by Glyn Iliffe
Astynome was already running down the slope when the Cyclops’s high-pitched shriek pierced the air. That the noise transformed into a pitiful wailing told her Eurylochus had not finished the monster off. By its size she knew the creature was only a child, and that its cries would soon bring the adults running back to their caves. As she rushed between the trees, the undergrowth tearing at her dress and skin, she only hoped that they would find Eurylochus still waiting for them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
POLYPHEMUS
Odysseus sat with his remaining companions at the back of the cave, as far away as possible from both the stench of Polyphemus’s bed and from the creature himself, who was still sitting across the cave entrance. The king had barely spoken since they had blinded the Cyclops, preferring to sit with his back to a rock and watch the miserable features of the monster in the dying light of the fire. Eperitus was beside him, his presence a comfort as he tried to think through the next part of his plan. But Odysseus’s thoughts were disturbed by his grief for Antiphus and did not follow their usual logical path towards an understanding of what he had to do. The Cyclops’s sorrow for his lost eye and the animals he had crushed underfoot was also a distraction. It expressed itself between helpless sobbing and moments of vengeful wrath, cursing Nobody and the gods and threatening the most terrible deaths to the men hiding in the cave. Sometimes one of his men would let his fear show in impatience, asking the king what he intended to do or when he was going to act. A quick look or a sharp word from Eperitus soon quietened them, but the interruption would often send the fragile train of his thought tumbling back to the basic problem: how to get past the Cyclops unnoticed.
He had a solution, of course. He had thought of one the moment he had seen the pole and decided to blind their gaoler. But the perfection of his plan – the detail that he usually found so satisfying to think through – was evasive. It was as if his own inner eye had been blinded.
‘Dawn is approaching,’ Eperitus said beside him.
They were the first words the two men had shared since the other Cyclopes had disappeared into the night. Odysseus could detect no change but trusted his friend’s instincts. He looked over at Polyphemus, who sat with a dead sheep in his lap, groaning to himself as he stroked its black wool. Then, almost as if he had heard a distant sound, the monster sat up and looked outside. He, also, had sensed the coming of the new day.
‘Pass me the ropes.’
Perimedes handed him several coils of twine and Odysseus tested each one for strength. The flocks huddled together on the cave floor began to stir, occasional bleats echoing from the misshapen walls. And, at last, Odysseus sensed a faint lessening of the darkness beyond the cave’s mouth and thought he could smell a new freshness in the smoky air.
He turned to his men and waved them closer.
‘Listen to me. Spread out in pairs and bring back the largest rams from the flock.’
‘What will we do? Ride them out?’ Eperitus asked, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth.
‘Exactly that,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Omeros, come with me. Elpenor, you can go with Eperitus.’
Polites had already set off alone towards the nearest ram, followed by Epistor and Perimedes. Odysseus watched Eperitus rebuke Elpenor for some lapse of attention – he had not taken favourably to the young Ithacan after he had accused Odysseus of leading them to their doom – then point out a large ram close to the hearth. Odysseus turned to Omeros. The young bard had dropped the stake at the moment they were about to blind the Cyclops, and Odysseus wondered whether he was losing his nerve.
‘Ever done any shepherding, Omeros?’
He shook his head. ‘Antiphus was the one for that, my lord.’
‘Then do exactly as I tell you. See that one there? Move round in front of him, not too close, and keep his attention.’
Omeros did as he was ordered, and a moment later Odysseus rushed up behind the ram and seized its horns. He dragged the oversized beast forcibly to the back of the cave, where the others were returning with their own captives.
‘Ah, my children, you can smell the dawn,’ said Polyphemus, turning towards the sound of their bleating. His voice was tremulous and filled with self-pity and his fingertips hovered over his blackened and swollen eyelid. ‘You want me to take you up to the hillsides where the sweetest grass grows. Not yet, though. First I must count you out and then I will eat. Six well-fed men and then Nobody himself. Do you hear me, Nobody? I’m going to roll the stone shut and hunt you down one by one. And when I’ve eaten your men I’ll give you the guest-gift I promised.’
As he talked of his revenge his tone hardened to savagery. The Ithacans listened with growing terror, almost forgetting the animals they had captured.
‘Lash these three together,’ Odysseus ordered. ‘Perimedes, you’re to cling beneath the middle one.’
‘I’m to what?’
There were murmurs of disbelief as Odysseus’s plan suddenly became clear to them.
‘Cling to its wool while we tie you in place with the twine. Quickly, man!’
‘But that’s madness,’ Perimedes protested in his thick Taphian accent.
‘I’ll go,’ Omeros said. ‘Better to be first than last, when there’s nobody else to lash you in place’
‘Alright, alright, I’ll do it,’ Perimedes said, seeing Omeros’s logic and pushing him aside.
He crawled beneath the biggest ram and pulled himself up by its black wool. The animal tried to wrest itself free, but the Ithacans lashed Perimedes securely beneath it and tied the other two rams on either side. The darkness beyond the cave had turned to a pale grey, encouraging the Ithacans to work faster. Polites gathered the rams while the others bound them together into threes and secured their comrades beneath each trio. When only Polites, Eperitus and Odysseus remained, Polyphemus stood and planted his feet in the corners of the entrance.
‘Come now, my children,’ he boomed. ‘The sun is rising in the east and the dew on the hilltops will soon evaporate. Pass beneath me into the outer courtyard so that I can deal with our guests.’
