Chasing Odysseus

by S. D. Gentill

  He motioned to Lycon. “I think she can look after herself,” he said in the barest of whispers.

  Circe reached into the falls of her shimmering gown and pulled from it a wand of silver.

  Lycon grabbed his brother’s arm as he realised what the woman held. They had come upon the home of a witch. The Herdsmen bolted for the window, but too late. The blinding burst of light caught them as it did Odysseus’ disoriented men.

  HERO STRETCHED carefully in the crook of a branch. She could not, from this distance, even see the stone mansion, but her hearing was sharp. The enchanting song of the woman had stopped some time before, and now there was nothing but the sound of the animals that prowled around the clearing. She had heard the increasingly agitated footfall of Eurylochus as he waited for his men outside the gates, and then seemed to strike out through the forest, presumably to return to Odysseus. She was worried. Why would Eurylochus leave without his companions? He obviously thought them gone too long. Her brothers had been in the stone house for a similar time. Had ill befallen them? And what of Machaon? Was he talking to Odysseus or being murdered by him? She prayed for what must have been the thousandth time, balancing precariously as she raised her hands in supplication. She went through the Pantheon in turn and then she called on all the lesser gods she could think of, and finally on Pan, god of the Herdsmen. And then she waited again.

  By the time the sun fell to the horizon and the shadows of the forest grew and merged, Hero was really frightened. In her panic, her promise to her brothers was forgotten and she was seized with an urgent need to find them. She climbed tentatively down the large oak and walked to the edge of the clearing. The lions were still prowling within, but in the dimness of the twilight she could not see them. She stepped towards the house thinking the beasts gone. It was not till she was at the gate, that they came close enough for her to see them, fawning and rolling like hounds at play. She backed towards the house in horror, and then looking with equal terror at the forbidding polished doors, she ran around the stone building, hoping to find sanctuary in the trees behind it.

  She stumbled into an area with tethered goats, and chickens in cages as well as many sties of pigs. Hero only paused a moment, torn as to which way to run, when a lion jumped down from the trees behind her and two wolves came bounding from the house.

  She choked on a stifled scream and turned to flee. Perhaps it was the frailty of her eyes or perhaps the blindness of her fear that caused her to run headlong into the tall slender woman who stood calmly amongst the beasts. Hero looked up at the strange, enchanting face, caught between dread and relief, paralysed with uncertainty. The woman smiled and gently anointed the girl’s trembling lips with a dark fragrant oil which she drew from a vial at her hip.

  Hero gasped as she glimpsed the wand. And then she too was caught in an explosion of light.

  “Hermes, the giant-killer plucked a herb from the ground and put it in my hands. The plant had a black root and its small flower was milky-white.”

  The Odyssey Book X

  BOOK XVI

  MACHAON DID NOT LINGER long after the departure of his brothers and sister. He pushed their vessel as high up the beach as he was able, to a place where it would be hidden by scrub. He changed from the warm tunic and cape woven by Lanaeda, into the elaborate, delicate garments that were given to him in the house of Aeolus. He preferred the simpler attire of the Cyclopes, but he knew that Odysseus was a man who valued appearances. Indeed he felt a little silly wandering through the forest in such finery, but he continued to the trees that edged the Greek camp.

  The party of men that had remained behind with Odysseus had apparently chosen to pass the time drinking to honour those lost at Laestrygonia. It was Machaon’s experience that an excess of wine often loosened the tongues of men, whilst it slowed their reflexes. Both would serve his purpose.

  Odysseus sat by the fire amidst his comrades, swigging wine from a goatskin. His movements were a little ungainly and he spoke more loudly than was usual or necessary. Machaon shook his head. The Greeks seemed to be unravelling.

  Machaon was just steeling himself to emerge before them, when Eurylochus stumbled into the camp. The man did not speak, but sobbed and threw himself brokenly upon the sand. Odysseus and the others bombarded him with increasingly desperate questions, but Eurylochus was hysterical. To Machaon, suddenly fearful for the fate of his family, it seemed a long time before the man was calm enough to speak.

