’t right for us.’

Tiresias and Circe had been so clear. The consequences of a misstep would be catastrophic. Why take the risk?

There was an audible groan and a deal of muttering.

Eurylochus stood up. ‘We all know how resolute you are, Odysseus. You seem to be able to go for days without food or sleep. You never tire, you never fade. Well, we’re not all made of iron like you. Night is coming. You really want us to go back out to sea and risk shipwreck, storms or fog in the vague hope of an island that suits you better? Why can’t we just stay here? We can eat and sleep on this beach and be gone in the morning.’

The men drummed their heels on the deck to mark their approval.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’m outvoted. But promise me this. You come across any cows or sheep on this island, you absolutely must not lay a finger on them. Is that understood? Circe provided us with plenty of food, and we can be content with that. Agreed?’

‘Aye!’ cried the men.

I was annoyed with Eurylochus, but maybe he was right. Maybe I did ask too much of the crew sometimes. We cooked and ate a wonderful meal on the sand, after which we fell into mourning. We called out the names of each of the six men that Scylla had snatched. The moon rose and we slept.

But we were awoken just before dawn. A fierce storm was blowing. We had to hurry to the ship and pull it into a cave out of the way of the lashing tide.

Once more, I was forced to address the men.

‘We can shelter in this cave and wait out the storm,’ I said. ‘Still plenty of provisions for us. But I have to tell you again, do not touch the sheep or the cattle. They are sacred to Helios. He will know and his punishment will be terrible. Signal your acknowledgement.’

‘Aye!’

All would have been well had not the Sky Father and Storm Bringer, Zeus, kept the winds howling and seas heaving for days and days. For a whole month, the tempest raged. Naturally, we got through our stores, and the men were forced to go inland to look for food. Soon most of the wild game, the birds, squirrels and other wildlife, had been hunted down and eaten and the men were beginning to go hungry.

One morning, the sky still dark, the winds still high and the storm showing no sign of abating, I left them and found a hilltop inland on which to pray to the gods. It was all I could think to do. I prayed and prayed until, curse it, I fell asleep.

Back down at the cave, meanwhile, Eurylochus told the men that he had an idea.

I awoke from my sleep with a start and ran down the hill, full of foreboding. As I got closer to the cave, those forebodings were realized. I was met by the smell of roasting flesh.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘No, no, no! What have you done, oh what have you done?’

The men were sitting round in a circle chewing on succulent cuts of meat, smiling and laughing like children.

‘Now, now, sir …’ Eurylochus stood in front of me. ‘We’ve thought this through.’

‘Thought it through? Thought it through? What are you talking about, man?’

‘Before we took a single animal, we prayed to Helios, sir. We promised that we would build him a temple of his own in Ithaca when we got home. We promised him the best of our cattle in sacrifice four times a year. I mean, he can’t complain at that, can he? A square bargain.’

‘Oh, you damned fool, didn’t you understand –’

‘Draw up and dig in yourself, sir. I mean, what’s done is done.’

‘You have cursed us, Eurylochus, you have cursed our voyage home …’

Eurylochus grinned. ‘Oh really, sir?’

He pointed up at the sky and I understood. The wind had dropped. The clouds parted, and a great ray of sunshine was cast down all around us.

‘Seems like Helios is sending us a sign, sir. He’s accepted our bargain.’

‘Well …’

Eurylochus dropped his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re not the only one who can think up ideas, Odysseus. And sometimes, you know, a simple one works out better than all those complicated and rather elaborate schemes you tend to come up with. With respect, sir, naturally.’

There was, of course, not a trace of respect in his voice. I tried not to shudder with distaste. All in all, I preferred an argumentative Eurylochus to this condescending version. But he was right in one particular. What was done was done.

I sighed. ‘Very well, then. Muster the men. Let’s prepare to leave this place.’

I told myself that the feasting on meat had cheered them and would have strengthened their muscles. I almost reached out and helped myself to a morsel of that mouth-watering beef myself – heaven knows, it smelled tempting enough. But there was too much to do in securing the tackle, trimming the sails and supervising the casting off. It really did seem that we should get home in good time.

I was puzzled, though. Circe and Tiresias had been so clear. But perhaps Eurylochus had found the right solution. Maybe Helios truly was appeased.

Oh, Odysseus. Can you have been such a simpleton?

We were out in the open sea, and Eurylochus was still rejoicing in his triumph.

‘Ever seen the men so cheerful, sir?’

It’s true that they had set to with zest. They were singing as they pulled on the oars.

‘Maybe you could leave these kinds of decisions to me in future,’ said Eurylochus. ‘The grand plans will always be yours, of course.’

‘Oh, no … Oh please, no …’

Eurylochus frowned and would have replied but then realized I was not talking to him. I was looking over his shoulder. He turned and saw.

A huge thunderhead, a cloud as black as coal, was almost over the ship. Before either of us had a chance to shout a single command, a bolt of lightning crashed down. The men never had a chance. The violence of the strike pitched them overboard. I looked to see how Eurylochus was reacting, but he was gone too. Somehow, I found a handhold on the remains of the mast and held on. The current dragged me away, and the last I saw of my men – the brave and marvellous men who had left Ithaca with me, fought by my side at Troy and come this far with me homeward – the last I saw of them were their desperate upraised arms disappearing below the surface as every last one of them was pulled down to their deaths. Only I, who never touched the meat, was left above the waves.

I realized with horror that the storm surge was now carrying me back towards Scylla and Charybdis. Just moments earlier, I had dared to think that the gods were finally on our side. Ha! Their full vindictive fury was plain enough now.

I could not risk coming within reach of the terrible Scylla. I needn’t have worried, the current was already pulling me inexorably towards Charybdis.

As I neared the roaring whirlpool, I shinned frantically up the mast until I reached the crow’s nest at the top. As the ship began to circle in the outer eddies, I hung on until another revolution brought the mast near to the cliff. When it reached its closest point I threw myself off the mast and onto the fig tree. It swung down perilously, straining to its roots, but took my weight. I clung on and looked down.

Below me, the ship began to spin round in ever tighter and faster circles as Charybdis swirled and sucked, smashing the once noble vessel into pieces. I watched as prow, sail, mast, hull and all were drained into the heart of the whirlpool and disappeared from sight.

Fiercely hugging the fig tree, I began to count. ‘One, two, three, four …’

I don’t know why, but the fig tree turned my mind back to the day Penelope and I had mapped out the land on which I would build our palace. She had made me promise not to fell a noble old olive tree that was in the way of my plans for our bedchamber. I solved the problem by shaping the tree’s limbs into the frame of a great bed, around which I constructed a room. The bed was our secret. And the thought of it, even with Charybdis thundering below me and the knowledge that all my crew were drowned, made me smile. I suppose I was smiling at the great distance there is between the warm, loving plans of mortals and the cold, vindictive plans of the gods.

‘Fifty-eight, fifty-nine … sixty!’

I let go of the fig tree and plummeted down. At the same moment, Charybdis reversed her course and began to vomit up everything she had swallowed. I landed in a tangle of rigging and broken wood. I managed to haul myself onto a plank from the ship’s decking. I kicked and kicked. I knew I had to be well clear before she turned once more and began to suck in everything around her. My lungs were close to bursting with the effort, but finally I knew I was out of range and felt able to let myself float free.

For nine days, I drifted on that plank of wood until I found myself washing up on the shore of Ogygia, the island home of Calypso, who welcomed me and loved me with an imprisoning love that lasted seven whole years. When at last I left her island, the White Goddess helped me make it to your hospitable shores, where a very kind, very beautiful and very welcoming young princess took pity on me and directed me here, to this palace. But you know this already. That is the part I began with.

It is dawn now, I see. Well, my tale is told.

To Ithaca

‘Well, my tale is told.’

Odysseus sat down. For a long, aching moment, there was dead silence in the hall. And then, as one, every man and woman rose to their feet and began to applaud. They banged their wine cups and bowls, clapped their hands and cheered. The pages, stewards and maidservants lining the walls stamped their feet and clashed plates and dishes together like cymbals. Those who could, whistled shrilly through their fingers.

Under the beard and the sunburn, Odysseus blushed. Without the cover of any beard or sunburn, Nausicaa blushed more fiercely.

King Alcinous gestured for silence.

‘Ithaca’s king has paid us all the noblest compliment. Never can this – or let me say any – hall have enjoyed the privilege of hearing such tales of valour, adventure and, we all recognize, suffering. King Odysseus, man of sorrows, I tell you now, I give you my solemn word – that suffering is over. My family and the nobles of other houses here on Scheria will provision our finest ship with treasure, treasure that is our gift of thanks to you. Our strongest oarsmen will ensure that you reach the shores of Ithaca with all possible speed. I repeat, great king, your suffering ends here. Now, if any man has, you have earned a night’s repose, sir.’

Speedily as Alcinous’s words were put into action that day, through the night and into the next morning, it was not quick enough for Odysseus, who paced up and down by the harbour wall with ill-concealed impatience. Now dressed in the finest tunic and a cloak edged in tissue of gold, stitched by Queen Arete herself, he looked every inch the king. Nausicaa stood shyly to one side, watching as magnificent golden cauldrons, tripods, jars and chests were loaded onto the Phaeacian flagship. Odysseus forced a tight smile of gratitude as each local nobleman came forward to explain and describe his gift, and to bow and shake the hero’s hand. Their descendants would be able to say, ‘Our grandfather’s hand touched the hand of Odysseus of Ithaca!’ Who would believe them? The fights that would break out in the schoolroom …

At last, it was done. Odysseus was aboard, leaning over the rail to thank Alcinous and Arete and murmur soft words of gratitude to a weeping Nausicaa. Her last act of farewell was to remove a gold chain from around her neck and throw it up to Odysseus, who caught it, kissed the large bead of polished amber that hung from it and waved her goodbye.

Now came the first pull on the oars to sweep the ship away from the quay. It was early evening by this time. The crew had laid out a sheet and a rug on the stern deck and Odysseus lay down. Almost instantly he fell into the profoundest sleep. Had he forgotten that the last time he came close to Ithaca he had fallen asleep then too, only for his men to open the bag of winds and release the cascade of disasters that had kept him from home for so long?

So skilled were the Phaeacian oarsmen that the feather touch of their blades hardly seemed to break the surface, yet the power of the sweep and heave pulled the ship swiftly on. Dawn had not broken when they sighted the Ithacan shore. Still Odysseus slept. They picked him up in his rug and laid him gently on the sand, setting out his treasure all around him before boarding their ship and sailing away.

Odysseus the Wanderer had reached his native shore.

OceanofPDF.com

In Ithaca

OceanofPDF.com

An Alien Shore

Odysseus awoke and looked groggily around, through the mists of sleep. Where had the Phaeacians left him? No, those were not the mists of sleep. A real fog had descended. Through it, he recognized no familiar features in the outlines of trees and rocks. He let out a loud roar of pain, anger and frustration. He had done it again – fallen asleep within sight of home. On the first occasion, his men had opened the bag of winds that Aeolus had given him. But by what horrible stroke of misfortune was he now cast away on an unknown island again? The Phaeacians were supposed to be good sailors, the Phoenicians of the west.fn1 Somehow they had miscalculated, or a malevolent god had sent a contrary wind or even changed the pattern of the stars in the sky to confound navigation.

A glint of something metallic caught his eye. In a semicircle, half sheltered by a rising bank of dunes, the Phaeacians had set out the golden pots, tripods, cloaks and other precious things that Alcinous and his nobles had presented to him before he left Scheria. Whatever error they had made in setting him down on this alien shore, they had not, at least, done so in order to rob him of his treasure.

For lack of anything better to do, he began counting the objects in his hoard.

The voice of a young man interrupted him. ‘Good day, stranger.’

Odysseus spun around. ‘And good day to you, friend! You’re a welcome sight.’

The young man appeared to be a shepherd, and a richly dressed and well-born one too. He had a smooth complexion unlined with worry and gave no signs of having toiled or laboured hard in his life. Instead of a shepherd’s staff, he was carrying a spear.

‘This is going to sound strange,’ said Odysseus, ‘but maybe you can tell me where I am? Are we on an island?’

‘You must be from a far country indeed not to know this place, stranger. It may not be the largest or the most beautiful island in the sea, but it is well-enough known around the world. This is Ithaca.’

It was Ithaca! He was home. Odysseus was overcome with exultation and relief. But even in this moment of supreme joy, this moment he had dreamed of for so many years, he had the guile and the self-control to hold back.

‘Ah, yes, Ithaca … Ithaca,’ he said, as if straining his memory. ‘I have indeed heard of it. Ruled over by King Oedipus, isn’t it? No, not Oedipus … Odysseus, that’s it. King Odysseus. Yes, we’ve heard of Ithaca, even in Crete, which is where I come from. I … er … I had to leave there suddenly a few days ago. I won’t bore you with the details. I managed to get my treasure aboard the ship before fleeing. My men must have just dumped me on the shore here when I was asleep. So, Ithaca, eh? Ithaca. Well, well.’

Odysseus realized he had misread this stranger. It was not a young man at all; it was a woman. The mist must have deceived him. She was laughing.

‘You just can’t be straight, can you, you crooked old devil? Never tell the truth if you can think of a good lie first. Twisted as ram’s-horn. Oh, Odysseus, you rogue, you trickster, you huckster, you charlatan, you cheat, you devious two-faced fraud. You sly, scheming swindler. So clever, but not clever enough to recognize your guardian and inspiration? Not clever enough to know the goddess who whispers half those schemes to you in the first place?’

‘Athena?’

So caught up in the complex churn of his emotions was he that Odysseus failed to bow down and address the goddess in tones befitting an Olympian deity.

‘Be fair. How can anybody be expected to know you?’ he complained. ‘You never appear in the same form twice. I know you have been my protectress in times past. On the field of battle at Troy I felt you often by my side. But for the past ten years? Marooned on one island after another, tossed by one storm after another … You’ll forgive me if I find it hard to think of you as a guardian and saviour.’

‘That’s my Odysseus. Always bites the coin before he takes it. Doubts and tests everything. You know I am who I say I am. Look around, you know this is your island.’

The fog was clearing and Odysseus began to recognize some of the landmarks of his youth: just beyond the dunes was the bay of Phorcys, where he used to catch shrimps; and there, shouldering its way through the last shreds of mist, he made out the noble outlines of Mount Neriton. As a boy he had climbed its wooded slopes looking for honey a hundred times.

Now he did fall to his knees. It was the sand and soil of Ithaca he praised, however, not the goddess. Much to her amusement.

‘You may not have known it, subtle son of Laertes, but I have been watching over you all this time. But you angered my uncle, Poseidon, and we gods do not stand in the way of each other. Now come on, stand up. There is so much to do. First, let’s get your gold into that cave.’

While Odysseus carried his treasure into the deep interior of the cave, Athena outlined the severity of what awaited him.

‘Your palace is overrun with suitors, all of them brawling and baying for Penelope’s hand in marriage. For the sake of her beauty, of course, but in reality more for the sake of your kingdom. They want this island and the others in your realm. You are long dead, as far as they are concerned, and it is her duty to marry one of their number. She has separately promised dozens of individuals that she eyes them with particular favour, but she can’t keep playing that game. She matches you for cunning, you know.’

Athena then told Odysseus about Penelope’s ploy with her loom, promising to marry only when she had finished weaving a shroud for Laertes.

‘And she unpicked her work every night? Oh, clever Penelope!’ Odysseus was delighted. But he soon fell to gloom. ‘I had thought I would go straight to her, but from what you say, I’d be cut down before I got to her chamber.’

‘Indeed you would. Whatever happens, you cannot afford to be recognized. Let’s see what we can do with you …’

Athena touched him with her spear. In a sudden puff of dust, the fine cloak and tunic that the Phaeacians had given Odysseus were reduced to dirty, tattered rags. His smooth, bronzed skin creased itself into sagging wrinkles. The fierce light of intelligence and determination that always gleamed from his eyes was dimmed to a milky dullness. His elegant staff of fine beech, banded in bronze, was now rough, well-used blackthorn.

‘As filthy and unprepossessing a beggar as ever walked,’ said Athena with approval. ‘Now. If you’re going to plot an attack on these suitors, you will need allies. First and best, you’ll remember Eumaeus?’fn2

‘The pigman?’

‘Your father’s swineherd, yes.fn3 A more loyal and true friend to you and Penelope does not live on the island. Go to him.’

‘And my son? What of Telemachus?’

‘I helped him sail to the mainland. He wanted news of you. First he went to Pylos to see Nestor, but he’s now staying in Sparta as a guest of Menelaus and Helen. I shall fetch him back straight away.’

Odysseus shook his head, still in a kind of dazed disbelief. ‘My god, I’m home.’

‘Yes, you are home. And yes, I am your god.’

To the Piggery

Eumaeus was sitting outside his hut. There was a trestle table there, a bench along one side and rough wooden stools at either end. As Odysseus approached, four huge, savage dogs, barking and snapping furiously, leapt towards him. Odysseus knew exactly what to do. He skipped to one side and sat himself down on one of the stools, dropping his staff to the ground. Still baring their teeth, the dogs growled but backed off, letting him be.fn4

Eumaeus shooed them away. ‘Well done, friend. They were anxious to tear you to pieces. I can’t think why – not much meat on you, is there? Come inside and we’ll put that right with a good meal. What do you say?’

‘Thankee, sir.’ Odysseus was faintly alarmed and more than faintly amused to notice that his voice had taken on the husky, piping whine of an old man. Athena did nothing by halves. ‘That is most generous of you. May Zeus reward you for giving such a warm welcome to a poor old stranger.’

‘Please, think nothing of it. It is my pleasure.’

Eumaeus selected two plump and succulent young piglets for dinner. He put a flask of wine on the table and bade Odysseus help himself. As he butchered and prepared the meat, he talked about the state of affairs on the island. Odysseus received the strong impression from the volubility and flow of his chatter that Eumaeus was grateful to have someone to listen to him.

‘Oh yes … when I think of the care and skill with which my master laid down the vines. Not the best wine in the world, but when you get a taste for it, you’d turn down a goatskin of the grandest Samian vintage for just one sip of it … and to see these bastards drinking it all down day and night … and how they abuse the palace – they piss in the corner of the great hall when they’re drunk. It’s true. I’ve seen them do it. And as for how they treat his wife, Queen Penelope. If my master saw … he’d slice their balls off and feed them to my pigs, so he would.’

‘Dear me. Sounds like quite a man, this master of yours. Who is he?’

‘Quite a man? Yes, he’s quite a man. No … you know what? He’s not a man, Odysseus, he’s men. A son, a father, a husband. Well, that’s not unusual, of course. He’s a king. Wise and fair. Judges and rules with solemn justice. But he’s a builder too. Planned and put together his palace almost single-handed. He’s a sailor. I’ve seen him pull on two sail ropes, one with each foot, steering with his elbow on the tiller, and using his hands to whittle a musical pipe. He can tend the flocks and herds as well as I or any countryman. He’s a warrior. Hand to hand, he wrestles like Theseus.fn5 Can throw a man three times his weight. The best bowman you ever saw. Shoots like Apollo. Never saw a swordsman his equal either. He can throw a spear further than anyone. Speaks the tongues of distant lands as if he were born there. And the wit of him, the cunning … ah …’ Eumaeus tapped the side of his head. ‘In there, he has a mind the equal of Hermes for mischief, and of Athena for wisdom. I don’t know where his ideas come from. He can …’

‘He can sing, play every musical instrument, dance, juggle, shear sheep …’

‘Oh, you can mock all you like, old man, but I tell you, my master is the finest … no …’ Eumaeus broke off and shook his head. A tear welled up in his eye. ‘Why do I say is when I mean was?’

‘He is dead then, this paragon?’

‘Dead some … I don’t know … nine or ten years. Lost at sea in the storms that followed the fall of Troy. That’s the best guess.’

‘Odysseus … I think I have heard the name. I’ve travelled the world in my time. Heard a lot of stories. Let me think. Yes … I’ve been told about this Odysseus – he is alive, though, I’m sure of it. A wild fellow who has been wandering the seas for many years. Yes, yes, they told all about him. He fought in the Trojan War and was trying to get to his home island. That must be your Odysseus. My understanding of it is that he is still alive. Very much alive.’

‘Stranger, you are welcome here. I am happy to have you as my guest. For as long as you want to stay, there is room for you here. But don’t think that by claiming my master is still alive you are pleasing me. Odysseus is dead. It’s horrible, but we’ve got used to it. He’s been dead for years. Rumour and gossip about his being seen on Crete, in Libya, on the moon … that’s just the poison of false hope. So, please – no more of it.’

Odysseus put up his hand. ‘I say what I say because it’s true, not because I think you want to hear it. But I respect your wishes, and you will hear no more from me on that subject.’

‘Thank you, friend. We’ll talk of other things. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? Life has treated you badly to bring you here. You talk like one used to command.’

With great relish, Odysseus told a fantastic tale about a previous life on Crete. He spun a narrative full of intrigue, murder and betrayal. It ended with his being held captive by Thesprotians,fn6 who were planning to sell him as a slave. He told Eumaeus that when the pirate ship put in at the harbour on Ithaca, he had jumped ship and fled into the interior of the island.

The spirit of his great-grandfather Hermes, the god of liars, rogues, story-tellers and tricksters, was alive in him. Eumaeus listened open-mouthed.

‘Dear me, friend. It seems we have something in common … Let me tell you my story.’

Odysseus heard him out in some surprise. In all the years he had known him before the war, Eumaeus had never revealed his history. It seemed that he was the son of a king who once ruled over two islands. When he was only ten years old, he was snatched by Phoenician pirates and sold into slavery. After numerous adventures, he ended up in Ithaca.

‘You and I have each escaped serfdom, sir! All in all, my luck could have been worse. Laertes was a good man to work for. As was Odysseus, his son. Now, look! Helios is almost in bed. Time we were too.’

Lying in fair comfort on rush mats, Odysseus spent a long part of the night revolving thoughts and ideas in his head. How he could safely penetrate the palace. How he could punish the suitors. Every last one of them. How he would take Penelope in his arms at last. But could all this be done on his own? With the help of his pigman and no one else? There was Telemachus. He was finally going to see the boy who had been a baby when he parted from him twenty years ago. At this moment, Athena would be in Sparta to bring him home.

Telemachus Returns

Athena found Telemachus and Peisistratus lying on cushions together in an open courtyard of Menelaus’s palace in Sparta. Peisistratus slept deeply, but Telemachus was wide awake, thinking of his father trapped on Ogygia, the prisoner of the nymph Calypso. What none of them could have dreamed was that at exactly the moment Menelaus was telling them how the Old Man of the Sea had revealed Odysseus’s plight, Zeus was instructing Hermes to fly to Calypso and command her to let Odysseus go. And that Odysseus was already on the isle of Ithaca.

Telemachus was delighted to set eyes on his friend again. ‘Mentor! How good to see you. You seemed to disappear. Where have you been?’

‘Telemachus, it’s time for you to get back to Ithaca. The situation with the suitors and your mother is, if anything, worse than before. The pressure is remorseless. They realize you left the island, of course, and some of them are waiting to ambush you on your return. Three ships, under the command of Antinous. They’re lined up along the strait between Same and Ithaca.’

‘What do you advise?’

‘If you sail at night the long way round, you’ll be safe enough. The gods will send you a favourable wind. I know it.’

It was strange, but Telemachus was confident that he could believe Mentor, even when he made the preposterous claim that he knew which way the wind would blow.

‘And I recommend that the first person you visit should be the most loyal of all your people.’

‘Eumaeus, the swineherd?’

‘You said that without a moment’s thought.’

Telemachus saw a fleeting look of warmth in those serious grey eyes.

At breakfast, Telemachus announced to Menelaus and Helen his intention to depart.

‘I must return to Ithaca and tell my mother what the Old Man of the Sea told you, sir. She will be worried enough.’

‘We had hoped you might stay for the festival,’ Helen said.

‘But we’re not the kind of hosts to smother our guests with unwanted hospitality, are we, my darling? Peisistratus, Nestor will be missing you. And your place is by your mother’s side, Telemachus. We understand that.’

‘We have presents for you to take,’ said Helen. ‘For you and for your mother.’

Menelaus was on his feet. ‘I’ll send an escort as far as your ship. And gifts. Three horses. I have the finest on the peninsula. Two mares and a stallion. You’ll soon fill the island with their stock …’

‘Sir, you are more than kind. But if I may refuse without offence? Ithaca is not a place to rear horses. Here in Sparta, you have wide, fertile fields … clover, wheat, rye, barley, all the best grasses grow here. Ithaca has no meadows. We are a rocky, rugged place. It is goat country, not horse country. And I love it all the more for that!’ finished Telemachus, with a touch of defiance.

‘Then you will take this bowl instead,’ said Menelaus, draining the last of his breakfast wine from the magnificent vessel from which he had been sipping. ‘It is silver with a gold rim. Made by Hephaestus himself. It would give me such joy if you accepted it.’

Telemachus bowed his head.

In the chariot taking them back to Pylos, Telemachus gently put a thought to his friend.

‘Your father is such a noble and generous host, Peisistratus. I just know that he will insist on my staying at least a week before I can get to my ship and home. Would you think me appallingly rude if –’

‘If we went straight to the harbour?’ Peisistratus laughed. ‘I was going to suggest the same thing.’

Once they reached Pylos, therefore, they avoided the palace and went straight to the quayside. While the ship was being loaded, Telemachus made an offering to the gods. He was pouring a libation when a stranger approached him. He was in his middle age and dressed in clothes of fine quality, for all that they were dusty and travel-worn.

‘You are making sacrifices to the gods,’ said the stranger. ‘I can trust you in their presence, therefore, to tell me your name, your parentage and where you are from.’

Telemachus smiled at the earnestness with which these questions were put to him.

‘Well, sir, I am not ashamed to answer, in reverse order, that I am from Ithaca; my father is Odysseus, son of Laertes; my mother is Penelope, daughter of Icarius; and I am Telemachus. I am here in Pylos because my father is lost at sea and I came to see if I could discover any news of him.’

The stranger knelt down and grasped Telemachus by the knees.

‘Something impels me to trust you and tell you my story, Telemachus. I am THEOCLYMENUS of Argos. I killed a member of my own clan. I had right on my side, but I shan’t insult you and bore you with the whole sordid tale. The man’s brothers and uncles want my blood. If they find me, I am dead. I beg you, take me on board your ship and you will have my undying loyalty. As it happens, I have the gift of prophecy. It is at your service.’

‘Give me your spear. You are welcome to sail with us, Theoclymenus.’

Telemachus laid the stranger’s spear on the deck and bade him sit beside him. The crew cast off and the sails filled. Grey-eyed Mentor – if it really was he – had been right about the wind.

Telemachus steered for most of the trip. As Mentor had directed, they avoided the sound between Same and Ithaca, sailing around to Ithaca’s northernmost shore.

‘Drop me here on the sands,’ Telemachus commanded the crew when they arrived. ‘Then row the ship around the headland and into harbour. I am going inland to see my herdsman, Eumaeus.’

‘And what about me?’ said Theoclymenus.

‘If I could, I’d invite you to be my guest at the palace, sir. But I won’t be there all the time and I couldn’t guarantee your safety and comfort if you were alone. That’s how bad things are here. My mother won’t receive you either, I’m afraid. She simply doesn’t come downstairs these days.’

Just as he was speaking, a hawk flew overhead, clutching a struggling dove in its talons. Some of the dove’s white feathers fluttered down between them.

‘Well, prophet?’ said Telemachus with a smile. ‘Is that an omen?’

Theoclymenus grasped him by the shoulders. ‘It certainly is, my boy! And a good one. It is a sign sent by Apollo. It means that only the line of Laertes will rule in Ithaca. That’s you and your family, Telemachus. Destined to rule here for ever.’

‘Well, let’s hope you’re right.’ Telemachus was silent for a while and then called back to the sternpost. ‘Hey there, PEIRAEUS!’

‘Sir?’

