Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  She turned to look at him, and he stiffened. The madness had not left her eyes. She stared at him without recognition, the sword aloft.

  MACHAON AND Cadmus watched the commotion at the Greek camp from their vantage in the trees. Lycon and Hero had not returned and they had begun to search. They had gone first towards the Ithacan fleet in case their siblings had fallen into the hands of the Greeks. They had heard the shouts as they approached and crept as close as they dared, which was quite close indeed. They wore blades for they were prepared to fight the entire Ithacan contingent to retrieve their brother and sister.

  Odysseus had dragged men back to the camp and ordered that they be taken onto the ships and placed in irons as they wept and struggled so much.

  “Make ready to sail,” he cried. “We must leave this place. It is a land of witches that feast on men ... we have seen one of their number and the creature chilled my blood! Make ready to sail, and know that a boy called Lycon has died to warn you!”

  Cadmus watched his elder brother pale with Odysseus’ words. His own chest tightened.

  “It can’t be true, Mac,” he said, trying to convince himself as well. “Ly would not die to warn the Greeks. Not when he has Hero with him.”

  Machaon nodded slowly. “Come on,” he said. “Let them go. We have to find Lycon and Hero.”

  They entered the trees beside the banks of the stream, along which Odysseus had emerged. Behind them, they could hear the Greeks leaping onto their ships in panic. The elder sons of Agelaus did not speak, both afraid to voice their own thoughts.

  They moved quickly following the obvious trail left by the Greeks. Their foreboding mounted in the unfamiliar woodlands. They were too anxious to be cautious, but they were alert for the witches of whom Odysseus had spoken ... and then they heard the Lycon’s howl. They broke into a run for the call spoke of danger.

  They could hear Hero screaming as they came upon the lagoon and so they barely noticed the splendour of the lotus blooms, or the long-limbed people who lay in the grass eating an egg-shaped fruit. Hero was frenzied, attacking a tree with a sword. For a moment they stopped, uncertain, and then they realised that Lycon was bound to the trunk.

  “Hero, stop!” cried Machaon. He ran towards her but halted abruptly when she turned her blade on him.

  While she was distracted, Cadmus freed Lycon who was bleeding profusely from a gash above his eye.

  Machaon circled Hero as she swung the sword randomly about her, speaking and crying incoherently.

  “Hero, it’s me ... Mac ... Hero it’s all right ... ”

  She stopped, confused, trying to remember who he was.

  Machaon saw his chance and leapt in and wrested the sword from her hand. He held her as she fought him like a creature possessed.

  “Ly, what in Hades happened to her?” Cadmus demanded as he checked his brother’s injury.

  “It’s the fruit,” gasped Lycon. “Hero ate quite a lot of it. I think it’s sent her mad — she’s seeing things. She thought there was a snake on the tree ... ”

  Machaon threw Hero over his shoulder. She bit and clawed him, but he held her grimly. “Let’s go. The Greeks could still return — Ly, you can explain properly on the boat.”

  Cadmus dragged Lycon up and retrieved his weapons from where the Greek captors had discarded them in the grass.

  The dark-skinned Lotus-eaters watched them casually. They made no move to interfere with the bizarre actions of the strangers.

  Machaon was glad the Greeks had set sail, for the siblings’ return to their ship was not quiet. Hero screamed and writhed as if he were carrying her to her death. When finally he put her down on the beach, in the shadow of the Phaeacian craft, she tried to bolt and they had to catch and restrain her again.

  “You’re going to have to tie her up,” said Cadmus.

  “I’m not going bind my own sister,” Machaon protested.

  “Then you’ll just have to hold her.”

  Machaon grabbed Hero’s hand just as she was about to claw at his eyes. “Get the rope,” he said.

  And so they bound their sister as gently as they could and sat her by the warmth of their fire. Machaon examined the cut on Lycon’s brow, though he had no idea of what to do about it.

  “So did Hero do this?” he asked, giving Lycon a cloth to apply to the wound.

  Lycon nodded. “I don’t think she meant to — even in her madness. She was slashing at a snake above my head and nicked me in the process.”