  “Royal master,” Eurylochus addressed Odysseus with a voice that was weak and tremulous. “We followed your orders and investigated the source of the smoke you spied. It came from the chimneys of a well-built castle of stone that stood in a forest clearing. Working on a loom at the window was a woman — ”

  “A woman?” Odysseus chimed enthusiastically.

  “Probably a goddess,” Eurylochus confirmed. “The forest all around echoed with the strains of her wondrous voice. I feared a trap and remained outside the gates, but my men approached the house, and were invited inside. And then ... ” He choked and all who listened, including Machaon, braced themselves for an event of sheer horror.

  “Spit it out man!” Odysseus barked in a voice slurred by wine.

  “They disappeared, vanished,” finished Eurylochus sobbing again.

  Machaon exhaled, relieved. It sounded to him like Eurylochus had merely panicked. Regardless, the story was enough to push all his thoughts of confronting Odysseus to the background.

  The King of Ithaca had risen to his feet. He slung his bow over his shoulder and strapped his silver scabbard to his hip.

  “Come, Eurylochus,” he said. “You must take me back the way you came ... we shall find out what happened to our brave friends.”

  Eurylochus fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his king’s legs. “Leave me behind, don’t force me to come with you,” he wailed. “You go to your death, my king. We should flee now, whilst we still have our skins!”

  “Very well, Eurylochus,” responded Odysseus, patting the distraught man’s head heavily. “You stay here, but I must go. My duty is plain.” With that he swaggered quickly, but a little unsteadily, towards the woods leaving his emotionally broken crew lamenting behind him.

  Machaon followed quietly. Even if Odysseus’ senses had not been impaired by wine, he would not have noticed Machaon, for Agelaus’ son merged into the surroundings in the way of the Herdsmen. The King stumbled, meandered and muttered to himself. His progress was slow. In the end, frustrated by the faltering, drunken pace, Machaon left Odysseus behind in disgust.

  The Herdsman picked up the trail of the original Greek scouting party. He had not climbed the rock faces, as had Odysseus and Lycon, so he had to rely on tracking to be sure of his direction.

  He had stopped, kneeling at a point where the signs were particularly faint when the King of Ithaca caught up. For a moment they stared at each other and then Odysseus fell to his knees and bowed his head.

  “My Lord, Hermes,” he said. “How blessed it is to come upon you when I find myself wandering alone through the wilds of an unknown land, in search of my men.” Odysseus lowered his chest to the ground, his voice thick with emotion. “It gives me courage that the gods have yet not abandoned me.”

  Machaon was dumbfounded. He knew Odysseus was inebriated, but he had not suspected that he was mad.

  “A seer once told me that the giant-slayer Hermes would aid me when all seemed lost, and here you are. I recognised you immediately in your fine robes, forever strong and young,” he rambled. “What is that herb you have stopped to gather? It must be potent indeed, if it brings a god to kneel.”

  Machaon looked down and saw that there was in fact a small dark-leafed plant near the footprints he had paused to examine. The herb had a milky white flower. He reached over to pick it, and it pulled out from the soft soil with its black roots still intact. Odysseus cupped his hands and thrust them out, his face a mask of revenant rapture. Machaon gave him the herb in alarm.

  The
king thanked him, or rather Hermes, and pushed the plant in its entirety into his mouth, barely chewing before he swallowed it.

  “So, this godly flower will protect me from whatever evil awaits,” he said joyfully. “Thank you my Lord Hermes. I can go now with a fearless heart.”

  Machaon stood, debating whether he should confess the truth. Odysseus staggered to his feet. and stepped towards him, arms outstretched. The Herdsman stepped back uneasily.

  “Come my Lord,” slurred Odysseus. “Let us walk hand in hand, in loving companionship, a man and his beautiful god ... ”

  Now Machaon wanted to run. He fought the impulse, and was about to speak to Odysseus of Troy when he started towards a noise. It was a howl. The call of Cadmus.

  Without thought or hesitation, Machaon left the Ithacan king, and ran towards the sound. Behind him Odysseus pleaded for Hermes to take his case back to Olympus so that he would again have the favour of the gods.