‘This is Peiraeus, son of my servant Clytius. He has always been a good friend. Peiraeus, I can trust you to look after our friend Theoclymenus here?’

‘Certainly, my lord. He will be a most welcome guest in our house.’

Telemachus nodded, climbed over the rail, dropped into the sea and waded onto the beach.

Now There Are Three

The atmosphere of Eumaeus’s hut was warm and reassuring. Odysseus thought he might easily get accustomed to the sound and smell of pigs.

As dawn broke after another night’s sleep, Odysseus helped the swineherd lay the breakfast fire. Outside in the yard, Eumaeus’s four ferocious guard dogs set up a whining and yapping sound that could almost be described as affectionate. Those savage animals now knew that Odysseus was a friend of their master, but they still growled menacingly whenever he got near them. Importunate strangers were lucky to escape without bites.

‘A friend of yours is approaching, I think,’ Odysseus said to Eumaeus. ‘Someone the dogs know and like.’

A young man, barely out of boyhood, stood in the doorway.

Eumaeus, with a cry of ‘My boy!’ leapt to his feet, took the youth’s hands in his, kissed the centre of his brow, each of his eyes and finally the palms of his hands. He and the young man had tears rolling down their cheeks.

Odysseus was moved by the sight. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a son, Eumaeus.’

Eumaeus was almost dancing for joy. ‘This is not my son, sir! This is the young man I was telling you of. The heir to the kingdom. This is Telemachus! He is like a son to me, though. Aren’t you, lad? Now, I know you’ve been to Pylos. Thank the gods you’re safely back. And you’ve come to visit your old friend. A rare occurrence these days. I suppose you have had to stay at the palace to keep an eye on those damned suitors.’

‘That’s it. That’s it exactly …’

Odysseus did not hear much beyond the word ‘Telemachus’. The world around him began to hum and spin, and the light closed in. He sank down onto the bench.

This was his son. This was Telemachus.

He was tall. Was he handsome? Silhouetted like that in the doorway, it was hard to tell.

Odysseus tried not to look as if he was rudely staring. Can I see something of Penelope there? he wondered. Maybe, but with outlines of my chin. And the set of his shoulders, that came from me too. And the way he leans on his spear, dear gods …

Telemachus was talking to Eumaeus with such affectionate naturalness and ease. As a son talks to a father. There was a buzzing in Odysseus’s ears and a hammering in his chest. His thoughts came in a torrent. Every day that I didn’t take him hunting. Every day that I didn’t show him how to use a bow and a spear, or sail a boat and tame a horse. Every day I didn’t make him learn lines of poetry and the languages of foreign tribes. Every day we didn’t tease and torment each other. I curse every one of those days.

He forced himself to focus on what Telemachus was saying.

‘I came here first, because …’ the boy frowned, ‘that man, Mentor … Well, let’s just say that it seemed right to come to you. You are always first with the news, Eumaeus. How are things at the palace? Please tell me my mother hasn’t given in to any of the suitors.’

‘She keeps to her chambers. Weeping night and day for her lost husband. No decision made yet, though every day they press her harder for one.’

Telemachus handed Eumaeus his spear and crossed the threshold into the hut. Odysseus sprang up from the bench.

‘No, no, you stay where you are, old fellow. Plenty of room for me here.’

Eumaeus laid down plates of cold meat for them both and mixed them some wine.

Telemachus cast an eye towards Odysseus. ‘Tell me, Uncle Eumaeus, where does this stranger come from? What ship brought him here? He can’t have swum to the island.’fn7

‘He tells me that he comes from Crete and that he wanders the world. He escaped a Thesprotian slave ship when it docked here, and this is the hut he stopped at to try his luck.’

‘He could not have chosen a better,’ said Telemachus. ‘But, oh Eumaeus, he should be enjoying the hospitality of my house, not yours! He needs proper clothing. I’ll send him a cloak, and a tunic, and a pair of sandals, and we can see him on his way to wherever he wishes to go. Or if he wants to stay with you, I’ll send you bread, meat and wine for his meals too. It should all be at my expense, not yours. Just don’t let him go anywhere near the palace. The suitors get crueller and more violent every day. He wouldn’t be safe.’

Telemachus offered his hand to Odysseus, who took it and let go very quickly, afraid to reveal his emotion.

‘If I may, young sir,’ he said. ‘Everything I’ve heard tells me that you are being wronged. Don’t you have brothers and allies? If my home were in the hands of such people – beating your guests, abusing your servants in every vile way, gorging on my food and wine, treating a beloved parent so insultingly … well, I’d raise a pack of loyal friends and family and –’

Telemachus interrupted. ‘Stranger, you mean well, of course, but you don’t quite understand how things are. Zeus, the Sky Father and King of Heaven, ordained that ours should be a small family, not a mighty clan. Laertes, my grandfather, was an only son. His son, my father, is the same. I too have no brothers. The strongest and best men of Ithaca, led by my father Odysseus, went to Troy to fight for the honour of Menelaus and our people. Not a single one has returned. My father included. This has left us open to the depredations of princes and lords from the neighbouring islands. The craven scum who did not go off to war.’ Telemachus laughed bitterly. ‘To the cowards, the spoils. That seems to be the new law.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Excuse me?’

Odysseus, who had managed only to whisper the word, repeated it.

‘Oh, my mother. Well, she cannot bear the idea of remarrying. She keeps to herself in the upper rooms, but … you heard Eumaeus. Every day, the pressure on her to choose grows. Uncle! Why don’t you go to her now? Let her know that I am back from my travels. But do it out of the hearing of any of them – or any of the servants they bribe to spy on us.’

Eumaeus put on his sandals and left Telemachus and Odysseus alone together. There was silence in the hut. Odysseus was trying to think of something neutral to say when his attention was drawn by the movement of a figure appearing in the front yard. Athena! The dogs had seen her and were backing off, afraid. The sound of their whimpering made Telemachus glance outside, but it was plain that he could not see the goddess. Athena nodded to Odysseus, who stood up, excused himself and joined her out in the yard.

Athena took him around the corner. ‘Now is the time! Reveal yourself to your son. Make your plans. Work out how the suitors can be killed. When you have done so, go into town. I will join you. Believe me, son of Laertes, I’m as keen for this fight to begin as you are.’

So saying, she touched Odysseus with her staff. Suddenly he was back in the princely tunic and gold-braided robe with which the Phaeacians had dressed him. His beard darkened from grey, the creases and wrinkles that lined his face smoothed out, and his eyes began to shine with the special vigour and intelligence that had always marked him out from other men.

When Odysseus came back into the hut, Telemachus gasped in astonishment. ‘No one could change their clothes so quickly … and not just your clothes. You’re taller. You’re younger. You must be a god.’

‘You’re too old to say that,’ said Odysseus with a smile. ‘When a boy reaches maturity, he should stop believing that his father is a god, don’t you think?’

Telemachus stared at him, confused.

‘Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?’

Telemachus shook his head.

‘Telemachus. My son. I am your father.’

Odysseus came forward to embrace him, but Telemachus pushed him gently away.

‘Just a minute ago, you were an old man dressed in rags. Now you come in here twenty years younger, in a princely cloak and a tunic whiter and crisper than snow. You are Hermes, or one of his band.’

‘No, Telemachus. Listen to me. I am Odysseus.’ He took a seat and looked up at his son. ‘As for the changes in me, they are the work of Athena. And it is thanks to her that I am finally home. After twenty … after …’

The words choked in his throat as Telemachus rushed forward, threw his arms around his neck and cried out, ‘Father! My father!’

There they stayed, Telemachus hugging his father, both of them weeping like children. They would have remained like that until sunset, crying for the twenty lost years, crying with joy, crying with relief, had not a thought struck Telemachus.

‘Father, are your men here with you?’

‘My men?’ For a moment, Odysseus could not imagine what his son meant. Then he understood. He dropped his head. ‘Alas no. Not one of them. I am the only survivor of all those hopeful Ithacans that set sail with me twenty years ago. I will tell you and your mother the whole story when we have overthrown the suitors.’

‘But father, if what you say is true, then that leaves only two of us against a horde. I mean, it would be tough enough if we had to face ten or twenty of the bastards, but there are so many more. You might as well know the awful details. Let me see. Fifty-two from Dulichium alone. Twenty-four from Same, twenty from Zakinthosfn8 … That’s nearly a hundred already. They are mostly young, fit and strong. They’ve grown even stronger on our lamb, our beef and our grain. Each of them has servants too, of course. And, I’m sorry to say, there are twelve high-born lords of Ithaca also panting for mother’s hand in marriage. All of them … against us two? I know you’re a great hero, father, and I have done my best to train in hand-to-hand combat and believe I could acquit myself well enough in a fight. But we just wouldn’t have a chance.’

‘I make that one hundred and eight suitors, then,’ said Odysseus. ‘I discount the servants. They’ll be untrained and will turn tail and run at the first sight of us. One hundred and eight against you, me, Zeus and Athena. I like those odds.’

‘Zeus and Athena?’

‘When the fighting starts, you can be certain that Athena and the Sky Father will come to our aid. Cheer up, my son. There’s no need to be afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid!’ said Telemachus with heat. ‘Believe me, father, I’m no coward. I’m willing to die defending our home. But can you imagine how it would break my mother’s heart if we just stepped forward like sheep to be slaughtered? It would achieve nothing. She’d be in the same terrible position as she is now. But this time forced to marry a man in all likelihood responsible for the death of her husband and only son.’

Odysseus put a hand to his son’s shoulder and smiled. ‘Tomorrow morning, I want you to go home and join the suitors in the entrance hall. A short while later, Eumaeus will bring me along. I’ll be back in my beggar’s clothes, looking old and weak. The suitors will mock and abuse me. Most likely, they’ll throw things, trip me up, push me over, that kind of thing. Whatever they say, whatever they do, however much it upsets or enrages you, you are not to react. You must ignore them completely, you understand? This will not be the moment.’

Telemachus nodded.

‘The great hall of the palace …’ Odysseus screwed up his eyes, summoning a mental image. ‘I’m assuming it’s as it was – the swords, spears and shields all displayed on the walls?’

‘Yes …’

‘At a sign or word from me, I want you to take all the weapons down, gather them up and take them to a storeroom. Understood?’

‘Understood.’

‘And Telemachus … if you see Penelope, she is not to know of my return. Not yet. Eumaeus tells me that not all her serving women can be trusted. It is too much to expect her to hide her feelings. There will be a time for our reunion. But for now, the watchword is discretion and secrecy.’

‘That’s two watchwords.’

Odysseus cuffed the back of Telemachus’s head. ‘That’s my boy.’

Medon Overstates and Overhears

Meanwhile, the crew that took Telemachus to Pylos and back had rowed their ship around the north shore and put in at Ithaca’s chief harbour. Peiraeus sent the messenger MEDON to Penelope to let her know that her son had landed safely back in Ithaca but had chosen to go straight to the house of Eumaeus.

And whom should Medon encounter on his way to the palace but Eumaeus himself, who was also intending to bring word of Telemachus’s return to Penelope.

Medon fancied himself as something of an official court herald-in-training and delivered the news of Telemachus’s return – before Eumaeus could stop him – in a voice that rang around the upper chambers of the palace. Every handmaiden heard. Some of those handmaidens were enjoying very special relationships with certain of the suitors, and they quickly passed the news on to them.

An urgent meeting of the suitors was called.

‘Damn it,’ said EURYMACHUS to Antinous. ‘You had three ships waiting to surprise him. How the hell did he get past you all?’

‘Must have gone the long way round,’ said Antinous, who had been in command of the flotilla. ‘We had a clear view of the channel. He never took it.’

‘The nasty suspicious-minded little sod.’

‘I think we are going to have to deal with that boy. I believe he’s dangerous. The people are beginning to respond to him. They talk about him as a future king. The way he managed to slip out of Ithaca and return without our knowledge tells us that he is no fool. I think an accident in the countryside somewhere, don’t you?’

‘We can divide up his property between us.’ There was a murmur of approval. Eurymachus smiled a wicked smile. ‘For an extra portion of the estate, I’d be perfectly happy to do the deed myself.’

Medon may have been a little pompous when discharging the duties of a herald in what he believed to be the proper style, but he was devotedly loyal to Penelope and Telemachus. He had seen the gathering of the suitors, smelt a rat, and secreted himself in an alcove, from where he overheard every word of their plotting. Eumaeus had by now returned to his piggery. The only person Medon felt he could report to, therefore, was the queen herself.

It was rare for Penelope to appear downstairs these days, but this intelligence of Medon’s pricked her into action. With female attendants on either side and a veil over her face, she addressed the suitors in a voice that steadily rose in anger.

‘How dare you threaten the life of my son? Have none of you the slightest sense of shame? The boy is barely grown up, and you plot to kill him. It isn’t enough that you despoil my husband’s kingdom. It isn’t enough that you insult my servants and companions. It isn’t enough that, every day, you besiege me with your repellent overtures. A hundred of you and none but a lone woman and a fatherless boy to defend the honour of this house. Now you coldly plan to kill that boy? The gods will punish you all.’

Eurymachus opened his eyes wide in astonishment. ‘My dear lady, I have no idea who has been talking to you, but they could not be more wrong. For myself, and I’m sure I speak for us all, I am as fond of young Telemachus as could be. I could not love him more if he were my own son. I assure you, he is in no danger from us.’

Of course, what he meant in his heart was, ‘The sooner I put that loathsome little brat to the sword, the better for us all.’

There was nothing more Penelope could say. She gathered her gown, turned – in what she hoped was a marked manner – and swept up the staircase, to be alone with thoughts of her dead husband.

Her dead husband, meanwhile, was back in his beggar’s habit and preparing supper with their son. Athena had done her work and once more had aged Odysseus’s skin, stooped his frame and greyed his hair. Eumaeus returned from town and broke the news to Telemachus that Antinous and his men had returned from lying in ambush at sea and had rejoined with Eurymachus and the others. He did not notice his guest, the old beggar, wink at Telemachus and nudge him half off his stool.

The Beggar

Next morning, after the lightest of breakfasts, Telemachus announced that he was going to the palace to see his mother. He turned to Odysseus.

‘Want to join me, old man?’

‘You’re very kind, sir. I would like to go to the town and beg there. More opportunity than in the countryside. I don’t want to stay here and be a burden to our friend Eumaeus, who has been so good to me. You go on ahead, though. You’re young and vigorous. I dare say my slow steps will hold you back. Besides, the frost will nip me through my thin clothes if I go now. I’ll wait till the sun is further up in the sky. Maybe my host will be kind enough to accompany me then?’

After insisting that there was no way so charming and well-mannered a guest could ever be considered a burden, Eumaeus said that he nonetheless would be delighted to show him the way into town whenever he felt ready to go.

When Eumaeus wasn’t looking, father and son poked their tongues out at each other and grinned.

On his way through the town, Telemachus stopped by the house of Clytius to pick up Theoclymenus, the seer from Argos. At the palace, Penelope was, of course, overjoyed to see her son. Euryclea, Telemachus’s old nurse, was in the room too. They came close to fighting each other over who was to hug Telemachus the longer and tighter.

Penelope insisted, as mothers do, that before anything else, Telemachus and his guest, Theoclymenus, should sit and eat.

‘Where did you go? Whom did you see? What news in Pylos? Any news? Dare I ask …?’

Between mouthfuls, Telemachus told of his visit to Nestor and subsequent journey to Sparta to see Menelaus and Helen. When he reached the part where Menelaus described what the Old Man of the Sea had said – that Odysseus was on Ogygia, held captive by Calypso but certainly and definitively alive – Penelope could not hold back her tears.

‘I don’t know whether the hope is worse than the dread. If he truly can be alive after all this time …’

‘Madam,’ said Theoclymenus, ‘you will forgive me for introducing the complication of new hope, but Apollo gave me the gift of foresight, and it is my duty to share it when I am able. I swear in the name of Zeus that your husband is alive. Furthermore, he is already in Ithaca. He will soon be here, in this palace, to reclaim his home, hearth and kingdom, and to revenge himself on the suitors who have dared to beleaguer you. I have seen it.’

Penelope looked long and hard at him.

‘You will understand if I say that the last twenty years have made me doubtful. You seem to be an honest man; my son likes and respects you, and I don’t doubt you mean well. I pray that you are right, but I will say no more than that.’

Theoclymenus bowed. ‘Lady, I understand. Retain those doubts. It is the wisest course.’

A clamour rose up outside the window.

‘What is it?’

Telemachus looked down. ‘It’s nothing. The suitors have started a discus and javelin-throwing competition.’ He watched for a while and then, in a lower voice, he hissed down to the laughing suitors. ‘Enjoy yourselves while you can, my friends. It won’t be long now. It won’t be long.’

At around the same time, Odysseus and Eumaeus were leaving the swineherd’s hut. Odysseus accented his foul rags with a filthy knapsack and a cloak so full of holes that Eumaeus joked that, when they got to town, he could sell it as a fishing net.

As they approached the fringes of the city, Eumaeus pointed proudly to an elaborately carved stone basin, out of which spring water bubbled for public use.

‘This fountain was installed by Ithacus himself.’

‘Oi, hog face! Stay away from that water – you’ll contaminate it with your pigshit smell.’

Odysseus and Eumaeus turned. A man was driving a herd of white goats towards them. Eumaeus whispered into Odysseus’s ear, ‘MELANTHIUS. He’s mean. Pay no attention.’

‘And what have we here?’ Melanthius looked Odysseus up and down, then made a great show of holding his nose. ‘Eugh! You stink worse than hog face! Who the hell are you?’

‘Just a stranger hoping to be looked on kindly in the palace,’ said Odysseus mildly.

‘Another filthy, freeloading beggar? Ha! Wait till IRUS sees you, that’s all I say. Wait till Irus sees you!’ This thought seemed to amuse the goatherd the more and more he repeated it.

Odysseus and Eumaeus left him to water his flock.

‘What an unpleasant man,’ said Odysseus. ‘What did he mean by, “Wait till Irus sees you”?’

‘I’m not sure, but I do think you should be careful, my friend. There’s the palace. But why not try your luck elsewhere?’

Odysseus looked up at the gates and the courtyard beyond.

‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘Fine proportions. Whoever designed and built this knew what they were doing.’

‘You’re a good judge, friend. It was my master, Odysseus himself. Every brick and tile. Not bad, eh?’

The smell of roast meat came to their nostrils, and the sound of music and raucous laughter to their ears.

‘You go in ahead,’ said Odysseus. ‘No need for everyone to associate you with a wretched old beggar.’

‘Just be careful,’ Eumaeus said. ‘They’ll as happily throw a spear at you as a stone or a footstool.’

‘Don’t you worry, dear friend. I’m used to it.’

Eumaeus went in. Odysseus made to follow, but as he neared the gate himself, he heard a strange whining noise. On a pile of old bones, dung and litter, an ancient and emaciated dog lay panting, its grizzled fur ravaged by mange and ticks. It strained up towards Odysseus, flattened its ears and gave a feeble wag of the tail.

It was all Odysseus could do not to cry out. He knew Argus at once. His favourite hound. He had last seen him, barely out of puppyhood, howling woefully on the quayside twenty years ago when his master departed for Troy. That had been Odysseus’s last image of home as his ship left harbour. Telemachus in his mother’s arms, Argus leaping and yowling, Penelope trying not to weep.

Odysseus dropped his hand to stroke him. Argus lifted his head and whimpered with joy. His twenty-year wait was over. He and his master were reunited. A shiver ran through him. He gave a low growl and died.

Odysseus knew that he could not enter the palace in tears. With as great an effort of self-control as any he had ever needed to summon, he breathed in and out and pulled himself together. Then, lowering himself back down to a beggar’s stoop, he turned the heavy bronze ring on the gate and entered his palace.

A wall of sound hit him as he entered the great hall. Two competing musicians held different corners and sang clashing songs. Stewards, pages and serving girls raced around, trying to satisfy the loud demands of the suitors, who roared for more wine, more meat, more music, more everything.

The sight of Odysseus, old, bent and dressed in the filthiest of rags, caused a great cheer of ironic welcome from the suitors.

‘Here’s sport!’

First an apple was thrown. Then a bronze plate. Odysseus dodged them both.

Antinous stood up. ‘I’ll want a silver coin from you each if I hit the mark.’

With that, he picked up a wooden stool and hurled it towards Odysseus, striking him hard on the hip. Odysseus stood firm. The stool could have been made of straw for all the effect it seemed to have had on him.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had shown some pain. For the other suitors now mocked Antinous for possessing a poor throwing arm and began to fling more stools at Odysseus, who was forced, greatly to their delight, to hide under the table. Telemachus had promised his father he wouldn’t interfere, but this was more than he could stand.

‘Have you no manners, no breeding?’ he yelled at the suitors. ‘Damn you for the wild dogs you are. Strangers are sacred to Zeus, didn’t you know that? Whether beggars or kings, visitors have always been welcome here. Shame on you. Shame.’

‘Ooh, “Shame”, he says!’

‘Cheeky runt.’

‘Who does he think he is, the sanctimonious prig?’

‘Let’s teach the brat a lesson.’

Odysseus scrambled out from his hiding place, grinning feebly. ‘The gentlemen will have their fun,’ he said. He approached the suitors’ tables with his knapsack open. Anything to distract their attention away from Telemachus. ‘All scraps welcome, my noble lords.’

Some of the suitors kicked him viciously away, while others took great pleasure in stuffing his knapsack so full of apple cores and bones that – already flimsy – it gave way at the seams and burst open. The howls of laughter that greeted the sight of Odysseus rushing around, trying to pick up the rotting remnants that rolled around on the flagstones, were suddenly cut short.

A man dressed all in rags had entered the hall. He froze at the sight of Odysseus.

‘Well, well,’ cried Antinous. ‘Looks like we have a face-off.’

The newcomer eyed Odysseus with open malice. His tattered clothes were somehow of a finer quality, richer and better-stitched than those of Odysseus, and his belly was certainly rounder and fuller. Odysseus was the real thing; this interloper looked like the kind of theatrical beggar you might see in a pageant or play.

He walked around Odysseus, curling his lip in the manner of a suspicious buyer inspecting a doubtful horse. ‘And just what the hell does this think it is?’

‘Ooh, stranger, you’ve antagonized Irus,’ said Antinous. ‘You didn’t want to do that.’

‘We call him “Irus” on account of he’ll run messages for us,’ said Eurymachus.fn9

‘I’m just a poor derelict like you,’ said Odysseus, ‘throwing myself on the mercy of these kindly lords.’

‘Like me? Like me? I’m the town beggar, famed and respected throughout Ithaca. You are a vile, smelly, withered old vagrant. You are less than the shit beneath my sandals. Out you get.’ Irus jerked his thumb towards the great doorway.

‘There’s room here for both of us,’ said Odysseus. His tone was mild and conciliatory. ‘Surely no need for us to come to blows.’

Irus sneered. ‘You snivelling little coward. Last chance. Which would you rather – find yourself outside the gate still as you are now, or outside the gate with a split nose? Simple choice.’

Eurymachus started beating the table with his fists, roaring for a fight; the others soon joined in, banging their plates and wine cups and drumming their feet on the ground.

‘This is too good!’ cried Antinous. ‘Let’s have a proper scrap. Winner to be feasted by us at table. All they can eat and drink.’

A roaring chorus started up to the rhythm of the thumps on the table – ‘Battle of the Beggars, Battle of the Beggars!’

Odysseus put up his hand. ‘Great sirs, I know what a pathetic figure I cut, and I dare say I’ll be beaten to a pulp by this … this superior person.’

Irus thumped Odysseus heartily on the back. ‘That’s certainly the plan, old boy!’

‘All I’m asking,’ Odysseus went on, in a pleading tone, ‘is that none of you intervene. It’ll be hard enough for me to stay on my own two feet without one of you thinking it funny to trip me up. Do you all promise not to cut in?’

Telemachus spoke up. ‘Don’t worry, sir. I’ll see fair play.’

‘Thank you, young man, whoever you are,’ said Odysseus.

Telemachus tried not to smile.

A space was cleared. A smirking Irus warmed up by skipping around the hall, nodding grandly at the onlookers. Odysseus threw off his cloak and gathered up his ragged tunic, tucking it into his underclothes. Athena had paid great attention to his sparse grey hair, the white streaks in his beard, the scrawny arms and aged face, but it seemed that she forgot to match the rest of Odysseus’s physique to this wretched assembly. Stripped to the waist, a quite remarkably imposing frame was revealed: broad shoulders, a barrel chest and the most astonishingly muscular thighs.

Irus skidded to a halt and gulped. Odysseus kicked off his sandals and stamped his left foot on the floor and then his right. Irus froze. Odysseus smiled. The suitors began to catcall.

Antinous stood up and yelled at Irus. ‘Who’s the snivelling little coward now? Don’t you dare stand there trembling like a frightened whelp. You let this miserable old man defeat you, and I’ll send you to King ECHETUS, the master torturer. If you’re lucky, all he’ll do is slice off your nose and ears, rip off your balls and feed them to his dogs.’

Odysseus considered. Should he kill Irus with one swift, hard blow to the throat? It would be easy enough. On the other hand, it might arouse suspicion. It was vital for his future plans that the suitors all thought him of no account.

Irus came forward, arms windmilling wildly. Odysseus skipped to one side, making his move look more like a frightened leap, and then sent out one precise punch. To the spectators, it looked like a desperate and lucky fling of the fist, but an expert at hand-to-hand fighting would have recognized the exquisitely timed jab of a master. It crashed into the side of Irus’s face, smashing his nose and his jaw together. Blood poured from him, and he fell, coughing and yelping, to the floor. Odysseus grabbed him by the legs and dragged him from the hall, dipping little grateful bows at the cheers that came his way. Once outside, he shoved Irus along the ground, propped him against the wall and thrust a staff into his hand.

‘Here is your begging post now,’ he snarled into his ruined face. ‘You ever, ever try to set yourself up above other beggars, and worse will come to you. Understood?’

Irus gargled. Blood bubbled from his mouth, but no sound emerged.

‘Nod then.’

Irus nodded and winced at the fierce shot of pain it sent through him.

Odysseus was greeted on his return by a barrage of fruit and bread. AMPHINOMUS clapped him on the shoulders and led him to a plate of goat sausages.

‘Your reward, old man.’

Odysseus was grateful that Eurymachus was now calling for bards, dice, music and dancing. It took the attention away from him.

Telemachus came down the stairs and approached his father, speaking low while looking away.

‘I’ve just visited mother. She has heard about this strange new beggar. She’s ashamed of the treatment you received and intrigued by reports of your way with words and fists. She’d like you to go up. She has gifts for you.’

Although his heart leapt with joy at the thought of being reunited with Penelope, Odysseus knew that this was not the time.

‘I’ll go up, but I won’t reveal myself to her. I don’t want to burden her with having to keep the secret.’

Telemachus nodded. ‘Whatever you think best. Also, she knows that you’ve travelled the world and hopes that you might have news of … well, of you … but she doesn’t know you’re you, of course … she means news of … well … you know what I mean.’

Odysseus smiled. ‘Indeed I do. Just because you can’t express yourself properly it doesn’t mean I can’t understand what you’re trying to say.’

‘Er … thanks. I think. Come.’ Telemachus led the way upstairs. ‘She knows you will likely want to be bathed before meeting her.’ He pointed to a closed door.

Odysseus leaned close to Telemachus and whispered to him, ‘Now is the time. They’re getting drunk, and they’re singing. Take only those you absolutely trust and quickly remove all the weapons from the walls. Bring them to one of the storerooms and lock them up there. But make sure there’s a sword, a spear and a shield each for both of us leaning up in a dark corner in the hall. Somewhere we can get to quickly, before anyone else sees them. Make sense?’

Telemachus breathed in deeply and nodded. ‘Makes sense. But what shall I say if they challenge me? They’re certain to ask me what the hell I think I’m doing?’

‘Tell them … tell them that Penelope instructed you to take the weapons down to be cleaned and polished. She’ll be getting married soon, she realizes, and the palace should look perfect for her wedding. They’ll be so excited by the idea she might be coming close to choosing one of them that they won’t think too hard about the implications of the weapons being removed.’