  Lycon told them how he and Hero had been captured. Machaon and Cadmus bristled at the intention of the Ithacans to offer their sister to Odysseus, but they allowed Lycon to continue. He described the fruit presented to the Greeks by the Lotus-eaters and how it had made them think of nothing else but grazing on lotus. “It affected Hero differently,” he added ruefully.

  He told them of the Odysseus’ arrival and how he had convinced the King of Ithaca to flee.

  “It was really Hero who persuaded him,” he said admiringly. “She was pretty fearsome. She wouldn’t let him near me. Odysseus looked as though he was staring into Hades itself.”

  “You did well, Ly,” Machaon said approvingly. “Odysseus is not going to be happy when he realises that you outwitted him.”

  “Why should he ever realise?” asked Cadmus.

  Machaon looked at Hero who sat sputtering and sobbing insensibly in her bonds. “Because hopefully the effects of the fruit will wear off,” he said. “And then Eurylochus will tell Odysseus that it was he who bound you and not some witch.”

  They all looked at Hero with concern. What if the insidious fruit had permanently demented her?

  “What are we going to do?” asked Lycon finally.

  “I don’t know,” Machaon replied. “I wish Agelaus was here. Father could get through to her ... we will just have to wait and hope it wears off.”

  “We can’t let Odysseus get too far ahead of us, Mac,” Cadmus said.

  “We won’t,” Machaon replied. “We’ll set sail at dusk. Who knows what the friendly Lotus-eaters become at night, so let us not wait to find out.”

  Cadmus grabbed his bow. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going hunting. We have a while before sunset. Let us find meat whilst we can — Gods, I’m sick of fish.”

  Machaon nodded his agreement. “Don’t eat anything you don’t recognise.”

  Cadmus disappeared into the trees. Lycon and Machaon looked after Hero as best they could, but she seemed oblivious to their presence and tormented by things they could not see. They talked reassuringly to her and handled her kindly, but she was not present to them.

  Cadmus returned, with three pheasants and a handful of exotic blooms.

  “What are the flowers for?” Lycon asked surprised.

  “I promised Hero a sacrifice,” replied Cadmus. “Who knows — her gods may return her mind to us. We’ll just throw these onto the fire.” He looked expectantly at his brothers. “Does anybody know how to pray?”

  Machaon and Lycon gazed back blankly.

  “We’ll just offer the flowers without saying anything,” Machaon decided finally. “At least then we won’t offend anyone ... I hope.”

  And so, for the first time in their lives, the sons of Agelaus sacrificed to the gods. They roasted their pheasant and ate heartily for they didn’t know how long it would be before they would make land again. They tried valiantly to make Hero eat, but she could only spout fury and vitriol. As the sun sank they carried her into the little cabin and pushed the Phaeacian ship into the water. Machaon stood at the living prow and thought of Odysseus. The extraordinary craft leapt into the waves and set her course in quest of the Ithacan King.

  “This land belonged to the Cyclopes, a savage, uncivilised people ... who have neither laws nor customs, who are not ruled by assemblies or authority of any sort, but who live like beasts in hollow caverns in the mountainside.”

  The Odyssey Book IX

  BOOK X

  HERO’S MIND REMAINED COMPLETELY separate
d from reason until the following day. The sons of Agelaus took turns staying with her inside the confines of the cabin, for though she fought and abused them, they could not bring themselves to leave her bound and alone. By the time she began to recognise her brothers again, she was beset with fevers and terrible pain. They cared for her as well as they knew how; cooling her with moistened cloths and ensuring that she drank a little. She called out to them when her body clenched with the spasms that racked her small form, but they could do nothing but hold her until they passed.

  On the third day of her illness, her brothers began to panic. They were still in the open sea and Hero seemed no better.

  “We have to do something,” Cadmus said as he lay her down, exhausted by yet another bout of trembling pain. “I don’t think any of us can take much more of this.”

  Lycon nodded as he rubbed his face miserably. He had asked Hero to eat the fruit. His brothers would not even hear his apology, but it did not ease his regret.

