Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  Cadmus grabbed Machaon’s shoulder and pulled his elder brother to halt.

  His breath was heavy but controlled. The Herdsmen were used to running the mountain paths. “What did you hear, Mac? What are the Greeks planning?”

  Machaon smiled. He had been ten when the Greeks had arrived on their shores, Cadmus just nine and Lycon a child of barely six. The war had been waged most of their lives. “The Greeks are talking of going home,” he said, grinning. “Odysseus was speaking of Ithaca, of the wife he left there, and the newborn son who would now be tall. The other kings too. The Greeks have finally grown tired of this war.”

  “They’re going? Really?”

  Machaon nodded. “Soon, I think. Odysseus said it would all be over before the next full moon.”

  Lycon hardly dared to believe his brother’s words. They had grown accustomed to living beside the battles that took place between the beaches and the gates of the Trojan citadel; they had come to accept that the plains outside the gates of Troy would be soaked with blood.

  Cadmus laughed. “Think what we could do if we weren’t bound to spend our lives feeding Troy!” He clapped Machaon on the back. “Think what we could see, where we could go!”

  Machaon glanced back towards the fortress of Troy. They had watched over the city all the years of the siege, ensuring her citizens were fed. The end of the war would mean freedom for them all.

  “Odysseus argued for lingering and making offerings to grey-eyed Athena in the hope of appeasing her wrath, not realising in his folly that she would be implacable. It is not easy to soothe the immortal gods from their vengeance.”

  The Odyssey Book III

  BOOK II

  HERO COUGHED AS THE smoke stole her breath and settled in her breast. Her flame of piety had become a furnace. It was her practice to sacrifice the first fruits of the season to Athena, the grey-eyed Goddess of Wisdom, but, yet again, she had misjudged the amounts of fragrant herbs and wine. The small shrine she had so lovingly constructed on the hillside, was being consumed by fire. She waved her hand in front of her face, trying to clear the pungent fumes. She didn’t think anyone had seen. Not that it mattered. The goddess would know.

  Her brother, Machaon, emerged from the trees and smothered the flames with dirt, showering her with soil in the process. Hero glared at him as she shook it from her hair and he laughed at her, as was his habit.

  “You must be more careful,” he said, kicking out the last of the embers. “The Greeks haven’t gone yet.”

  Hero turned her face down the mountain to the beaches long occupied by the ships of the invaders.

  “What can you see?” she asked. Hero’s large bright eyes were not strong. The tents at the base of the mountain were far beyond the edges of her vision, though they were clear to Machaon. Even the massive fortified walls of Troy were a white blur. To Hero, anything more than a dozen paces away was indistinct and confusing.

  “It’s quiet again today,” Machaon replied. “There are no funeral pyres burning.”

  Hero nodded. There had been no fighting since the day her brothers had returned with the news that the Greeks talked of abandoning the siege. And so, there had been no dying either. No need to burn corpses and wreak vengeance in their name.

  Machaon described everthing he could see, as he had done since the day she had come to live with them. She had been just five then, a strange, frightened child who had never seen men.

  Hero started as a bloodcurdling howl broke the peace of the morning.

  “Gods, that’s Cad,” said Machaon. He turned and ran up the slope. Hero, born nimble and swift, followed. Machaon was five years older than she, and tall and strong, but he could not outpace her. They ran towards the hidden gullies of the mountain where they concealed the greater number of their herd.

  Machaon pulled his sister over the wall that obscured the gully. It looked like a natural fall of rocks, but it had been created to keep the hidden herds from wandering into the Greeks’ sight. The lands behind it, though steep and wooded, were rich with new grass fed by mountain streams.

  Hero stopped briefly, in her custom, to ask the gods to protect the wall that kept safe their herds.

  Machaon rolled his eyes. “Hurry up, Hero — you can pray twice on the way out.”

  She glanced darkly at him and repeated her incantation. Her brothers believed in the gods, but it was not the way of Herdsmen to be devout. Their refusal to sacrifice and pray only made her devotion more earnest, for she had to seek the gods’ favour for her brothers as well as herself.