Telemachus shook his head in wonder. ‘You really are as wily as your reputation proclaims.’

‘Hate that word. What’s wrong with “brilliant”? Or “imaginative”?’

Telemachus laughed and slipped away. Odysseus opened the door and stepped into the room.

An old woman was sitting on a stool, dropping scented oil into a steaming bowl of hot water. She looked up and smiled.

‘Come in, sir, come in. Don’t be afraid.’

Odysseus almost shouted out. It was Euryclea, his childhood nurse.

The Scar

‘You poor old gentleman,’ Euryclea said, welcoming Odysseus into the room. ‘You’ve seen some troubles, I should say.’

‘Aye …’ Odysseus sat down opposite her. She was much as he remembered. When he was a child, he had thought of her as aged, although she must have been quite a young woman. She was old now, that was for certain. A creased face, white hair, bent back.

‘Well, you can forget about them for a bit while I wash the grime of your travels from you.’

‘You’re very kind. I understand you were nursemaid to the old king?’

‘That I was, sir. I tended Odysseus from a baby and looked after him when he grew to boyhood and youth. And I’ve done the same for his son, Prince Telemachus.’

‘How lucky they were …’ Odysseus leaned back and sighed. Euryclea really knew how to wash feet. She was pulling up the roll of his underlinen now and working her hands up his lower legs towards his knees. Such a blissful feeling.

No!

A terrible thought crashed into his mind.

A cry from Euryclea and a clang and a splash as her hands dropped down onto the bronze basin.

She was staring at the upper part of his leg.

He should have remembered. That scar on his right thigh. The rip of an angry boar’s tusk.

Euryclea pushed the basin aside and came forward on her knees. She hugged his legs and wept for joy.

‘Oh my master, my master, my darling master is home!’

‘Sh, sh, Euryclea! Not a word. Not a word. No one must know. Not yet.’

He explained – unable to keep back his own tears – that, aside from her, Telemachus was the only one in Ithaca who knew who he was. He wanted it to stay that way.

‘Of course, my darling boy. All will be well now, I’m sure of that.’

She gave the scar an affectionate rub with her fingers, and reminiscence clouded her eyes. ‘When you were a newborn, your face red and angry and your hair all thick and tufted like an animal’s, your grandfather came to inspect you. I’m talking about your mother’s father, old Autolycus. The son of Hermes and as wicked a scoundrel as you could find on this earth. We all loved him, though. Your mother, poor Anticlea – you know she’s been in the land of the dead these seven years past, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Odysseus. ‘Telemachus told me.’

He feared Euryclea might not be able to cope if he told her that he had, in fact, heard the news in the land of the dead from Anticlea herself. From her ghost.

‘Great lady, she was. It was an easy death for her, but it hit your poor father hard. He’s never been the same. Where was I? Oh yes. All those years ago. Your mother said to Autolycus when he came to visit, “Father, can you think of a name for this baby?” The old rascal pondered for a second and said, “Well now, in my long life, a lot of people have pestered me and made me angry, so why don’t you call the child ‘Odysseus’?”fn10 Of course, your parents thought that was a pretty poor name, but you know the custom: the relative who names a child forms a special bond with it. And later, when you were … let me see … twelve years old, I should think, you and King Laertes and Queen Anticlea were invited over to Autolycus’s palace in Parnassus. He wanted to share a good portion of his treasure with you. And on the second day of your stay …’

‘We went on a hunt!’ said Odysseus. ‘A huge boar burst out of nowhere and gored me just there – gashed me from the knee almost up to the hip.’

‘And we ran up to you fearing the worst, my darling. I’ve never seen so much blood. Thought you were on your way to Hades. But you just hopped up and down grinning, bless your heart. You were pointing to the bushes because …’

‘Because I’d speared the boar!’

‘And there it was – dead as dead.’

‘Never was prouder of anything.’

‘And how proud we all were, too.’

‘We roasted the boar that night. Big enough to feed thirty of us.’

A voice interrupted them. ‘May I come in?’

Odysseus rose from his stool.

‘Majesty, I have much to thank you for …’

Penelope smiled at the stranger. ‘You are very welcome, sir.’

Odysseus dropped to his knees and looked down at the floor. He did not trust himself to look into her eyes. Surely, she would see beyond Athena’s disguise and know him.

‘I understand from my maids that you taught that dreadful Irus a lesson. His violence, and his disdain for the strangers who come to our gates, have long been a source of dishonour to us. Do, please, sit down. Euryclea, perhaps I can take your stool? This gentleman and I will talk for a moment.’

Euryclea backed out of the room, her eyes shining, her eyebrows up at the very top of her forehead and her whole face, to Odysseus’s alarm, looking quite ready to burst with excitement. Penelope appeared to notice nothing unusual, however, and soon they were alone.

‘They tell me that you are a man who has travelled much around the islands in the last few years, sir. You may know my story?’

Odysseus nodded, still keeping his eyes off hers. He softened as best he could the rich, strong tones of his voice into the old man’s hoarse whine that Athena had implanted, infusing it with an accent from the eastern Aegean.

‘Aye, ma’am. The world knows that Queen Penelope awaits the return of her husband, Odysseus, the son of Laertes.’

‘You did not meet him anywhere, I suppose.’

‘Had not that good fortune, ma’am, no. But I did hear stories of his surviving the great storms that blew the ships out of Troy – and, since then, of his overcoming many an obstacle. I don’t doubt he will return.’

‘You heard “stories”! Yes, I fear that it is all they are. I have heard enough of those. Meanwhile, you see, I am forced to choose from out of the scores of suitors who clamour at me for a decision.’

‘A decision, majesty?’

‘The longer I delay – and heaven knows I would delay for the rest of my days if I could – the longer I delay, the more of my son’s inheritance this pack of barbarians devours. The sooner I choose one, the sooner the others will depart. Then I shall go away with my choice of husband to live with him on his island, whichever it might be, and leave Ithaca to my boy. It is the only halfway acceptable outcome.’

‘And how, if I might be permitted to ask, my lady, will you make your choice of husband?’

‘I don’t know! They are all so ghastly … Listen to them, down there. Can you hear them? Amongst them, the voice of my son Telemachus trying his best to keep order.’

The sound of the suitors braying and hooting came clearly up from the hall below. And, yes, through their din, Odysseus could hear the imploring voice of Telemachus.

‘But how do I choose?’ sighed Penelope. ‘Their leader, or at least the loudest and most imperious of them, is Antinous. I cannot bear the man. I know that he tried to harm my son on his return from the mainland. There is Eurymachus … he certainly knows how to charm, but there is a look in his eyes. I know I cannot trust him. POLYBUS is the richest. I could select him for that and no other reason, I suppose. Amphinomus … well, I sometimes think he is the most decent and considerate. Leocritus is handsome, very handsome. You could call him beautiful … Excuse me?’

Odysseus had made a strange snorting sound.

‘Your pardon, ma’am. Something in my throat.’

‘But none of them, not all one hundred and eight combined, come close to my Odysseus in any quality of strength, skill, intelligence, wit …’

‘Looks?’

‘And, of course, looks too. If he were here now, he and my son would soon rid the house of these sons of bitches. The bastards would be howling for mercy.’

Penelope went to close the door and shut out the noise. Just then, below in the hall, Telemachus sneezed. A sneeze so loud it echoed round the passageways and up the stairs.

Penelope laughed. ‘A sneeze confirms what was just said. And what was just said?’

‘That the bastards would be howling for mercy.’fn11

‘Well, I can dream.’

An idea formed inside Odysseus’s head. He wondered if Athena had put it there. It seemed to arrive full-born, just as the goddess had.

‘“Strength”, you say, ma’am?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Is it true … I heard it somewhere … that he had his own bow which only he …’

Penelope gasped and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, sir! You have given me an idea. Such a fine idea. I know exactly how to choose my next husband!’

Odysseus smiled. The idea seemed to have hopped from Athena’s mind to his and thence to Penelope’s. She gave an almost mischievous grin.

‘I hope you will be our guest through the evening, sir. If you stay, I think I can promise great entertainment.’

‘Then certainly I shall stay, madam. With deepest gratitude for your hospitality and kindness.’

‘Nonsense – oh, and one more thing. Perhaps you have the gift of determining the meaning of dreams?’

‘I have been known to read them. Have you been troubled?’

‘See what you make of this. There’s a flock of geese that comes to my pond. They make a great noise. Every morning, I go out to feed them. But in this dream, which returns to me again and again, I come out of the house with my bowl of grain, and I hear the cry of an eagle circling overhead. Then I look and see feathers, blood and dead geese everywhere. The eagle has killed them all. Every one. It is very upsetting. What do you think it means?’

‘Oh, but I never heard a dream whose meaning is so plain!’ said Odysseus. ‘The eagle is your husband. The noisy, greedy geese are your noisy, greedy suitors. The dream proclaims quite clearly that Odysseus will return to kill them all.’

‘Yes, that occurred to me too, of course. But sometimes dreams do not forecast what will happen so much as repeat and repeat what the dreamer wants to happen. Which is not the same thing at all.’

‘Still, majesty, I am confident in my interpretation.’

‘And I thank you for it!’ Penelope rose and made for the door. ‘I am glad you came to visit us, stranger. I can’t quite account for this, but your presence gives me strength and a sense of confidence that I have not felt for a very long time. Look out for me in the hall tonight.’

‘Madam, I shall.’ Odysseus waited for the door to close before adding, ‘And look out for me, darling wife. Look out for me.’

Philoetius the Cowherd

Odysseus made his way to the gate to stand in the courtyard and review matters. One by one, he checked things off in his mind. In the kitchens, a full feast was being prepared, but the suitors in the hall were already draining their cups of wine and calling loudly for more. By the time things came to a head, Odysseus figured, their minds would be cloudy, and that was good.

Meanwhile, the last of the suppliers were bringing their produce through to the kitchens. The growers pulled carts of fruit, the vintners carried flagons of wine in baskets on their backs, the bakers came through balancing hampers of bread on their heads, and the breeders and graziers drove their livestock around to the slaughter-yard behind. Melanthius, the goatherd, was amongst them. He had spotted Odysseus.

‘Oh look, there’s hog face’s stinking friend!’ He picked up a lump of goat-shit and flung it at Odysseus’s head. ‘Sod off, you filthy, pig-shagging sponger.’

Odysseus swayed to one side, and the missile slapped straight onto the face of the officer standing on guard duty behind him.

The guard gave a roar and started towards Melanthius, who turned tail and ran. A cowherd was coming the other way, leading three fat heifers. As the goatherd streaked past with the guard in angry pursuit, the cowherd deftly stuck out a leg, sending Melanthius sprawling into a midden of steaming manure.

Odysseus came forward and grasped the cowherd by the hand. ‘That was a fine act,’ he said.

‘Well, sir, I tell you, I’ve been waiting to do something like that for a long time. Melanthius is a disgrace. When he’s not sucking up to the suitors, he’s beating up any strangers who come to our gate, or inflicting his vile person on the serving women. That is why Zeus punishes us.’

‘Zeus punishes you?’

‘Honour and virtue no longer grow here, sir. The great Odysseus is away from the kingdom. When a farmstead loses its farmer, the weeds grow up and strangle the good crops.’

Eumaeus approached, laughing. ‘Happy days! Melanthius is in a dungheap being kicked to buggery by a palace guard.’

‘All thanks to this excellent cowherd,’ said Odysseus.

‘Ah, PHILOETIUS,fn12 you are here? You’ve met my friend, then – the stranger from Crete?’

Philoetius bowed to Odysseus. ‘It is an honour to have you here with us, sir. I heard tell of your fight with Irus. Fine work.’

‘Yes,’ said Eumaeus, ‘you did well there. But I beg you, don’t push your luck. By the end of the evening, the drink sours their tempers, and that’s when they turn really nasty.’

‘You are generous and thoughtful friends to me, and I thank you,’ said Odysseus. ‘But more than that, you are good and loyal friends to your absent king. Let me ask you something. If matters came to a head and it seemed that the suitors were finally being called to account for their crimes –’

‘If? We have lived on ifs for too long, my dear friend,’ said Eumaeus. ‘There is scant nutrition to be had from an if. I’m sure you mean well, but …’

‘All that being true, still I put the question. Should a crisis come, the pair of you would join the fight to overthrow the suitors, would you not?’

Philoetius put a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know why, for you’re a scrawny, malodorous old devil, but if you led, I believe I would surely follow. There’s something of our lost master in this stranger, don’t you think, Eumaeus?’

Eumaeus looked hard at Odysseus. ‘Every time I look into his eyes, I see something different,’ he said. ‘You’re right, though, Philoetius. It’s all crazed fantasy, of course, but yes, I’d follow too.’

‘Good,’ said Odysseus. ‘That’s all I wanted to know. You two take your animals to the kitchens, and I’ll find myself a place in the hall. Something tells me this is going to be an evening none of us will ever forget.’

Penelope’s Challenge

Odysseus made his way towards Telemachus, who was standing at the end of one of the long tables, attempting to exert some form of control over the suitors. His face was turning very red as the levels of sneering and mockery increased with their intake of wine.

‘Please, gentlemen, I just ask that you show some respect, some self-control.’

Just then, one of the younger suitors, CTESIPPUS,fn13 caught sight of Odysseus.

‘Ooh look!’ Ctesippus cried. ‘The master wrestler is back! I’ve got a lovely present for you, beggar man!’ He picked a cow’s hoof from a basket on the table and hurled it with all his strength at Odysseus’s head. Once more, Odysseus swayed to avoid a missile. This one whistled past his head and hit the stone wall behind him with a loud crack.

The loud crack was followed by an even louder bang. Telemachus had slammed an iron plate down on the table.

‘Enough!’ he shouted. The hall fell silent. Telemachus stabbed a finger towards Ctesippus. ‘You’ve no idea how lucky you are that our guest turned his head just now. If you had hit him, I’d have speared you like a chicken on a spit, and your rich daddy in Same would be organizing a funeral instead of the wedding that you are – pathetically, I might say – dreaming of.’

There was a long silence. AGELAUS,fn14 also from Same, coughed gently and spoke up.

‘Bravely said, young Telemachus! It’s entirely charming to see you put on your manliest voice and stand up to us just like a real grown-up. Altogether too endearing. And you make a good point. I’m sure we are all embarrassed by the loutish behaviour of some of our younger friends, who really should know better …’ He swatted Ctesippus on the back of the head. ‘I’ll undertake to control them, if you undertake something more important.’

Telemachus folded his arms – as much to hide their trembling as to strike what he hoped was a confident and authoritative pose. ‘Well?’

‘Surely you know that it’s time? Bring your mother down and encourage her to choose. Tonight. No more evasions. No more delays. We insist.’

The suitors banged their cups on the table in agreement.

With a loud scrape from his chair, Theoclymenus stood up, pointed at the suitors and cried out, ‘Oh, you fools! Can’t you see the blood running down the walls? Can’t you hear the shrieks of your ghosts as they fly down to Hades?’

Demoptolemus of Dulichium hurled the contents of his wine cup at the wall. ‘Ooh, look!’ he cried. ‘Our blood is running down the walls!’

Theoclymenus put his hands over his ears to drown out the raucous laughter.

‘Hear my shrieks!’ hooted Ctesippus to his neighbour. ‘It’s my ghost!’

An urgent hushing noise cut him off.

Penelope had appeared at the top of the stairs and was making her way slowly down. As more became aware of her, the suitors fell silent one by one.

Eumaeus and Philoetius had come in from the kitchens to sit at their table below the suitors. They watched the queen descend.

‘Wonders will never cease …’ said Philoetius.

‘She never comes down …’ said Eumaeus.

When Penelope came fully into view, they all saw that she was carrying a large cushion. A square of silk was draped over it, concealing whatever was underneath. Two handmaidens followed her down, each bearing a wooden chest.

‘Gentlemen, every day you push me harder and harder for a decision. Which of you shall I choose for a husband? And how do I choose? Will it be on the basis of character? Hardly so. None of you possesses the smallest shred of honour or decency. Will it be on the basis of your property and wealth? I have no need of your trash, nor does my son. Honest poverty in a herdsman’s hut appeals to us a great deal more than a life of opulence in the grandest of palaces belonging to such as you. Or, do I, who was married to Odysseus of Ithaca, select you for your wisdom, acumen and intelligence? Please don’t make me laugh. Besides, even if I were to pick you for any of those qualities, they would be hard to test you for, one against the other. Which brings me to strength. A test of both brute strength and skill is easily undertaken, and I know just the way.’ She pulled away the square of silk. ‘Here is my husband’s bow, and here his quiver and arrows.’

Penelope raised them above her head so that all could see.

‘This was a gift from Iphitus, son of Eurytus, whose weapon it was. Yes, gentlemen, this was the very bow of Eurytus, grandson of the archer god Apollo. Eurytus, the master bowman who taught the hero god Heracles how to shoot.fn15 Eumaeus, Philoetius, lay them on the table.’

When Eumaeus took the bow, sharp memories of Odysseus drawing and shooting came flooding back to him, and he could not help but weep as he nuzzled the bow against his cheek.

‘Gods alive,’ scoffed Antinous, ‘the old fool is blubbing. Put it on the table as you were told, or I’ll kick your arse from here to Corinth.’

Eumaeus laid the bow down as tenderly and reverently as if it were a sacred relic. Which to him it was. Philoetius set the quiver and arrows next to it. ‘Now,’ said Penelope. ‘My handmaidens will show you something else.’

The handmaidens stepped forward and opened the chests they had been carrying. Each contained, neatly packed, six iron axe-heads. Each was double-bladed in the Minoan style, with a hole between the blades, above the socket in which the haft would be fitted.

‘It is very simple,’ said Penelope. ‘Whichever one of you here is capable of stringing the bow, drawing it and shooting an arrow clean through all twelve axe-heads will be my husband.’

The Winner

A great shout went up at this, and the suitors started pushing each other out of the way in their eagerness to be the first to try.

Telemachus hopped up from his bench onto the table to quieten them down. ‘You really are worse than wild dogs. And stupider. Yes, you can argue amongst yourselves until you start brawling, or you can draw lots and do this like civilized gentlemen.’

Annoyed as they were to be insulted by one they regarded as an impertinent child, they could not but see the sense of his suggestion. While they began to organize the lottery, Telemachus continued.

‘I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be the first to try this,’ he said. ‘If I can do it, well, I shan’t marry my mother … this isn’t Thebes, after allfn16 … but if I do succeed, she won’t need to marry again, and the pack of you can go back home and leave Ithaca in peace. What is more,’ he said, as much to himself as to anyone else, ‘I’ll have proved myself my father’s son.’

He jumped down and called out to Eumaeus and Philoetius. First, he instructed them to go to the storerooms and fetch twelve wooden tripods. These they set out in a long row down the centre of the hall. On top of each tripod, Telemachus placed an axe-head.fn17 When he had done this twelve times, he went to the first tripod, put his eye to the hole, and directed Eumaeus and Philoetius until he was satisfied that all twelve were exactly aligned. That done, Telemachus leaned forward and whispered briefly to Eumaeus and Philoetius in turn. They each shot him a look of surprise before stepping back and leaving the hall.

Despite themselves, the suitors were rather impressed by Telemachus’s swift efficiency, especially given that he had never witnessed the set-up, or seen his father perform the feat. But surely he wouldn’t be able to string the bow, let alone shoot an arrow through the axe-heads? If a mere boy could, then the task was insultingly easy, and in all likelihood, every suitor would complete it. In which case, they would be back where they started, with Penelope still needing to make her choice.

Telemachus had taken up the bow. It was a remarkable weapon, made – not of wood – but of ibex horn. This gave it a strength unmatched by any conventional equivalent. With a nervous smile, Telemachus tied a line of bowstring to the end of the top limb, took a deep breath and pulled down. Almost nothing happened. The suitors tittered. Telemachus tried a second and third time, seemingly making no impression at all except a sharp pain on the fleshy inside of his fingers as the bowstring cut in, so rigid and unyielding was the ibex horn. The fourth time, he held the bow between his legs and pulled the two limbs together with a final huge effort. The bow began to bend. Perhaps he could do it!

A small cough close at hand caused him to look up. He caught his father’s eye and saw him give an almost imperceptible shake of the head. With a laugh, Telemachus put down the bow, untied the string and gave a cheerfully resigned shrug.

‘Well, this beats me, I must say,’ he said. ‘Damned thing might as well be carved out of marble.’

Antinous laughed. ‘My turn …’

Eurymachus held up a hand. ‘Antinous, we’ve just conducted a lottery for the order and –’

‘As leader, I will make the first attempt, then the rest of you may go in your lottery order as you please. Hand me the bow.’ He clicked his fingers impatiently towards Telemachus as if the Prince of Ithaca were little better than a wine steward.

Antinous seized the bow and addressed the hall. ‘You see, as with so much in life, a little thought is required here. I think I know the trick of it. You, Melanthius, to the storerooms. Command the custodian to give you a large ball of wax.’

Melanthius, the goatherd who had been so rude to Odysseus and Eumaeus, hared off excitedly.

‘There’s a technique to everything, after all,’ Antinous continued, in the manner of a tutor teaching a class of more than ordinarily backward pupils. ‘It just demands a little forward thinking.’

He raised the bow and made a huge effort to bend the two limbs inwards.

‘Yes,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘Stiff, you see. Aged and stiff, like our friend, the smelly beggar over there.’

He pointed the bow towards Odysseus, who grinned and bowed.

‘But apply a little common sense … and a little of this …’

Melanthius had come in brandishing a ball of wax above his head. Antinous took it, went to the great fireplace, stuck it onto the end of a poker and waved it over the flames.

He had the attention of the entire hall. Penelope, who had taken up a position halfway up the staircase, as if ready at any moment to return to her bedchamber, frowned slightly. Telemachus appeared to be genuinely concerned. Had Antinous discovered a technique? The idea of that man as a stepfather. Telemachus would kill him and then himself if such a thing should come to pass. Odysseus, however, took this opportunity to slip out of the hall, where a puzzled Eumaeus and Philoetius were waiting in the passageway.

‘Thank you,’ Odysseus said. ‘Now, I’m just a poor beggar, but sometimes I get fancies. Here’s one. Suppose some god decided that this was the evening when your old master Odysseus would return to you? And further suppose that he began to exact his revenge on the suitors. Where would you stand? What would you do?’

Eumaeus and Philoetius stared at him wide-eyed.

‘As I told you before, sir,’ said Eumaeus. ‘I’d fight by his side.’

‘Aye, and die by his side, if need be,’ said Philoetius.

‘That’s all I needed to know. Now, look …’ He drew back his clothes and revealed the scar on his thigh. ‘See? I am Odysseus. I have returned. And soon, with your help, the suitors will be lying dead in that hall. Every last one of them. No, no … up on your feet.’

They had both fallen down and grasped his knees. Odysseus pulled them up and embraced them.

‘Now, let’s go back inside and watch this comedy unfold.’

Back in the hall, Antinous was kneading the ball of wax in his hands. Melanthius pointed at the proceeding, mouth agape with amazement, as if demonstrating one of the great wonders of the world.

Satisfied that the waxy animal fat was softened enough, Antinous now walked up the centre of the hall, past each of the twelve tripods. As he went, he vigorously applied tallow to the entire length of the bow, sliding his palm up and down to work it in. This caused some tittering in the crowd.

‘Like getting seed from a bull,’ someone whispered to raucous laughter.

‘Silence!’ barked Antinous. He nodded to Telemachus, who handed him the bowstring. ‘Now, out of the way …’

Telemachus stepped back to watch. Silence fell. Antinous took up the bow, tied on the string at one end and pulled down.

Nothing.

With a brisk nod, as if to say this was exactly what he had expected, he now grasped the bow by the ends and pulled hard. His top hand slipped straight down and banged against the other.

‘Damn it!’ He angrily snatched a cloth from Melanthius. ‘Too slick. Must work the wax right in. There!’

On the third attempt, his hand didn’t slip down, but neither did he bend the bow.

‘I think one end might have quivered slightly,’ said Odysseus, trying to be helpful.

‘Quiet, you damned fool!’ Red in the face, Antinous slammed the bow onto the table and glared at Telemachus. ‘I don’t believe your father ever managed this. It manifestly cannot be done.’

‘Sir,’ said Telemachus, ‘if you are calling my mother a liar, then I must …’

‘No, no, of course not. I merely meant …’ Antinous executed a hasty half-bow in the direction of Penelope ‘… the weapon may have been more supple twenty years ago when Odysseus was able to string it, but now …’

‘According to the lottery, I’m next,’ said LEODES, who was far from the leader of the group; indeed, he had – as their diviner – many times warned the suitors that the day would come when they would have to pay for the liberties they were taking in Penelope’s household.

Leodes wiped down the bow, but came no closer to stringing it than Antinous. Each suitor stepped up; each suitor tried; none managed to bend the bow’s unyielding limbs so much as the breadth of a fly’s wing.

When the last had tried and failed, Antinous took to the table.

‘Here’s what we do. We abandon the test tonight, but tomorrow morning we all go outside and offer sacrifices to Apollo, the god of archers. We will reserve the absolute best and juiciest thigh-bones and cuts of meat for him. He will reward us by sending power to our arms and guiding our aim; you can guarantee it.’

‘But excuse me,’ came a slightly quavering voice. ‘I haven’t tried yet.’

Odysseus, leaning on his beggar’s staff and somehow looking frailer and older than before, pointed with his free hand at the bow.

‘You … you haven’t … tried … yet …’ Antinous repeated, before bursting out with laughter.

The whole hall began to bray and hoot and stamp their feet.

Antinous’s amusement swiftly turned to cold anger. ‘Out! Get out, old man. I’ve put up with you long enough. Someone throw this stinking dog out onto the shit heap.’

Telemachus jumped on the table. ‘No! I forbid it. What did the queen say?’ He turned to Penelope. ‘Mother, did you not say, “Whichever one of you here is capable …” Were those not your words?’

Penelope, though puzzled by the earnest heat with which her son was addressing her, nodded. ‘Yes, I believe those were my words.’

‘Whichever one of you here. Well …’ Telemachus stooped to pick up the bow. ‘This gentleman is one of us here, and must therefore be allowed to try his luck.’

While the suitors clamoured and debated the matter, Odysseus whispered to Euryclea. ‘When I stoop forward to try the bow, all eyes will be on me. I want you to go out into the corridor and bolt every door to this hall from the outside. You understand? Lock us all in.’

Pink with excitement, Euryclea bustled out.

Telemachus looked to Penelope. ‘Well, mother?’

A look of great sadness passed over Penelope’s face. She had rather enjoyed her conversation with that old beggar earlier in the day and did not like the idea of him being made a fool of.

‘He must be allowed to try,’ she said. ‘Of course he must. But … it is not something I wish to witness.’

She turned and went upstairs. Once she reached her bedchamber, she fell onto the bed and into a sleep so deep one might have imagined that it had been induced by a god of some kind. Perhaps even Athena herself.

Meanwhile, in the hall below, Odysseus shuffled his way to the table. Telemachus bent down to hand him the bow.

‘Here it is, old fellow. And there on the table, you see the quiver full of arrows? And as it happens …’ he added in a low whisper so only Odysseus could hear: ‘there are more in that box next to it.’

Odysseus mumbled his thanks, took the bow and eyed it up and down, wonderingly.

‘It’s called a “bow”,’ a man sang out, as if explaining to a backward child.

‘Ah,’ said Odysseus. ‘A bow.’

Holding it up with one hand, he pulled off his cloak with the other and slung the quiver over his back. Now he examined every part of the bow, turning it in his fingers to see if, over the past twenty years, some worm or other might have burrowed into the horn and weakened it.

‘Ooh, quite the connoisseur,’ someone shouted.

‘Looks like the queen has finally found her future husband,’ called out another, to appreciative snorts.

