Chasing Odysseus
Page 17
“Odysseus,” Achilles spat. “Spare me your praise of death! I would rather be the lowest servant of a landless man than king of all these men who have done with life!”
At these words, this condemnation of the afterworld, Hero wept. It was in Hades that her beloved father resided. Her brothers did not chide her into silence, for they knew why she grieved, and her tears were in any case lost among the lamentations and groans of spirits around them.
Wraith after wraith stopped to partake of the blood and speak in their turn to the man who held this macabre court. And then the king stared, white and drained, into the pit as if he looked directly through it into the depths of Hades itself. He stepped, almost fell, back as if he had to break away from the hold of what he saw.
“Doom,” he cried hoarsely. “I have seen the doom, the agony and the grey which awaits the souls of men.”
Odysseus turned to his crew who by now huddled together moaning louder than the dead themselves. Spirits came up in their tens of thousands attracted by the offering of blood, and raising their pitiful cry.
“Back!” screamed the panicked Ithacan King. He turned to his men. “Let us be off to claim what life we have before we too are condemned to this dreary realm.”
The Greeks needed no further encouragement and they showed their heels to the wretched citizens of Hades as they made for their ship.
Hero could not move. Hades had always been foreboding, but she had clung to the hope that there would be some comfort in the afterworld for her father. That he was committed to so frightening an end grieved her completely. Her brothers were grim-faced, unsure of what to say.
“Come, Hero,” said Cadmus finally. “We should go.”
Hero shook her head. “I will make a sacrifice for our father,” she said, clutching her bag of offerings.
They did not try to dissuade her. Machaon held her hand as they walked towards the pit, now drained of blood by the multitude of souls who had come to drink Odysseus’ offering.
They built a small pyre beside the trench. Upon it Hero placed her slightly crushed flowers, and the figs and pomegranates she had gathered on Circe’s island. Machaon lit the branches and she raised her hands in prayer. Her brothers did not pray, but they thought of Agelaus, whom they too had loved.
Cadmus pulled Hero back gently as the flames of her pyre seemed to surge and then the spirits returned. Though the apparitions were similar in their insubstantial and colourless form, they did not moan and shriek like the ones Odysseus had summoned, but chattered in the way of men. And then, there was Agelaus, standing before them, smiling as he had in life.
“My children,” he said with quiet feeling. “My noble sons, my glorious daughter.
Hero rushed to embrace him, but there was nothing to touch and she could not hold the old herder’s spirit.
“I am gone Hero,” he said gently. “You cannot hold onto me.”
Machaon took her hand.
Agelaus looked at him. “Machaon, my son,” he said. “It fills my heart to see you ... When I saw you last ... I had feared that Scamandrios would send us to Hades together.” His eyes lingered on each of his children in turn. “You honour me with your deeds among the living.”
Then Agelaus turned back to Hero, who cried bitterly that her wise and gentle father should be trapped in so sad a place.
“Why do you weep my beautiful Hero?”
“Father,” she sobbed. “I cannot bear the thought of you miserable in Hades.”
Agelaus looked surprised. “I am not miserable, Hero. My only sadness is that I do not see you or your brothers, but not seeing you in the afterworld is also a comfort ... It is not yet your time.”
“But Achilles said ... ,” stammered Hero.
Agelaus smiled. “And when did you see Achilles?” he asked.
“Odysseus summoned him, Father,” said Lycon. “We heard him bemoan his lot among the dead ... and the other spirits also seemed unhappy.”
“Did Odysseus invite the dead with an offering of blood?” asked Agelaus, still smiling.
“Yes.”
“And my Hero has sacrificed flowers and fruit as she always did on Ida?”
Lycon nodded.
“Blood is the sacrifice of war,” Agelaus said. “It summons the spirits of warriors ... like Achilles and Agamemnon. They tend to be unhappy in Hades.”
“But why?” asked Cadmus.
“Men who have lived by the sword find Hades a bit tiresome,” Agelaus explained. “There is not much point in killing a dead man. They find it difficult to occupy themselves.”
