Odysseus scarcely recognized him at first because his corn-gold hair had turned quite white, and the ardent, handsome features were crumpled in pain.
‘I beg you,’ Macareus beseeched him in an agonized whisper, ‘there is no life for me here now. Take me away with you from this place.’
Aware of his crew watching in astonishment, Odysseus said. ‘What of your sister?’
‘I loved her,’ Macareus answered. ‘I loved her more than my life.’
‘Yet she is dead, and you are here, clutching my knees.’
‘Yes,’ the response came back at once, fierce and unashamed. ‘It would be too easy to die. It is my curse to live.’
When Odysseus looked down again it was into anguish as truthful as any he had seen since he looked into the face of Queen Hecuba at Troy.
‘Very well,’ he said after a time, torn between his pity for the man and revulsion for what he had done. ‘Follow me if you wish. It will make no difference. We are all cursed aboard this ship.’
A Game of Shadows
Blown northwards by the wind, they found themselves following the coastline of a moist, green land where thick forests of oak, myrtle and laurel reached inland for mile upon mile. Only an occasional thin spiral of smoke rose among the trees.
Watching the virgin landscape drift past, some of the crew began to wonder whether Diomedes had not been in the right of it after all. A man could chance on worse places to settle down. But most of them were still demoralised by the loss of their comrades under the assault from the Laestrygonians. If people of such monstrous size and savage temper were to be found in one place, why not in others? Who knew what kind of men might lurk among those green shades? They were an awful long way from home, and might there not be truth in the old traveller’s tales of the Cyclops and the even more fearsome creatures with many arms and legs and mouths?
Yet they could not beat along this coast for ever without pulling in to replenish supplies of food and water. When Odysseus saw what he took for a wooded offshore island with a sheltered bay where he could harbour The Fair Return, he decided to hunt for some fresh meat and see what else this land might have to offer. So the sail was hauled in and the crew took to the oars to scull the ship ashore. They were met only by the cries of sea-birds and the calling of doves among the myrtle boughs. The sun was high and the land pleasantly warm. When nothing in the tranquil air of the place gave any cause for concern, Odysseus reached for his spear and splashed ashore at the head of a small hunting-party. They advanced quietly through the trees and had not gone far before they came to a place where the land rose before them on one side and fell away to a damp fen on the other. A large, antlered stag was stepping delicately through the water in the hollow.
Having whispered to his lieutenant Polites to climb the rise and get a wider view of the island, Odysseus crept stealthily downwind of the stag, making his way under the cover of the brakes till he could get a clear shot. His spear struck cleanly into the lungs of the great beast. He saw its eyes roll and heard it cough. He watched it try to rear free of the spear; then he was leaping through the boggy water as the animal slumped back among the reeds. When the hooves had stopped kicking at the air, he tied them together with withies and slung the stag across his shoulders. He was staggering out of the fen under the dead weight of the beast when he saw Polites hastening back down the rise towards him.
‘I can’t see a lot because of the trees,’ he reported, ‘but there’s smoke rising over in that direction, a mile or so away. It must be a settlement of some kind. And there’s another wooded hill, quite a bit higher than this one, just beyond it. Kites and ravens are circling and swooping round the summit, so it looks as though there’s something — or someone - dead up there.’
That evening, after they had all dined well on roast venison, Odysseus called his men together into council. He told them that he liked the look of this country. There was plenty of fresh water and game and no sign of a hostile response to their arrival, so he intended to explore further inland the next day and see what manner of people lived there. Immediately the council divided into two parties: the few who thought this the right thing to do and the more faint-hearted crew-members who had been disturbed by what Polites had said about the birds of prey circling the island’s highest hill. Having already made up their minds that the carrion was human, they neither wanted to accompany Odysseus into this unknown land nor let him put his own life at risk.
‘Send a shore party to investigate, if you like, captain,’ Grinus suggested, ‘but if you lead it yourself and come to harm, how shall the rest of us navigate our way home? Better that you stay here with us anchored offshore so that we don’t get surprised again as happened among them giants in Sicily. Then, when the shore-party gets back, we can think again. And if they don’t come back … well, we shall know we’re not welcome in these parts.’
When this cautious position proved to be as close as the crew could get to agreement, Odysseus turned to Eurylochus. The second-in-command felt less confident than he had done before the discussion, but he agreed to lead the mission to the interior of the island. Instantly the Libyan boy Hermes said that if Eurylochus was going then he would go too, and Polites, who was among the coolest-headed of the men volunteered to go back ashore with them. A couple of the other braver souls — Clitus and Mastor — also put up their hands. Then Macareus, who had been a gloomy and, for the most part, taciturn presence aboard the ship since they had left Aeoha behind them, also spoke up.
‘It no longer much matters what becomes of me,’ he said, pushing his hand through the white locks of his hair. ‘If I can be some use to you all, then I’m ready to go along too.’
Odysseus was about to settle for the worryingly small size of this party when, to everyone’s surprise, young Elpenor declared that he too was willing to join the little band of explorers.
‘I’m not altogether sure I want you under my feet,’ Eurylochus snorted at him. ‘You’ve caused trouble enough already.’
