Disgusted, Odysseus forgot everything he’d just been thinking and blurted out, “I think she’s a sorceress.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because she’s made a slave of you without the use of chains or bonds.”
Mentor sighed. “No spells are necessary, Odysseus. It’s her beauty that so affects me.”
Odysseus drew himself up. “Oh, she’s comely all right. If she were a slave girl on sale at the market, I might consider purchasing her. But you’ve let her unman you completely.”
Mentor turned to face Odysseus directly. “Odysseus, we’re inches from dying. Is it wrong for me to want her to find me worthy of her love before we cross over to the Underworld?”
“You’re supposed to worry about being worthy in the eyes of the gods, in the eyes of your fellow men—not a mere woman. What matters is your courage. Your honour.” He struck himself on the chest.
“What honour is there in drifting in a boat, Odysseus?”
Actually, Odysseus had been wondering that same thing himself. “At least …” he began, “at least I can die on this boat without complaining, facing death with courage. Otherwise, what will I say when I face the judges of the Underworld? If we haven’t been worthy, how can we hope to enter the paradise of the Elysian fields? We’ll be forced to wander the gloomy caverns of Tartarus forever.”
Mentor said nothing.
“Square your shoulders, Mentor. Head high. No more mooning over Helen. Let’s be true comrades laughing in the face of death.” He leaned towards his friend, hoping he had succeeded in bringing him to his senses. “Mentor?”
Mentor’s answer was a deep, rhythmic snore.
The next day they were all so exhausted from sun and hunger and thirst, they hardly spoke. Helen even stopped complaining.
One by one they dropped off into a semi-sleep. Odysseus was the last. But he woke suddenly, startled by the sensation of water trickling over his toes, then came completely awake.
The crude patches Silenus had used to repair the little boat were peeling apart, and seawater was seeping through the cracks.
“Get up!” Odysseus shouted. “Up! Up! Up!”
The others lifted heavy eyelids and roused at the sight of the seawater, which already covered the bottom of the boat.
“The jar!” Penelope shouted, and Odysseus began bailing with the krater, but the water came in as fast as he threw it out.
“This is the end of us!” Helen wailed. “One of you must have offended the gods.”
“If the gods so love you, why haven’t your father’s ships found us yet?” Odysseus countered.
For a moment Helen seemed poised to answer. Then she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Penelope glared at him, and Odysseus flushed, as ashamed as if he’d struck down an unarmed enemy from behind.
“Perhaps …” croaked Mentor. “Perhaps one of them has found us.” He pointed. “Look!”
There was a tiny outline of a ship far off in the hazy distance.
“But the wind is taking us away,” Helen pointed out.
Swiftly, Odysseus untied the sail and pulled it down, wadding it into a bundle, which he threw over into a corner of the boat.
“Are they getting closer?” Helen asked.
“They don’t seem to be moving at all,” Penelope said.
“Then we’re just going to have to swim for it,” Odysseus told them. “Before they get under way again.”
“I can’t,” Helen said bluntly.
Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Swimming isn’t going to mess up your dress or hair any more than they are already.”
Helen turned her back on him, but Penelope put a hand on his arm. “Helen was never taught to swim,” she said. “It wasn’t considered ladylike.”
“And you?” Odysseus asked.
She smiled wryly. “No one’s ever accused me of acting like a lady. But I can’t leave Helen here.”
“All right, then, I’ll swim,” said Odysseus. “And if the ship’s crew looks friendly, I’ll have them pick you up.”
Before he could go over the side, Penelope said, “Don’t be silly. You’re in no better shape than the rest of us. We haven’t come this far to see you drown because of some stupid heroics. We need to do something more practical.”
“Like pray to the gods?” Odysseus asked sarcastically.
“No. First spread the sail over the floor of the boat. That might just keep water from coming in. Then we can use the mast as an oar.”
With Mentor’s help, Odysseus wrenched the mast out of its socket. Meanwhile the girls stuffed the sail against the loosened patches.
Then the boys sat side by side on a bench, holding the mast. As it wasn’t much longer than Autolycus’ hunting spear—though a great deal thicker—they were able to draw it through the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other.
Gradually the little boat began to move.
“At this rate, that ship will be gone before we get there,”-said Odysseus, not stopping to wipe sweat from his eyes.
“I don’t think so,” Penelope said. “There doesn’t seem to be any sail hoisted. And there’s no sign of movement.”
She picked up the jar and began bailing while the boys propelled them slowly but surely towards the other ship.
An hour went by. Then another. But they grew closer and closer until the ship loomed before them, only a few yards away.
First Mentor, then Odysseus lifted their blistered hands from the makeshift oar. Their backs ached too.
Now that they were close, they could see that there was no visible mast, and the boat’s oars trailed lifelessly in the water.
“Halloooo,” Odysseus shouted up.
No one answered his hail.
“Halloooo,” they all cried together.
Still there was no answer.
“Why hasn’t anyone seen us yet?” Mentor asked.
“Halloooo,” Helen called by herself. “Anyone up there? Help!”
The sides of the hull were so high, it was impossible to catch sight of the crew.