Another spirit joined Agelaus. He was familiar, but his presence shocked them.
“They try to hold games from time to time,” the ghostly newcomer observed dryly. “But no one cares which dead man can jump the farthest!”
“Brontor!” said Cadmus, happy to see his old friend, but grieved to meet him in Hades. “Are you dead?”
“I would hope so,” the spirit of Brontor replied. “Or else I am very lost.”
“How did you come to be here, Brontor?” Machaon asked sadly.
“I fell into the hands of Scamandrios,” the ghost replied.
“Who guides the Herdsmen?” asked Lycon. So many of their elders had been killed in the aftermath of the war.
“There are still men to lead the Herdsmen,” Brontor said, “My sons among them. You must take them news of me when you see them next.”
Another spirit emerged from the throng behind their father. He was as handsome and as full of laughter as he had been in life, and he was eating one of the pomegranates that they had sacrificed.
“My brothers,” he said. “And little Hero! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Paris!” said Machaon, wanting to embrace his brother, knowing it was no longer possible.
“You are looking well,” said Paris, “And alive! I have more than enough of my family here to keep me company ... I do not want the four of you to come before your time.”
“Are you happy Father?” asked Hero.
Agelaus smiled at his beloved daughter. “For those whose glory in life did not rest on their ability to mete out death, there is as much joy in the afterworld as there was on earth. Killing the dead is a futile occupation, as is sacking those who no longer have possessions. Men whose only purpose and joy was to kill and conquer are lost in this peaceful realm. The Herdsmen have never been thus. In Hades we have those of our people who have gone before, and those that come after. We know that eventually everyone we have loved will join us here. And we still have herds to tend, for the Greeks sacrifice bulls regularly.”
“As long as Brontor has something to ride,” said Cadmus grinning at the Herdsman’s spirit.
Brontor shook his head. “Agelaus, you have raised idiots,” he said, though he too smiled.
Agelaus laughed. “The gods have blessed me many times,” he said. “My sons are all Herdsmen and the most noble of men ... and my daughter ... what a daughter! The gods themselves must envy me my Hero.”
Even in death Agelaus was able to make Hero blush with his praise.
“So how did you come to know of the back entrance to Hades?” Paris asked as he munched happily on Hero’s figs.
“We followed Odysseus,” replied Machaon. “Circe told him how to get here.”
“So, you have known Circe, have you?” Paris winked at his brothers. “I’m proud of you.”
Machaon smiled. His elder brother may have been a Herdsman, but there was a lot of Trojan in Paris too.
“She preferred Odysseus,” Machaon said.
“Come on Mac, I wouldn’t say preferred ... ,” objected Cadmus.
And so they sat talking with their kinsmen and brethren as if they had been sitting around their own fire in Agelaus’ cave, rather than at the gates of the afterworld. Paris advised his brothers on the ways of women, though Cadmus was adamant that he had nothing to learn. Agelaus told Hero of the gods he had met in the realm of the dead and Lycon carved words into the
bark of a willow.
“What could you possibly write at Gates of Hades?” Cadmus asked.
“Keep your spirits up.” Lycon sheathed the dagger he’d used to chisel the trunk.
Cadmus shook his head. “Idiot.”
In time the pyre burnt down to a few glowing embers and the souls who had been summoned by Hero’s sacrifice were called back to the Halls of Hades. They said goodbye sadly, but they did not grieve.
“Be careful,” Agelaus said to his living sons. “The sadness of death lies in the fact that it cannot be reversed. Cherish the world of the living whilst you have it, for you cannot visit there again.” The old man’s ghost leant towards them over the dimming pyre. “And look after my Hero,” he whispered as he faded.
The shade of Paris winked at his brothers and ruffled Hero’s hair with a hand she could not feel. Brontor smiled and nodded, and then they too returned to the kingdom of the dead, which, to Hero and her brothers, now seemed less dark. In the silence that followed they heard the howl of Herdsmen who had passed, from the distant fields of Hades’ realm.
