“There now, my pigglies. Don’t you all feel better? I just want to help you, really I do. And don’t worry that you can still think like men. In a few days, that will wear off, and you can get on with being real pigs.” She leaned on her broom, her eyes shining. “Just think of it—rooting for beech nuts, climbing trees . . .” She paused, floundering. “Or, um, whatever little pigglies like to do in the forest. But you’ll be happy, you’ll see. I promise!”
Her words set off a frantic squealing and grunting from us all. Surely there had to be some way to make her turn us back. But she just smiled and waved a hand at us. “Oh, please, don’t. There’s no need to thank me. I did it because I wanted to!”
She turned to collect some handfuls of acorns and beech nuts from a large amphora by the back door. Throwing them down to us, she added, “Oh, such an important thing, and I nearly forgot. You really must watch out for the other animals. Pigs are awfully tasty, and I’m afraid that some of the other men I’ve set free have very, very sharp teeth and big claws now. But don’t worry, you’ll know them when you see them.”
She glanced up at the sun. “My goodness, look at how late it is, and I haven’t even started my housecleaning yet. What must you think of me? Well, enjoy yourselves, and stay well, little pigglies. I’ll be back out to feed you tomorrow!”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Conquest of Odysseus
THAT NIGHT BEHIND the sorceress’s cottage was the longest in my life, worse even than the night in the Cyclops’ cave. We huddled in a corner of the narrow yard, terrified that one of those huge lions would sniff us out. A stone wall wouldn’t even slow down creatures like that, I was sure. And if the lions didn’t get us, we would lose our minds and become thoughtless pigs in a few days, most likely to be slaughtered and eaten.
At least I wouldn’t go alone. Speaking of that, what had happened to Ury? I couldn’t remember seeing him since we’d come through the gate.
The sky gradually brightened as dawn approached. Morning came, and Circe appeared at the door to toss some more nuts to us. I’d never eaten acorns as a human, but they were strangely tasty now. “Feeling better yet?” Circe trilled. “Don’t worry, you will soon, I know!” The door banged shut.
Some of the Greeks, especially those such as Pharos who had become larger pigs, were spending their time trotting up and down the walls of the enclosure, looking for a way out. I couldn’t imagine why; that’s where the lions were. Smaller than the others, I huddled alone by the back door, hoping they wouldn’t trample me with their sharp trotters. As a result, I was the only one who heard what happened next.
For a while, all I could hear was Circe singing something tuneless as she went about her chores. The spinning wheel clicked from the garden out front, then stopped. I could hear voices but couldn’t quite make them out. Eventually, they came inside the cottage and I could hear them more clearly.
“Would you—would you care for some wine, my lord?” Circe sounded breathless.
“No,” came the flat reply. “I’m looking for my men. They came this way yesterday.”
Lopex! He could free us! But his next words chilled me. “Just a little, then, while we talk.”
I could hear her drawing a dipper from the amphora and pouring it into a goblet. A stool scraped as though it was being pulled up. “Now, tell me about yourself,” I heard her say. “What brings a handsome man like you to my little cottage?”
Another stool scraped, and I heard Lopex approaching. His face appeared at the open window. I could hardly look high enough to see him. The gods had clearly designed pigs to watch the ground, not the skies. Holding the goblet before his lips, he tipped it carefully the other way, pouring its contents out the window. “A fine yard of pigs you have here, Circe,” he remarked loudly as the red wine spattered in the garden beside me.
Tilting the empty goblet against his lips as if draining it, he turned back to face into the room. “As fine as this wine you’ve served me.” He wiped an arm across dry lips. “But I must ask you again whether you have seen my men.” It was strange, as a pig I could hear every word as clearly as if I was standing between them.
Circe’s voice sounded uncertain. “Your men? What, um, men were those? Oh! Of course. Those men!” She laughed, a nervous, high-pitched twitter. “Oh, yes, they came. I served them some wine, and then they left. They said they were going hunting. That was it, going hunting.”
Lopex’s reply was low and mumbled. For a little while the only sound was his breathing. Then there came the sound of a goblet crashing to the floor and I heard Circe push back her stool.