  They ran down a narrow ravine and found Lycon amongst a small gathering of herders, who were laughing and shouting approval. Two huge bulls clashed in the clearing before them, though the Herdsmen’s interest was in the men astride the creatures.

  “What is he doing now?” groaned Hero. Squinting, she could tell that one of the men was Cadmus. His blurry silhouette was familiar, though she could not make out his face.

  Machaon grinned. The other rider was Brontor, who was known for his skill as a horse tamer.

  Both held grimly to the backs of the bulls who twisted and kicked as they attempted to throw their burdens and gore each other.

  “I wonder what the howl was about?” Machaon said.

  Lycon moved beside them. “He managed to stand on the bull’s back a while ago,” he said. “So he started to howl like a fool.”

  Machaon laughed. The Herdsmen all used the cries of wolves to call each other as the sound blended with the mountain noise. But there was a jubilant note to Cadmus’ call that made it easy to identify. “So what happened?”

  “The beast panicked and threw him.”

  “And he got back on?”

  “Sadly, he is slow to learn.”

  “Why did he stand on the bull?” asked Hero, though she knew the answer.

  “Because he’s Cad,” Lycon replied shaking his head. “Give him an audience and he will act like an idiot.”

  “I can’t believe he talked Brontor into this,” Machaon murmured, blanching, as the horns of the opposing bull just barely missed his brother’s body. Brontor was somewhat older than they and, for a Herdsman, quite sane.

  Lycon smiled. “Cad challenged him. Said anyone could tame a horse, but a bull was the true test of a man ... Poor Brontor had no choice but to accept.”

  The gathering roared. Hero and her brothers looked up as Cadmus was flung from his mount, landing heavily in the dirt. Machaon and Lycon winced with the thud, and Hero muttered a quick prayer to protect him from injury. Cadmus stood and moved quickly to dodge the bull which now turned on him. The Herdsmen surged forward with rope and staff to restrain and calm the beast. Brontor leapt from his bull, triumphant.

  Cadmus laughed. “Congratulations, old man.” He slapped his opponent on the back. “You have bested me despite your great age!”

  “Agelaus is raising idiots!” Brontor replied, but he smiled.

  “Mac!” exclaimed Cadmus as he caught sight of his elder brother. “Did you see? I have a gift with the beasts, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” replied Machaon. “Perhaps you were sired by the Minotaur.”

  The surrounding Herdsmen laughed. It was no secret that Cadmus and Lycon were not of Agelaus’ blood.

  The bulls were subdued and the men returned cheerfully to their work.

  “What are you doing here, Mac?” Cadmus asked. “I thought you were keeping an eye on Hero so she doesn’t set the mountain alight again ... Oh ... hello, Hero ... ” Cadmus had only just noticed his sister. Hero glowered at Machaon. She had not realised that his emergence to put out the flames of her dedication had been anything other than fortuitous.

  Machaon dragged Cadmus in front of him, in case Hero thought to hit him.

  Instead she held them all in her furious glare. Standing together, the sons of Agelaus were oddly alike. They were tall, strong young men with dark unruly hair and laughing gazes. Machaon was the largest of them, but not by much. There was something particular
ly wild about Cadmus and Lycon’s face spoke of a thoughtful mischief — but the differences were slight. They all regarded the world directly and honestly. It was perhaps something in their eyes that defined them absolutely as brothers; a gentleness that had come to them not through blood, but from the man they called father. Indeed of the three, Hero thought Lycon the most like their father, even though Machaon was Agelaus’ natural son.

  Hero often envied her brothers the accidental physical similarity that declared their bond. She was fair, her hair was brown and considered pale amongst the herders, and her large eyes were a light amber that Cadmus called yellow. She was small and lightly built; her gaze more defiant than open. Agelaus had always called her beautiful and her brothers had always laughed.

  “If you must follow me,” Hero said angrily, “I do not see why you can’t help me appease the Pantheon occasionally!”

  “Thought we were appeasing them by saving the mountain from your fires,” Cadmus replied. Machaon shot him a warning glance but it was too late.