“What resilience ... ” said Circe as we gathered about her, “To descend into the realm of Hades as living men. Most men are content with one death but you will each have two!”
The Odyssey Book XII
BOOK XVIII
RADIANT EOS DANCED WITH crimson slippers upon the lawns of Aeaea, when the Phaeacian ship sighted Circe’s island once again. From atop the mast Machaon saw that the blue-prowed craft of Odysseus had made land, and its crew slept in its shadow on the shore.
The Herdsmen guided their vessel to the sheltered spot that had hidden them before. They secured the ship by a rope to the trunk of a tree that overhung the water, rather than drag it onto the sand.
For the rest of the day they watched as the Greeks retrieved the decomposing corpse of the man whose spirit had shamed Odysseus in the afterworld. They gave poor Elpenor a solemn funeral on the summit of the boldest headland, burning his body with his weapons and armour. The crewmates who had so neglected him when first he died, built him a barrow, and planted the oar he pulled in life on the mound as a monument.
As they finished, Circe emerged upon the beach with a train of servants, bearing bread and meat and sparkling, ruddy wine.
“Perhaps we should try to speak with Odysseus now, whilst he is in a good spirits,” Machaon pondered aloud.
“Circe said we would not get what we want from Odysseus until our ship saw home,” Lycon reminded him.
“Maybe she meant home from Hades as opposed to home to Troy,” Cadmus suggested hopefully.
“I think we’ll have to at least try,” said Machaon.
Cadmus stood and strapped on his sword.
“Odysseus has seen Ly, and he thinks you’re Hermes, remember,” he said as Machaon started to protest. “It’s got to be me.”
“I doubt Odysseus will recognise me now that he’s sobered up,” Machaon replied.
“Why take the risk?” Cadmus asked.
“Okay,” Machaon agreed reluctantly, “but I’m coming with you in case things go wrong. I’ll stay out of sight.”
“I’ll try and get him alone,” suggested Cadmus. “Perhaps we should wait until nightfall when most of the Greeks are asleep ... it will make it easier for you to remain unseen, Mac.”
Machaon nodded. It would also make it easier to lose the Greek warriors if they needed to run. The Herdsmen were used to moving about at night.
And so they waited until the sun god had returned to his palace in the west. The night was clear and the moon near full. Machaon spoke to Lycon before they left.
“The Greeks are not far on the lowest part of the island,” he said. He pointed to the rise behind where the Phaeacian ship was moored. “You’ll be able see us from there. Keep Hero on the boat. If something goes wrong, we may need to get away fast, so be ready to go.”
“What could go wrong?” laughed Cadmus. “Odysseus thought you were a god ... he’s going to be really impressed with me ... ”
Machaon snorted scornfully and followed his younger brother into the trees.
They made their way to the Greek camp. Odysseus and his men slept comfortably on the sand beside their fires. They had eaten well of the fare that Circe had brought them and now felt so secure on the island that they slumbered without guards posted.
Machaon stayed in the shadows whilst his brother stepped quietly towards Odysseus, who slept a little away from his crew upon the soft cushions and blankets that the sorceress had given him. Cadmus waved towards the rise, from which they knew Lycon was watching, and then he knelt by the sleeping king.
“Odysseus,” he said quietly. “Odysseus, son of Laertes, wise King of Ithaca, wake now so I may speak with you.”
Odysseus opened his eyes, groggily at first, and then, realising there was a stranger before him, he sat up warily.
“Who are you?”
“I am Cadmus, son of Agelaus the Herdsman of Ida.”
Odysseus’ hand reached slowly for the sword that lay in its silver scabbard a short distance away. Cadmus unsheathed his own blade and embedded it in the sand between the king’s hand and the weapon for which he reached.
“I have not come to do you any harm, Odysseus,” he said.
“The Herdsmen are no friends of the Greeks,” growled the king.
“Nor have we ever been, though once you thought you had outwitted my father,” Cadmus said. “Why is it then, King of Ithaca, that you tell the world we betrayed Troy?”