“Hmm.” I heard her murmur as she got to her feet. “What sort of creature are you? Never a pig, not you, my sweet, no. A noble, forceful man like you?” She clapped her hands. “Of course! A man like you must be a wolf!”
I heard her footsteps disappear into her bed chamber and return a moment later. “You’re going to like being a wolf, my sweet. A lone, lean, cunning wolf. Now . . . just hold steady, that’s right.”
Suddenly there was a frightened squeal, and Lopex’s flat voice. “Put it down. Now.” Then the sound of a tiny jar being set hastily on a table. “Now tell me what really happened to my men.”
Circe sounded as if she was having trouble speaking, most likely because of a knife at her throat. “Who . . . who are you? How did you resist my potion? Please let me go. I won’t hurt you!”
“Swear it, witch!”
I heard her squeak in pain. “Please, I—” There were sounds of someone struggling to get free. “All right. I swear!”
“The strongest oath you know, witch!”
“Please, stop! You’re hurting me!” Her voice was still strangled. “I swear . . . I swear on the mighty river Styx itself that neither I nor my creatures will harm you or your men from this point on.”
There was the sound of a knife being re-sheathed. A moment later her voice came again, no longer choked. “But how did you resist my charm?” Her voice went soft and sultry. “Such a muscular man, too.”
His voice grew deeper. “Resist your charm? Perhaps . . . not entirely.” Then their voices went off into another room and I couldn’t hear them any longer.
It seemed a long time before I heard anything further from the cottage. At last there were footsteps approaching the back door. I trotted out of the way as it opened and Lopex stepped out, Circe hanging on his arm. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted an eggshell blue. His sandals had been mis-laced.
“So, Circe. Where are my men?”
She turned her gaze up at him. “Are you sure we have to do this right now? Perhaps later, after we’ve had dinner, or . . .”
He frowned impatiently. “Now.”
She pouted. “Oh, very well. But you have to understand that it was for their own good. Most men are nearly pigs already, you know. Not you, of course, my lone wolf.” She reached up to stroke his ear but he shook her off.
“For the last time: Where are they?” His expression changed slowly as he looked down at us milling anxiously at his feet. He turned to her, his expression shocked. “Pigs? Are these my men?”
Startled by his sudden anger, she said nothing. He grabbed her forearms and shook her savagely. “Speak, witch! Did you turn my men into pigs?”
She cringed. “Oh please, stop! It really was for their own good, don’t you see? I just know they’ll be happier, once they get used to it . . .”
“Their own good? Pigs?” he roared. “Turn them back at once!”
Her hands fluttered nervously. “Yes, yes, certainly. Anything for you, of course. But please don’t shout, my sweet—it scares me.”
He lowered his voice. “Turn them back now.” He stooped to snatch up one of the nearest, gripping it in both arms as it struggled. “This one first.”
“Yes, my dear,” she said meekly. “Now, let me see.” She frowned, concentrating, then brushed its nose and ears with her hand and murmured something. The pig immediately began to grow and change shape, and Lopex put
it down hastily. In a moment the pig was gone and a white-haired soldier called Adelphos was crouching on all fours in the dirt before them, naked buttocks high in the air.
Circe took an involuntary step back. “Oh. Why . . . yes,” she said faintly, a blush creeping up her neck. “Yes. Of course. Do you know, I’ve never actually changed one back before? Let me see about some clothes.”
Adelphos stood up easily before her and she reached out to brush both his shoulders with her fingertips, her mouth pursed. “There.” Now he stood before them in a simple chiton and leather sandals. “Your, um, armour is in the back storeroom. Through there, yes, that way.” She flapped her hand toward a door.
Lopex led her around the yard, transforming us one by one. Once again, I didn’t feel the transition, but suddenly I was standing naked, my bare feet and hands in the muck of the yard, while she furnished me with clothes, including a pair of sandals like those she gave Adelphos. As a slave I wasn’t supposed to have them, but Lopex had given me some when he had made me healer, and Ury hadn’t thought to revoke them.
“That’s it, men. Let’s go,” Lopex barked in his usual fashion, waving us toward the door.
