Odysseus II

by Odysseus II- The Journey Through Hell (retail) (epub)

  Odysseus II

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Copyright

  Odysseus II: The Journey Through Hell

  Tony Robinson and Richard Curtis

  Prologue

  Prologue

  For ten long and terrible years the City of Troy lay under siege – the Trojans trapped inside, the Greeks camped outside unable to break in. People thought the war would never end. Then Odysseus, the Greatest Hero of all the Greeks, had an idea.

  The Greeks sailed away, and left a giant horse outside the city gates as an ofiering to the Gods for their safe return to Greece. The Trojans couldn’t believe their eyes. They dragged it into the city and threw a huge party. But it was the last time they would ever celebrate, because the whole thing was a trick. The Greek fleet had been hiding in the next bay; and the horse wasn’t a gift – it was a trap. Fifty commandos were hidden inside it, and when night fell they crept out, opened the gates and gave a signal. The boats returned and the entire Greek army poured into the city ready for slaughter. By dawn Troy was burnt to the ground and its people were dead. It was a terrible end to a terrible war which, like all wars, had brought only suffering and more suffering.

  Next day, as the Greeks sailed off, loaded with looted treasure, something stirred among the ashes of the blackened city. It was the White Goddess. She wasn’t going to let the destruction of Troy go unrevenged, and she had something special planned for Odysseus – something very special indeed. As his boats sailed towards the horizon, their course set fair for home, he thought his troubles were behind him.

  But they had hardly started. The journey home wasn’t going to be easy. In fact – it was going to be A JOURNEY THROUGH HELL.

  Chapter One

  1 – The Fat Batsman

  Five Greeks, wearing nothing but shiny brass helmets, leapt off a big black rock and splashed into the waves. Further along the beach there was a game of cricket in progress, with three swords stuck in the sand for stumps; while out at sea some of the braver men were windsurfing on their shields. The whole bay was jam-packed full of Greek sailors on holiday, and they were all blissfully happy. All, that is, except Odysseus.

  What was the matter with him? He wasn’t sure himself. After all, the war was won, his ten ships were brim-full of Trojan treasure, and now there was even time for a few days rest and recreation on this beautiful tropical paradise before he set sail for home – home to the island of Ithaca, home to his wife and son. He ought to be feeling really pleased with himself. But there was something nagging at the back of his mind.

  He stopped for a moment and smiled absent-mindedly at a sailor who was making sand pies in his helmet. Beyond was the jungle – huge, red and purple trees full of cockatoos, and insects the size of kingfishers.

  And then he remembered his worry. He’d sent two scouts out at dawn to discover what food there was on the other side of the island. Where were they? They should have been back hours ago.

  He frowned, drew his sword and began hacking a path into the jungle, Within minutes he’d found them. They were slumped under an enormous , crimson tree, surrounded by piles of pink squashy fruit shaped like flabby rugby balls. Their bodies and hands were stained with juice and there were gobbets of fruit flesh all over their faces.

  “You idiots,” he sighed. “You’ve been eating that stuff again, haven’t you? How many times do I have to tell you? DON’T MESS WITH LOTUS FRUIT – LOTUS FRUIT SCREWS YOU UP.”

  Four bloodshot eyes stared back at him. “Who are you, man?” mumbled one of the scouts vacantly.

  “I’m your captain, idiot. Get back to your ship.”

  The scouts grinned – big dopey grins that meant nothing; but they didn’t try to move.

  “Are you coming?” asked Odysseus with a voice like thunder.

  “Er, um, what did you say? … I was thinking about something else.”

  With a roar of frustration. Odysseus grabbed them by the ankles and dragged them back through the jungle.

  Their heads bumped from side to side, bouncing against roots and tree stumps and boulders, but they never stopped grinning. Odysseus burst out of the trees and back on to the beach, and found himself face to face with more trouble.

  The cricketers had started squabbling. An enormously fat batsman had been given l.b.w. but had refused to be out, and the fielders were throwing sand at him and calling him rude names.