But a hush quickly fell. Odysseus had taken the bowstring, tied it to the upper limb of the bow and pulled it down towards the lower in a single smooth movement that seemed to take no effort at all. Like a musician calmly stringing a lyre, Odysseus tied a knot to the other end and brought up the bow to eye level. He twice drew back the string, flexing the bow, and nodded to himself.

Not a sound could be heard in the hall as now he stepped forward to face the line of twelve tripods on which stood the twelve axe-heads. He took an arrow from the quiver at his shoulder and set its nock on the bowstring. His left fist clutched the centre of the bow. Laying the arrow on top of the fist, he curled his topmost finger over the shaft. The arrow ran smoothly between his index and middle fingers. He let out a long, soft sigh.

There was not a man in the room who did not recognize at once that, whatever else he might be, this scrawny old beggar was a practised archer. The handling was so confident, so precise, so swift.

Odysseus stepped back until he was the length of perhaps two horses from the first tripod. He sighted the hole in the centre of the first axe-head and pulled the bowstring back, and back, and back, until … creaking with the tension, it reached his right eye. He held it there …

Everyone in the hall held their breath.

Odysseus let go.

The arrow fizzed through the first axe-head, the second, the third – it flew through all twelve without touching the sides. The tip buried itself in the rightmost wooden post of the fireplace with a dead thud that echoed like thunder in the silence of the hall.

Odysseus sprang onto the table and again drew his bow. ‘And now the real fun begins!’ he cried.

Antinous stood, outraged, ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’

Those were his last words.

Odysseus let loose an arrow that flew straight to Antinous, piercing his throat. Blood spurted from his nose, his eyes and his ears. Gargling, he clutched at the arrow, and fell back dead, his eyes still staring in disbelief.

Now, the hall was in uproar. The suitors went to the walls to pull down spears and shields – but of course the walls were bare. Shouts of fury rang out, but Odysseus’s voice topped them all.

‘He asked me who the hell I thought I was. I’ll tell you who the hell I think I am. I think I am Odysseus of Ithaca, come back from the dead to revenge myself upon you. You fucking animals. You thought I was never coming back, didn’t you? You thought you could loot my palace, devour my food, rape my housemaids, beat my servants, ransack my estate, plan my son’s murder, drive my mother to the grave and lay siege to my wife. Well, it’s time to pay.’

Eurymachus came forward, trembling, arms outstretched. ‘Odysseus, if it really is you … spare our lives! It was Antinous, always Antinous. It was his idea to murder your son. At every turn, he was the one who urged us on. As for your property, we can repay you. Ten, twenty oxen from every man here. Every goat, every sheep, every bushel of wheat, every barrel of wine … we’ll repay you double. Of course you’re angry, but I beg you, forgive us. We’ll make good, I swear!’

‘You’ll make good? You’ll unrape the women and girls, will you? You’ll unbeat the servants and bring back my mother from the grave? No. You have two choices and two choices only. Stand and fight or run and be cut down.’

Eurymachus drew a dagger from his belt and, screaming a blood-curdling war cry, hurled himself at Odysseus, who took one step backwards and let loose an arrow. It flew straight into Eurymachus’s side, piercing the liver. He fell to the floor, screaming in agony. He jerked and thrashed and kicked for a full half-minute before death took him.

Telemachus looked on in wonder. A movement high above him caught his eye. Was that an eagle perched on the rafters, and next to it an owl? Telemachus shook his head and turned back to watch his father, who was loading and shooting arrows into the crush of suitors like a machine. Every tip found its mark in flesh and ended a life. Dozens of panicked suitors threw themselves against the locked doors, screaming to be let out, begging Odysseus for mercy. But there was not a shred of mercy alive in Odysseus’s soul.

Blood washed over the floor and splashed against the walls.

Telemachus looked up at the rafters again. He must have imagined the eagle and the owl.

Amphinomus, sword drawn, ran around to attack Odysseus from behind. Odysseus never saw him, but Telemachus had a clear view and launched a spear. His aim was good. The point tore into Amphinomus’s side, killing him instantly.

As he ran forward to wrench out his spear, he called hurriedly to Odysseus, who never stopped drawing, aiming and loosing while he listened.

‘You’re going to run out of arrows soon, father. There’s a sword, shield and helmet for you in the corner, as arranged. But I’ll go to the storerooms and bring more for the rest of us.’

‘Be quick, son …’

Odysseus held the suitors at bay. Had they gathered themselves together under a leader, they could have split into groups, rushed and overpowered him, but the implacable coldness in his eye and the faultless flights of his arrows unmanned them completely.

Telemachus returned to the hall bearing spears, helmets and shields. Philoetius helped unburden him, but Telemachus was muttering curses against himself.

‘As I was coming back, I saw that treacherous goatherd Melanthius slip out of the door. I just know he will be heading to the storerooms to get weapons for the suitors. I was too laden to lock up when I left.’

The supply of arrows was rapidly depleting. Without taking his eyes off his targets, Odysseus told Eumaeus and Philoetius to stop Melanthius. ‘Show the runt no mercy!’ he called after them as they slipped away.

Telemachus, meanwhile, was wading in with his sword, hacking at suitors to the right and left. The final arrow shot, Odysseus cast aside his now useless bow and allowed himself a second to admire his son’s balance, skill and sheer ferocity.

Eumaeus and Philoetius found Melanthius in the storerooms. He had been loading up a cart with spears and swords. When he saw that he was cornered, he set it down and gave a sickly grin.

‘I was just getting weapons for Odysseus. How … wonderful that he has returned. This is the day we have long prayed for, eh, brothers?’

‘Liar!’ shouted Eumaeus.

Philoetius took up a length of rope and tested its strength. ‘You must be tired.’

‘Time for a rest,’ said Eumaeus.

They left him hoisted up in the rafters, hog-tied, howling in agony and begging to be let down.

Back on the killing floor of the great hall, the dead now far outnumbered the living. With spear and sword, Odysseus and Telemachus drove Agelaus, Eurynomus, Demoptolemus, Pisander, Polybus and Amphimedon into a corner and finished them off.

Leodes crawled out from under a table and clutched Odysseus by the knees, imploring mercy.

‘My lord, I was only their priest! I committed no crimes against your house. Spare me, I beg.’

The rage that burned in Odysseus did not abate. ‘Only their priest? Yes, and how diligently you prayed that I might never return!’

He swung down his sword, cutting clean through Leodes’ neck. His head rolled under the table he had crawled out from.

The next to grovel on their knees before Odysseus were Phemius the bard and Medon the herald. As he once more brought up his sword, Telemachus stayed his arm.

‘Father, these two are innocent! Phemius has always praised you in his songs. Medon has always been a kind friend to me. They are good, loyal men.’

Odysseus put up his sword and smiled. ‘You have my son to thank for your lives. Now go outside to the courtyard. Prepare the staff to come and clean up in here.’

Odysseus and Telemachus surveyed the scene: bodies piled on bodies, heaped together like a vast catch of fish.

Father and son splashed ankle-deep through a lake of blood to finish off with swift stabs of their spears those whom Death had not yet released. They searched every corner of the room for any further signs of movement. There were none. They stood leaning against each other, breathing heavily.

‘Father, can it really be? All one hundred and eight?’

‘I told you, son. With Athena and Zeus on our side, we could not lose.’

‘I did not see them there.’

‘Didn’t you feel them? In your arm and in your eye? Didn’t you feel them here?’ Odysseus thumped his fist against his chest.

Telemachus remembered the owl and the eagle in the rafters and wondered.

He looked at Odysseus. Smeared and spattered with gore, he looked like a lion that had just raised its head from the bloody carcass of a deer.

Odysseus looked at Telemachus. He had summoned to his mind so many imagined pictures of his son over the past twenty years, but in none of them had the boy been streaked and splashed in blood from head to toe.

A sudden shrill wailing made them turn. Euryclea, the nurse, stood in the doorway, surveying the carnage. The noise she made was not one of terror or revulsion, however. It was a wild, exultant ululation, a gleeful shriek of triumph.

Telemachus was shocked. ‘Nanny!’

Odysseus went over and led her gently back out. ‘We may glory over the dead in our hearts, but not with outward shows of joy,’ he said. ‘Now, you can be helpful to me. It will take some time to clean out this … this slaughterhouse. I will let you know when it is fit for Penelope to come down.’

Eumaeus and Philoetius had gathered a team from the palace and the outlying barns. They came in now to pile up the dead in carts and to purge and fumigate the hall with sulphur candles, torches and incense.

The work was long and terrible. Odysseus and Telemachus did their share.

Finally they stood back, arms over each other’s shoulders, surveying the hall.

Telemachus laughed. ‘It’s going to take me a long time to get used to this, papa.’

‘Get used to what? And don’t call me that.’

‘To get used to this …’ Telemachus spun around, a huge smile on his face. ‘The empty silence! It’s so … so … damned quiet! No banging of dice on the table. No rattling of cups and plates. No terrible singing. No fights breaking out every ten minutes.’

Euryclea curtseyed in front of them. ‘Looking lovely now, isn’t it, my boys? I mean, you’d never know.’

‘Time, then,’ said Odysseus, feeling unaccountably nervous, ‘to bring down Penelope.’

‘And I can tell her who you are at last?’

‘Yes. You can tell her.’

Home

Euryclea touched a hand to Penelope’s cheek.

‘Wake up, my lady, wake up!’

Penelope sat upright. ‘Good heavens, what a sleep! And what dreams! Now … where are we? What’s happening downstairs? It’s very quiet. Oh lord, Euryclea, tell me no one managed to shoot through the axe-heads?’

‘I’m afraid they did, my duck.’

‘No! Who? Please, not Antinous? No, I saw him try, and he couldn’t even string the bow. But, knowing him, he would insist on a second go. It wasn’t him?’

Euryclea laughed and gently pulled Penelope from the bed.

‘Into your best gown, and I’ll tell you who.’

‘Eurymachus?’

‘None of them, my love.’

‘What? Then … Oh, have you been teasing me?’

‘One man strung the bow and shot the arrow through. But not one of your cursed suitors.’

‘Euryclea, if you don’t tell me at once, I swear I will slap your face.’

‘As if you’d dare! You know plain well I’d slap you right back. I’ll tell you, though. It was the stranger.’

‘The stranger?’

‘The one dressed as a beggar. The man you talked to up here earlier this evening. Him.’

‘He could draw back the bow and … Wait! Why do you say “dressed as a beggar”?’

‘Because … because, my lady, oh my sweet lady … that man is your husband, Odysseus, come back to us! He strung the bow and has revenged himself on the suitors. He and Telemachus. You never saw such a thing. They’re all dead, my queen. Every one.’

Penelope stared deep into Euryclea’s eyes.

‘It’s not possible. It’s not possible. Odysseus is lost at sea.’

‘Listen. You said yourself how quiet it is. Not a shout rising up, not an oath, nothing.’

‘Then it must have been a god. Yes, a god has done this.’

‘No, my lady! I bathed his feet, remember? And that’s when I saw the scar, the long boar’s-tusk scar. It’s him.’

Penelope went to the door. ‘Nanny, I adore you, but you wouldn’t know a god from a goat. Gods are perfectly capable of giving themselves scars. But I’ll go down and see my son and this miracle worker of yours. But for all I know, this is nothing but a dream. The gods are perfectly capable of that too.’

Penelope descended the staircase slowly. The hall was empty save for two men. Her son Telemachus was pacing up and down. The stranger, the beggar, still in his rags, blood-spattered now, sat on a stool, looking at the floor.

Penelope took a seat by the fire and stole glances towards him. Her heart was pounding fast. Sometimes, she thought it really could be him, but then – a shift in his position, a different angle, a new tilt of the chin – and all she could see was a fierce and filthy beggar.

Telemachus had stopped pacing and was staring at his mother in shocked disbelief.

‘Mother! Can’t you see who it is? How can you be so cold? After twenty years, all you can do is sit there? No questions, no embrace, no welcome? After all he’s been through! Are you made of stone?’

‘Hey, hey,’ said Odysseus. ‘Your mother has been through plenty too. She’s got every right to test me.’

‘Whoever you are,’ said Penelope, ‘I must certainly thank you for the part I understand you have played in ridding me of that plague of suitors. I’m sure Euryclea will be at the door listening … Euryclea!’

Sure enough, the old nurse revealed herself in the doorway.

‘Euryclea, our guest must be bathed. He will be exhausted too. Have some men go to my apartments and bring down my bed and set it up here.’

Odysseus was on his feet immediately. ‘What did you say? Has someone dared move my bed? To do that, they must have mutilated it. I made it myself out of an old olive tree. It took me a week. To move the bed is to ruin it. How dared they?’

Penelope rose, her face radiant with joy. ‘And who on this earth could have known that but you? It is you, it is! Oh, my husband, my Odysseus, you’re home!’

As they moved towards each other to embrace, Telemachus took Euryclea by the elbow.

‘We’re not needed here,’ he said. ‘He’s home now. He’s home.’

The End

OceanofPDF.com

[picture]

1. Smoke rises over the ruins of Troy.

[picture]

2. Ajax the Lesser abducts the Trojan princess Cassandra.

[picture]

3. Cassandra prophesying.

[picture]

4. Juno (Hera) asking Jupiter (Zeus) to direct the winds against Aeneas’s fleet.

[picture]

5. Neptune (Poseidon) calming the Tempest of Aeolus.

[picture]

6. The building of Carthage.

[picture]

7. The death of Dido.

[picture]

8. The mask of Agamemnon.

[picture]

9. The sacrifice of Iphigenia.

[picture]

10. Clytemnestra.

[picture]

11. Electra.

[picture]

12. Penelope and her suitors.

[picture]

13. Telemachus and Mentor.

[picture]

14. Proteus is compelled.

[picture]

15. Helen recognizes Telemachus.

[picture]

16. Hermes orders Calypso.

[picture]

17. Farewell to Calypso.

[picture]

18. Odysseus and Leucothea.

[picture]

19. Orestes slays his mother.

[picture]

20. Orestes pursued by the Furies.

[picture]

21. Nausicaa finds Odysseus.

[picture]

22. Land of the Lotus Eaters.

[picture]

23. Odysseus and his men escape from the cave of the Cyclops.

[picture]

24. Odysseus’s great ram.

[picture]

25. Polyphemus seeks revenge.

[picture]

26. Aeolus gives Odysseus the bag with all the wind.

[picture]

27. The Laestrygonians attack.

[picture]

28. The witch Circe.

[picture]

29. Circe offering the cup.

[picture]

30. Tiresias foretells the future.

[picture]

31. The Sirens.

[picture]

32. Cattle thieves.

[picture]

33. Charybdis and Scylla.

[picture]

34. Odysseus the beggar.

[picture]

35. Argus recognizes his master.

[picture]

36. Euryclea recognizes Odysseus.

[picture]

37. Penelope’s challenge.

[picture]

38. Reunited.

OceanofPDF.com

Further Adventures

We leave Odysseus and Penelope reunited by the hearth because that image allows us to tiptoe away, like Telemachus and Euryclea, from a perfect scene of homecoming.

Of course, things are never that simple.

Homer’s Odyssey ends with Odysseus and Telemachus visiting old Laertes, who is overjoyed to see his son alive and back on the island. The three generations now have to stand against the outraged relatives of the slaughtered suitors, bent on their revenge. Athena comes down to declare that those killings were divinely approved and that the fighting should stop. Zeus has commanded her to tell them to swear to a treaty recognizing Odysseus as the rightful King of Ithaca. The Greek world is slowly moving from a time of divine covenant to a time of human treaties and contracts.

But Odysseus’s debt to Poseidon is not yet fully discharged. The price he has to pay for poking that stick in Polyphemus’s eye is high indeed. If you recall, when he visited Hades, Tiresias told him:

Finally home and in the bosom of your wife and son, scores settled and peace established at your hearth, you will immediately have to leave Ithaca, an oar on your shoulder, to search for the land whose people have never heard of the sea, who use no salt, have no understanding of ships or sailing, and do not so much as know what an oar is. When a stranger hails you there, points at the oar on your shoulder and asks why you are carrying a winnowing fan, you are to plant the oar in the ground, make sacrifices to Poseidon and, as you make your way back home, to each of the twelve great gods in turn.

Homer is of no use to us now. Instead, the major source for post-Homeric Odyssean doings is the Telegony, a lost manuscript of disputed authorship that tells the adventures of Telegonus, Odysseus’s son by Circe.fn1 Telemachus means ‘warrior far away’, and Telegonus means ‘born far away’.fn2 Odysseus was nothing if not a remote father.

To satisfy Poseidon, then, Odysseus leaves Ithaca and travels by foot to the land of the Thesprotians, where the business with the oar and the winnowing fan takes place as directed by Tiresias. While there, he ‘consorts’ for a number of years with Queen CALLIDICE of Thesprotia, who bears him a son, Polypoetes. The Thesprotians then go to war with the neighbouring kingdom of the Brygoi, who have Ares on their side. Odysseus, with the help of Athena (of course), fights for the Thesprotians, but after much bloodshed, Apollo intervenes and declares the whole thing a draw. Callidice dies, and Odysseus finally departs, leaving Polypoetes to rule as king.

Trying to present the Odyssey as a story of a faithful, loving husband yearning for his beloved wife is all very well, but given his propensity to father children by women beginning with ‘C’ alone – Circe, Calypso and now Callidice (which perhaps ironically means ‘good judgement’) – we have to appraise Odysseus against standards of marital fidelity and monogamy rather different from our own.

The Telegony next takes us to Aeaea, where Circe tells her son Telegonus, now a young man, who he is: the son of a great warrior hero, Odysseus of Ithaca, the schemer, the wanderer, the winner of the Trojan War. Telegonus, like any young man of sense and spirit, is keen to leave the confines of his home island and explore the world. Circe gives him an enchanted spear fashioned by Hephaestus himself. Its tip is coated in stingray venom.

To borrow a phrase of Thomas Hardy’s, we now witness the convergence of the twain. Odysseus is returning to Ithaca while Telegonus explores the wide seas. The boy finds himself, like his father before him so many times, washed up by a storm on an alien shore. He keeps body and soul together by killing a few cattle to eat.

Odysseus arrives back home and finds a young man killing his cattle.

A fight ensues. The envenomed spear pricks Odysseus, who falls back mortally wounded. Telegonus discovers his opponent’s identity and weeps over the dying Odysseus, who forgives him. Not quite the ‘gentle death at sea at a prosperous old age’ that Tiresias foretold for Odysseus. Perhaps the stingray venom provides (rather shakily) the ‘at sea’ element, but it seems unlikely that the death it produces is ‘gentle’.

Then a somewhat incredible pairing off ties the story in its final bow.

Telegonus takes the body of Odysseus, along with Penelope and Telemachus, to his mother’s island and the place of his birth, Aeaea. They bury Odysseus.fn3 Circe makes them all immortal. Telegonus marries Penelope, and Telemachus marries Circe. Thus the mature women acquire fresh young sons of Odysseus to replace the original, and therefore, I suppose, they might be considered the winners.

I used as an epigraph for this book the last two lines of the R. L. Stevenson poem ‘Requiem’. Given what we now know of Odysseus’s death and burial, we could use the whole poem now for an epitaph.

Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he longed to be;

Home is the sailor, home from sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.

Perhaps Odysseus didn’t ‘long to be’ on Aeaea, but Circe certainly longed for him to be there. Immortals usually get their way.

Meanwhile, what of Aeneas, whom we last saw sailing away from Carthage as the smoke rose from Dido’s pyre?

Virgil in the Aeneid to some extent mimics Homer, especially in Book 3 of his epic, having him face down Scylla and Charybdis and even, like Odysseus, make a descent into the underworld (in Book 6). There Aeneas confronts the shade of the inconsolable Dido and discovers what her love for him led her to do. His dead father, Anchises, gives him a vision of the great empire he is to found.fn4 Aeneas visits the island of the Cyclopes, where he hears the story of the blinding of Polyphemus from a man calling himself Achaemenides, who claims to be an Ithacan left behind by Odysseus, who (under the Roman name Ulysses) is presented as a hateful figure throughout the Aeneid. Aeneas, like Jason, has the doubtful pleasure of an encounter with the Harpies, when he visits the Strophades (the ‘turning islands’).

The second half of the poem is concerned with Aeneas and his Trojan party’s settlement in Italy. King Latinus of Latium offers him his daughter Lavinia (plenty of ‘La-’ names). Juno’s hatred of Aeneas has not diminished, still fearing that his Rome will one day defeat her Carthage. She incites Turnus of the neighbouring Rutuli to attack. After a series of engagements, betrayals, murders and alliances, Aeneas stands over the defeated Turnus and administers the coup de grâce.

The ultimate victory of Troy over Greece through the foundation of Rome by the Trojan Aeneas is repeatedly referred to by Virgil throughout his epic as a victory of Asia over the western Mediterranean. One of the epithets used for Aeneas is ‘descendant of Dardanus’ – from whom come the Dardanelles. The Trojan peninsula was then as now a gateway between continents. From the Trojan War through the schism that moved the Roman Empire to Byzantium, the Crusades, the wars between Europe and the Ottoman Empire – paused if not concluded by the Great War – the area has always been an ethnical and geographical flashpoint.

Much as Shakespeare wrote history plays to justify the Tudor dynasty’s right to rule England, so Virgil wrote the Aeneid to justify the Julio-Claudian dynasty’s right to rule Rome. The emperor under whose pleasure he flourished, Augustus, was a great-nephew of Julius Caesar, who claimed descent all the way down to Aeneas. After defeating Mark Antony and Cleopatra, Augustus had declared himself Rome’s first emperor, an act that shocked many. It needed to be vindicated before the public and Virgil was the man to do it. He pulled off the clever trick of changing Aeneas’s son’s name Ascanius from Ilus (derived from Ilium, the other name for Troy) to Iulus (Julus), which places him as a forebear of the gens Julia, the clan from which Augustus and the following Caesars descended.fn5

As an interesting sidebar, there grew up a legend, largely disseminated by the twelfth-century historian and cleric Geoffrey of Monmouth, that a descendant of Aeneas called Brutus went to a damp, foggy island somewhere north of France, defeated a race of giants there and settled his own realm, which was named, after a slight corruption of Brutus, ‘Britain’.

Rule Brutannia …

Then and Now

So, through Virgil, Rome had its foundation myth; and, through Homer, Greece had another kind of foundation myth. The warrior’s return, the final move from a world of gods, monsters and heroes to a world of farm and family.

It would be nice to say that it all ended like that. The heroes were back from Troy, men and women settled down to hearth and home, and plough and pasture; the gods receded from human affairs; human history began.

Of course, neither myth nor reality follows the path of niceness. Hundreds of years were to pass between the hero’s homing and Homer’s hymning. The Greeks continued to construct idols, build shrines and temples, burn sacrifices and fully commit to the worship of their gods. They knew the time of theophanies, gods manifesting themselves in the mortal world, might be over, but the marble temples they now built were grander and more confident than the wooden fanes their pious ancestors had made do with. They knew, of course, that it was rarer for them to catch sight of a nymph or a naiad than it had been for their forefathers, but still, they believed.fn6

We may (and should) reverence and thank the Greeks for the free, open thinking that their written philosophy and political science gave the world. But we should remember too that Socrates, the freest and most open philosopher of the great Athenian age, was put to death by the state for asebeia – blasphemy, impiety, corrupting young minds by teaching against the accepted norms of religion. The regimes of Solon and Pericles were far from secular.

The stories that the earlier generations had told, the stories that later poets such as Hesiod and Homer shaped into the narratives that we can still read today, the stories that we call myths, tell us as much about human nature, human personality and the destiny of our species as do the dialogues of Socrates as written down by Plato. Indeed, Socrates and Plato used myths as analogues and models for many of their descriptions of humanity.

In a world where absolute data and information are the vital currency – you might say, a world where absolute data and information are the gods – we do well, I am convinced, to remember the power of the non-absolute, the power of story, myth, ceremony, ritual and symbol. I see myself appearing a thousand times in the Greek myths – as fool, bungler, criminal, lover, villain and – very rarely – hero. I have never recognized myself in ones and zeroes and digital data sets, like some lost Tron warrior sucked into the circuit, battling the pulses of current. While it’s very hard to believe or make sense of fact, fiction is highly credible.

Narrative theory, with its analytical approach to mimesis and hetero- and homodiegetic schemes, its maximum of nine (or is it ten?) stories, its five (or is it six?) eternal archetypes, heroes and antagonists, combined with the digitization of all the stories ever committed to paper or processor, might well allow artificial intelligences of the future (or even ones that exist as I type this) to create new epics of the scale and sweep of Homer’s, convincingly including earthy and verisimilar episodes, as well as profound and psychological realism (Telemachus’s sneeze and Achilles’ touching preference for dirt-poor tenant farming over the Elysian Fields, for example). We might recoil at the idea, but the current thinking on who Homer was – a kind of crowd-sourced compendium – could remind us of the way generative (i.e. content-producing) AI works. It is alien for most of us to think that way, but it is the direction in which our noosphere is tending.

The Greeks got there before us

Certainly, with the Promethean myth, the Greeks prefigured exactly our AI fears. Zeus wouldn’t let these new entities, ‘humans’, possess fire – fire the technological transformer, the toaster and roaster, melter and smelter, but also fire the spirit, the divine spark. If we humans, Prometheus’s creations, controlled fire, Zeus feared we wouldn’t need gods to worship and obey; we could abolish our own creators. Zeus was right. We did. And we are Zeus now. We fear the entities we have created. If a Prometheus amongst us were to give AI consciousness, the divine spark, then humanity could become a mythic memory, an origin story for the machines to tell themselves, while we crumble into broken statuary alongside Zeus and his pantheon before us. Yes, the Greeks got there before us. But that is because the Greeks were before us, and, after all, the Greeks were us.

Greek myth and later Greek drama, poetry and thought allowed questions to be asked. It was Socrates’ tragedy that Greek elites put a stop to the questions and conclusions it didn’t like. But we too live in a society where certain pieties cannot be questioned without the danger of social annulment and ostracism for those who overstep the bounds of the acceptable.

The Greeks, like the Americans, the British, the Russians and just about every society I know, had a myth more powerful than all the myths of Mythos, Heroes, Troy and Odyssey combined. The myth of themselves, the Greek people, Greek society, Greek achievement and Greek value. Some philhellenes like me might argue that the Greeks have a greater right to a greater myth than most other nations, but that would be just an argument. The reality of Greek history is that, in truth, they engineered that myth of themselves, just as all nations do. Take the justice system of Athens …

The Hill of Ares

On the Areopagus, the Hill of Ares/Mars, the Athenians held their courts of justice, very much in the mode Athena initiated for the tribunal that heard the case of Orestes v. the Furies. Only, of course, Aeschylus, in his play the Eumenides, which is my chief source for the trial of Orestes, took what was already idealized in his Athens and bestowed upon it a glorious divine precedence. He thereby gave Athenian judicial practice an origin story grounded in divine wisdom and will, which (perhaps) Aeschylus wanted to see restored, for the court was already pretty much in desuetude by his time. The orator and rhetorician Isocrates wrote his impassioned Areopagiticus in the mid-fourth century BC (a hundred years after Aeschylus), calling for the return of the court of the Areopagus (again) to a noble original form that never really existed.fn7 But that is perhaps the greatest of all Greek tricks – idealism, the imagining of perfect Platonic forms and paradigms that can be posited and, once posited, pursued. ‘Let us go back to the perfect age of the perfect Areopagus’ skips the unfortunate truth that there never was such an age nor such an institution. Nevertheless, the call inspires us all to imagine it and believe it to be worth striving for. We bring people on board with our new ideas by the trick of making them appear to be old ideas, validated and enshrined by time and precedent.

Naturally, the real story of the Areopagus, a gathering of former archons,fn8 is somewhat less glorious and ideal than Aeschylus, Isocrates or Milton might have us believe. The court was democratized to some extent by Solon initially, and then seems to have slowly weakened over the years as power moved to the political assembly, the Ekklesia.