  Machaon looked at Hero, horrified by the wretched state of Agelaus’ beloved daughter. “If we don’t make land by dawn,” he said, as he gently covered her with a blanket, “we will reset our course for Troy. We will take Hero home and find a healer.”

  As much as they knew what that would mean for their chances of vindicating the loyalty of the Herdsmen, Cadmus and Lycon did not protest. They would save their sister first.

  That night brought a thick fog which blanketed the sea. The way ahead was murky for the moon remained obscured by cloud. Still Cadmus climbed the mast to see what he could in the brief moments in which the moon pierced the heavy sky.

  It was not until Eos once again effused the clouds with rose and gold that he saw on the distant horizon what the night had hidden.

  “Ly, Mac — Land!”

  “How far?”

  “You should be able to see it from the deck before too long.”

  They soon saw the white beaches and violet ranges of a new country. The coastline was empty.

  “Where is the Ithacan fleet?” Lycon mused.

  Cadmus shouted down to them. “There is an island a distance from the mainland harbour. They are beached there.”

  And then, from his vantage above the ship, Cadmus heard a sound that made him shout with joy.

  “Cad, what?” demanded Machaon.

  Cadmus seemed to drop onto the deck. “I think I know where we are!”

  “Where?”

  “Father has told us of this place — a fertile land with an even more fertile island just south of its harbour. No houses or cities will be visible for its people do not inhabit buildings. Like the Herdsmen they are cave-dwellers, and like the Herdsmen they herald the dawn and each other with the cry of the wolf.” Cadmus recited the words of his father’s well-worn tale.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Lycon. “You think we have come to the land of the Cyclopes?”

  Cadmus nodded. “I heard the howls on the wind just now.”

  “They could have been real wolves.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Cadmus. “I know the difference! Don’t you see what this means, Mac?”

  Machaon nodded. The Cyclopes were not men, but they were a distant ancient kin to the Herdsmen nevertheless, members of a brotherhood of shepherds and herders. They could seek help from the Cyclopes.

  “Let’s take the ship to the mainland,” he said. “We will need to carry Hero to the mountains where they dwell.”

  “It will not be far,” Cadmus reassured him, as Hero again began to writhe and cry out to them. “The ranges are almost upon the beach.”

  And so they landed their Phaeacian craft on the wooded side of the harbour, which was divided by a long rocky spit, and secured it to a tree against the tide. They did not pause to drag it to higher ground or even consider that one of them remain with the craft, for they knew the Cyclopes were not a seafaring people. For this reason the island upon which the Ithacan fleet had landed, though bountiful and only a short sail away, was uninhabited. They wrapped Hero in blankets, and in turn they carried her. She had always been slight, but had become even thinner in the past days, and they bore her easily in their arms.

  They climbed quickly for they were young and strong and the rigours of mountains were familiar to them. They reached the heights well before noon and placed Hero under the shade of a high-branched oak tree.

  Machaon looked around. He could see disturbances in the rock and vegetation that told him where the caverns opened. They had already seen sheep and goats in the lush pastures of the slopes. But he was reluctant to approach the home of a cave dweller without invitation. They were fellow herders, but they were also strangers. He signalled his brothers and together they howled, and then they waited.

  The creatures emerged, one by one, from the trees and the hidden mountain caves. They were twice as tall as the sons of Agelaus. Their bones were heavy and their large bodies were muscled and hard. The males were bearded and the females nearly so. Their primitive faces were guarded and, at first, they kept their distance. They studied the newcomers with a single large eye in the middle of their broad foreheads. Their garments were simple, fashioned of both cloth and leather. Some of the men carried clubs and the staves of shepherds, but otherwise they were unarmed.

  Machaon and his brothers bowed low. “We greet you noble Cyclopes,” Machaon said. “We are Herdsmen of Ida. We seek your help.”

  The Cyclops who spoke had russet hair. Her eye was emerald green and looked upon them kindly.

  “What do they call you, stranger?” she asked.

  “I am Machaon. My brothers are Cadmus and Lycon. We are the sons of Agelaus the Herdsman.”