  When he finally reached the clearing, Machaon saw what his brothers and the Greeks before him, had seen. The sun had set, and a full round moon cast the area in a cold silver light. He looked upon a magnificent house of stone surrounded by a gated wall, with several lions prowling the perimeter. A woman worked a loom by the upper window and sang beguilingly.

  Machaon unsheathed his sword and walked into the clearing, but the lions had no interest in accosting him with anything but affection. He did not go through the gate, but over the wall. He entered the house through a window. The mistress of the house was still in the upper rooms and there appeared to be no one else at all. There was no sign, whatsoever, of the Greeks.

  He had not been within the house for long, when there was a loud but garbled shout from outside the doors. Machaon recognised Odysseus’ voice. He waited. The woman he had glimpsed at the loom came down immediately and opened the doors. At close quarters she was no less alluring. Two large mountain wolves walked at her heels. Machaon waited, unseen and silent in the shadows, as she invited the Ithacan king into her home. Odysseus entered, looking cagily at the wolves who, unlike the creatures outside, did not fawn or gambol, but stood intimidatingly by her side. She made him comfortable upon a chair decorated lavishly with silver, and raised his feet upon a stool.

  “Excuse me, my Lord,” she said with a lilt that rang of song and seduction. “I must prepare some pottage for you to drink. I am not often honoured with guests.”

  She left the hall whilst Odysseus stretched out. Machaon followed her.

  The woman set about preparing a drink, mixing wine, water and mint into a large jar. She took a golden bowl from one of several on a shelf and filled it from the jar. Finally she removed a vial from within her robes and dropped a blood red liquid into the bowl. Then she stepped out into the courtyard to gather figs from the large tree that grew at its centre. The wolves followed her out, tugging playfully at her robes. She seemed quite fond of the creatures, laughing and stroking their ears.

  Machaon moved quickly. He removed the bowl she had prepared and replaced it with another from the shelf. Into it, he poured the drink she had mixed in the jar, unadulterated by the potion she had added to the bowl. And then he stepped back into the shadows and watched.

  The raven-haired woman returned with a basket of ripe figs, which she took, with the bowl of pottage, to the Ithacan King.

  Odysseus drank deeply and drained the bowl. His hostess smiled and revealed her long wand. She touched it to the Greek’s head and ordered him off to the pigsties to lie with his friends.

  Nothing happened.

  At first Odysseus looked at her with fear, and then, as he realised that her spell had not worked, he drew his sword and charged upon her. Machaon tensed ready to act. He would not let Odysseus harm the woman, even if she was a witch. The sorceress fell to her knees and wept as she faced the blade. The wolves snarled protectively beside her, but for some reason they did not yet bring down her attacker.

  “Who on earth are you?” she stammered. “What manner of man can take my poison and suffer no magic change? No man has ever before even smelled my pottage and been immune.”

  “I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, King of Ithaca and the Sacker of Cities,” the Greek declared. “You cannot enchant me witch, for Hermes himself, slayer of giants and god of the golden wand, has given me an herb that makes your black magic useless against me.”

  “I am Circe,” the woman wept. “The gods foretold that I would be defeated by a man who would come by ship on his way from Troy. I beg you noble king to put away your bronze sword and come with me to my bed. In love and sleep we may learn to trust one another.”

  Machaon’s brow rose — it was an interesting invitation, but a little surprising under the circumstances.

  “Circe,” said Odysseus suspiciously. “What evil would you do to me once you have me stripped? My friends have not returned from your house. Before I will share your bed, first swear a solemn oath by the blessed gods that you have no other mischief in store for me.”

  The sorceress made the oath and took Odysseus up the narrow stairs to her bed.

  Machaon was unsure as to what to do next. Whilst the mistress of the house and her guest were occupied, he made a further search of the premises. The back of the house faced a yard that housed all forms of livestock. There were goats and chickens as well as pigsties full of swine. Machaon looked at the penned creatures thoughtfully, remembering that Circe had ordered Odysseus to the sties in her attempt to enchant him. Could these swine be the missing Greeks? And what of his brothers? And where was Hero?