“Perhaps,” Penelope said slowly, “it’s a plague ship.”
“Then it’d mean possible death to board her,” said Mentor.
“It means certain death if we stay here,” Odysseus said, pointing to the puddle of water spreading around his ankles.
CHAPTER 14: THE MYSTERY SHIP
THE WATER WAS NOW leaking into the little boat faster than they could bail it out.
“What can we do?” Helen wailed, hoisting her skirt above her knees in a vain attempt to keep it dry.
Odysseus examined the oars of the mystery ship. Each stuck out at exactly the same angle from holes halfway up the side of the ship, the oar heads dimly visible under the water. Taking hold of one, he found that it was as firm as if it had been set in a rock.
“I think …” he said, “I think it’s climbable. At least—I hope it is.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ll go first. And if it’s safe …”
He didn’t wait to hear any arguments, for even a small hesitation on his part was going to puncture his resolve. He immediately clambered on to an oar. When it didn’t collapse under his weight, he crawled gingerly up its entire length. Once at the hole where the rest of the oar disappeared into the dark bowels of the ship, he stood up carefully and stretched till his fingers curled over the upper edge of the ship’s hull. With a heave and a grunt, he hauled himself up and rolled on to the deck. Then he kissed the flooring and sat up.
He was glad none of his friends could see his face, where fear was now dissolving into relief. But just as suddenly fear returned. What if the crew had seen him?
Yanking the pirate’s dagger from his belt, he darted quick glances around the ship.
No crewmen.
No monsters.
No ghosts.
In fact there was no sign of life at all.
Carefully keeping a watch around him, Odysseus explored the entire deck. Not only was there no mast, there wasn’t ev
en a sign of a socket where a mast might be fixed.
By the stern, under a tan and white striped linen canopy, he found three kraters of water, four jars of preserved fruit, and a basket of dry bread. There was also a length of coiled rope.
Odysseus picked up one of the water jugs and drank greedily. Then he picked up the rope and went back to the side of the ship where his companions waited in the sinking boat.
Waving, he called down to them, “There’s no one here at all. But there’s water and food and—”
“Get us up there!” Helen cried.
For once the others agreed with her.
Mentor was the last to climb over the side, and when he looked back, Silenus’ little waterlogged boat was finally swamped by a succession of white-capped waves.
“Just in time,” he said as he untied the rope from his waist.
The girls were already drinking water and laughing as if drunk on wine. When Odysseus and Mentor joined them, Penelope handed them each a loaf of dry bread. They ate the loaves without a complaint, washing them down with great gulps of water.
Then they flopped down under the canopy and feasted on the preserved fruits as if they were at a grand banquet.
“What else is there?” Mentor asked. “I could eat a centaur and still be hungry. Do you suppose there’s any meat? Or olives? Or—”
“No more for me,” Penelope said. “My stomach must have shrunk to the size of an olive. It has had enough.”
Helen burped prettily, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Look around,” Odysseus said, leaning back against a large pillow and waving his hand at Mentor. “Whatever you find, it’s yours! I’m as full as Penelope.”
Mentor made a mock bow. “Thank you, great lord.” He began to root around behind the jars of water and fruit. “More bread,” he said, “drier than the last.” He pushed aside another jar. Behind it was a white cloth packet lying against the planking. “What’s this?”
Odysseus sat up, and Penelope did too. Only Helen, eyes closed, seemed more interested in sleep than mysteries.
“Give it to me,” Odysseus said.
“You told me that whatever I found was mine,” Mentor said.
“I meant food.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
Penelope snatched the packet from them. Carefully she unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a large golden key with a pointed piece at the end. She bit it. “Gold clear through.”
“Why would anyone make a key out of gold?” Odysseus mused.
“Gold? Key?” Helen sat up, suddenly interested.
Odysseus took the key and held it up to the light. “What do you think these mean?” He pointed to some strange markings on the side.
Penelope snatched the key back and studied it closely. “It’s called script. A kind of writing. Don’t you know how to read?”
“What does one need writing for?” asked Mentor. “We’ve signs to keep track of our stock of grain, to assign weapons to our warriors, to record tribute. What else does a kingdom need?”
Odysseus nodded.
“Well, script is more useful than that,” Penelope told them. “These markings don’t represent things, like your picture signs do. Each of these”—she pointed to the markings on the key—“is a sound. When you join the sounds together, they make words. You can send greetings, tell stories—”
“Bards tell stories,” said Mentor. “No need to write them down.”
“Words?” Odysseus squinted his eyes and stared carefully at the key. “What words?”
“Well, in this case, a name,” said Penelope.
“What name?” Helen asked.
Penelope ran her finger across the strange script. “Dae-da-lus. Daedalus.”
“Never heard of him,” Odysseus said.
“Of course you have,” Mentor said. “He was a great craftsman and toy maker. Served King Minos of Crete for many years. Built the Labyrinth, the maze where the monstrous Minotaur, half bull and half man, was imprisoned. Don’t you remember, Odysseus? The bard at your father’s house sang about him the evening before we sailed off to your grandfather’s.”