“Go?” she repeated, trailing behind him into the cottage. “Already? But . . . I thought perhaps . . .”
“Not possible.” He shook his head, sounding gruff. “I’m responsible for these men. I must chart our route home, find provisions for them, ensure the wounded—”
“Provisions?” she broke in eagerly. “Oh, but I can help you with all that! I do have powers, you know. And your course, I can help you chart a course home. I can even tell you of dangers, the dangers you will meet on the way.”
Lopex paused. “I can feed all your men, too,” she added. “Do stay, my sweet. At least for a little while. Tonight I’ll prepare a special banquet for you. And your men, of course.” Clasping his arm, she leaned in toward his ear and whispered something.
Lopex shrugged. “Very well. We will stay. Now I must return to my ship to fetch the rest of my men.” He pointed to me. “You, boy. Come.”
He said nothing as we walked back through the forest, but as we approached the beach where the ship lay, he spoke.
“Boy.”
“Yes, sir?” It took all of my effort to keep the anger from my voice.
“What happened to Ury at the cottage of the witch?”
Surprised, I fumbled with the question for a moment. “The cottage?”
“Yes, boy, the cottage! What did he do when you arrived?”
Oh. “Uh, I don’t know. I never saw him after we went in.”
Lopex didn’t answer. As we emerged onto the beach, he gestured at me to stay out of sight while he went on. When we had arrived, the men had been too despondent to draw the ship out of the water, and it was still resting half in the shallows. I hid behind the hull, watching the armourer hammer a hot bronze patch onto a badly dented breastplate nearby.
“I told you there was nothing you could do.” Ury’s sulky voice came from somewhere close. “Now let’s get going, before those animals of hers sniff us out.”
“Are you so sure, Ury? Perhaps some of your men escaped. We owe it to them to wait.” Lopex’s voice had a dangerous rumble.
“Wait?” Ury burst out angrily. “Did you see those lions? And those aren’t the only ones, I’m sure of it.” I heard him take a deep breath. “Lopex, I know you’re concerned. Sending us up there was a mistake. But those men are gone. We have to cut our losses and sail now, before those lions of hers get hungry. Or she finds us herself.” His words seemed calm, at least for Ury, but his voice held a strange undertone. I risked a peek from behind the head of the ship.
Ury was leaning on his crutch just down the beach from the ship. Lopex was facing him, arms crossed. “You’re very quick to abandon the men I entrusted to you, Ury,” he was saying softly. “Surely they deserve an attempt to save them. Let’s wait and see if any come back.” He cocked his head. “Do you hear something?”
Ury glanced around quickly as Lopex continued. “Someone’s coming.” He turned back toward where I was hiding. “Whoever you are, come out!”
I stepped out from behind the ship as if I had just arrived. Ury’s eyebrows shot up. “You!” he snarled, his expression lurching through surprise and rage before settling on something meant to look like relief. “I mean—good, boy—you’ve escaped!”
Lopex spoke before I could answer. “Perhaps I was too quick to promote you, Ury. I hope this will teach you not to be so eager to abandon your men, even your slaves. Your men are safe, and the sorceress has sworn an oath not to harm us. I have come to fetch the rest of the crew. We will camp on the beach while we refit, and take our meals at her cottage.” Just before he turned away, his gaze rested on my face for an instant, and one eyelid twitched. I watched him walk away, but there was no further sign of recognition, and I dismissed it. Surely Lopex hadn’t just winked his thanks at me.
As we headed back inland, Ury grabbed me. To anyone watching it would have looked like he was leaning on me, but with each step he squeezed my neck painfully. “That’s the second time you’ve made me look a fool, boy,” he muttered, his beard scratching my ear. “I won’t forget it. Lopex wants you alive, but you don’t need your tongue. I wouldn’t go to sleep if I were you, slave.”
For the next few days, the thought of a furious Ury with an even worse grudge had me glancing over my shoulder at every noise, but his leg kept him from acting on his threat. Meanwhile, Lopex seemed to be everywhere at once, choosing trees to shape into replacement oars, working with our fat stores-master to replenish our ship’s provisions and chivvying the carpenter to complete repairs to the Pelagios. On the fifth day after we reached the island I saw Lopex returning to the beach from somewhere. The ship’s carpenter, a balding little man with only three fingers on his right hand, was sidling up to him, shaking his head.