  She stamped her foot. “Don’t you see that unless we find the favour of the ruling gods, Troy may still be lost?” Hero believed wholeheartedly that the twelve gods of the Pantheon, who ruled from Olympus, would yet have a hand in the outcome of the war.

  The sons of Agelaus looked at her indulgently. They had grown accustomed to Hero’s religious fervour. They made allowances for it, as they did for the poorness of her eyes.

  “Ly, walk Hero home will you?” said Machaon as he retrieved Cadmus’ staff from the ground. “Help her light another fire if she really must, but keep an eye out for the Greeks. They still come up the mountain occasionally.”

  “Where are you going?” Hero asked, noticing that both Machaon and Cadmus were armed with bows.

  “Some creature’s been attacking the flocks nearer the summit,” he replied. “Cad and I are going to track it. We’ll be back before dark.”

  “The gods often take the form of wild beasts,” warned Hero. “Just be careful what you shoot.”

  Cadmus groaned and Machaon smiled as he said, “Well, even the gods have had fair warning — the flocks of Ida are protected.”

  They winked apologetically at Lycon and left before Hero could lecture them on blasphemy.

  And so Lycon accompanied Hero back to the cave where they dwelled with their father. The herders did not build houses, for Mount Ida provided spaces in the rock which were dry and protected from the elements. In these caverns they made their homes, for the life of a Herdsman was simple and did not require the opulence and comforts that were found in the houses of Troy.

  The cave of Agelaus was large, its entrance hidden behind the fall of a mountain stream. It was not dark for there were small spaces in the rock wall that allowed in the light. Its roof was high and decorated with depictions of beasts and men, painted by Agelaus and those who came before him. There was the odd figure painted by Lycon as well, distinguishable by the excessive use of purple. The centre of the space held a large open fire, which burned day and night for the dwellings in the rock were cool no matter the season.

  Within the confines of her father’s cave, Hero’s eyes rarely failed her and even if they did, it mattered not as there was nothing to fear.

  Agelaus was seated by the fire when they came in. He was carving a palm-sized piece of wood into a hair comb for his beloved Hero. A joint of meat roasted on the fire. He smiled warmly when he saw them.

  “Well, my beautiful daughter,” he began, “Did you make your dedications?” He took her hand as she came to him. “You must be careful ... if you are too pious the gods will notice you, and then the goddesses are bound to be jealous.”

  Hero blushed deeply and Lycon laughed. “Don’t worry father,” he said, “Hero is always well hidden by all the smoke.”

  Already embarrassed by her father’s compliment, Hero snarled at her brother, calling him several names and finishing with a threat of bodily harm.

  Lycon listened to her with an amused smile and then turned to his father with a sigh. “Amazon,” he whispered, as if that explained everything.

  Agelaus tried not to laugh. “Come. Eat,” he said. “Tell me news of your day.”

  They sat by their father and allowed him to pile their plates whilst they talked of Cadmus’ exploits on bull back. Agelaus listened with both pride and concern. He knew his middle son to be reckless, but his courage was impressive.

  As the sun set, fellow herders came to the cave to share Agelaus’ fire and his hospitality. They brought what food and wine they had, and together they feasted whilst they told tales which became progressively more incredible.

  The gathering fell into respectful silence as Agelaus spoke once again of the day that the God of War had come to Ida in the form of a bull to challenge Paris’s claim that no beast could best his father’s. The god had won of course, but Paris had been so gracious in defeat that the gods had lauded him as the most fair minded of men. The Herdsmen knew the story well, but it was clear that Agelaus still grieved for Paris, who had died in the fight for Troy like so many others. In any case, his words were so beautifully wrought that the story still caught their hearts and stirred their blood.

  Somewhere in the midst of these tales Hero fell asleep, despite the noise. Stealthy Morpheus, the god of dreams, had always come early for the girl. Her brothers assumed it was because piety was exhausting.

  WHEN THE tales had been told, the Herdsmen began to sing. They beat rhythms on the walls of the cave, which echoed through the cavern, and they sang not with words, but by a chorus of tuneful baying, like wolves, raucous and wild. They danced as they sang with a rhythmic abandon that was in keeping with the spirit of their kind.