“Oh—the monster. I remember that part. I wasn’t much interested in the craftsman, though. Or the toy maker.”
Helen shuddered deliciously. “A monster?”
“Oh yes, a horrible monster,” Mentor said, turning to her. As she trembled again, he expanded on the story, clearly trying to impress her. “The people of Athens were forced to send a tribute of youths and maidens to King Minos, and he shoved them into the maze where they were devoured by the Minotaur.”
Helen put her hands over her ears. “Don’t tell me any more.”
Mentor pulled her hands away. “Sweet Helen, the Minotaur was killed long ago. No need to worry about it now.”
Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Enough! What do we need old tales for when we are right in the middle of an adventure of our own?”
“Adventure? Is that what you call this?” Helen said.
Penelope agreed. “We almost died out there in the satyr’s boat.”
Odysseus laughed and took the golden key back from Penelope, tying it on to the thong that held his bronze spearhead. He tucked them both inside his tunic for safekeeping. “Any danger averted is an adventure. If you live to tell the story.”
“We’re not on dry land yet,” Penelope reminded them all.
After an hour’s rest, they fell to eating again, but Odysseus was restless. He drummed his fingers on the deck.
“What is it?” Mentor asked.
“This ship. It puzzles me. I don’t like what I can’t understand,” Odysseus said. “There’s no mast. No sail. We can’t get at the oars. If there ever was a crew, how were they supposed to row anywhere?”
“Good questions,” mused Mentor.
“I’m just grateful we aren’t at the bottom of the sea,” Helen said.
Penelope shook her head. “No, Helen, Odysseus is right to wonder. If we just sit here, becalmed, until the supplies run out, we’re hardly any better off than we were before.”
“Except that the boat isn’t sinking,” Mentor pointed out.
“So we die of starvation instead of drowning. Neither death gets us to the Elysian fields,” Odysseus said.
“Is that all that men worry about?” Helen asked sharply.
“Look, that golden key must have been left for a purpose,” Penelope said. “Let’s see if we can find a keyhole.”
“A keyhole!” They all stood.
“I’ll take the front of the boat,” said Penelope.
“The bow,” Odysseus said.
“You can take the back,” she added, ignoring him.
“The stern,” Odysseus said.
“And Helen the right side—”
“Starboard.”
“And Mentor—”
“Port side. Left.”
Penelope made a face at him, but it was clear she was also storing away the words for later.
They each went to their appointed places. Penelope and Mentor searched with painstaking slowness, inch by careful inch. Helen lingered by the side of the ship, often staring out at the vast blue-green sea, with its white-capped waves.
Meanwhile Odysseus began his search at the extreme end of the stern.
Think, he cautioned himself.
He noted that there was no great oar for steering the ship.
Very strange, he said. So how does the boat stay on its course?
He found a wooden shaft reinforced with bands of metal sticking out of a dark slit in the deck.
Even stranger.
He touched the shaft tentatively. It was solid. He tried to pull it up, but it remained as firmly rooted as an oak. When he leaned against it, to his surprise it moved stiffly from one end of the slit to the other.
Strangest of all!
The shaft locked into place with a loud click. After that, no amount of pushing or pulling on his part could shift it again.
He grunted in disgust and had just turned his back on the useless thing when a great tremor ran through the ship.
Helen screamed.
“What’s happening?” cried Mentor.
“What did you do, Odysseus?” Penelope called.
“Nothing,” he said, a small line beginning between his eyes. “Except …” He was just thinking that he’d better tell them about the lack of steering oar and the strange shaft and the stiff movement, when his voice was suddenly drowned by a noise that shook the deck beneath their feet.
Helen and Penelope clapped their hands to their ears. Mentor tried to shout over the noise.
But Odysseus stood still, head to one side, puzzling out the sound. He’d heard a noise like that once before, when his father had ordered an inventory of his armoury. Spears, swords, shields, breastplates had been stacked into heaps. The clang of metal on metal had resounded throughout the palace for three days.
It’s almost as if we’re standing on top of the god Hephaestus’ workshop, Odysseus thought.
As suddenly as it had begun, the clanging and crashing ceased. There was a moment of stillness so intense, the four of them didn’t dare to breathe.
And then, without warning, the ship lurched into motion as the great oars began to cleave the water with powerful strokes.
The four scrambled to the right side of the ship.
“Starboard,” Penelope whispered, looking down as the oars moved in perfect unison.
Slowly the vessel turned, swinging about in a great half circle. Then it set off across the endless expanse of sea.
“What could have started the ship?” Helen asked, still staring at the perfect precision of the oars.
Odysseus sighed so loudly, they all turned to him. “I pulled a rod in the back of the boat.”
“The stern,” Penelope said.
He ignored her. “It went from one side to the other and then something gave a loud click. That’s when the ship began to move. Perhaps the rod was some sort of signal.”
“A signal to whom?” Mentor asked uneasily.
“About what?” asked Penelope.
“And why?” Helen’s voice was unusually quiet.
They could feel the gentle vibrations beneath their feet. At the same time there was a regular, metallic beat below the deck, like a smith hammering a blade into shape.
Odysseus in the Serpent Maze Page 8