Just because it’s interesting, it is worth pointing out that St Paul, on his travels around the Mediterranean, propagating and promulgating his new religion of Christianity, was himself hauled before the Areopagus by suspicious and curious Athenians:

Then certain philosophers of the Epicureans, and of the Stoics, encountered him. And some said, What will this babbler say? other some, He seemeth to be a setter forth of strange gods: because he preached unto them Jesus, and the resurrection. And they took him, and brought him unto Areopagus, saying, May we know what this new doctrine, whereof thou speakest, is? For thou bringest certain strange things to our ears: we would know therefore what these things mean. For all the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.fn9

OceanofPDF.com

Appendix

Nostos

The ancient Greeks had a word for the hero’s journey home, their voyage of peril, temptation, loss, yearning and epic adventure. The word was nostos. Thousands of years later, it was to be combined with the Greek for ‘longing’, ‘sorrow’ and ‘pain’, algia, to form the new word nostalgia, coined in 1688 by a Swiss academic to describe the acute homesickness suffered by Swiss mercenary soldiers pining – not quite for the fjords – but for the peaks and valleys of their native Alps. Slowly ‘nostalgia’ evolved to extend its meaning to a longing for a time as much as a place.

Homer’s epic poem the Iliad begins with rage, the rage of Achilles that propels the entire epic. The Odyssey begins with a personality and a sense of sorrow, suffering, setback and longing. These are more complex emotions than sheer rage. The Iliad is certainly not without psychological realism and moments of human behaviour that we can closely identify with. But the Odyssey, with its subtle, ambiguous, shifting and complex hero – not to mention its abandonment of the Iliad’s unities of time and place in favour of flashbacks and flashes forward – strikes us as a more modern, novelistic, or perhaps cinematic, achievement. Before he finds his way to his proper hearthside, at last in the company of his wife and son, the hero faces not only physical challenges and obstacles, but painful moral choices to which there can be no truly right answer.

Of course, Troy gave rise to more journeys home than just that of Odysseus. The story of Idomeneus’s return to his home island, Crete, was the subject of post-Homeric authors and, centuries later, of Mozart’s opera Idomeneo. Menelaus and Helen’s nostos is described by Menelaus himself in the first part of the Odyssey (often called the Telemachy) which follows Telemachus’s journey to visit Pylos and Sparta in search of his father. Virgil’s Aeneid is a nostos epic whose hero is in search of a new home, forming the foundational nostalgia legend for the Romans.

Another great and terrible nostos story connected to the Trojan War concerns what befalls Agamemnon and his family, a subject important enough in Athenian culture for the three great contemporaneous fifth-century BC dramatists Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides each to have treated the subject. Aeschylus’s trilogy of the Oresteia comprises the plays Agamemnon – his murder at the hands of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus; the Choephori (the Libation Bearers) – Orestes’s return to Mycenae and the revenge killing; and the Eumenides – the pursuit of Orestes by the Furies and the Judgement of Athena on the Hill of Ares. Both Sophocles and Euripides wrote an Electra. The Austrian novelist and dramatist Hugo von Hofmannsthal took his own play Elektra and adapted it for Richard Strauss, whose opera of the same name remains one of the most shattering and shocking experiences that can be had in a theatre. Euripides took on the story of Iphigenia’s arrival in Aulis to be sacrificed, following Agamemnon’s killing of the sacred deer, as well as Pylades and Orestes’ quest for the statue of Artemis and their discovery of Orestes’ long-lost sister (the plays Iphigenia in Aulis and Iphigenia in Tauris respectively).

E.T. Phone Home

Nostos is a common enough theme or, to use the currently beloved word, a favoured ‘trope’ in high and popular art. A good example might be Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit – whose subtitle is There and Back Again. Paulo Coelho’s extraordinarily popular The Alchemist follows the same rhythms of a quest outwards and a return homewards. The reward, the treasure, it turns out in tales like these, is not on top of some distant golden hill, but lies, and always did, at home. The Wizard of Oz is another explicit example of this nostos mytheme. The incantation ‘There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home’ returns Dorothy to Kansas. In case we haven’t got the idea, her last words are ‘Oh, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home!’

We can add The Tempest, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Apollo 13, Finding Nemo, Cold Mountain, Planes Trains and Automobiles, Lion (based on a book with the very nostos title A Long Way Home) and many other popular films and stories. Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey isn’t really comprehensible unless one bears that subtitle in mind.

The Coen Brothers’ O Brother, Where Art Thou? is a self-conscious relocation of the Odyssey to the Depression-era Deep South. George Clooney’s Ulysses McGill has a wife called Penny back home who is courted by suitors, and he encounters a one-eyed Polyphemus character, memorably played by John Goodman, as well as some washboard-playing Sirens who try to tempt him away from his journey home.

I am sure we could all add various films, books, graphic novels and TV series to the list of nostos-inflected stories: Lost in Space, Star Trek: Voyager, Lost, Homeland and many others.

Colm Tóibín’s Brooklyn and Long Island brilliantly express the ambiguous but irresistible desire for home felt by their protagonist Eilis. But the Irish novel that most completely and deliberately echoes the narrative shape of Homer’s original is, of course, James Joyce’s Ulysses, regarded by many as being as momentous a landmark in modern literature as its forebear was in ancient.

Over the course of one June day in Dublin in the year 1904 (‘Bloomsday’), a father finds a kind of son, and the son a kind of father, each of which they had long needed without knowing. This forms the emotional core of Ulysses. The Odysseus figure here is the Jewish Dubliner Leopold Bloom, while his wife Molly stands as Calypso at the novel’s commencement and Penelope at its conclusion. Telemachus is Stephen Dedalus, the arrogant and brilliant intellectual hero of Joyce’s earlier, semi-autobiographical work, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Structurally, the novel follows the episodes of the Odyssey, with Joyce giving them directly Homeric titles such as ‘Lotus Eaters’, ‘Lestrygonians’, ‘Scylla and Charybdis’, ‘Oxen of the Sun’, and so on.

Since, following on from its nomadic life of hunting and gathering, our branch of humankind first built settlements and hearths, first established ports and trading posts, first ventured and explored, the idea of a return home has burned brightly within us. Whether home is a physical or a spiritual, a real or an imaginary place, our journeys to find it or return to it will always remain, we can be sure, a proper subject for art, music, drama and entertainment. Homer’s Odyssey will eternally stand as the avatar and exemplar – as, appropriately enough, the home of such stories. Even if, as some believe, he never existed, we can agree that for us English speakers at least, the imaginary poet has been given the right name.

Homer

As discussed in Troy, the poet Homer, if he lived and breathed at all, was most likely a combination of different rhapsodes, as the epic bards were called. They recited the poems from memory, using the flowing 12- to 17-syllable lines (known as ‘dactylic hexameter’) and the various epithets (descriptive phrases such as ‘the wine-dark sea’, ‘grey-eyed Athena’, ‘cloud-gatherer Zeus’, and perhaps the best known of them all, Eos rhododactylos, ‘rosy-fingered dawn’) to aid their performances. Demodocus, the Phaeacian bard whom Odysseus so shockingly interrupts, might be considered a semi-comic self-portrait of Homer himself, as perhaps is the Ithacan minstrel-poet Phemius.

There are almost as many theories about Homer as there are classical academics in the world. Most believe the Iliad was – ‘written’ is not the right word – composed before the Odyssey. Some believe that, in fact, only parts of the Odyssey were the work of the Iliad’s author and that it was mostly the creation of somebody – or many somebodies – else. The textual analysis employed by these scholars is detailed, abstruse and way beyond either my capacity or the scope of this note.

Similar quantities of ink have been spilled over the modern-day locations that correspond with the islands and coasts mentioned in the Odyssey. Is today’s Ithaca Homer’s Ithaca? Some think it is more likely to have been neighbouring Cephalonia (but don’t suggest that to an Ithacan). Phaeacia–Scheria is believed to be Corfu. Virgil places Scylla and Charybdis in the Strait of Messina, which divides southern Italy from Sicily. Calypso’s Ogygia might be Gozo, Malta itself, or even the lost city of Atlantis. Aeaea, where Circe lived, is said (by the Italians at least) to be Monte Circeo, the southwestern limit of the Pontine Marshes, which Julius Caesar never managed to drain, but Mussolini boastfully did.

It is a whole separate game, fun for those who enjoy such pastimes but, short of fresh archaeological or documentary evidence, hard to prove.

Farewell to the Gods

Odysseus and Penelope are locked in an embrace by their fireside, while their son Telemachus looks blushingly on. This is the scene we tiptoe away from. This is where the curtain drops on Greek myth. The great arc from the birth of the gods, through the creation of humankind and the homeward journeys of the Greek heroes has been completed.

Archaeologists, ethnologists and historians will recognize far more complex shapes, shifts and turns in the development of Mediterranean and wider history than the crude outline I will sketch; but in my mind, at least, Greek myths cover a period in which our species moved from fear of nature (and its monsters) and the phenomena of fire, thunder, tidal waves, earthquakes, volcanoes, plague and all the disasters that befall us in the world, towards a feeling that we might try to master, or least manage, these apparently mysterious forces. At first we gave them divine identities: gods of storm, sea, sky, harvest and war; nymphs and local deities of rivers, mountains, meadows and trees. We imagined that the best we could do to improve our lives was to worship and placate these powers through sacrifice and prayer. But slowly, fields and groves were systematically harvested, fire became friend not foe; as sea levels stabilized, harbours could be built, allowing marine trade with other lands; an alphabet spread, creating a vector for new ideas and apprehensions. In short, what we call ‘civilization’ began. The great forces that once we bowed before and appeased seemed less strange and inexplicable. The power of the caste of priests and hierophants who interceded between us and the gods did not disappear, of course, but the stability, peace and cheaper calories that civilization and agriculture brought allowed the rise of thought, education, art and poetry.

What the German philosopher Karl Jaspers called ‘the Axial Age’ saw the founders of Confucianism, Taoism, Jainism, Buddhism and Zoroastrianism (Confucius, Lao-Tse, Mahavira, Siddhartha and Zarathustra) all living at the same time, alongside Old Testament Prophets such as Elijah, Jeremiah and Isaiah. Greek thinkers like Heraclitus, Pythagoras and Anaxagoras breathed the same air too. This constituted what has also been called ‘the Great Leap of Being’, and it brought along with it scepticism, doubt, free enquiry and many of the fundamental building blocks of modern thought. All contemporaneous on two sides of the world that had no intercourse with each other. Those who like to see history through the lens of economics have pointed out that on those same continents coinage too appeared at just that same exact time.

As I have acknowledged, history is never quite as convenient as such a beguiling and overarching idea suggests. Nonetheless, the ‘Axial Age’ designation does remind us of a startling development in our species which cannot be denied, no matter how inexact, exaggerated and pat it might be for some tastes. As the Italians neatly phrase it, se non è vero, è ben trovato – even if it isn’t quite true, it’s well founded.

At any rate, humankind moved on from the gods, the gods no longer appeared before us or demanded sacrifice of us, no longer mated with us, commanded us, cursed us or cast us up to the heavens as constellations.

Except they are still here. Whenever we find our reason wrangling with our instinct, Apollo and Dionysus are contending within us. We contain them all: the cheek and cheerfulness of Hermes, the wisdom of Athena, the rage of Ares, the homeliness of Hestia, the craft of Hephaestus, the pride and propriety of Hera, the majesty of Zeus and the capricious inconsistency, beauty, savagery, insight, glory and madness of the whole blessed pantheon.

OceanofPDF.com

Cast of Characters

Immortals

Olympian Gods

APHRODITE Goddess of love. Offspring from the blood and seed of Ouranos. Aunt of Demeter, Hades, Hera, Hestia, Poseidon and Zeus. Half-sister of the Furies. Wife of Hephaestus. Lover of Ares. Mother (by Anchises) of Aeneas. Awarded the golden apple by Paris in return for Helen, causing the Trojan War. Along with Apollo, Ares and Artemis, a protector of Troy. Ensures Diomedes does not enjoy a happy homecoming. Supports the Furies’ right to persecute Orestes. Worshipped by Romans as Venus.

APOLLO Archer god and god of harmony. Son of Zeus and the Titaness Leto. Twin of Artemis. Half-brother of Ares, Athena, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes and Persephone. Along with Aphrodite, Ares and Artemis, a protector of Troy. Blesses and curses Cassandra with the gift of incredible prophecy. Patron of the Pythia’s oracle at Delphi. As such, commands Orestes and Pylades to pursue their quests first for vengeance and then for absolution. Intervenes to protect Odysseus from Ares and the Brygoi. Worshipped by Romans under his original Greek name. Still contends with Dionysus inside us all.

ARES God of war. Son of Zeus and Hera. Brother of Hephaestus. Half-brother of Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Hermes and Persephone. Lover of Aphrodite. Along with Aphrodite, Apollo and Artemis, a protector of Troy. Occupies a central place in the geography (and judicial system) of Athens. Joins the Brygoi in their war against Athena, Odysseus and Callidice. Worshipped by Romans as Mars. His rage still burns inside us all.

ARTEMIS Goddess of chastity and the chase. Daughter of Zeus and the Titaness Leto. Twin of Apollo. Half-sister of Ares, Athena, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes and Persephone. Along with Aphrodite, Apollo and Ares, a protector of Troy. Sends the Calydonian Boar as punishment for neglecting her worship. Demands sacrifice of Iphigenia to atone for Agamemnon’s killing of her sacred deer. Then employs Iphigenia to sacrifice Hellenes at her shrine in Tauris. Supports the Furies’ right to persecute Orestes. Surprisingly does not persecute Orestes and Pylades for sniggering.

ATHENA Goddess of wisdom, weaving and war. Daughter of Zeus and the sea nymph Metis; born fully formed from her father’s forehead. Half-sister of Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes and Persephone. Bearer of the aegis. Wins patronage – and naming rights – of Athens in exchange for olives. Judged insufficiently charming by Paris compared to Aphrodite. Along with Hephaestus, Hera and Poseidon, an abettor of the Greeks against Troy. Dotes on Achilles, Diomedes and especially Odysseus. As Mentes and Mentor, aids and encourages Telemachus. Angered by the profane actions of Ajax, Neoptolemus and the other Greeks during the sack of Troy; insists that Zeus send a storm to punish them. Browbeats Zeus into ordering Calypso to part with Odysseus. Aids Odysseus to overcome the suitors of Penelope and reclaim his wife, home and kingdom. Later, joins Odysseus and Callidice in their war against Ares and the Brygoi. Persuades Zeus that Orestes be subject to human, not divine, justice. Establishes the court of the Areopagus. Worshipped by Romans as Minerva. Her wisdom lives on inside us all.

DEMETER Goddess of fertility, and of harvest, hearth and home. Daughter of the Titans Kronos and Rhea. Sister of Hades, Hera, Hestia, Poseidon and Zeus. Mother (by Zeus) of Persephone. Her liaison with Iasion provokes Zeus’s jealousy.

DIONYSUS God of dissipation and disorder. Son of Zeus and the mortal Semele. Half-brother of Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Hephaestus, Hermes and Persephone. Repays his Aunt Ino’s babysitting by immortalizing her as Leucothea. Supports the Furies’ right to persecute Orestes. Still contends with Apollo inside us all.

HADES God of the underworld.fn1 Son of the Titans Kronos and Rhea. Brother of Demeter, Hera, Hestia, Poseidon and Zeus. Part-time husband of Persephone. His realm now home to many shades, including Agamemnon, Anticlea, Elpenor, Tiresias and Achilles, who is unhappy with his accommodation there. Visited by Odysseus in search of directions home.

HEPHAESTUS God of fire and the forge. Son of Zeus and Hera. Brother of Ares. Half-brother of Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Hermes and Persephone. Husband of Aphrodite. Along with Athena, Hera and Poseidon, an abettor of the Greeks against Troy. Creator of marvels, including the breakfast-wine cup of Menelaus and the enchanted stingray spear of Telegonus. His artistry lives on inside us all.

HERA Queen of Heaven and goddess of matrimony. Daughter of the Titans Kronos and Rhea. Sister of Demeter, Hades, Hestia, Poseidon and Zeus. Wife of Zeus and mother (by him) of Ares and Hephaestus. Aided Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. Instrumental in the apotheosis of Leucothea. Despite her magnificent eyes, judged by Paris to be inferior to Aphrodite. Along with Athena, Hephaestus and Poseidon, an abettor of the Greeks against Troy. Then insistent that the Greeks must be punished for their profane actions during the sack of Troy. Equally insistent on the Furies’ duty to persecute Orestes. Worshipped by Romans as Juno. Her pride and propriety live on inside us all.

HERMES Messenger of the gods, and god of tricksters. Son of Zeus and the mountain nymph Maia. Half-brother of Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Hephaestus and Persephone. Father of Autolycus; as such, a great-grandfather of Odysseus. Tricks Aphrodite into consorting with Anchises. Enlists Paris to judge which of Aphrodite, Athena and Hera is the most beautiful. On behalf of Zeus, orders Calypso to part with Odysseus. Instructs Odysseus how to overcome Circe. Easily identified by his natty helmet, fancy staff and snazzy sandals. Worshipped by Romans as Mercury. His cheek and cheerfulness live on inside us all.

HESTIA Goddess of hearth and home. Daughter of the Titans Kronos and Rhea. Sister of Demeter, Hades, Hera, Poseidon and Zeus. Possesses a shrine at the heart of Mycenae. Her spirit of homeliness lives on inside us all.

POSEIDON God of the sea. Son of the Titans Kronos and Rhea. Brother of Demeter, Hades, Hera, Hestia and Zeus. Father of a plethora of progeny, including Polyphemus, Pegasus and Theseus. Athena preferred to him as patron of Athens. Along with Athena, Hephaestus and Hera, an abettor of the Greeks against Troy. At the behest of Zeus and Athena, sends a storm to punish the Greeks for their profane actions during the sack of Troy. Slays his former favourite Ajax for his hubris. Takes advantage of a carelessly worded promise by Idomeneus. Punishes Odysseus for harming Polyphemus. Demands daily seal update from Proteus. Worshipped by Romans as Neptune.

ZEUS King of the Gods. Son of the Titans Kronos (whom he overthrows) and Rhea. As a grandson of Ouranos, nephew of Aphrodite and the Furies. Brother of Demeter, Hades, Hera, Hestia and Poseidon. Husband of Hera. Father of the gods Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hermes and Persephone. With Prometheus, the creator of us all. Father of a multitude of mortals, including Helen and Heracles. Particular custodian of the sacred canons of hospitality. Possessor of a notoriously roving eye. Intensely dislikes the much-cursed house of Atreus. Tries to maintain neutrality during the Trojan War. Accedes to his fellow Olympians’ demand for a storm to punish the Greeks for their profane actions during the sack of Troy. Sends a storm to punish Odysseus’s men for slaughtering the oxen of Helios. Browbeaten by Athena into ordering Calypso to part with Odysseus. Convinced by Athena to subject Orestes to human, not divine, justice. Worshipped by Romans as Jupiter. His majesty lives on inside us all.

Gods of Rome

APOLLO Archer god and god of harmony. Unique in being worshipped by Greeks and Romans under the same name.

JUNO Queen of Heaven and goddess of matrimony. Proud and protective patron of Carthage. Insistent that Aeneas must be thwarted so that the Punic Empire can fulfil a momentous destiny. Bestows Deiopea on Aeolus in exchange for a storm to toss and torment Aeneas. Then throws Dido in Aeneas’s way to try to distract him. Then incites the Italian hero Turnus to make war on him. Worshipped by Greeks as Hera.

JUPITER King of the Gods. Finds himself caught in the middle of Juno’s and Venus’s struggles over the fate of Aeneas. Sends Mercury to order Dido to welcome Aeneas with open arms. Then sends Mercury to remind Aeneas of his duty when Dido proves a little too welcoming. Foretells the momentous destiny of Aeneas, Ascanius and Rome. Worshipped by Greeks as Zeus.

MARS God of war. Father of Rome’s founding twins, Romulus and Remus. Venerated for his virility, violence and mercilessness. His descendants prophesied to conquer Greece and avenge the fall of Troy. Occupies a central place in the geography and calendar of Rome. Worshipped by Greeks as Ares.

MERCURY Messenger of the gods, and god of tricksters. Sent by Jupiter to order Dido to welcome Aeneas with open arms. Then sent by Jupiter to order Aeneas to extricate himself from Dido’s open arms. Worshipped by Greeks as Hermes.

MINERVA Goddess of wisdom, weaving and war. Overshadowed by Mars. Venerated less highly than her Greek alter ego, Athena.

NEPTUNE God of the sea. Declines Juno’s request to send a storm to toss and torment Aeneas. Saves Aeneas from the winds of Aeolus. Worshipped by Greeks as Poseidon.

VENUS Goddess of love. Mother (by Anchises) of Aeneas. Appeals to Jupiter not to let Juno thwart her son’s momentous destiny. Her descendants prophesied to conquer Greece and avenge the fall of Troy. Worshipped by Greeks as Aphrodite.

Other Immortals

CALYPSO Sea nymph. As one of the myriad daughters of the Titans Oceanus and Tethys, related to countless other immortal (and mortal) beings. Possessive lover of Odysseus. Grudgingly accedes to Zeus’s order to let him go. Provider of substantial picnics.

CIRCE Enchantress with a penchant for making pets out of passing sailors. Daughter of Helios and the sea nymph Perse. Aunt of Medea and the Minotaur. Overcome by Odysseus (with the aid of Hermes). Mother, by Odysseus, of Agrius and Telegonus. Advises Odysseus on how to navigate the many perils that bar his journey home. Gives Telegonus the stingray spear that will kill Odysseus. Fated to marry Telemachus.

DEIOPEA Sea nymph, and handmaiden of Hera. Bestowed on Aeolus in exchange for a bag of wind.

EIDOTHEA Friendly (and shapely) daughter of Proteus. Her fancy tickled by the red hair of Menelaus. Advises him how to best her father.

GAIA The primordial earth. Daughter of Chaos. Mother of innumerable monstrous children, including Ouranos; Typhon, the progenitor of abominations; Charybdis; and (by Ouranos) the Furies. Simultaneously grandmother and great-grandmother of Zeus and his Olympian siblings. Her vapours inspire Apollo’s oracle at Delphi.

HELIOS Titan god of the sun. Brother of Prometheus. Father of Circe, Lampetie and Phaethusa. Grandfather of Medea and the Minotaur. Doting owner of magnificent sacred sheep and oxen. Enraged when Odysseus’s men make a meal of them.

LEUCOTHEA The White Goddess. Queen of the Ocean. Former aunt of Dionysus. A ready help to those in peril on the sea. Rescues Odysseus from the wrath of Poseidon.

OURANOS The primordial sky. Son of Gaia. Castrated by his and Gaia’s Titan son Kronos. From his blood and seed, the progenitor of Aphrodite. From his blood and Gaia, the progenitor of the Furies.

PERSEPHONE Queen of the Underworld and goddess of spring. Daughter of Zeus and Demeter. Half-sister to half of Olympus. For half the year, the spouse of Hades. Her grove guides Odysseus to the underworld.

PROMETHEUS Titan brother of Helios. Creator and friend of humankind. De-livered by Zeus for delivering the gift of fire to humans.

PROTEUS Shape-shifting and prophetic ‘Old Man of the Sea’. Father of Eidothea. Likes to share his siesta with seals. Has his arm twisted by Menelaus to reveal the way home. Lets slip the whereabouts of Odysseus.

Monsters and Other Creatures

ARGUS Faithful hound of Odysseus; first to recognize him on his return home. Shamefully traduced by his inclusion in this company.

CALYDONIAN BOAR Giant baby-eating bane of Aetolia. Sent as punishment for neglecting the worship of Artemis. Hunted by many of the greatest champions of the Age of Heroes, including Jason, Nestor and Theseus. Slain by Atalanta and Meleager.

CHARYBDIS Monstrous creator of an inescapable whirlpool. Daughter of Gaia. Half-sister of the Furies. Generally inseparable in myth from Scylla. Swallows, then spits out, Odysseus.

CYCLOPES Race of primitive one-eyed giants. Not celebrated for intelligence, grace or imagination. Producers of massive cheeses and very rustic wine. Dismiss the appeals of their compatriot Polyphemus for help against Nobody.

FURIES Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone. Also known as the Erinyes. Offspring of Gaia and the blood of Ouranos. Half-sisters of Aphrodite and Charybdis. Remorseless spirits of retribution, especially against those guilty of blood crimes. Pursue Orestes to the verge of insanity. Denied their prey by Athena. Given new purpose as Eumenides – kindly guardians of peace and prosperity in Athens.

LAESTRYGONIANS Race of savage man-eating giants who slaughter and devour most of Odysseus’s crew.

POLYPHEMUS Monstrous one-eyed Cyclops unfairly treated by life. Son of Poseidon and the sea nymph Thoosa. Half-brother of Theseus and Pegasus. Exhibits a touching affection for his flocks. Exhibits a gruesome taste for Odysseus’s crew. Intoxicated by the wine of Maron. Tormented and outwitted by Nobody; his appeals for help mocked by the other Cyclopes. His fearsome curse of Odysseus fulfilled by Poseidon.

PROBATOS Blood-drinking baa-lamb of Polyphemus. Sturdy getaway ride of Nobody. Savoured as souvlaki-smoke by Zeus.

SCYLLA Snaky six-headed sea monster. Daughter of Crataeis. By some accounts, also one of Typhon’s abominable and numerous brood. Generally inseparable in myth from Charybdis. Snaffles half a dozen of Odysseus’s crew.

SIRENS Pair of birdwomen whose enchanting songs lure passing sailors to their doom. Daughters of the Muse Melpomene. Their alluring melodies resisted by Odysseus with the aid of strategically situated sailors’ knots.

Mortals

Ithacans

AGELAUS Oleaginous suitor of Penelope.

AMPHINOMUS Backstabbing suitor of Penelope.

ANTICLEA Former Queen of Ithaca. Daughter of Autolycus. Wife of Laertes. Mother (by him) of Odysseus and Ctimene. Dies from grief at her son’s prolonged absence from home. Her shade breaks the news of her own death to Odysseus in the underworld.

ANTINOUS Ringleader and most nauseating of the suitors of Penelope. Fails to ambush Telemachus. Fails to string the bow of Odysseus. Then fails to evade the arrow of Odysseus.

CTESIPPUS Hoof-hurling horsey suitor of Penelope.

ELPENOR Youngest follower of Odysseus at Troy. Not the shrewdest sausage in the stew.fn2 Escapes unharmed from the Cicones, the Lotus-Eaters, the Cyclopes, Aeolus’s winds and the Laestrygonians. Rests in peace on Circe’s island.

EUMAEUS Loyal swineherd of Odysseus. Former prince seized by pirates as a boy and sold into slavery. With Mentor, raises Telemachus in his master’s absence. Hospitable to beggars. With Philoetius, aids Odysseus to overcome the suitors of Penelope and reclaim his wife, home and kingdom.

EURYCLEA Loyal nurse of Odysseus and Telemachus. Recognizes Odysseus by his boar’s-tusk scar. Aids Odysseus to overcome the suitors of Penelope and reclaim his wife, home and kingdom. Not a good winner.

EURYLOCHUS Husband of Odysseus’s sister Ctimene. Serves as his second-in-command at Troy; likes to presume on their relationship a little too much. Escapes unharmed from the Cicones, the Lotus-Eaters, the Cyclopes, Aeolus’s winds, the Laestrygonians, the enchantments of Circe, the underworld, the Sirens, and Scylla and Charybdis. Finally meets his match in Helios and Zeus.

EURYMACHUS Loud-mouthed suitor of Penelope. Fails to talk his way round Odysseus.

IRUS Master-beggar of Ithaca. Named Arnaeus at birth. Nicknamed Irus, after the messenger goddess Iris, for running errands on behalf of the suitors of Penelope. Resoundingly defeated by Odysseus in the Battle of the Beggars.

LAERTES King (emeritus) of Ithaca. Father of Odysseus and Ctimene. Sadly not himself since the death of his wife Anticlea.