  It was into this that Machaon and Cadmus returned with the fresh skin of the mountain lion that had been feeding on their flocks. They joined the vibrant dance until, in time, their fellow Herdsmen retreated to their own caves, to rest for the day’s work to follow.

  The next morning, Agelaus spoke to his children.

  “The city will be in need of grain,” he said thoughtfully. “Even if the Greeks leave soon. Machaon, you and Cadmus must drive forty bulls from the northern vale to Abydos. Trade them for grain.”

  Cadmus nodded, the grin broadening easily on his face. He enjoyed the entertainments of Abydos, the trading town just over a day’s ride from Ida.

  “Tonight the moon will be near full, so you best leave then.” Agelaus continued. “You will be well away before the Greeks are awake.”

  Hero said nothing. She longed to go to Abydos. All her brothers had been and returned with tales of its wondrous markets and exotic wares. But she kept quiet, for this was a time of war and they went to Abydos for a purpose other than personal amusement.

  It was clear by Cadmus’ expression, however, that it was not the joys of trading cattle that he anticipated.

  Machaon looked at Hero silently for a moment, his dark eyes studying his sister’s face.

  “I think I’ll stay here,” he said suddenly. “Hero can go with Cad. It’s safer now that the Greeks are preparing to leave.”

  Agelaus considered Hero almost sadly, and nodded his approval. “My daughter has been living only in the world of men for too long. The markets of Abydos will have the adornments and decorations that women wear at festivals and feasts. There will be celebrations after the Greeks have gone — Hero must have those things.”

  “Nooo,” moaned Cadmus. “You can’t be serious! You want me to take Hero to Abydos so she can purchase baubles ... Mac, please ... ”

  Machaon ignored his appeal. “I can help Ly take the cheese and the last of the grain into Troy. Brontor’s sons will accompany you, so you will not require my strength.”

  Still, Hero said nothing, afraid that they would change their minds, but the delight and excitement were clear on her face.

  Cadmus turned to Hero. “Fine,” he said irritably, “but you are not allowed to preach at me, or I’ll bring you straight back. Is that clear? No ser
mons, no incessant praying, no invoking ... ”

  “Gods, she won’t be able to do that!” Machaon interrupted him, laughing.

  “I would not have my Hero remain silent all the way to Abydos and back,” added Agelaus, with a knowing smile.

  Hero looked at Cadmus, still too excited to say anything.

  He stared back at her eager, joyful face, and he relented. He had not realised that she so wanted to go.

  “All right,” he said. “One god. Just choose one god, and that’s it. I’ll not be listening to you mutter to the whole Pantheon for the next five days ... it’s just unreasonable ... and don’t think we’ll be stopping so that you can sacrifice ... are we agreed?”

  Hero could not speak. She had long dreamed of the wonders of lands beyond Ida. She had listened enviously to her brothers’ stories when they returned from the trading centres east of Troy. She had not spoken of her desires to see these places too for she feared that her father would think that the world he had given her was not enough.

  She flung her arms about Cadmus in sheer delight. The men of her house were surprised into silence. It was not Hero’s way to be demonstrative with anything, except her anger. Only Machaon had ever suspected that she wished to wander from Ida on occasion.

  Hero embraced Machaon next, for suggesting she go, and her father for allowing her to do so, and Lycon, simply because she was happy.

  She wanted to thank the gods for her good fortune, but thought she’d better wait until Cadmus had left the cave, just to be safe. After a time, unable to suppress her gratitude any longer, she slipped out to pray unseen, and so, she did not hear her father’s words to the wildest of his sons.

  “You must be careful, Cadmus,” he said. “Hero is not one of your brothers.”

  Cadmus smiled. “Don’t worry Father. I will ride no bulls whilst I have stewardship of your daughter. I have already abandoned any thoughts of enjoying myself.”

  Agelaus chuckled. He handed Cadmus a small pouch of precious stones. “I have neglected your sister,” he said regretfully. “She must have those things that a mother would have given her.”