  “Stop that immediately,” roared Odysseus, but the cricketers took no notice. He dropped the lotus-eaters and began to stride across the cricket pitch when …

  “Odysheus! … Odysheus, shir!” Someone was calling his name in a very slurred voice. Staggering across the beach towards him was a scruffy, skinny, unshaven Greek sailor with a weaselly face. It was Thersites, and he smelt like a brewery. Today, life was nothing but trouble.

  “You,” said Odysseus, “are drunk.”

  “Me, shir. No, shir. Impossible, shir. There’sh no booze on the island, shir.”

  “But there is on board ship, isn’t there Thersites? The sacred wine that you stole from the Trojan temple. Wine so strong that one swig ofit and you’re plastered for a fortnight. You’ve been knocking it back in secret, haven’t you?”

  “No shir. Absolutely not shir, just one itsy-witsy teeny-weeny drop, shir. I’m extremely sor…” but he never finished the sentence. His face turned green, his eyes crossed and he collapsed flat on his face.

  Odysseus lifted up the drunk sailor’s shirt. Tucked in the top of his trousers was a bulging goatskin full of wine. He strapped it to his own belt, picked up Thersites and threw him in the sea to sober up.

  By now the cricket match had turned into a full-scale riot. The players had pulled out the stumps and were squaring up to each other, the surfers were racing across the sand tojoin in, and the lotus-eaters were wandering about amidst the mayhem giving out lotus fruit.

  Odysseus stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a long piercing whistle. The whole beach fell silent.

  “That’s enough,” barked Odysseus. “Discipline has completely fallen apart. Get back to your ships. We’re sailing for Ithaca straight away.”

  There was a low mumble of sulky discontent. Then Eurylochus, the first mate, stepped forward. He was a tall, gangly man with round glasses and a high-pitched voice. “We can’t,” he whined. “There’s not enough food on board, and the only thing the crew have eaten for days is cockatoo and lotus fruit.”

  “In that case,” replied Odysseus, “I’ll take a rowing-boat and go and search for food. I’ll be gone for forty-eight hours. In the meantime you’re all confined to your ships.” He took Thersites and the Fat Batsman and the ten worst troublemakers, and they rowed towards a tiny green dot on the horizon.

  As they approached, Odysseus leant on his oars and gazed ahead of him. It looked pleasant enough. But then … looks can be deceptive, can’t they?

  Soon they could see that the island was covered in fluffy orange bushes. Then a bush moved and began skipping up the hillside. It wasn’t a bush at all – it was a sheep. The whole island was covered in bright orange sheep!

  “Meat!” cried the Fat Batsman and leapt off the boat waving his sword. Immediately the sheep began racing in all directions, desperate to avoid the sword-wielding maniac. Then a particularly tasty-looking ewe veered to one side, the Batsman followed and suddenly they both vanished – Fat Ewe and Fat Batsman nowhere to be seen.

  Warily the rest of the Greeks c
rept forward when …

  “Ooooooh!” There was a low, satisfied moan from somewhere deep in the hillside. They raced onwards and found themselves staring into a cave the size of a cathedral. It was dark and gloomy, lit only by a few greasy torches twenty metres up; and standing in the middle of it with his mouth wide open and eyes like saucers, was the Fat Batsman pointing at a beautiful sight.

  Stacked against the back wall of the cave were mounds of meat: legs of lamb, breast of lamb, neck of lamb, shoulders of lamb – enough lamb to feed the entire Greek Army.

  “Oooooh Oooooh Oooooh!” went the Fat Batsman again. “Sunday roast. I haven’t had a Sunday roast for ten years.”

  Thirteen mouths began to water and thirteen stomachs made silly little noises.

  “Find some firewood,” ordered Odysseus, “and start cooking.”

  Immediately, his men scuttled off into the shadows and came back with some massive, strange-shaped pieces of wood which they threw on to a bonfire.

  “Look at this bit,” said Thersites. “It looks like an enormous pipe-rack, sir.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Odysseus. “It would need pipes the size of rowing-boats.”

  “Look at this,” shouted someone else, dragging in a hollow tree trunk with a wooden bowl on the end. “It’s a pipe the size of a rowing-boat.”