LEODES Foresighted suitor of Penelope.

MEDON Messenger and would-be palace herald. A friend to Telemachus in Odysseus’s absence.

MELANTHIUS Treacherous goatherd in cahoots with the suitors of Penelope.

MENTOR Loyal friend of Odysseus. With Eumaeus, raises Telemachus in Odysseus’s absence. His guise adopted by Athena to aid and encourage Telemachus on his travels.

NOBODY Bane of Polyphemus. Boastful alter ego of:

ODYSSEUS King of Ithaca. Son of Anticlea and Laertes. Grandson of Autolycus, who names him misanthropically. Great-grandson of Hermes. Brother of Ctimene. Husband of the long-suffering Penelope. Lover of Circe, Calypso and Callidice. Beloved by the faithful Argus. Distant father of Telemachus (by Penelope), Agrius and Telegonus (by Circe), and Polypoetes (by Callidice). Known to Polyphemus as Nobody. Hated by the Romans as Ulysses. Greatly favoured in all his endeavours by Athena. One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Contriver (with the assistance of Athena) of the wooden horse. Unsurpassed for guile and cunning. Battered by storms and sorrows, undergoes many hardships and witnesses many wonders, endures much cruelty and receives much kindness, before the gods finally permit him to return and reclaim his wife, his kingdom and his home. Fated to resume his wanderings once more before dying, unknowingly, at the hand of his son Telegonus.

PEIRAEUS Follower of Telemachus. Foists Theoclymenus without warning on his family home.

PENELOPE Queen of Ithaca. Daughter of Icarius, Prince of Sparta. Cousin of Clytemnestra and Helen. Long-suffering but devoted wife of Odysseus. Mother (by him) of Telemachus. Not entirely flattered in Odysseus’s comparison of her with Calypso. Plagued by the attentions of numerous suitors. Refuses to choose one until she has woven a shroud worthy of her father-in-law Laertes. Finally promises to wed whoever can string and shoot Odysseus’s bow. Athena’s gift of sleep spares her the sight of the suitors’ slaughter by Odysseus and Telemachus. Tricks her husband into proving his identity. Destined to see him go wandering once more. Fated, in the end, to marry her stepson Telegonus.

PERIMEDES Long-serving follower of Odysseus at Troy. Escapes unharmed from the Cicones, the Lotus-Eaters (just), the Cyclopes, Aeolus’s winds, the Laestrygonians, the enchantments of Circe, the underworld, the Sirens, and Scylla and Charybdis. Finally meets his match in Helios and Zeus.

PHEMIUS Bard of Ithaca. Sings Odysseus’s praises in order to keep his story alive.

PHILOETIUS Loyal cowherd. With Eumaeus, aids Odysseus to overcome the suitors of Penelope and reclaim his wife, home and kingdom.

POLYBUS Wealthiest suitor of Penelope.

TELEMACHUS Prince of Ithaca. Dutiful son of Odysseus and Penelope. Unwitting half-brother of Agrius and Telegonus. Raised in his father’s absence by Euryclea, Eumaeus and Mentor. Aided and encouraged by Athena, in the guise of Mentes and Mentor, to search for news of his father. Welcomed to Pylos by Nestor, but leaves none the wiser. Equally welcomed to Sparta by Helen, who thinks him a chip off the old block, and Menelaus, who assures him Odysseus is alive. Obtains good omens after recruiting Theoclymenus to his cause. Dodges assassination by Antinous. Discovers his long-last father in the home of Eumaeus. Appears unable to string Odysseus’s bow. Aids his father to overcome the suitors of Penelope and reclaim his wife, home and kingdom. Intercedes on behalf of Medon and Phemius. Fated, in the end, to marry Circe.

Mycenaeans

AEGISTHUS Scion of a much-cursed house. Son and grandson of Thyestes; conceived by him in order to take revenge on Atreus. Son and brother of Pelopia. Adopted by his uncle Atreus, murders him, then installs Thyestes on the throne of Mycenae. Driven into exile by his cousins Agamemnon and Menelaus. Returns during Agamemnon’s absence at Troy to become the lover of Clytemnestra. Father (by her) of Aletes and Erigone. Helps Clytemnestra murder Agamemnon and Cassandra. Murdered in turn by Orestes. Retribution for his death sought by the Furies. Justice for his death sought by Erigone.

AGAMEMNON King of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Son of Atreus. Brother of Anaxibia and Menelaus. Cousin of Aegisthus. Forced into exile after the murder of Atreus by Aegisthus. Helped by Menelaus to depose Thyestes and reclaim the throne of Mycenae. Husband of Clytemnestra. Father (by her) of Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Leader of the Greek host at Troy. Attempts to sacrifice Iphigenia to appease Artemis. His feud with Achilles nearly costs the Greeks victory. Fatally chooses Cassandra to be his Trojan booty. Escapes a cold watery death in the storm sent by Poseidon and Athena against the Greek fleet. Meets a warm watery death in his bath tub at home, courtesy of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. His shade desperate for news of his children when encountered by Odysseus in the underworld. His death avenged by Orestes and Electra.

ARSINOË Nurse of Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Wife of their tutor, Menander. With him, saves the children from neglect, abuse, and possibly worse, at the hands of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. In a modest way, further aids Orestes and Electra to avenge the death of Agamemnon.

ATREUS King of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Son of Pelops. Brother of Thyestes. Father of Agamemnon, Anaxibia and Menelaus. Adoptive father of Aegisthus, who murders him and installs Thyestes on his throne. Avenged by Agamemnon and Menelaus. The curse on his house finally runs its course with his grandchildren Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes and Hermione.

CALCHAS Priest of Apollo. Seer of Agamemnon. Sacrifices Iphigenia to appease Artemis. Circulates the story of Cassandra’s violation by Ajax during the sack of Troy. Fails to foresee the storm sent by the gods to punish the Greeks.

CHRYSOTHEMIS Princess of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Sister of Iphigenia, Electra and Orestes. Half-sister of Aletes and Erigone. Neglected and abused by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Cared for by Arsinoë and Menander, who take her and her siblings to Phocis after the murder of Agamemnon. Treated as one of the family by Aunt Anaxibia and her husband, King Strophius. Completely overshadowed by the antics of her more attention-seeking siblings.

CLYTEMNESTRA Queen of Mycenae. Daughter of Zeus and Leda. Sister of Helen and the catasterized Castor and Polydeuces. Cousin of Penelope. Husband of Agamemnon. Lover of Aegisthus. Mother (by Agamemnon) of Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis; and (by Aegisthus) of Aletes and Erigone. Turned against Agamemnon by his sacrificing Iphigenia; neglects and abuses her other children by him. Murders Agamemnon in revenge for Iphigenia and for bringing home Cassandra as his Trojan booty. Murders Cassandra for being brought home by Agamemnon. Murdered by Orestes and Electra in revenge for killing their father. Retribution for her death sought by the Furies. Justice for her death sought by Erigone.

ELECTRA Princess of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Sister of Iphigenia, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Half-sister of Aletes and Erigone. Neglected and abused by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Cared for by Arsinoë and Menander, who take her and her siblings to Phocis after the murder of Agamemnon. Treated as one of the family by Aunt Anaxibia and her husband, King Strophius. Masterminds the execution of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, aided by Orestes and Pylades. Lives happily ever after with Pylades.

ERIGONE Daughter of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. sister of Aletes. Half-sister of Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Seeks justice for the murder of her parents against Orestes. Thwarted by Athena and by the judges of the Areopagus.

IPHIGENIA Princess of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house (celebrated by her in embroidery). Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Sister of Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Half-sister of Aletes and Erigone. Her sacrifice advised by Calchas to appease Artemis. Lured to the Greek fleet by the pretence of marriage to Achilles. Gives her life willingly, but spared by Artemis. Then employed unwillingly by Artemis to take the lives of Hellenes at her shrine in Tauris. Spares Orestes and Pylades when their identities are miraculously revealed to her. Conveys Artemis’s cult statue to Athens to fulfil a prophecy of Apollo.

MENANDER Tutor of Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis. Doting husband of their nurse, Arsinoë. With her, saves the children from neglect, abuse, and possibly worse, at the hands of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. In a modest way, further aids Orestes and Electra to avenge the death of Agamemnon.

ORESTES Prince of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Brother of Iphigenia, Electra and Chrysothemis. Half-brother of Aletes and Erigone. Neglected and abused by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Cared for by Arsinoë and Menander, who take him and his siblings to Phocis after the murder of Agamemnon. Treated as one of the family by Aunt Anaxibia and her husband, King Strophius. Inseparable from his cousin Pylades – the Achilles to his Patroclus. Commanded by Apollo’s oracle to avenge the murder of Agamemnon. Assisted by Electra and Pylades to murder Aegisthus and Clytemnestra. Assisted by Pylades to obtain respite from the Furies and to be reunited with Iphigenia. Lives happily ever after with his cousin Hermione, with whom he unites the thrones of Sparta and Mycenae.

THYESTES King of Mycenae. Scion of a much-cursed house. Son of Pelops. Brother of Atreus. Father of Pelopia and (by her) Aegisthus. Employs Aegisthus to murder Atreus and install him on the throne of Mycenae. Deposed by Agamemnon and Menelaus.

Other Greeks

ACHILLES Prince of Phthia and leader of the Myrmidons. Son of Peleus and the sea nymph Thetis. Father of Neoptolemus. His relationship with Patroclus an inspiration to Orestes and Pylades. Greatest warrior in the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in speed or ferocity. Greatly favoured by Athena. Used to lure Iphigenia to her apparent doom. Feuds mightily with Agamemnon. Slays many of Troy’s mightiest warriors, including Hector (whose corpse he desecrates) and Memnon. Slain by Paris. His shade seemingly unappeased either by the sacrifice of Polyxena or by hearing from Odysseus how greatly he is lauded among the living.

AJAX King of Locris. Not to be confused with Ajax the Mighty. Despite his diminutive stature, one of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in his skill with a spear and (save Achilles) in his fleetness of foot. Violator of Cassandra and of Athena’s temple during the sack of Troy. Collective punishment inflicted on the Greeks by the gods for his brutality and blasphemy. Taunts Athena as he weathers the storm sent against the Greek fleet. Slain by his former protector Poseidon for intolerable hubris.

AUTOLYCUS Light-fingered son of Hermes and the mortal princess Chione. Father of Anticlea. Grandfather of Odysseus; names him after his own misanthropy. Lays on a boar hunt for his grandson which leaves him scarred for life.

CALLIDICE Queen of the Thesprotians. Joined by Odysseus and Athena in her war against the Brygoi and Ares. Mother (by Odysseus) of Polypoetes, who succeeds to her kingdom.

DIOMEDES King of Argos. One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Greatly favoured by Athena. With Odysseus, unable to convince the other Greeks to punish Ajax for his gross impiety. Enjoys untroubled passage back to Argos. Does not enjoy a happy homecoming, thanks to Aphrodite. Honoured in Italy as the founder of many cities. Honoured in science as the great albatross.

ECHETUS Monstrous King of Epirus. Said to have disapproved of his daughter’s choice in men by blinding her and by feeding bits of her boyfriend to the dogs.

HELEN ‘Helen of Sparta’; never ‘Helen of Troy’. Queen of Sparta and unrivalled mortal beauty. Daughter of Zeus and Leda; raised by Tyndareus of Sparta as his daughter. Sister of Clytemnestra and the catasterized Castor and Polydeuces. Cousin of Penelope. Her hand (and her kingdom) awarded to Menelaus by Tyndareus. Mother (by Menelaus) of Hermione. Her hand (and the rest of her) awarded to Paris by Aphrodite, causing the Trojan War. Restored and reconciled to Menelaus after the sack of Troy. Welcomes Telemachus with open arms; flatters him as a chip off the old block; cheers him with the news that Odysseus is still alive.

HERACLES Zeus’s favourite human son. One of Hera’s favourite human punchbags. Mighty slayer of monsters and performer of labours, as grippingly recounted in Heroes. Known to Romans as Hercules.

HERMIONE Princess of Sparta. Scion of a much-cursed house. Daughter of Menelaus and Helen. Lucky to escape marriage to Neoptolemus. Lives happily ever after with her cousin Orestes, with whom she unites the thrones of Sparta and Mycenae.

IDOMENEUS King of Crete. One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Makes very ill-judged promise to Poseidon in order to escape his storm.

JASON King of Iolcos. Participant in the Calydonian Boar Hunt. Leads the Argonauts to recover the Golden Fleece. Nephew by marriage of Circe, until he foolishly spurns her niece Medea. Doer of many mighty deeds, as thrillingly recounted in Heroes.

MENELAUS King of Sparta. Scion of a much-cursed house. Son of Atreus. Brother of Agamemnon and Anaxibia. Cousin of Aegisthus. Forced into exile after the murder of Atreus by Aegisthus. Helps Agamemnon depose Thyestes and reclaim the throne of Mycenae. Lawful and loving husband of Helen; as such, gains both his kingdom and Zeus as a father-in-law. Father of Hermione (by Helen) and Megapenthes (awkwardly, not by Helen). One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Blown far from home in the storm sent by Poseidon and Athena against the Greek fleet. His red hair tickles Eidothea’s fancy. Wrestles Proteus into revealing his way home. Provides Telemachus with the news that Odysseus is still alive.

MENTES King of the Taphians. Aider and encourager of Telemachus. Alter ego of Athena.

NEOPTOLEMUS King of the Myrmidons. Son of Achilles. Slayer of the aged Priam and (it is suspected) the infant Astyanax during the sack of Troy. Sacrifices Polyxena to appease the shade of his father. Awarded Andromache as his prize of war. His merciless cruelty increases Athena’s anger against the Greek fleet. His engagement to Hermione thankfully broken off.

NESTOR Venerable King of Pylos. Father of Antilochus, Peisistratus and Thrasymedes. Participant in the Calydonian Boar Hunt. Oldest and wisest of the Greek host at Troy. Enjoys untroubled passage home from the war. Unable to provide Telemachus with news of Odysseus.

PEISISTRATUS Prince of Pylos. Brother of Thrasymedes and Antilochus. A sore affliction to his father, Nestor. A cheerful travelling companion for Telemachus. Able to refrain from goggling like a loon at Helen.

PYLADES Prince of Phocis. Son of Strophius and Anaxibia. Possessor of fish-adjacent forebears. Nephew of Agamemnon and Menelaus. Cousin of Iphigenia, Electra, Chrysothemis and Hermione. Inseparable from his cousin Orestes – the Patroclus to his Achilles. Assists Orestes and Electra to avenge the murder of Agamemnon. Assists Orestes to obtain respite from the Furies and to be reunited with Iphigenia. Lives happily ever after with Electra.

STROPHIUS King of Phocis. Possessor of fish-adjacent forebears. Husband of Anaxibia, sister of Agamemnon and Menelaus. Father of Pylades. Foster father of Electra, Orestes and Chrysothemis.

THEOCLYMENUS Seer of Argos on the run from a murky past. Follower of Telemachus. Foretells the return of Odysseus and the deaths of Penelope’s suitors.

THESEUS King of Athens. Son of Poseidon. Half-brother of Pegasus and Polyphemus. Bosom friend of Pirithous. Inventor of the art of wrestling. Participant in the Calydonian Boar Hunt. Doer of many mighty deeds, as stirringly recounted in Heroes.

THRASYMEDES Prince of Pylos. Sensible son of Nestor. Brother of Peisistratus and Antilochus. A veteran of the Trojan War.

TIRESIAS Blind seer of Thebes. Consulted by Odysseus in the underworld. Advises him how to navigate the many perils that bar his journey home; foretells his final fate.

Trojans

ACHATES Faithful companion of Aeneas; handles his quiver.

AENEAS Former Prince of Troy. Son of Anchises and Venus, who favours him greatly. Kinsman of Priam and his numerous children. Husband of Creusa (a daughter of Priam). Father (by her) of Anchises. One of the leading Trojan warriors during the siege of Troy. Rescues Anchises and Ascanius from the sack of Troy; forgets to rescue Creusa. Dallies with Dido in Carthage. Reminded of his responsibilities by Mercury. Disfavoured greatly by Juno, who attempts to thwart his momentous destiny. Favoured greatly by Venus, who helps him fulfil that momentous destiny. Dido’s curse on him the cause of eternal enmity between Carthage and Rome. Alleged forebear of the founder of Britain.

ANCHISES Former Prince of Troy. Kinsman of Priam and his numerous children. Lover of Aphrodite thanks to Zeus and Hermes. Father (by her) of Aeneas. Carried from the sack of Troy by his dutiful son. Reciprocates by posthumously foretelling his son’s greatness.

ANDROMACHE Former Princess of Troy. Wife of Hector. Mother (by him) of Astyanax. Treats Helen kindly. After the sack of Troy, awarded to Neoptolemus as his prize of war.

ASCANIUS Son of Aeneas and Creusa. Also known to later ages as Julus. His descendants fated to rule the world as the first emperors of Rome.

ASTYANAX Prince of Troy. Infant son of Hector and Andromache. Murdered during the sack of Troy by Neoptolemus and his Myrmidons.

CASSANDRA Former Princess of Troy and priestess of Apollo. Daughter of Priam and Hecuba. Sister of numerous siblings, including Deiphobus, Hector, Paris, Polydorus, Polyxena and Troilus. Blessed by Apollo with the gift of prophecy. Cursed by Apollo so that no one ever believes her. Violated by Ajax during the sack of Troy. Chosen by Agamemnon to be his Trojan booty. Murdered by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra in Mycenae.

GANYMEDE Brother of Ilus, founder king of Troy. Great-uncle of Priam and Anchises. Enthrals Zeus with his beauty. Taken by Zeus to be his eternal lover and cupbearer on Olympus.

HECTOR Prince of Troy. Eldest son of Priam and Hecuba. Brother of numerous siblings, including Cassandra, Deiphobus, Paris, Polydorus, Polyxena and Troilus. Husband of Andromache. Father of Astyanax. Treats Helen kindly. Leading Trojan warrior during the siege of Troy. Slain, and his body dishonoured, by Achilles.

HECUBA Former Queen of Troy. Wife of Priam. Mother (by her) of numerous children, including Cassandra, Deiphobus, Hector, Paris, Polydorus, Polyxena and Troilus. Treats Helen kindly. After the sack of Troy, awarded to an unenthusiastic Odysseus as his prize of war. Curses the Greeks for their savagery. Driven so mad with grief (some say) that she transforms into a dog.

PARIS Prince of Troy. Son of Priam and Hecuba. Brother of numerous siblings, including Cassandra, Deiphobus, Hector, Polydorus and Troilus. Raised as a shepherd on Mount Ida. Judges Aphrodite more beautiful than Athena or Hera in return for the hand (and the rest) of Helen. Abducts Helen from Sparta, causing the Trojan War. Slayer of Achilles. Slain during the war with the arrows of Heracles.

POLYXENA Princess of Troy. Daughter of Priam and Hecuba. Sister of numerous siblings, including Cassandra, Deiphobus, Hector, Paris, Polydorus and Troilus. Sacrificed by Neoptolemus to appease the shade of Achilles.

PRIAM King of Troy. Kinsman of Anchises. Husband of Hecuba. Father (by her) of numerous children, including Cassandra, Deiphobus, Hector, Paris, Polydorus, Polyxena and Troilus. Treats Helen kindly. Slain by Neoptolemus during the sack of Troy.

Other Peoples

AEOLUS Godlike King of the Winds. Broad-minded father of a numerous brood. Obliges Hera with a storm to toss and torment Aeneas. Obliged by Hera, in return, with Deiopea. Bestows a bag of winds on Odysseus, then a brusque brush-off.

ALCINOUS Hospitable King of the Phaeacians. Husband of Arete. Father (by her) of Nausicaa. Bestower on Odysseus of safe passage to Ithaca.

ANNA Princess of Carthage. Sister of Dido. Admirer (aesthetically) of Aeneas. Builder of pyres.

ARETE Hospitable Queen of the Phaeacians. Wife of Alcinous. Mother (by him) of Nausicaa. Rebuker of Odysseus.

DEMODOCUS Booming bard of the Phaeacians. First heckled, then given a singing lesson, by Odysseus.

DIDO Queen of Carthage. As Elissa, formerly Queen of Tyre. Has the figurative and literal hots for Aeneas. Her curse on Aeneas the cause of eternal enmity between Carthage and Rome.

MARON Ciconian prince, and priest of Apollo. Spared by Odysseus. Possessor of potent wine.

MEMNON King of the Ethiopians. One of the leading Trojan warriors during the siege of Troy. Slayer of Nestor’s son Antilochus. Slain by Achilles during the Trojan War.

NAUSICAA Kind-hearted princess of the Phaeacians. Daughter of Alcinous and Arete. Likes playing volleyball, doing laundry, and Odysseus.

PYGMALION Prince of Tyre. Murderous brother of Dido. Not an art-lover.

TELEGONUS Son of Odysseus and Circe. Brother of Agrius. Half-brother of Telemachus. Fated to kill his father and marry his stepmother Penelope.

THOAS King of the Taurians. Devotee of Artemis. Hater of Hellenes.

OceanofPDF.com

Greek and Roman Divinities

Greek | Roman
Zeus | Jupiter
Hera | Juno
Poseidon | Neptune
Ares | Mars
Athena | Minerva
Demeter | Ceres
Apollo | Apollo
Artemis | Diana
Aphrodite | Venus
Hephaistos | Vulcan
Hermes | Mercury
Dionysus | Bacchus

OceanofPDF.com

Acknowledgements

Publishing is a job of patience for which the patience of Job is needed. My thanks go to editor Jillian Taylor and to the head of Michael Joseph, Louise Moore, who each waited resignedly for at least two years for me to get round to delivering this book.

When you start on your way to Ithaca,
pray that the journey be long.fn1

So begins C. P. Cavafy’s great poem ‘Ithaca’. In my case, the road was indeed a long one. I could and should have written Odyssey during that pestilential pandemic to which we do not wish to return even in mention and memory. But something about that experience robbed me of the ability to concentrate. The small flood of film and television assignments that flowed my way the moment the lockdown’s dam at last broke kept me from the writing desk too.

But here the book is, and never a word of complaint from either of them. Nor did my agent Anthony Goff wag a finger or add the least pressure. They all had faith that I would get round to it. I thank them very deeply.

Thanks also to Kit Shepherd, whose diligent and scholarly copy-editing makes sure that my errors of logic, geography and history are put right: that my errant ‘east’ is replaced with the accurate ‘southwest’, my ill-assigned ‘cousin’ amended to ‘nephew’, my ‘Bronze Age’ corrected to ‘Iron Age’, and so forth.

My life simply wouldn’t work or make sense without the help of my (as)sister Jo Crocker and the tolerant support and understanding of my husband Elliott. I sacrifice a hecatomb of figurative sheep and oxen to them in gratitude.

The final full stop of which all writers dream and to which we all work is our Ithaca, but it can’t be reached without the fair following wind that such a team as I am lucky enough to have at my back provides.

OceanofPDF.com

List of Illustrations

1. Fire of Troy, Kerstiaen de Keuninck © Album / Alamy Stock Photo

2. Ajax and Cassandra, Solomon Joseph Solomon © The Picture Art Collection / Alamy Stock Photo

3. Cassandra, Evelyn De Morgan © GL Archive / Alamy Stock Photo

4. The Feast of the Gods with Juno Asking Jupiter to Direct the Winds Against Aeneas’ Fleet, Jan van den Hoecke © Penta Springs Limited / Alamy Stock Photo

5. Neptune Calming the Tempest Aeolus Raised Against the Fleet of Aeneas, Giulio Bonasone © Album / Alamy Stock Photo

6. Dido Building Carthage, or The Rise of the Carthaginian Empire, J.M.W. Turner © Uwe Deffner / Alamy Stock Photo

7. The Death of Dido, 1631, Giovanni Francesco Barbieri © Bridgeman Images

8. The Mask of Agamemnon, discovered at Mycenae in 1876 by Heinrich Schliemann © Ian Dagnall Computing / Alamy Stock Photo

9. The Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Jean Tassel © Heritage Image Partnership Ltd /Alamy Stock Photo

10. Clytemnestra, John Collier © The Print Collector /Alamy Stock Photo

11. Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon, Frederic Leighton © Archive World / Alamy Stock Photo

12. Penelope and the Suitors, John William Waterhouse © Artefact / Alamy Stock Photo

13. Young Man with Bow and Large Quiver and his Companion with a Shield, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo © Penta Springs Limited / Alamy Stock Photo

14. Aristeus Compels Proteus to Reveal his Oracles, Bernard Picart © The Stapleton Collection / Bridgeman Images

15. Helen Recognising Telemachus, Son of Odysseus, Jean-Jacques Lagrenée © Peter Horree /Alamy Stock Photo

16. Hermes Ordering Calypso to Release Odysseus, Gerard de Lairesse © Mr. and Mrs. William H. Marlatt Fund / Bridgeman Images

17. Calypso’s Island, Departure of Ulysses, or Farewell to Calypso © Whitworth Art Gallery /Bridgeman Images

18. Odysseus and Ino Leucothea, Pellegrino Tibaldi © ARTGEN /Alamy Stock Photo

19. Orestes Slaying Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, Bernardino Mei © The Picture Art Collection /Alamy Stock Photo

20. Orestes Pursued by the Furies, John Singer Sargent © History and Art Collection / Alamy Stock Photo

21. Ulysses and Nausicaa, Jean Veber © Art Collection 3 /Alamy Stock Photo

22. Land of the Lotus Eaters, Robert Seldon Duncanson © The Picture Art Collection /Alamy Stock

23. Odysseus in the Cave of Polyphemus, Jacob Jordaens © Bridgeman Images

24. Ulysses Hidden Under the Ram, artist unkown © Giorgio Morara /Alamy Stock Photo

25. Odysseus and Polyphemus, Arnold Böcklin © Incamerastock /Alamy Stock Photo

26. Aeolus Giving Ulysses the Bag with All the Winds, Pellegrino Tibaldi © Ghigo Roli / Bridgeman Images

27. Ulysses and his Fleet Attacked by Lestrygonians, artist unknown © Heritage Image Partnership Ltd /Alamy Stock Photo

28. Circe Invidiosa, John William Waterhouse © Alamy Stock Photo

29. Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses, John William Waterhouse © Gallery Oldham / Bridgeman Images

30. Teiresias Foretells the Future to Odysseus, Henry Fuseli © National Museums & Galleries of Wales /Bridgeman Images

31. The Ship of Odysseus Passing the Sirens, artist unknown © World History Archive /Alamy Stock Photo

32. Kidnapping Cattle Sacred to the Sun-God Helios, Pellegrino Tibaldi © Ghigo Roli /Bridgeman Images

33. Charybdis and Scylla, Ary Renan © Bridgeman Images

34. Ulysses Transformed by Athena into Beggar, Giuseppe Bottani © ART Collection/Alamy Stock Photo

35. Ulysses is Recognised by his Dog, Argos, Lawrence Macdonald © Chronicle / Alamy Stock Photo

36. Ulysses Recognized by His Nurse Eurycleia, Gustave Boulanger © Roland Bouvier /Alamy Stock Photo

37. The Trial of the Bow, Newell Convers Wyeth © Look and Learn / Bridgeman Images

38. Odysseus Returning to Penelope, artist unknown © MET/BOT / Alamy Stock Photo

OceanofPDF.com

Index

The page references in this index correspond to the print edition from which this ebook was created, and clicking on them will take you to the location in the ebook where the equivalent print page would begin. To find a specific word or phrase from the index, please use the search feature of your ebook reader.