  “Well, well, it is a fine night for visitors.”

  Machaon stiffened and turned. Circe stood behind him, ethereal and breathtaking.

  “Where is Odysseus?” he asked

  “He sleeps,” she replied.

  “Must tire easily,” Machaon murmured.

  Circe raised her wand.

  Machaon forced a smile. “I, too, have taken the herb of Hermes,” he lied. “You cannot enchant me.”

  Circe’s enigmatic eyes widened fearfully. Machaon understood. Without her magic, he was a threat too. As an ordinary woman she was at the mercy of men.

  “I wish you no harm, sorceress,” he said. “I have come only for my brothers and my sister, and to ensure you do not harm the Greeks.”

  “What do you care for the Greeks?” she asked.

  “I require Odysseus to set some things right,” he answered. “He is of no use to me dead, or imprisoned in the body of a pig.”

  “And were your brothers among the Greeks?” she asked, obviously intrigued.

  “I do not think so,” Machaon replied. “They came to defend those who lived here from the men of Odysseus — the Greeks can be ... impolite.”

  Circe smiled slowly, perceptibly moved by the notion that there had been protectors in her house, however little she needed them.

  “Would you recognise your brothers?” she asked sharply.

  “I have recognised them already,” said Machaon. “They are the mountain wolves who guard you still.” One of the wolves howled delightedly at these words.

  “Cad, shut up,” Machaon cautioned the beast. “You’ll wake Odysseus.”

  Circe pulled a vial from her flowing robes and bent to her wolves. She looked into the eyes of each affectionately. “Thank you, my friends,” she said. “I will miss you.” She dabbed the muzzle of each with the salve in the vial, and struck them both with her wand. The light dazzled Machaon for a moment and when he could refocus, Cadmus and Lycon stood before him. He greeted his brothers with relief and delight, whilst the sorceress watched with interest.

  “Our sister,” Machaon said suddenly. “Is she here? She is fairer than we, and small.”

  “She is here,” said Circe. “But she remains in the clearing, not within the house. If you can find her I will restore her, for I am not displeased with you.” She gazed intensely at the sons of Agelaus, her eyes lingering in a way that seemed to almost stroke them.

  The Herdsmen went immediate
ly into the clearing to look for Hero. The lions and other cats of prey emerged, fawning and rubbing themselves against the young men. There were no wolves.

  “Look!” Lycon pointed towards a small black mountain lion. It hung back from the others, hissing and cowering. It did not seem to see them.

  Cadmus walked quietly up and caught the frightened creature in his arms. It trembled, but did not resist. He looked into its large amber eyes. “It’s Hero,” he said.

  Circe once again produced her restorative salve and smeared it upon the lion’s nose. The creature tried to escape when she raised her wand, but Cadmus held it tightly. It dug its claws into him, terrified by the burst of golden light, but when the light was gone it was Hero who clung to her brother.

  “Thank you,” said Machaon simply.

  Circe inclined her head in return.

  “As much as the Sacker of Cities has his charms,” she said as she caressed the cheek of each Herdsman in turn, “Perhaps I would find more pleasure in younger men.”

  Hero looked at her brothers in alarm, for she knew that goddesses did not take rejection well. Machaon looked amused by the suggestion, Cadmus utterly pleased and Lycon somewhat distressed.

  “The favour of Circe would be a magnificent thing,” Machaon said carefully, “But we are unworthy. Odysseus is a king, as befits the arms of a goddess. We are but Herdsmen, simple shepherds. We dare not offend you, or the gods, with such thoughts.”

  Circe looked deep into his eyes as she traced the contours of his shoulders with her finger. “I shall not make the offer then,” she said with a smile. “Not today, in any case, for it would not do to offend the gods.”

  “And what of Odysseus?” Machaon asked. “We will require him.”

  Circe ran her hands over his chest. “I will tire of the king in three days,” she crooned. “But I will send him away happy and feeling as though he had been in my arms for months. I will give him the means by which to find his way home and I will tell you this because, in your innocence, you sought to protect me.” She locked her eyes with Machaon’s, her body molding to his. “I do not require protection.”