Odysseus smiled. “Because the Herdsmen let us into Troy.”
Cadmus fought to control his temper. “That is a lie!” he said.
“That is not what I say,” Odysseus replied smugly. “Tell me, does Agelaus enjoy his life as a traitor? Does he reflect on how he got the better of Odysseus as he hides reviled in the mountains?”
Cadmus stared at Odysseus in shock. The condemnation of his people was just an act of petty vengeance. Odysseus took advantage and moved quickly, grabbing Cadmus’ sword from the sand. Cadmus backed away as his blade was turned against him. Odysseus raised a shout, and his men arose, weapons in hand. Machaon emerged from the shadows to help his brother.
“Cad, run!” he shouted, his own blade ready, but they were surrounded.
The Greeks took Cadmus first, for he was unarmed. He fought back regardless, and they subdued him brutally. Machaon went to his brother’s aid, but the men of Odysseus had Cadmus, so it was easy to convince Machaon to relinquish his sword.
Odysseus stood over them.
“Shall we kill them?” Eurylochus asked his king.
Odysseus stared at Machaon, trying to place him. He could not. “No,” he said. “They look strong, and we are many thousands of strokes from home. Shackle them to the hawsers, and they shall spell each man for a time. We set sail at dawn.”
LYCON DESCENDED from the rise at such speed that he appeared to leap to the ground from atop the rocky hillock. He jumped onto the deck of the Phaeacian ship.
“What did you see?” asked Hero, already panicked by his manner.
“The Greeks have got them both.”
Hero gasped.
“Are they ... ?” she clutched his arm in terror.
“They’re still alive,” he said. “The Greeks seem to be taking them onto their ship for some reason.” He looked at his sister, he was obviously torn. “Look Hero ... ”
“Go,” she said without hesitation. She knew he did not want to leave her alone, but neither did he want to abandon their brothers. It would be more dangerous for all concerned if she went with him. “They do not know that I am here — I will be fine.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Hero, listen to me,” he said grimly. “If something goes wrong, you will hear my howl. Cut the rope that secures the boat. Stand at the prow and direct the vessel to find the land of Lanaeda and the Cyclopes. You will be safe there, and we will know where to find you. Do not be frightened.”
“But ... ”
She nodded and did not protest any further.
He smiled as he embraced her. “I’ll be back soon with Mac and Cad.”
He followed the path his brothers had taken through the trees, at a run. When he reached the beach, Odysseus and his men were preparing a meal so that they could set sail at first light with full stomachs. His brothers were in irons on the rowing benches. Lycon slipped easily past the Greeks, who were apparently not expecting any further threat, and he climbed quickly onto the blue-prowed ship. Cadmus and Machaon, were testing the strength of the irons. Cadmus was bruised and bleeding, Machaon a little less so. They started when they saw their brother.
“Ly!”
“What in Hades are you doing here?” Cadmus demanded.
“I came to get you.” Lycon unsheathed his sword.
“You left Hero alone?” Cadmus said. “Are you crazy?”
“She’s on the ship,” Lycon replied. “We don’t leave her alone, you idiot!”
“Shut up, Cad,” said Machaon. He put a hand reassuringly on Lycon’s shoulder. “It’s done now. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Are you ready?” Lycon asked. A few blows of his sword would break the chains, but the noise would alert the Greeks. They would have to run the moment they were free.
“Ready,” said Machaon. Cadmus still glared at his younger brother, but he nodded.
It took two blows of the blade to free Machaon, who then took the sword from Lycon and cut through Cadmus’ chains in a single swing. By then the Greeks were already surging towards the ship.
The Herdsmen vaulted onto the sand and ran. The Greeks reacted immediately, fanning out across the beach. The sons of Agelaus bolted, hampered by the remains of the irons, urged by desperation, but the men of Odysseus were upon them quickly. One by one they were caught, and there was no one to return to Hero.
Odysseus was livid when they were again dragged before him. He recognised Lycon, though it appeared that Eurylochus had been too affected by the lotus fruit to remember that he had caught and secured the youth to the tree.