  “And the girl?” asked the Cyclops, looking at the shivering form beneath the oak.

  “Our sister, Hero,” said Machaon. “It is for her, we seek help. She ate the fruit of the lotus in a land south of here.” He faltered. “We don’t know how to help her.”

  The Cyclops nodded. “I am Lanaeda.” Her voice was surprisingly soft and gentle. “Bring the little one to my cavern,” she said. “I would take her myself, but I do not wish to frighten her. We know of the lotus fruit and its poison. Long ago it bloomed here.”

  Lanaeda led them to yawning cavern, the entrance to which was hidden behind a curtain of ivy. She directed them to place Hero on a bed of soft fleece and blankets.

  The cave was lit with torches and a great central fire. Its ceiling was painted with scenes of Cyclopean life — it was not so unlike the cave of Agelaus, just bigger. Lanaeda began immediately to pound leaves and roots into a paste on a large flat rock. “You must not worry,” she said soothingly as she worked. “The arts of healing are passed from mother to daughter among the Cyclopes. We will make the little one well.”

  “Thank you,” said Machaon simply.

  Lanaeda smiled, revealing several pointed teeth.

  “We are all herders,” she said. “Kin of sorts.”

  Lanaeda mixed the paste with some milk she drew from a ewe and, spoon by spoon, she fed it to Hero. After a time, peaceable Hypnos cradled the girl in dreamless rest, as her brothers watched anxiously over her.

  She had still not woken when Lanaeda’s husband Daemon returned from the pastures with their son. Like his wife, Daemon was huge and softly spoken. He welcomed the Herdsmen to his fire and gladly accepted the help of Cadmus and Lycon in milking his ewes. Machaon stayed with Hero, and answered the boy’s questions. His name was Bion and he was already taller than Machaon, but was otherwise as lively and full of curiosity as any young boy.

  “Do you have sheep in your land?” he asked fixing Machaon with an eye that was the same vibrant green as his mother’s.

  “Yes, although our herds are mostly cattle.”

  “And you have seen Troy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to see Troy one day.”

  Machaon smiled sadly. “It is too late to see Troy,” he said. “But the world has many great cities.”

  “I will be
a magnificent hero one day,” Bion enthused, mimicking swordplay with dramatic flourish. “A legendary warrior — I am not afraid of the Greeks!”

  “Hush your nonsense now,” said Lanaeda, taking a massive iron pot from the coals. It steamed with a sharply fragrant brew in which she soaked a cloth. She showed Machaon how to apply the compress to Hero’s face and neck. Her large hands were tender in their touch, and the girl only murmured in her sleep.

  “It will give her ease as we fight the poison,” she said.

  “Bion!” she turned to her giant son. “Tell your father that we will need meat. The others will want to meet our guests and we must be able to feed them.” She smiled apologetically at Machaon. “We get visitors and news of the world so infrequently. But I will not let them disturb the little one.”

  After a time, Cadmus and Lycon returned with Daemon, bearing large pails of milk. The Cyclops carried a joint of meat about the size of Hero, and hung it over the fire to roast. Lanaeda chattered happily as she scored the meat and rubbed it with herbs and wine. Upon the coals she placed large tuberous roots and flat rounds of dough that rose and browned quickly. Bion dragged in baskets of figs and enormous jars of sweet yellow wine. And so a feast was prepared.

  They moved Hero to a warm alcove in the rock where she could sleep undisturbed upon a soft fleece bed. Whenever she woke Lanaeda would feed her various broths. Perhaps it was the poison that assailed her senses, but Hero did not seem frightened by the alarming countenance of the Cyclops.

  As the sun returned to the western horizon, other Cyclopes came to the cave of Daemon and Lanaeda. They were a gentle people whose quiet voices belied their fearsome visage. They regarded the Herdsmen with interest and goodwill. Lanaeda plied all who entered her home with vast quantities of excellent fare, and when every belly had been filled she asked the newcomers for news of the world of men.

  “For some reason, we are not often visited by even the most courageous of your kind,” she said with an ironic smile. “We have had no news of the war, or the kingdoms of men, for some years now.”