“It’s not so simple as all that, Lopex,” he was saying. “A month’ll never do, not with the state she’s in.” He leaned down to rap at a hull plank near the sand. “D’you hear that? Half these planks, it’s just barnacles and shipworm holding them together. And the deep waves, they flex her keel fierce as she crests. It’s Poseidon’s own miracle that we haven’t all fed the eels, sailing her like this. Now, back at Korinthos yard I could refit in a month, but here I’ll have to cut and shape everything separate.” He shook his head, sucking air through his teeth. “You don’t want to rush it, Lopex. It’s her knees, don’t you see, her knees won’t take it, they’re hanging off their pins—”
Lopex held up a weary hand. “Stop.” Caught in mid-flow, the carpenter looked up.
“Just get it done quickly. I’ll assign some men to help you,” Lopex went on. “As for parts, Circe will provide whatever I want . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared up the hill in the direction of Circe’s cottage.
All at once his gaze returned to the carpenter. “You’re right, Arturos. This is too important to rush. Take whatever time you need. I will take it upon myself to ensure that the sorceress stays friendly to us.” He turned and headed back up the path toward Circe’s cottage. Perplexed, the carpenter stared after him, rubbing the back of his neck.
On a cloudy morning over a month later, I was finishing some supper leavings with Zosimea, a sharp-tongued older woman who had been enslaved with me at Troy. From down the beach, I could hear the crack of wood against wood and some halfhearted cursing. At my glance, Zosimea shrugged. “Some idiot Greek thing, boy. Don’t get involved.” I got up and headed closer to see anyway.
On the far side of the Pelagios, two men were practising sparfighting, brandishing wooden poles at one another like swords, surrounded by a dozen watching men. The trainer was a wiry, nut-brown man they called Pakullos, fighting in nothing but a loincloth and sandals. He must have had at least fifteen years on his opponent, but he was leaping about like a monkey, skipping easily out of the way of his opponent’s spar while landing blow after blow himself. Thersites, a slope-shou
ldered Greek soldier with a foul temper, was going to be badly bruised tomorrow. I slipped quietly between a couple of cheering Greeks to watch.
“Hit me, you oaf!” Pakullos was squeaking. “Not like that, are you throwing flower petals? No, never look where you’re striking, your eyes give you away. Always look at your opponent’s face, you bumbling sueios ekpneusis!”
Even after a year with the Greeks, that insult took me a moment. I ducked my head down to hide my smile as I got it, but Thersites, leaning on his spar for a breather, spotted me.
“Think this is funny, slave boy?” he snarled. “Laughing at me, are you?” He threw his spar at me and I caught it automatically. “The slave, he’s going to show us how it’s done!” he shouted.
I was about to drop the spar and run off when a hand pinned my shoulder. “If you run now, you know, they’ll never respect you,” Deklah said softly. “Pakullos will give you a few falls. You’re small. Just try to be hard to hit.” He gave me a shove that sent me staggering into the ring.
Pakullos eyed me dubiously and looked back at the circle of men. “Spar with that?” he called, disbelieving. “What’s next — a cripple?” Already worked up, the men kept shouting, and Pakullos turned back to me with a grunt. “All right. This won’t take long. Let’s see your clay, boy.” Suddenly I was on the ground, my right shoulder throbbing. What had just happened? I stood up carefully.
“Have to be faster than that, boy.” Pakullos was standing a few paces away, waiting. I took a step toward him and suddenly found my face in the sand again, this time the throbbing in my left shoulder.
“Useless. One more fall and you can go.” Pakullos sounded bored. Over the noise of the men I could hear Thersites jeering loudly.
Suddenly it was very important not to let Pakullos hit me again. I had to parry at least one strike. Be hard to hit. He was fast, but he wasn’t an immortal. I climbed slowly back to my feet but this time, instead of holding my spar at the end like a sword, I gripped it in the middle, my hands a waist-width apart. The Greeks wouldn’t do this because it was useless for attack, but I was interested only in defence.
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