‘That’s just it,’ Elpenor acknowledged ruefully. ‘It’s my fault we’re here at all, so it’s only fair I should do my bit.’ He turned his young face in appeal to Odysseus, who studied him dubiously for a moment and then nodded his head in assent.
‘Just don’t go dipping your head into the wine-jar looking for courage tonight,’ he said, and the council ended in uneasy laughter.
The night passed without event under a moon that was nearly at full. Early the next day, Odysseus stood by the anchor-rope at the prow of his ship, watching the small party disappear into the damp mist rising from the line of trees beyond the strand. As the sun climbed across a hot blue sky the mist dissolved. A couple of men idly fished over the side of the ship. Seabirds dawdled above the masthead. Only the breeze off the sea disturbed the green trance of the trees. When high noon came and went, Odysseus began to worry. Even if Polites had underestimated the distance, or the terrain had proved more difficult than anticipated, the shore party could easily have been there in an hour’s walk. Allowing an hour to look round, and another hour to return, they should have been back before noon. So where were they? What was happening? Should he abandon them and cast off with the rest of his crew? Or should he land a larger rescue mission under his own command? The alternative was simply to wait — yet delay might mean that an attempt to recover any survivors would come too late.
The shadows were already beginning to lengthen across the island when two figures, one large and one small, broke out of the trees and came running down the strand. They were not shouting and there was no sign of anyone in pursuit. Odysseus ordered the ship pulled in nearer to the shore, and a few moments later, panting and dripping with sweat, Eurylochus was telling his story with Hermes sitting beside him confirming what he had to say. Both of them seemed shaken by what they had seen.
Though Eurylochus was as brave as any man when confronting an enemy he understood, like most sailors he was superstitious. Nor was he the most eloquent or the most in
telligent of men. So for a time Odysseus had some difficulty making sense of his garbled account of people being turned into animals by a witch with a poisonous brew. But when he got his frightened friend to tell the story in more detail, he learned that the shore-party had travelled a mile or more inland when they fell in with two young men who were drinking wine together in the shade of an oak tree. Macareus had approached them and told them that he and his friends were strangers in these parts and wanted to know more about the name and customs of the place in which they found themselves. Already tipsy, the young men seemed friendly enough. They offered to share their wine with the newcomers and happily informed Macareus that he was on Aiaia, the Island of the Dead, where they declared that the sun could be seen shining at midnight. They explained that they were on their way to the Feast of the Wolf, which would be held that night — the night of the full moon. If Macareus and his friends wished to learn more of the customs of the place, they should come along and join in the festivities.
During a brief consultation with the others, Macareus declared that the young men seemed trustworthy enough, if a little the worse for drink. He saw no reason why they should not accompany them and try to learn more about the people of the island. Eurylochus pointed out that Aiaia — the Island of Wailing - was not encouragingly named. If they were not to cross the threshold into the Land of the Dead themselves, they should remain on their guard. So the shore-party followed their guides through the forest to a wide track where they joined a large number of festive men and women who were making their way across the island.
As they walked along the track they heard the sound of a woodpecker yaffling somewhere deep among the glades. One of the young men laughed and said that it must be Picus, who had been a handsome king in those parts once but had been transformed into a woodpecker by a great sorceress because he had refused to forsake his true love Canens for her. But it was only when the other young man cheerfully announced to Elpenor that he expected to be turned into a wolf by the festive rites that Eurylochus became convinced that witchcraft was afoot. He became more alarmed by the thought when he learned that a powerful priestess called Circe, who was skilled in the art of working with magic herbs and potions, would preside over those rites. By now, however, they had arrived at the sacred grove where the feast was already in full swing, and the shore-party was warmly drawn into the revelry by the garlanded young women who attended on the tables with wine-jars in their hands. Only Eurylochus, with Hermes at his side, had hung back, worriedly taking in the scene, though at first he saw nothing out of the ordinary there.