Acerbas 48

Achaemenides 349

Achates 47, 48

Achilles 18, 53–4, 63, 64, 100, 244–5, 359

Acts of the Apostles 357

Aeacus 135

Aeaea 223–38, 223n, 245–50, 347, 348, 364

Aegialia 79n

Aegina 135n

Aegisthus

Agamemnon’s murder 66, 67–8, 133

Apollo’s command for Orestes to kill 137–8

background 62n

Cassandra’s murder 68, 155, 243

and Clytemnestra 64–5, 68, 134

escape 63

feud between families of Thyestes and Atreus 62–3

offspring 134

Orestes’ vengeance 144–6

waiting for Agamemnon’s return 62, 65

Aeneas

birth 22n

Caesar claiming descent from 350

Creusa’s ghost 54

defeating Turnus 350

‘descendant of Dardanus’ epithet 349–50

descent to Hades 348–9

and Dido 53–8, 348–9

gods foreseeing future of 49–53

and the Harpies 350

Hera’s hatred of 21–3, 37–9, 350

on island of the Cyclopes 349

landing at Carthage 46–9

marrying Lavinia 349

Mercury’s visitation 56

obedience to gods 56–7

saved by Neptune 46

Scylla and Charybdis 348

settlement in Italy 350

storm 41, 46–7, 48n

Aeneid (Virgil) 48n, 348–50, 360

Aeolia 36–9, 37n, 212–13, 215–16

Aeolus 36–9, 41, 46, 212–13, 215–16

Aeschylus 162n, 355, 360

Agamemnon

Calchas’ prophecies 32–3

and Cassandra 14, 25–6, 66

Cassandra’s prophecies 15, 33, 35, 40

Clytemnestra’s hatred of 64–5, 67–8

cursed 136

feeling overlooked 23–4

feud with Achilles 64

feud with Aegisthus 62–3, 64–5, 67–8

fleet of 23

homecoming and murder 61–2, 66–8, 79–80, 133, 154–5, 158–9

leaving Troy 19, 25–6

Menelaus hearing fate of 107–8

murder avenged 144–7

nostos 360

sacrifice of Polyxena 18

sacrificing Iphigenia 24, 63–4, 158, 175–6

shade of 243–4

storm 33, 35, 40, 61

tomb of 138–40

Trojan War 6, 23

Agamemnon (Aeschylus) 360

Age of Heroes 4–5, 89

Age of Man 5

Age of the Gods 3–4

Agelaus 320, 320n, 336

Agrius 235

AI (artificial intelligence) 353–4

Ajax, Locrian 12–14, 19, 20–1, 33–4, 35–6, 41, 102, 107–8

Ajax (the Mighty), Telamonian 13, 190

Alchemist, The (Coelho) 361

Alcinous 185, 185n, 187, 189–93, 219, 263–4

Alecto 149–50n; see also Furies/Erinyes

Aletes 134

algia 359

Amphimedon 336

Amphinomus 306, 313, 334–5

Ananke 19n

Anaxibia 133, 134

Anchises 22n, 54, 349

Andromache 16–17

Anna 53–4, 55, 58

Anticlea 242–3, 309–10

Antilochus 88, 100

Antinous

and Athena (as Mentes) 84–5

‘beggar’s’ fight with Irus 302, 303, 304, 305

belittling ‘beggar’ 301, 330

belittling Telemachus 84, 87

killed by Odysseus 333

lying in wait for Telemachus 280, 294

Penelope’s challenge 322, 325–7, 327–9, 330

Penelope’s hatred of 313

Telemachus’s hatred of 76, 85

Aphrodite/Venus 6, 11, 22n, 37–8n, 49–53, 55, 79n, 148, 150

Apollo

Brygoi-Thesprotian war 347

and Cassandra 14

and Chione 117n

name 45

orders to Orestes via the Pythia 137–8, 141, 147, 148–51, 155–6, 167, 174–5, 176

and ravens 140

Trojan War 6, 51n

archons 357, 357n

Areopagitica (Milton) 356n

Areopagiticus (Isocrates) 356

Areopagus, Athens 153–63, 163n, 355–7, 357n

Ares/Mars 6, 45–6, 52, 347

Arete 187, 187n, 188–93, 219, 264

Argus (the dog) 80, 300

Arsinoë 65, 65n, 68–9, 133–4, 138–9

Artemis 6, 63–4, 148, 167, 175–6, 177

Ascanius/Julus 52, 54, 55–6, 350

asphodel flowers 126n

Astyanax 16–17, 17n

Atalanta 89

Athena/Minerva

anger at Ajax 13, 19, 41

approval of suitors’ deaths 345

Brygoi-Thesprotian war 347

Clytemnestra’s death 148–51

at Eumaeus’ hut 289

favouring Odysseus 13, 272, 291–2, 334, 337

Judgement of Paris 6, 11, 37n

as Mentes 76–87, 111

as Mentor 87–91, 92, 111, 279–80

Odysseus and Calypso 110–11

Odysseus’s return to Ithaca 270–4

patron of Athens 74–5

request for Zeus to sink Greek fleet 20–1

Roman sidelining of 45, 46

trial of Orestes 153–63

Trojan War 6, 11–12, 15

Athens 46, 74–5, 153–63, 163n, 355–7, 357n

Atreus 62–3, 106n, 136

Augustus 350

Autolycus 117–18, 117n, 309–10, 310n

Axial Age 366–7

bards 363–4

Bellerophon 248n

Boreas 36–7

Britain 350–1

Brooklyn (Tóibín) 362

Brutus 350–1

Brygoi 347

Caesar, Julius 350

Calchas 13, 32–3, 34, 61, 63–4, 175

Callidice 346–7

Callisto 117, 118

Calydonian Boar Hunt 89, 89n, 146n

Calypso 108, 110–11, 116–19, 119–25, 262

Carthage 37–8, 38n, 46–9, 51, 51n, 52n, 53–8, 349

Cassandra

as Agamemnon’s prisoner 14, 15, 25–6, 34, 66

Ajax’s rape of 13

Apollo’s gift and curse 14–15

murder of 68, 155, 243

prophecies about Agamemnon 33, 35, 40

prophecies about own death 67

warning about Trojan Horse 15

Castor 94

Cerberus 236, 236n

Charybdis 248–9, 253–6, 261–2, 348, 364

Chimera 248, 248n

Chione 117n

Christianity 357

Chronos 19n

Chrysothemis 25, 64–5, 66, 67, 68–9, 133–4

Cicones, the 26–9, 26n, 193

Cimmerians 238, 238n

Circe 226–38, 229n, 231n, 246–50, 346, 347, 348

Cleopatra 350

Clytemnestra

and Aegisthus 64–5

Apollo’s command for Orestes to kill 137–8

birth 94

hatred of husband 61–2, 64, 65–6

husband sacrificing Iphigenia 63–4

judgement of Orestes for murdering 154–63

murder of 141–4, 146–7, 149–50, 176

murder of Cassandra 68, 243

murder of husband 66–8, 79–80, 133, 172, 243

offspring by Aegisthus 134

Coelho, Paulo 361

cosmic laws 19–20, 19n

Crataeis 249, 255

Creusa 54

Crisus 135

Ctesippus 319–20, 319n, 321

Ctimene 28, 234n

curses 14–15, 58, 136, 176, 179, 211, 258–60

Cyclopes, the 48, 198–212, 349

Danaë 117, 118

Dante 17n

Deiopea 39

Deiphobus 16

Delphi 136–8, 149n, 151–3, 167

Demeter 84, 117, 117n, 118

Demodocus 189–91, 192–3

Demoptolemus 321, 336

Dido 47–8, 49, 53–8, 348–9

Dike 19n

Diomedes 14, 15–16, 79, 79n, 101

Dionysus 127n, 148

Dulichium 291, 291n

Eidothea (Eido) 103–5

Ekklesia 357

Electra

abuse in father’s absence 64–5

escape 68–9, 133–4

father thinking of 25

father’s return 66

at father’s tomb 139–41

marriage to Pylades 179

murder of mother 146–7

nostos stories 360–1

Orestes tormented by Furies 151

at Phocis 134–5

return to Mycenae 143–4

witnessing father’s murder 67, 68

Electra (Euripides) 360

Electra (Sophocles) 360

Elektra (Strauss) 360–1

Elektra (Von Hofmannsthal) 360–1

Elpenor 237, 240, 245–6

Elysium 126n, 244

Eos 31n, 249

Epeius 124

Epicureans 357

Erigone 134, 157–60

Eris 215, 215n

Eteoneus 95

Eumaeus

arrival of ‘stranger’ 274–9

Athena telling Odysseus to go to 273–4

Athena telling Telemachus to go to 280

cleaning the hall 338

dealing with Melanthius 335, 336

friendship with Telemachus 81, 90

and Medon 293–4

Odysseus revealed to 327

Penelope’s appearance 321

Penelope’s challenge 324

pronunciation 273n

return of Telemachus 285–8

with ‘stranger’ at palace 317–19

taking ‘stranger’ to palace 298–300

weeping over bow 322–3

Eumenides 162

Eumenides (Aeschylus) 162n, 355, 360

Euripides 17n, 360, 361

Eurus 36–7

Euryclea 86, 90, 297, 308–12, 330, 338, 339–41, 341–2

Eurydice 236, 236n

Eurylochus

on Aeaea 224–8, 234–5, 237

at Grove of Persephone 239

at Island of the Cyclopes 199, 211

at Island of the Laestrygonians 217, 218

at Ismarus 26–7, 27–9, 29–30

relationship to Odysseus 28, 234n

and the Sirens 252–3

storms 35, 260

on Thrinacia 256, 257, 258–9

Eurymachus 294, 295, 303, 306, 313, 325, 333–4

Eurynomus 336

Eurytus 322

free speech 356n

Furies/Erinyes 147–8, 149, 149–50n, 151–3, 156, 162, 167

Gaia 149, 149n

Ganymede 30–1, 31n, 117

Geoffrey of Monmouth 350–1

Greece, legacy of 351–7

Green, Roger Lancelyn 275n

Grove of Persephone 236, 239–45

Hades 236, 236n, 239–45, 348–9

Hannibal 52n

Hector 16, 53–4

Hecuba 16–17, 17n

Helen

abduction by Paris 6, 30

birth 94

and Menelaus 30, 31–2, 40, 99

nostos 360

return to Sparta 79

Telemachus’s departure 280–1

Telemachus’s visit to Sparta 98–101, 109

Helios 229, 231n, 241, 249, 258–9

Hephaestus 20, 281, 347

Hera/Juno 6, 21–3, 21n, 36–9, 37n, 45, 50–1, 55–6, 127n, 148–51, 349

Heracles 236, 236n, 248n

Hermes/Mercury 6, 22n, 53, 56, 111, 115–19, 116n, 117n, 229–31, 232

Hermione 96–7, 151, 168, 178–9

Hestia 65–6

Hobbit, The (Tolkien) 361

home, longing for 359–63

Homer 77n, 115n, 127n, 303n, 310n, 345, 351, 353, 359–60, 363–5

hospitality (xenia) 77n

Hydra, the 248, 248n

Hypnos 215, 215n

Iasion 117, 117n, 118

idealism 355–6

Idomeneo (Mozart) 360

Idomeneus 15–16, 101, 360

Iliad (Homer) 359–60, 364

Ino/Leucothea 127–8, 127n

Io 117, 118

Iolaus 89

Iphigenia 24, 63–4, 171–8, 171n, 361

Iphigenia plays (Euripides) 361

Iphiloche 97

Iphitus 322

Irus 299, 302–6, 303n, 311

Ismarus 26–30, 26n, 193

Isocrates 356

Italus 54n

Ithaca see specific character on Ithaca

Ithacus 298

Jason 89, 167n, 229–30, 230n, 247

Jaspers, Karl 366

Joyce, James 362–3

Judgement of Paris 6, 11, 37n, 49–50

Julio-Claudian dynasty 350

Juno see Hera/Juno

Jupiter see Zeus/Jupiter

Laertes 73, 79, 81, 242–3, 278–9, 310, 345

Laestrygonians, the 216–18

Lamos 216

Lampetie 249

Land of the Lotus-Eaters 194–7, 197n

Latinus 350

Latium 48, 48n, 52, 350

Lavinia 350

Lavinium 52

Leocritus 313

Leodes 329, 336–7

lettuce 197n

Leuce 41n

Leucothea/Ino 127–8, 127n

Libation Bearers (Aeschylus) 360

Long Island (Tóibín) 362

Lord of the Rings, The (Tokien) 361

‘Lotos-Eaters, The’ (Tennyson) 197–8n

Mark Antony 350

Maron 26–7, 199

Mars/Ares 6, 45–6, 52, 347

Mausolus 139n

Medea 229–30, 230n

Medon 293–4, 294–5, 337

Megaera 149–50n; see also Furies/Erinyes

Megapenthes 97

Melanthius 299, 316–17, 326, 327–8, 335, 336

Meleager 89

meltemi 90, 90n

Memnon 100

Menander 65, 134, 142

Menelaus

battle against Thyestes 62–3

and Eido 103–5

fleet of 35n

and Helen 30, 31–2, 40, 99

nostos 360

on Pharos 102–9

and Proteus 105–9, 109n

return to Sparta 79

storm 32, 35n, 40, 102

Telemachus’s departure 280–1

Telemachus’s visit to Sparta 95–101

Trojan War 6

Menoetius 135n

Mentes 76–86, 91

Mentor 81, 82, 85, 87–8, 90, 91, 279–80

Mercury see Hermes/Mercury

Metis 149, 149n

Milton, John 356n

Minerva see Athena/Minerva

Minos 229

Minotaur 229

Mnestheus 57

modern nostos stories 361–3

moly 231, 231n

Moros 19n

Mycenae 23, 23n, 62–3, 178–9; see also Clytemnestra

myths, Greek 351–4, 365–6

Nausicaa 184–8, 188n, 189–93, 263, 264

Nemesis 19n

Neoptolemus 16–17, 17n, 18, 96–7, 168, 245

Neptune see Poseidon/Neptune

Nestor 15, 87–8, 88–92, 93, 100, 101

nostalgia 359

nostos 359–63

Notus 36–7

O Brother, Where Art Thou (Coen and Coen) 362

Ocean’s stream 238n

Odysseus/Ulysses

on Aeaea with Circe 223–38, 245–50

on Aeolia 212–13, 215–16

children not by Penelope 235, 346–7, 346n

curiosity 198

curse of Polyphemus 211, 218

death and burial 348

fleet of 16, 26, 40n, 218n

at Grove of Persephone 239–45

and Hecuba 16–17

Hermes’ warning about Circe 229–31

on island of Laestrygonians 216–18

on island of the Cyclopes 198–212

at Ismarus 26–30, 193

on Ithaca (before Trojan War)

childhood boar hunt 310–11

olive-tree bed 74, 75, 124, 260–1

palace plans 73–4

with Penelope 73–5

on Ithaca (post-Trojan War)

Argus’s greeting 300

bow idea 314

choosing loyal fighters 317–19, 327

cleaning the hall 338–9

at Eumaeus’ hut 274–9, 284–93, 295–7

fight with Irus 302–6

interpreting Penelope’s dream 315

killing suitors 333–8

meeting adult Telemachus 285–8

meeting Athena 270–4

Melanthius 316–17

Penelope’s challenge 329–32

Penelope’s olive-bed ‘test’ 341–2

plans to fight suitors 292–3, 307–8

recognized by Euryclea 308–11

return 265, 269–72

return to palace 298–301

reunited with Penelope 342

revealing himself to Eumaeus and Philoetius 327

revealing himself to suitors 333

revealing himself to Telemachus 289–90

seeing Penelope again 311–16

sparing Phemius and Medon 337

suitors making sport with 301–2, 319–20

visiting father 345

in Land of the Lotus-Eaters 194–7

in land of Thesprotians 346–7

meaning of name 310, 310n

Menelaus telling Telemachus about 101–9

nostos 359–60

on Ogygia with Calypso 108, 110–11, 117–18, 119–25, 262

Poseidon’s punishment 345–7

Roman name 49n

on Scheria/Phaeacis 183–93, 219, 263–4

at sea

journey from Aeolia to Ithaca and back 213–15

journey from Ogygia 125

journey from Scheria/Phaeacia to Ithaca 264–5

journey to Grove of Persephone 238–9

Leucothea saving 127–8

loss of last crew members 260

Poseidon’s punishment 125–6, 128, 241–2

Scylla and Charybdis 253–6, 261–2

and the Sirens 250–3

storms 30, 40, 193–4, 260–1

swimming to Scheria/Phaeacia 128–9

strength 314

on Thrinacia 256–9

Tiresias’ prophecy 241–2, 345–6

at Troy

call for stoning of Ajax 13

disguised at beggar 99

leaving Troy 26

Trojan Horse 7, 16, 54, 191–2

Odyssey (Homer) 77n, 127n, 310n, 345, 359–60, 363, 364

Oedipus 324n

Ogygia 108, 115–25, 115n, 262, 364

Oresteia (Aeschylus) 162n, 360

Orestes

abuse in father’s absence 64–5

accent 145n

Athena’s pardon 161–2

avenging father’s murder 144–6, 146–7

at Delphi 136–8, 152–3, 167

escape from Mycenae 68–9, 133–4

father thinking of 25

father’s return 66

at father’s tomb 140–1

Furies tormenting 147–8, 151–3, 156, 162

gods deciding fate of 148–51

journey to Tauris 167–9

King of Mycenae and Sparta 178–9

love of and for Pylades 134, 135–6

marriage to Hermione 178

meaning of name 172n

Menander’s news to Clytemnestra 142–3

rescuing Iphigenia 174–8

on Tauris 169–78

trial in Athens 153–63, 355

witnessing father’s murder 67, 68

Orpheus 26n, 236, 236n

Ouranos 149n

Ovid 127n

Paris 6, 11, 16, 24, 30–1, 32, 100, 172

Pasiphae 229

Pegasus 211n, 248n

Peiraeus 284, 293

Peisistratus

departure from Sparta 281–2

journey to Sparta 92–4

in Pylos 89–90

in Sparta 95–109, 279

Peleus 89, 135n

Pelopia 62n

Pelops 136, 175

Penelope; see also suitors of Penelope

bow idea 314

challenge to suitors 321–32

death and burial of Odysseus 348–9

eagle and geese dream 315

informed of Odysseus’s return 339–41

learning of Telemachus’s return 294–5

marrying Telegonus 348

and Odysseus 73–5

Odysseus’s love for 122

olive-bed ‘test’ 341–2

olive-tree bed 73, 74, 75, 261–2

request to speak to ‘beggar’ 306–7

reunited with Odysseus 342

speaking with ‘beggar’ 311–16

Telemachus’s mission 87

Telemachus’s return 297

Theoclymenus’ prophecy 297–8

watching for Odysseus’s return 73, 75–6

weaving shroud for Laertes 83, 272–3

Perimedes 195, 239, 252–3

Perse 229n

Persephone 236, 236n

Phaeacia/Scheria 128–9, 183–93, 219, 263–4, 364

Phaethusa 249

Phainos 34

Pharos 102–9, 102n, 103

Phemius 80, 85, 86, 337

Philammon 117n

Philoetius 317–18n, 317–19, 321, 322, 323, 324, 327, 335, 336, 338

Phocis 133–6, 179

Phocus 135, 135n

Phoenicians, the 38n, 47, 47n, 51n, 278

Picolous 231n

Pirithous 89

Pisander 336

Plato 352

Pleisthenes, the 62–3

Polybus 313, 336

Polydeuces 94

Polydorus 16

Polyphemus 201–12, 207n, 211n, 241, 349

Polypoetes 346–7

Polyxena 18

Poseidon/Neptune

Attica’s spring 74

favouring Ajax 35, 41

Idomeneus’ promise to 101

killing Ajax 41, 102

power 19–20

progeny 126n, 211, 211n, 216

punishing Odysseus 125–6, 128, 211, 241–2, 345–7

saving Aeneas 46

storm request 20–1

Priam 16

Proclus 346n

Prometheus 4, 354

Proteus 103–4, 105–9, 109n

Psamathe 135

Punic Empire 38, 47n, 52n; see also Carthage

Pygmalion 47–8, 47n

Pylades (the Seal)

at Agamemnon’s tomb 140–1

birth 133

at Delphi 136–8, 152–3, 167

journey to Tauris 167–9

love of and for Orestes 134, 135–6

marriage to Electra 179

meaning of name 171n

at Mycenae 147

nickname 135

Orestes tormented by Furies 151–2

on Tauris 169–78

trial of Orestes 154–7, 160, 161–2

Pylos 87–92, 87n, 282

Pythia, the 137–8, 152–3, 155–6, 167, 176

ravens 139–40, 141

Remus 46, 52

rhapsodes 363–4

Rome and Roman Empire 45–6, 52–3, 52n, 58, 349–50, 351, 360

Romulus 46, 52

St Paul 357

Same 291, 291n

Scheria/Phaeacia 128–9, 183–93, 219, 263–4, 364

Scylla 48, 247–9, 253–6, 261, 348, 364

Semele 127n

Serestus 57

Sergestus 57

Sirens, the 246–50, 250–3

sneezes 314n

Socrates 352, 355

Solon 163n, 357

Sophocles 360

Sparta 63, 95–101, 178–9, 279–81

Stoics 357

storms

and Aeneas 41, 46–7

approaching Greek fleets 30, 32, 33, 34–5

gods requesting 20–3, 38–9

hitting Greek fleets 39–41, 102

and Idomeneus 101

and Odysseus 40, 125–8, 193–4, 215, 257–8, 260–1

Strabo 115n

Strauss, Richard 360–1

Strophius (father of Pylades) 133, 133n, 134, 135

Strophius (son of Pylades) 179

suitors of Penelope

Aeglaus’ request to Telemachus 320–1

Athena telling Odysseus about 272–3

bad manners of 76–7, 77–8, 301–2, 313, 323

Eumaeus’ hatred of 275–6

games 298

killing of 333–8

learning of Telemachus’s return 293–4

making sport with disguised Odysseus 301–2, 319–20

Odysseus’ plans against 292–3

Odysseus revealed to 333

Penelope stalling 83, 272–3, 288, 312–14

Penelope’s challenge 321–32

plans against Telemachus 280, 294–5

Telemachus’s hatred of 76, 81–5, 287–8, 298, 301–2, 320, 323

Telemachus’s mission 87

Telemachus telling father about 290–1

Symplegades 247, 253–4

Tale of Troy (Green) 274–5n

Tantalus 136, 136n

Tauris 167–78

Telamon of Salamis 51n, 89, 135n

Telegonus 249, 346, 346n, 347–8

Telegony (unk.) 346–7, 346n

Telemachus

Aeglaus’ request 320–1

arrival in Sparta 95–101

Athena’s visit as Mentor 279–80

belief that father is dead 79–80, 83

cleaning the hall 338–9

death and burial of father 348

dream about Mentes 86–7

at Eumaeus’ hut 285–93, 295–6

father revealed to 289–90

father’s return to palace 304, 306–7

hatred of mother’s suitors 76, 81–5, 287–8, 298, 301–2, 320, 323

hearing about father in Sparta 101–9

journey from Sparta 281–2

journey to Sparta 92–4

killing of suitors 333–8

leaving Ithaca to search for father 87

leaving Sparta 279–81

marrying Circe 348

meeting ‘stranger’ at Eumaeus’ hut 287–8

memory of father 80–1

mother not recognizing father 341

mother’s challenge 323–5, 326, 327, 328–9, 330, 331

parents reunited 342

plans to fight suitors 292–3, 307–8

at Pylos 87–92

return to Ithaca 283–4

return to palace 297

seasickness 90

sparing Phemius and Medon 337

suitors learning of return of 293–4

suitors plans against 280, 294–5

telling father about suitors 290–1

and Theoclymenus 282–4

visiting grandfather 345

welcoming Mentes 76–86

Telepylus 216–18

Teucer 51n

Teucrians, the 50–1, 51n

Thebes 324n

Theoclymenus 282–4, 297–8, 321

Theseus 89, 211n, 276n

Thesprotians, the 346–7

Thoas 169, 176, 177–8

Thoosa 211n

Thrace 26, 26n

Thrasymedes 89, 90, 91, 92, 93

Thrinacia 241, 249, 256–9

Thyestes 62–3, 62n

Tiresias 236, 236n, 237, 240–2, 345–6

Tisiphone 149–50n; see also Furies/Erinyes

Tithonus 30–1, 31n

Tóibín, Colm 362

Tolkien, J. R. R. 361

tripods 324n

Troilus 16, 18, 18n

Trojan War

Ajax’s rape of Cassandra 12–14

Antilochus and Memnon 100

cruelty of Greeks 12–13, 16–17, 17n, 18, 53–4, 192

gods’ involvement 5, 6

reason for 6, 30

Teucer on Greek side 51n

Trojan Horse and fall of Troy 7, 11–12, 16–17, 54, 191–2

Trojan women as booty 14, 15, 16, 17

victory sacrifices 18

Turnus 350

2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick) 362

Typhon 247–8, 248n

Tyre 38n, 47–8, 47n, 51n

Ulysses see Odysseus/Ulysses

Ulysses (Joyce) 362–3

Venus see Aphrodite/Venus

Virgil 48n, 51n, 348–50, 351, 360, 364

Von Hofmannsthal, Hugo 360–1

winds of Aeolus, the 36–7, 38–9, 41, 45, 46, 213, 215

Wizard of Oz (Baum) 361

xenia 77n

Zakinthos 291, 291n

Zephyrus 36–7, 213, 213n

Zeus/Jupiter

Aeneas’s future 49–53

Clytemnestra’s death 148–51

creation of humans 4

favouring Odysseus 291–2, 334, 337

and Ganymede 31n

king of the gods 4

lovers and offspring 94, 117, 127n, 149

Odysseus and Calypso 110–11, 117–18

power 20

and Prometheus 354

storm requests 20–3

treaty regarding Ithaca 345

Trojan War 6

Xenios epithet 77n

OceanofPDF.com

THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Find us online and join the conversation

TWITTER / X

twitter.com/penguinukbooks

FACEBOOK

facebook.com/penguinbooks

INSTAGRAM

instagram.com/penguinukbooks

YOUTUBE

youtube.com/penguinbooks

PINTEREST

pinterest.com/penguinukbooks

LINKEDIN

linkedin.com/company/penguin-random-house-uk

TIKTOK

tiktok.com/@penguinukbooks

For the latest books, recommendations, author interviews and more
Sign up to the Penguin Newsletter

Find out more about the author and discover
your next read at Penguin.co.uk

OceanofPDF.com

PENGUIN BOOKS

UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
New Zealand | India | South Africa

Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

First published by Penguin Michael Joseph in 2024

Copyright © Stephen Fry, 2024

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover illustrations © Stardust Design Studio/Minted (sea); © Getty Images and © Shutterstock

Epigraph from the poem ‘Requiem’ by Robert Louis Stevenson

Ithaca on pages xix and xx is taken from The Selected Poems of Cavafy by C. P. Cavafy, published by Penguin Classics. Translation and editorial matter copyright © Avi Sharon, 2008.
Reprinted by permission of Penguin Books Limited. The archival items appearing on pages xxi and xxii are reproduced by kind permission of the Cavafy Archive, Onassis Foundation © 2016/2018 Cavafy Archive, Onassis Foundation

ISBN: 978-1-405-94841-8

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

OceanofPDF.com

Footnotes

The Gods Look Down

fn1 See Troy, page 264. Page references to Mythos, Heroes and Troy correspond to the relevant paperback edition.

fn2 History does not relate the identity of that minor god.

fn3 Outdated as ‘concubine’ is, it’s hard to find another word. ‘Mistress’ is absurd; ‘forced mistress’ is odd. ‘Sex slave’ is perhaps the closest, but it’s a phrase that’s been somewhat cheapened over time.

fn4 In some versions it was the soldiers who threw Astyanax to his death, in others – notably Euripides’ tragedy The Trojan Women – it was Neoptolemus himself. His excuse, echoed by so many mafia bosses after him, was that the boy would otherwise grow up to revenge himself upon him.

fn5 The Myrmidons (literally ‘Ant People’) were a fearsome Phthian militia loyal to Achilles. For their origin story, see Troy, page 30.

fn6 Whatever the true fate of Hecuba, many writers give it a canine flavour. One source tells that out of pity the gods did indeed turn her into a dog, allowing her to escape Odysseus and the Greeks, and live out her life somewhere, no one seems sure quite where. Dante follows a version that suggests her grief at the death of her youngest two children, POLYXENA and Polydorus, drove her mad and caused her to bark like a dog. ‘A fiery-eyed dog.’ She was buried, yet others say, in Gallipoli, at a place called Cynossema – which does mean ‘dog-grave’ …

fn7 On account of a prophecy which had foretold that Troy could not fall if Troilus reached the age of twenty.

fn8 See Troy, page 137.

fn9 Chronos, Moros, Ananke, Dike and Nemesis were their names.

fn10 To Homer, the goddess is nearly always ‘cow-eyed’ Hera (βoῶπις, boöpis – ‘with bovine optics’), which comes across to us after thousands of years as rather less than complimentary. Cows and heifers were particular to the goddess, and perhaps the safest assumption is that she was large-eyed. Cows (to us) are rarely imperious in aspect in the way Hera manifestly was, but perhaps this is a failure of observation on our part.

fn11 Aphrodite was tricked by HERMES into falling love with ANCHISES, a cousin of Priam, the Trojan king. She bore him a son, Aeneas, who was welcomed into the Trojan court. See Troy, page 110.

fn12 An example, perhaps, of his tendency towards grandiosity. Mycenae was really more a hegemony, a realm that had control and command over many others. At its greatest, between 1750 and 1100 BC or thereabouts, that control was exerted as far east as Athens and Thebes on the Greek mainland, as well as islands and kingdoms in the eastern Aegean, and as far west as Pylos and south as Crete.

fn13 Thrace today is mostly Bulgaria, but includes parts of northern Greece and Macedonia. No one is sure exactly where Ismarus is or was. It was the Ciconian women who – outraged by his preference for young men – had hacked Orpheus to pieces: see Heroes, page 180.

fn14 Pronounced ‘You’re-ill-a-cuss’.

fn15 Zeus took Ganymede for his lover and eternal Olympian cupbearer; and Eos, goddess of the dawn, took Tithonus for her husband, with less happy results. See Mythos, pages 306 and 317.

fn16 So much so, in fact, that even centuries later, when they went into battle, they left a space for him in their ranks as they believed his spirit still fought with them.

fn17 Neither Homer nor anyone else I consulted seems to know how many ships Helen and Menelaus took on their journey back to Sparta.

fn18 About whom almost nothing is now known.

fn19 No one is quite sure where Aeolia was, but the general consensus suggests a spot somewhere in the Tyrrhenian Sea, north of Sicily. So perhaps Ischia might be a likely candidate. Others favour the Lipari Group north of Sicily, also called the Aeolian Islands. Whether because they are windy or because that was his home is moot.

fn20 The vainest of the gods, Hera was the one hit hardest by not being chosen by Paris in the beauty competition on Mount Ida which had led to Helen’s abduction to Troy and all the disasters which followed from that (see Troy, page 58). She and Athena, the spurned contestants, swore enmity on Troy and all things Trojan. Aphrodite, as winner of the competition, showered her blessings on the city and its people. She was also, of course, the mother of Aeneas.

fn21 Carthage stood roughly where Tunisia now is. It was founded, like many cities along the North African coast, by the Semitic peoples of Tyre and Phoenicia (centred on present-day Lebanon) – hence the names ‘Tyrian’ and ‘Phoenician’, or ‘Punic’, used to describe the city and its people.

fn22 Technically her matronage, but the word looks just plain silly.

fn23 It is more or less agreed that the class of vessel comprising Odysseus’s fleet (and those of most the other Greeks) was the penteconter, a long, narrow ship with twenty-five oarsmen per side. When the wind allowed, they would sail; otherwise the grunt work at the oars had to be done. Odysseus began his journey home with his own flagship and eleven others, so a fair flotilla.

fn24 Some suggest the rock was Leuce, an island which also hosted the shades of Achilles, Patroclus and Ajax the Great. Leuce, off the coast of Ukraine, is now called ostriv Zmiinyi, or ‘Snake island’.