  “That’s not a pipe,” scoffed Odysseus. “You’d need a mouth the size of an elephant to smoke that.”

  “Surprise! Surprise!” called the Fat Batsman, and staggered out of the darkness carrying a gigantic set of wooden false teeth.

  “I think we’d better get out of here,” murmured Odysseus…

  But it was too late.

  At that very moment, a shadow fell across the entrance and a voice boomed “In you go, my pretty ones.”

  A hundred bright orange sheep flooded into the cave and when the last was in, a creature the size of a lighthouse moved into the doorway. It was impossible to see what it was, because it was so vast it blocked out the light – but it smelt disgusting. Then it leant forward, wrapped two hairy hands around a massive boulder and slid it across the cave’s entrance. The crew was trapped.

  Slowly the thing turned round. It was shaped like a human, but like no human the world had ever seen. It was completely toothless, it had a knobbly nose with long hairs dangling from the nostrils, and in the centre of its forehead was one big, bloodshot eye – it was a Cyclops.

  The Greeks fell to the floor in a gibbering, quivering heap; all except Odysseus. Even though his men were shrieking with terror, he stood his ground. He ignored the monster’s hideously misshapen face, its stinking breath and its solitary sleep-encrusted eye. Hejust stared straight up at it, held out his hand and said, “Good evening. I hope you don’t mind us dropping in unannounced.”

  “Not at all my little friends,” replied the Cyclops with a shifty smile. “Where’s your ship?”

  “We rowed here from …” began Thersites, but stopped when Odysseus stood on his foot.

  “We’re shipwrecked,” interrupted Odysseus. “Would you care to join us for a bite?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” answered the Cyclops, and with one hand he shoved the wooden dentures in his mouth, while with the other he picked up the Fat Batsman, bit his head off and swallowed him.

  Now their terror was total. They were trapped in the home of a giant cannibal, with no means of escape.

  Thersites, white-faced and panicking, drew his sword. “No one eats a friend of mine and gets away with it,” he cried, and rushed at the creature. But he didn’t get far. Odysseus tripped him over, then dropped to the ground and hissed in his ear, “Are you crazy? If we kill that thing we’ll be stuck here for ever. We’ll never shift that boulder on our own. No, we’ll wait patiently till morning and escape when he takes his sheep out.”

  So wait they did, while the Cyclops picked the sheep up one at a time, milked them, burped, yawned, then slumped down on the floor and fell fast asleep.

  Next morning the monster opened his eye, stuffed two more of the crew in his mouth for breakfast, heaved the stone back and let the hundred orange sheep waddle out of the cave.

  “Now!” whispered Odysseus, and the men sprinted towards the entrance.

  Slowly, the Cyclops turned, chuckled and Phoooooooow! He blew the Greeks back into the cave.

  SLAM! BANG! FLAM! They smacked into the mounds of meat and crashed to the floor.

  “Don’t run away,” drooled the Cyclops. “I like Greek food.” Then he left the cave laughing and rolled the massive stone back across the entrance.

  “What are we going to do?” blubbered the sailors, rushing up to Odysseus and clutching him round the feet.

  “Quiet,” ordered their captain shaking them off. “Let me think.” And he threw his cloak over his head and thought.

  An hour went by, two hours. The crew sat silently in a circle waiting for the solution. Three hours, three and a half, then …

  “I’ve got it!” said Odysseus snapping his fingers. “Fetch me the giant’s walking-stick.”

  In a dark corner was a gnarled oak tree which the Cyclops used for a coat stand, and hanging from the highest branch was a walking-stick as long as a flag pole. The crew made a human pyramid, Thersites scrambled to the top and heaved at the stick.

  He wobbled, the pyramid tottered then crashed to the ground, and ZOOM! The stick went skidding across the floor and landed at Odysseus’ feet.

  “Now sharpen it to a point with your swords, then hide it. We’re going to get this guy.”

  That evening the boulder rolled away from the entrance, the Cyclops and the orange sheep poured into the cave and CRUNCH! The boulder was rolled back again.