The people seemed to be a simple sort of peasantry, much like the shepherds who would be gathering for the Spring Festival on Ithaca about this time. The songs they sang to the accompaniment of harps and pipes were bucolic ditties. Small children and dogs ran between the trestle-tables on which there was plenty to eat — roast lamb and goat, venison, fish, sea-food, strong cheese, olives, and bowls filled with fruit. And almost all the buildings Eurylochus could see were of crude wattle and daub construction, the reddish walls painted with geometrical designs and the roofs thatched with reeds. Only the temple or palace — he was unsure which it was — overlooking the site from a raised terrace suggested a more sophisticated world, built as it was out of dressed marble with a portico of columns and roofed with terracotta tiles. Near the foot of the steps a spring poured into a cistern through a lion’s mouth carved into the stone, and from there it ran in a clear stream through the clearing. Both the water and the marble from which it flowed gleamed in the sunlight with a cool, refreshing radiance. The warm woodland air was heady with the scent of cooked thyme and rosemary. Above the noise of the people, Eurylochus could hear the splashing of the spring, and though he had drunk much less than his comrades, and resisted the allure of the women dancing attendance on them, he felt the sultry heat of the day tugging at his senses. He was, he admitted, kept from joining in the revelry only by his duty as leader of the shore-party, answerable to Odysseus. ‘And it was just as well,’ he said, ‘because after a time things began to turn very strange. A man came out of the temple or palace - whatever it was - or at least I would have said it was a man but he had the head of a lion and was covered in a tawny lion-skin with long talons on his hands, and he gave a great roar at which all the people squealed and shouted as if they were in terror. Then more figures came out after him, but these were wolves — or men turned into wolves, for they still walked on two legs — and they ran among the people, chasing the women in particular and whipping them with thongs. And I couldn’t tell then whether they were frightened or not because they were all drunk and some of them seemed to be laughing as the wolf-men ran among them. But there was a mad sort of feel to the place by now and I didn’t much care for it. But when I called to the others they wouldn’t come away. I don’t know what drug was in that wine but they were as drunk as everybody else and wouldn’t come away when I called. So Hermes and I withdrew into the cover of the trees to see what happened next, and after a time this strange music struck up inside the palace and we heard the sound of a woman’s voice singing. Then the young women in the crowd took the young men by the arms and led them up the steps into the palace, and when I looked I saw that Macareus was going with them. He stood out from the crowd because of his white hair. A half-naked young woman with long black curls had him tight by the arm and she was leading him up the steps. Elpenor and Clitus were following on along behind, each with a woman on his arm. I think that Polites and Mastor seemed to be hanging back at first, not sure what to do; but half-way up the steps Macareus looked back and called something to them. I couldn’t make out what he said, but the next thing I knew even those two were on their feet and being led up the steps and through the portico. That was the last I saw them of them except that …’ Faltering there, Eurylochus glanced askance back into the stillness of the trees.
‘Except what?’ Odysseus demanded.
‘Like I said,’ Eurylochus was trembling a little as he spoke, ‘I think she turned them into pigs — the witch, I mean. Circe. I think she turned them into pigs.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because I saw them,’ Eurylochus gasped, ‘— in the shadows of the portico. These figures … they were standing up on their hind legs like people, but they had the heads of pigs.’
Several hours later, Odysseus stood concealed among the trees, looking into the clearing where some people were singing and dancing still, while others lay with their heads flopped on the tables. Again he told himself that Eurylochus had been muddled by the loose talk of the young men that the shore party had met in the wood. It had combined with the wine and the heat of the day to work on his imagination when he saw men wearing wolfskins and lion-skins as the ritual gear of some cult celebration different from any he had ever seen on Ithaca. But the pigs were less easily explained, which was why Odysseus surveyed the harmless throng of merry-makers uneasily. Eurylochus himself had been so unnerved that he had refused to show his captain the way to the clearing. Nor were any of the rest of the crew eager to go with him, so he had been guided by the Libyan boy on the strict understanding that Hermes would be allowed to return to the ship as soon as he had taken Odysseus to the palace of Circe. Yet he was still standing by his master in the shadow of a laurel tree as they peered into the glade. A huge moon hung in the sky like a gong.
As yet Odysseus was uncertain what he intended to do. If his men had gone into the temple freely, it was possible that they might return the same way. But Eurylochus had been certain that the wine they had drunk had been doctored with a dizzy-making drug, so they might be under the spell of witchcraft after all. And Odysseus had heard too many sailors’ tales of strangers having been put to death as sacrifices in this primitive part of the world not to be worried for them.
Somehow he must establish the facts of the case, and then contrive a means of rescuing his men if they were still alive - or if they were still men, for that matter! And if they were being held by
force or enchantment, he had no hope of freeing them unless he could overpower the priestess of this shrine. For that purpose he had concealed a long-bladed knife beneath his robe. That blade and his wits were all that now stood between him and death or — what might be worse —transformation into a pig.
He drew in his breath and was about to step out into the moonlit clearing when he felt a hand tugging at his arm. Looking down, he saw Hermes raise a cautionary finger as he whispered, ‘Wait.’
The boy slipped out of the cover of the trees and crossed stealthily to a table where a bearded man in a red linen smock lay on his back with his mouth wide open. Hermes stood beside the man for a moment, making sure that he was sound asleep. Then he leaned across his chest to take something from him. He returned to the shadow of the laurel, clutching the slender stem of a plant with a bulbous root and a starry cluster of flowers that emitted a strong scent of garlic.
‘I see all these men here wear this,’ he said. ‘Put it to your robe — in this place.’ Hermes tapped his master’s chest. ‘Then you will be like them.’ He looked up into Odysseus’s puzzled gaze. ‘Maybe it keeps you safe, like them.’
Thinking that at the very least it might help him to be mistaken for a reveller, Odysseus fixed the flower to his robe, and smiled down at the boy. ‘I wonder if you aren’t possessed by Hermes after all,’ he said. ‘Now on your way with you, back to the ship.’
Swaying slightly, pretending to be drunk, Odysseus stepped unremarked among the merry-makers. He took in each of the faces around him but could see no sign of his missing men anywhere among the dancers or those still feasting at the tables; so he made his way towards the marble steps of Circe’s palace. A couple sat embracing by the mouth of the spring but they were too absorbed in one another’s bodies to take any notice of him. Expecting to be challenged at any moment, he began to climb the steps.
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