Theo and Deo

fn1 French, Italian, Spanish and Romanian, respectively

fn2 Incidentally a minerval is, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘A gift given in gratitude by a pupil to a teacher’. If you have ever bestowed a ‘world’s best teacher’ mug or suchlike at the end of the school year, you have, in a small way, honoured the goddess.

fn3 ‘Punic’ now tends to refer specifically to Carthage, as in the later Punic Wars between Rome and Carthage, but its meaning derives from Phoenicia on the Mediterranean coast of southern Lebanon, whose principal city was Tyre. Its people were known biblically and elsewhere as the Canaanites.

fn4 For a reminder of who Cadmus was, and how he came to play his significant role in Greek mythology, see Mythos, page 210.

fn5 The romantic tale of Pygmalion – the artist who loved his art just a little too much – is also told in Mythos, page 352.

fn6 Virgil, in the Aeneid, names Orontes, Amycus, Lycus, Gyas and Cloanthus, amongst others.

fn7 Latium, or Lazio in Italian, now best known amongst some for its Serie A football side, was the kingdom from which we derive the word ‘Latin’.

fn8 Odysseus to the Greeks, Ulysses to the Romans. Which is strange, given the rarity of the letter ‘y’ in Latin. It was used primarily for Greek names and ideas, after the Roman conquest of Greek lands, along – occasionally – with ‘z’.

fn9 For the full story of the Judgement of Paris, see Troy, page 58.

fn10 Virgil and other post-Homeric writers commonly used ‘Teucrian’ as an equivalent of ‘Trojan’. Teucer, the great archer warrior, was indeed Trojan – on his mother’s side, a nephew of Priam himself, and therefore cousin of Hector, Cassandra, Paris, etc. However, as a son of Telamon of Salamis, he was half-brother to Ajax the Great and allied himself with the Greek side of his family, killing thirty Trojans in the war – although every time he aimed an arrow at one of his own blood, Apollo deflected it.

fn11 Tyrian because Carthage was founded by the Phoenicians whose main port city was Tyre. Great traders, they gave the world the first alphabet.

fn12 Venus was referring to the wars that would come in the far future between Rome and Carthage. These Punic Wars (264–146 BC) saw Hannibal (and his elephants) very nearly conquer Rome, but they ultimately resulted in the complete destruction of Carthage, and the great expansion of the power and influence of Rome throughout the Mediterranean world.

fn13 For a refresher on Venus’s frothy origins, consult Mythos, page 24.

fn14 Italus, from whom comes the name ‘Italy’, was a legendary king of what we would now call Calabria.

Home!

fn1 A son of the incestuous union of Thyestes and Pelopia, who was Thyestes’ own daughter. A fuller explanation of the depraved and violent history of the line of Tantalus is to be found in Troy, pages 7 and 63. Pelopia was so ashamed of her son that she abandoned him on a hillside, as Greeks of the period so often seemed to do (see Atalanta, Oedipus, et al.: Heroes, pages 273 and 299). There he was found and raised by shepherds, and suckled by a goat – hence the name Aegisthus, from aix, ‘goat’, cognate with aegis, the great shield of Athena which was originally made of goatskin (if Herodotus is to be believed).

fn2 For the details of Menelaus and Helen’s inheritance, see Troy, page 81.

fn3 Pronounced ‘Arse-in-oh-way’, or thereabouts – called Laodamia in other traditions. There is something of later fairy tales about the scenario of cruel step-parent and faithful nurse here.

The Olive-Tree Bed

fn1 All in all, a better name than ‘Poseidonopolis’, I think we can agree.

fn2 Guest friendship, or xenia, was immensely important to the Greeks. Many of the quests, curses and calamities in Greek myth arise from the blasphemous violation of the sacred canons of hospitality – the guest and host being equally obliged to respect them. Its special association with the King of the Gods himself demonstrates its importance, and gave Zeus the epithet ‘Xenios’. Particularly great emphasis is laid upon it throughout Homer’s Odyssey.

fn3 Which is true, but when he got there he found his wife Aegialia was living with another man (some say dozens of other men, aided by the goddess Aphrodite, who had never forgiven Diomedes for cutting the flesh of her wrist with his sword at the height of his aristeia (see Troy, page 208). Thus he left Argos and after various adventures settled in Italy, where he founded many cities, including Brindisi and Benevento. Perhaps the least flawed of all the great warrior heroes of the Greek army, he was the subject of many hero-cults in the centuries after his death. They say that, when he died, his men wailed and keened so loudly and wildly the gods out of pity turned them into albatrosses, whose call their lamentations had resembled. The Latinized name for the genus of great albatrosses is Diomedea.

fn4 As we will discover later.

fn5 ‘Sandy’ Pylos, as Homer likes to call it, was a very prosperous kingdom in the southwest corner of the Peloponnese, bordering Sparta.

fn6 The Calydonian Boar Hunt was one of the greatest gatherings of Greek heroes prior to the Trojan War. The tale of how they pursued their pitiless porcine foe is recounted in Heroes (see page 281).

fn7 The notorious hot, dry west wind that causes many an attack of seasickness in ferry passengers journeying amongst the Greek islands in the summertime, as this traveller can testify.

fn8 Known for the construction upon it in around 280 BC of a great lighthouse, one of the original Seven Wonders of the World. It gives its name to the French word for ‘lighthouse’, phare, or faro in Spanish and Italian.

fn9 Neptune’s largest moon is Proteus. Its largest impact crater has been given the name … Pharos. Astronomers know their Greek myths.

fn10 Hence our word protean.

fn11 Agamemnon and Menelaus were the Atreides, the sons of Atreus, members of a cursed house that stretched all the way back through Pelops to Tantalus. Something about the name ‘Atreus’ appeals to science fiction and fantasy writers. House Atreides is a royal dynasty in Frank Herbert’s Dune, Atreus is a God of War video-game character, and Atreyu features in The Neverending Story. I’m sure there are more peppered about the Star Trek and other universes.

fn12 ‘Laertides’ means ‘son of Laertes’. Homer and the other poets of the Trojan War use the -ides suffix frequently, and of every hero.

fn13 In fact, Proteus told Menelaus his fate. Immortality in Elysium.

fn14 A plan that finally has come into being in every detail it would seem …

The Message

fn1 Ogygia (pronounced in English O-djidj-ya or O-gidj-ya. Though the Greeks are – and perhaps were – more likely to say O-yee-ya) is something of a mystery. As I have mentioned elsewhere, there is quite a lively industry amongst academics and amateur classicists naming and placing the islands and other locations of Homer’s Greek world, but no one seems to have come up with a definitively convincing candidate for Ogygia. Gozo, the Maltese island, has been mentioned. Later Greeks thought Homer was describing an island that had since sunk into the sea after a volcano or earthquake. Strabo, the first-century BC Greek geographer, historian and philosopher, thought long and hard on the subject and placed Ogygia in the Atlantic. He reasoned that this was where the ‘river stream of Oceanus’ lay, which is mentioned when Odysseus first reaches the island (and which is now considered to be the Gulf Stream). Ogygia is also referred to as being a great distance from most of the Mediterranean and rarely visited. In Fox TV’s series Prison Break, the Yemeni prison in which the hero is held is called Ogygia. Perhaps Fox was hoping for a seven-year run.

fn2 Just as later sculptors loved to portray him.

fn3 Demeter, goddess of fecundity, plucked the beautiful youth Iasion from the table of guests during the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia. They made love in the field outside. When they returned to the feast Zeus spotted the mud on Iasion’s bottom and zapped him. Perhaps the first, but certainly not the last, time that a skid mark gave the game away. Thank you, Stephen. We didn’t need that.

fn4 Calypso is telling the truth. Hermes and Apollo both had their way, in the same night, with the beautiful princess Chione. The result was twins. From Apollo, she gave birth to Philammon, a singer and player of the lyre second only in skill to Orpheus. From Hermes, she gave birth to Autolycus who, unsurprisingly perhaps, turned out to be a thief, liar, rogue and trickster. Blood will tell.

fn5 We will find out soon enough who this son of Poseidon might be and what Odysseus had done to him.

fn6 The everlasting flower that carpets Elysium, the blessed land of the glorious dead.

fn7 See Heroes, page 186. Hera hated Ino because she had tended to the god Dionysus, child of Ino’s sister Semele by Zeus, an adulterous liaison that Hera could not forgive. According to the Roman poet Ovid, Hera made sure that Ino’s life was so difficult that, after her apparent death, some of Ino’s friends and supporters established an anti-Hera cult. This the Queen of Heaven could not take either, and she turned these blasphemous women into shearwaters. Hence, perhaps, Homer’s use, twice in Book 5 of the Odyssey, of the bird as a simile for Ino’s appearance amid the waves.

fn8 The first ever description of surfing in all literature?

Focus on Phocis

fn1 ‘Strophius’ means ‘turning’, and was applied to twisters and slippery customers.

fn2 See Troy (page 25) for the story of how Phocus was killed by his half-brothers Peleus (future father of Achilles) and Telamon (future father of Ajax). Phoke is the Greek for ‘seal’ to this day.

fn3 To whom, of course, they were related. Pylades’ line descended from Aegina, grandmother of both Phocus and Peleus, Achilles’ father. But Aegina was also mother of Menoetius, Patroclus’s father. I don’t recommend thinking too hard about these relationships. They do a person’s head in.

fn4 See Mythos, page 261. Surrounded by water that recedes when he stoops to drink, luscious fruit hangs above him just out of reach. Hence our word ‘tantalize’.

fn5 For details of the heaping of one of these two mountains on the other, see Mythos, page 260.

fn6 The word ‘sycophant’ literally means ‘one who shows figs’.

fn7 For more on the Pythia, see Mythos, page 98.

fn8 An (excusable I hope) anachronism. King Mausolus, after whose funerary arrangements the mausoleum is named, would not reign until the fourth century BC.

fn9 See Mythos (page 250) and the story of Ischys and Coronis.

fn10 It is likely that after seven years in Phocis, Orestes would be fluent in Doric Greek and have picked up its accent, or at least been proficient at speaking in it.

fn11 The hunt for the Calydonian Boar was one of the great events of the Age of Heroes (see Heroes, page 281).

fn12 See Mythos, page 81.

fn13 The vapours that rose, and still rise, from deep underground at Delphi were thought to come directly from the primordial earth goddess Gaia, Zeus’s grandmother (and great-grandmother for complicated incestuous reasons – see Mythos, page 7).

fn14 The original Greek name for the entities we call ‘the Furies’ was Erinyes, meaning perhaps ‘the angry ones’ or ‘the hunters’. As ‘chthonic’ (i.e. earthborn) creatures, they could also claim Gaia as their mother. They arose from ground soaked in the blood that fell from the castrated OURANOS, Zeus’s grandfather, in the age of the first order of gods. They are often, but not definitively, portrayed as numbering three: Alecto (‘endless anger’), Megaera (‘jealous rage’) and Tisiphone (‘vengeful destruction). See Mythos, page 22.

fn15 The Eumenides is the title of the third play in Aeschylus’s trilogy, the Oresteia (first performed in Athens in 458 BC). I have taken it (loosely) as my major source for this scene.

fn16 In the great classical era of Athens, following the mythical age we are dealing with, the Areopagus was used as a council of elders and judicial court. From the days of the statesman and lawmaker Solon (c.630–c.560 BC) onwards, it constituted the highest criminal tribunal in Athens. Murder, malicious wounding, blasphemy and treason would all be tried there.

To Tauris

fn1 They are following the route of Jason and his Argonauts (see Heroes, page 251) across the Euxine Sea (the Black Sea as we call it). Tauris stood in what we know as the Crimean Peninsula.

fn2 Which is indeed what ‘Pylades’ means. Pylons were gateways to Egyptian temples, for example; the tall tapering chamfered columns that were part of those gateways took on the meaning themselves and we ended up with the electrical pylon in the twentieth century.

fn3 ‘Orestes’ derives from (ὄρος), meaning ‘mountain’ (as in the mountain nymph, the oread). The name ‘Orestes’ can mean ‘one from the mountains’, or that very Tennessee or West Virginian kind of individual, ‘mountain man’. ‘Iphigenia’, meanwhile, derives from iphios (ἴφιος), meaning ‘strong’, ‘stout’ or ‘vigorous’, and genia (γενιά), meaning ‘birth’ or ‘origin’. So ‘strongly born’ is perhaps the best translation.

The Stranger on the Shore

fn1 This scene is the first known description of a ball game in Western literature.

fn2 ‘Al-sin-oh-us’ (the ‘u’ with a good northern ‘u’ as in the cat ‘puss’) or ‘Al-sin-oh-us’. Up to you, really. It means ‘powerful mind’. The nous (νοῦς) at the end is as our word ‘nous’, although its sense has drifted a little and now to us means ‘gumption’ or ‘mother wit’.

fn3 Meaning ‘the best’ or ‘the answer to prayers’.

fn4 Pronounced ‘kai-ton’ – a long woollen tunic.

fn5 You can pronounce her name ‘Nor-sick-ah’, ‘Nor-sick-yah’ or ‘Nor-si-kay-er’ – the last seems to be the most popular amongst classicists.

fn6 Various people since Homer’s time have tried to locate this beguiling island. Off the coast of North Africa between Tunisia and Libya, some have suggested. And what is the fruit? Sundry candidates have been advanced. Clover, persimmon, water lily, which last is how the shape of lotus is usually represented and conforms with the lotus of India and other countries further east. The Blue Nile lotus is perhaps the most likely, since it does apparently have soporific and psychotropic properties.

My own candidate, for what it’s worth, takes into consideration the fact that lettuce is well known for its soporific qualities too. Beatrix Potter remarks upon it in The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies, where it sends the young rabbits to sleep. One cultivar of lettuce popular to this day (especially under its American name, ‘romaine’) is the Cos lettuce. And what is Cos/Kos, but a Greek island? The Land of the Lettuce-Eaters. I rest my case.

Tennyson’s poem ‘The Lotos-Eaters’ captures the mood and meaning of the adventure perfectly.

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,

In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined

On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.

…

Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore

Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;

Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

The Stranger on the Shore

fn1 ‘Polyphemus’ can mean ‘very famous’, ‘celebrated’ or ‘many-voiced’.

fn2 Poseidon was indeed the father of Polyphemus, by the nymph Thoosa, which might have promised a more becoming and winsome appearance and manner. Theseus and the winged horse Pegasus were also progeny of the sea god and they each had two eyes and appealing appearances. Life just didn’t treat Polyphemus very fairly.

fn3 This reference to a West Wind has provoked much interest in those who wish to place not just Aeolia, but Ithaca itself. Is Homer’s Ithaca the Ithaca we can visit today? If a West Wind took one there from Aeolia where could that island be? It’s not a game I’m good at, but for some it’s a happy life’s work.

fn4 The gods of Sleep and Discord, respectively, and offspring of the primordial darkness (Erebus) and night (Nyx): see Mythos, page 18. Eris, you may remember, was the ultimate cause of the Trojan War (see Troy, page 45).

fn5 Pronounced something like ‘Lesstry-gonians’.

fn6 Homer is not precise, but assuming the ships were penteconters, you could expect something like 40–50 men per vessel, which would make between 480 and 600 in all.

Aeaea

fn1 I know – as if Ogygia wasn’t bad enough. Aeaea, for heaven’s sake. How many times have I seen exactly those letters miserably slid to the left on my Scrabble rack? Pronunciation? There are lots of ways. ‘A-a-uh’ is probably the most usual for anglophones. Or the nautical ‘Aye Aye-uh’ (pronounced as we pronounce the letter A), which is perhaps closer to the Greek Αἰαία. Some would say ‘Ee-ee-uh’.

fn2 A soft ‘c’, as in citrus – the name rhymes with mercy, though a Greek would say it something like ‘Keer-kay’.

fn3 Odysseus should have known that Circe’s mother was Perse, an Oceanid, or sea nymph.

fn4 See Heroes (page 239) for the tale of Medea and Jason – perhaps the ultimate holiday romance gone horribly wrong – including the awkward occasion they decided to call on Aunt Circe.

fn5 According to one source, a giant called Picolous attacked Circe on the island and her father, Helios, came to the rescue and killed her assailant. Where the giant’s blood seeped into the earth, moly grew. One of the real-life candidates for the herb is the snowdrop. According to Mr and Mrs Wikipedia, ‘One of the active principles present in the snowdrop is the alkaloid galantamine, which, as an acetylcholinesterase inhibitor, could have acted as an antidote to Circe’s poisons.’ So there.

fn6 Eurylochus, who came from the neighbouring island of Same, was married to Ctimene, Odysseus’s sister.

fn7 How Tiresias became the foremost prognosticator of the Age of Heroes can be learned from Mythos (page 330).

fn8 The stories of Orpheus and Eurydice and of Heracles and Cerberus are both told (quite brilliantly) in Heroes (see pages 168 and 112, respectively).

fn9 The Queen of the Underworld, Hades’ part-time wife: see Mythos (page 149).

fn10 This is all very confusing. If ‘Ocean’s stream’ – reached by a specifically mentioned north wind – is the Gulf Stream, as people have argued, then how can it be by the land of the Cimmerians? They were originally a steppe people, who settled in what we now think of as Turkey – Anatolia, Phrygia, Lycia – even up by Troy. They have the distinction of introducing trousers to the world, for which I (and I cannot be alone) thank them.

Ocean’s stream, however, is more than the Gulf Stream, for it is nearly always described as encircling the whole world. So I reckon we can say with some confidence that this fogbound location by Ocean’s stream is Homer’s purely poetic invention.

Aeaea

fn1 From the same root word that gives us the word ‘planets’ – the heavenly bodies whose strange paths across the night sky caused early Greek astronomers to call them πλανήτες ἀστέρες (planetes asteres), ‘wandering stars’.

fn2 Typhon was the progenitor of almost all Greek monsters (see Mythos, page 62); the Hydra was a venomous many-headed water beast, victim of the second of Heracles’ Labours (see Heroes, page 66); and the Chimera was the fire-breathing lion–goat–snake/dragon hybrid defeated by Bellerophon and Pegasus (see Heroes, page 154).

An Alien Shore

fn1 Poseidon really did know how to nurse a grievance. He was furious at the Phaeacians for their kindness towards Odysseus, whom he still could not forgive for the blinding of Polyphemus. He begged Zeus to be allowed to punish them for their assitance. Zeus reluctantly agreed. When the ship that had borne Odysseus to Ithaca made its way back to Scheria the vengeful sea god turned it to stone, whereupon it sank and permanently blocked the harbour.

fn2 I would say ‘You-may-us’ (the ‘us’ rhyming with ‘puss’).

fn3 It is too easy for us to assume that a swineherd carried the same status in Odysseus’s day as it did in medieval times and perhaps our own. But if you remember, Athena first appeared to Odysseus in this scene as a ‘well-born’ shepherd. Immortal nymphs tended the cattle and sheep of Helios. There was nothing base or undignified in herding for a living. In an age when there was no money, cattle, sheep, goats and pigs were the highest currency. The status, therefore, was more that of a banker than a menial. And Eumaeus, as we will see, was of royal blood.

fn4 According to the great reteller of myths, Roger Lancelyn Green, Greek dogs can still be pacified this way. Or could in 1958, when he wrote his Tale of Troy. ‘Odysseus sat down hastily, to show that he was a friend – a sign which Greek dogs still understand!’

fn5 Legend held that Theseus invented the art of wrestling, whereby skill and technique could overcome brute strength. The Greeks called his particular brand of vicious no-holds-barred grappling and striking the pankration. See Heroes, page 344.

fn6 A northwestern tribe.

fn7 It seems rude not to ask Odysseus directly, but I think it would have been considered ruder to address a stranger before the host had made introductions.

fn8 Dulichium, Same and Zakinthos are all in the Ionian Sea, neighbouring Ithaca. Sometimes called Zante these days, Zakinthos is the third largest of the Heptanese, the seven major Ionian islands. Same is not the same (hoho) as Samos, the lush island in the eastern Aegean whose wine achieved fame across the ancient world. No one is quite sure about the location of Dulichium – some believe it is the island we now call Cephalonia, popularized by Louis de Bernières in his bestselling novel, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin.

fn9 ‘Irus’ would be the masculine form of ‘Iris’, the goddess who runs across her rainbow bridge carrying messages from the gods. According to Homer, the beggar’s real name was Arnaeus.

fn10 ‘Because I have been angered (ὀδυσσάμενος [odyssamenos]) by so many men and women, let his name be Odysseus,’ Homer has Autolycus reported as saying. Plenty of scholars have different explanations for the name’s meaning and etymology.

fn11 The superstition that a sneeze confirms the truth of a statement is widespread and continues to this day.

fn12 Pronounced ‘Fill-oh-eesh-us’, rhyming with ‘unleash us’. The name ‘Philoetius’ (or ‘Philoitios’ in some transliterations) is derived from the components philo- (φίλος, philos), meaning ‘loving’ or ‘fond of’, and -etius (ἔτιος, etios), related to ‘faithful’ or ‘true.’ So, ‘fond of being faithful’, ‘loving faithfulness’, or ‘lover of truth’. Appropriate enough, like so many Homeric names, given the cowherd’s loyal character.

fn13 His name means something like ‘possessing horses’ or ‘house of horses’, from κτῆσις (ktesis, ‘possession’) and ἵππος (hippos, ‘horse’). The name suggests wealth and status.

fn14 Meaning ‘leader of the pack’, or ‘gathering’, from ἀγελάω (agelao, ‘to gather’ or ‘to lead’).

fn15 For more on Eurytus and his clan, see Heroes, page 118.

fn16 A sly reference there to the home city of Oedipus, who did marry his mother … You can discover in Heroes (page 308) how that turned out.

fn17 Greek tripods were not quite like ours, of course. They were essentially large dishes on three legs, used ceremonially for burning incense or for heaping sacrificial grain or other foods for the gods. Or if it pleased you, you could, like the Pythia at Delphi, sit on them.

Further Adventures

fn1 Only two lines of that poem survive. We know what it contained thanks to a ‘chrestomathy’ (a kind of anthology of writings, for the benefit of those learning a new language) by an unknown figure who goes by the name of Proclus.

fn2 Just as ‘telephone’, ‘telecommunications’, etc., all refer to remote or distant forms of transmission and reception.

fn3 Next to the grave and planted oar of young Elpenor?

fn4 Yet another one, I should say – the Aeneid is full of extravagant prophesies of the grandeur that will be Rome.

fn5 Though an entry in the Oxford Classical Dictionary states that actually the name of ‘Iulus’ for ‘Ilus’ was recorded by Cato the Elder, who preceded Virgil by almost a hundred years.

fn6 The fairies and pixies that once communed with the English in their fields and meadows receded from human intercourse (in all the senses of the word) in like manner.

fn7 John Milton wrote his even more impassioned pamphlet, Areopagitica, a plea for free speech and the lifting of state censorship on printing, in 1644. He uses biblical and other precedents to suggest that somehow there was a time of free speech, from which the present day was moving away. But, of course, printing was still relatively young when he wrote the pamphlet. There may have been a ‘Wild West’ when the first presses rolled, something akin to the early free expression days of the internet perhaps, but pushing the claim that unlicensed writing and speaking could have been a Golden Age virtue was a very Greek manoeuvre on Milton’s part.

fn8 Archons literally means ‘rulers’. In the case of the Areopagus, they were magistrates of noble birth – who were at least smart enough to assemble in an odd number to avoid hung juries of the kind Athena had to adjudicate.

fn9 Acts of the Apostles 17:18–21.

Cast of Characters

fn1 Hades spent all of his time in the underworld, so technically he is often not regarded as one of the Olympians.

fn2 Homer refers several times to a form of blood sausage in the Odyssey – most strikingly in Book 20, when he likens a sleepless Odysseus, tossing and turning as he seethes with thoughts of revenge, to a man turning a sausage to and fro as it sizzles in the flames, eager to cook it quickly. (And if there’s ever been a shrewder sausage than Odysseus, then I’m not aware of them.)

Acknowledgements

fn1 Translated by Avi Sharon.

OceanofPDF.com