  “What’s for tea?” demanded the Cyclops, and playfully ran his hand over the shaking pile of sailors.

  “I fancy a nice kebab.”

  “Would you like a drink first?” asked Odysseus politely and produced Thersites’ goatskin.

  The giant snatched it.

  “What’s your name?” he asked gruffly.

  “No Hwan,” replied Odysseus.

  “No Hwan?”

  “Yes,” said Odysseus innocently. “My father was Chinese.”

  “Well, thank you, No Hwan,” said the Cyclops and swallowed the wine in one gulp. “As a reward, I’ll eat you last of…”

  But he never finished the sentence. His face turned green, his eye crossed and he collapsed flat on his face. The sacred wine had worked a treat.

  “Quick!” barked Odysseus. “Where’s the stick?”

  They dug deep into a pile of sheep’s droppings, pulled out their giant weapon and plunged it into the fire.

  Then, when its tip was red-hot, they tiptoed over to the Cyclops with the stick under their arms and HISSSSS! They jammed it deep into his one huge eye.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!!!” screamed the Cyclops. It was a scream that would have woken up the dead, and it certainly woke up all the other Cyclops on the island, who put on their dressing-gowns and rushed over to the cave to see what was wrong.

  “You OK?” they bellowed.

  “I’ve been blinded!” came the answer.

  “Who by?“

  “No Hwan!”

  “No one?” they replied. “Then what are you making such a fuss about?”

  “Because No Hwan is here with me now!”

  “Well that’s all right then, isn’t it?” shouted the other Cyclops. “You like being on your own. Stop making such a fuss. We want to get back to sleep,” and they stomped off back to their caves.

  For the rest of the night the sightless Cyclops blundered round the cave searching for the Greeks. But they hid behind table legs, in the Cyclops’ boots, under his old socks, and he couldn’t find them anywhere.

  Finally, towards morning, the sheep started bleating. They were hungry, they hadn’t been milked and they wanted fresh air.

  At first the Cyclops ignored their plaintive cries but they grew more and more insistent. Finally the gia
nt heaved the boulder to one side and squatted by the entrance. Then, as the sheep pushed past, he felt their backs to make sure the Greeks weren’t trying to hitch a ride to freedom.

  Odysseus watched smiling as one by one his men slipped past, hanging on to the underside of the sheep’s bellies.

  Finally, he was the only captive left. He grabbed hold of the last sheep, a rather nice-looking ewe with an orange fringe and long curly eyelashes, and clung on to her stomach as she waddled to the entrance. As she went past, the Cyclops bent down to rub her neck and the ewe gently licked the tip of his nose.

  “You love your old master, don’t you?” said the Cyclops.

  ‘Ye-e-es, I ce-ertainly doooo,” bleated Odysseus as the ewe waddled off down the hillside.

  Soon he was back with his men. Then they threw the sheep over their shoulders, raced to the boat and began to row.

  Back at the cave the Cyclops looked puzzled.

  “Wait a minute,” he thought. “Sheep can’t speak. I’ve been tricked,” and he groped his way angrily to the water’s edge.

  “Cyclops!” called Odysseus from the safety of his boat. “If you want to know who No Hwan really is, he’s Odysseus, King of Ithaca, grandson of Autolycus the Sheep-Stealer. Thanks for the sheep.”

  In blind fury, the Cyclops tore a huge rock from the sand and hurled it towards the taunting voice of Odysseus. But it was no use. The rock fell short and made a huge wave which picked up the tiny rowing-boat and pushed it far away from the Cyclops – back across the sea to the waiting ships.

  That night the Greeks had a barbecue to celebrate – roast lamb cooked on an open fire. But Eurylochus, the first mate, just turned up his nose and pushed his plate away.

  “You could have brought back some mint sauce,” he said.

  Meanwhile the Cyclops stood at the water’s edge in the moonlight bellowing “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”

  Slowly, the whole surface of the ocean began to move; then a roaring noise filled the air, the waters parted and out of the sea rose a figure the size of a mountain. It was the White Goddess.