The largest ram mounted the boulder by the hearth and watched as the herds of goats and sheep answered their master’s call. Odysseus slapped the backsides of the animals that carried the Ithacans, urging them to follow the others, then ordered Polites and Eperitus to lash more of the captured rams together. As the flock passed beneath Polyphemus’s legs, he passed his fingertips over their backs to ensure none of the prisoners were among them. Then the three rams that held Perimedes approached the mouth of the cave. Odysseus could make out the Taphian beneath them, dagger in hand to cut his bonds should he be discovered. The animals were bleating in protest at his weight and it seemed Polyphemus must discover something was wrong. If he did, not only would Perimedes be devoured but the Cyclops would realise Odysseus’s scheme and search the rest of the herd. Epistor, Omeros and Elpenor would be killed and he would be the author of their doom, all because he had not been able to think through all the possibilities and account for them. The three rams passed beneath Polyphemus. His fingers brushed their horned heads. And then they were gone, jogging through to the courtyard beyond.
Odysseus released the breath he had been holding and saw Polites and Eperitus approaching with three more rams between them. The animals complained loudly as Polites’s heavy bulk was strapped to their bellies, but their abnormal size and strength enabled them to take his weight. Soon they had joined the back of the crowd that was still pressing towards the cave entrance.
Epistor and Omeros must have already passed through, Odysseus realised, as he studied the great flock in the dawn light and only saw Elpenor. The lad’s face was red with exertion.
‘What’s up with him?’ Odysseus asked.
‘One of the cords has come undone,’ Eperitus answered, pointing at the length of twine trailing from between the middle animal’s legs. ‘He’s hanging on with all his strength.’
As the Cyclops’s fingers brushed the to
ps of the rams’ heads, one of them pulled aside and trotted out into the courtyard. Elpenor gripped harder at the flanks of the remaining animals, and to Odysseus’s relief passed through undiscovered. Then he saw Polyphemus rise to his full height, a length of willow rope held between his fingers. He sniffed at it and after a moment let it fall to the ground.
‘Does he suspect?’ Eperitus asked.
‘That’s a risk we have to take. Come on, there aren’t many rams left and we need to get you bound.’
‘You know as well as I do the last man left won’t be able to lash three rams and himself beneath them. You go. You’re the king, so it’s my duty to stay and take my chances with the monster.’
‘How long have you known me, Eperitus? Do you think I haven’t worked out another way for me to escape? And the longer you hold things up, the harder it’ll be for either of us to get out.’
Eperitus looked him in the eye and Odysseus could read his doubt, but in the end he realised time was running out. He nodded his consent and together they found three more rams and lashed them together, with Eperitus underneath. Odysseus sent them to join the back of the rapidly diminishing flock, then paused to watch Polites pass beneath the Cyclops. He heard the shepherd talking to the rams as he touched their woolly backs, asking them why they were bleating so loudly. He did not hinder them any more, but there was doubt in his voice. Polyphemus suspected.
Odysseus could not afford to wait and watch Eperitus pass through. Barely two dozen animals remained in the cave, other than the lambs and kids. And as Odysseus had hoped, the head of the flock was still standing on the boulder. He saw the man approaching, leapt from the rock and charged. Odysseus had made a sliding loop with the last of the twine, which he hooked over the ram’s head as he jumped aside from its attack. The loop drew tight and pulled the animal back with a jerk so that it collapsed on its side. Odysseus leapt on top of it and twisted his fingers into its thick brown wool, before rolling onto his back and dragging the beast up onto all fours. It continued to fight, but Odysseus’s will was stronger and eventually the ram gave up resisting his hold.
‘Where are you, my old friend?’ the Cyclops called out, his voice echoing in the now empty and almost silent cave. ‘Only you are missing, you and the three I crushed in my pain last night. Nobody will pay for them, too. Come now, my sweet ram, let me feel your fleece beneath my fingers before I roll back the stone and plunge Nobody and his comrades into darkness. Then we will all be blind. Do you hear me, Nobody?’
His sudden anger shook the air, but the ram did not fear his master and jogged towards the cave entrance, carrying Odysseus beneath him. Odysseus’s fingers were slipping through the greasy wool, forcing him to grab more in a desperate effort to hang on. He had reached the mouth of the cave and could see the courtyard beyond it, shrouded in a luminous mist. He could smell the fresh air and hear the sound of waves breaking on the pebble shore. And then Polyphemus’s giant feet were either side of him and he could sense the monster’s bulk overhead as his hand brushed along the ram’s back.
‘My friend, why are you last?’ he said. ‘You’re always the one to lead out the flock. Is it Nobody? Does his presence disturb you? Is he plotting a new scheme to destroy me? Tell me what he is doing, my friend.’
Then, as if sensing that all was not right, the Cyclops let his hand fall to the animal’s flank and the tip of his finger run across Odysseus’s clenched fist. At that moment something fell with a clatter inside the cave and the kids and lambs began to bleat loudly.
‘I hear you, Nobody!’ the Cyclops roared, moving his hand to the ram’s behind and pushing it out into the courtyard. ‘I’m going to tear the flesh from your bones for what you’ve done to me.’
Odysseus let go of the ram’s sides and rolled away, just in time to see Polyphemus enter the cave and pull the stone behind him. He jumped to his feet, terrified that the sound he had heard was Eperitus still trapped inside. Then the crunch of footsteps on the pebbles made him turn.
‘So you lied to me,’ Eperitus said, his fists on his hips. ‘Your only plan was to cling on to the biggest ram and hope the gods were with you. If I hadn’t thrown that rock over the Cyclops’s shoulder you’d be dead by now.’
Odysseus had rarely been happier to see his friend and embraced him tightly.
‘Let’s find the others and get back to the ship before the Cyclops discovers we’ve fooled him. We’ll take some of these animals with us.’
‘Never one to leave a situation empty-handed,’ Eperitus said.
Odysseus glanced ruefully at the cave. ‘A poor price for the six men I lost.’
‘That wasn’t all you lost,’ Eperitus added, before turning and shepherding a few of the animals into the mist.
Odysseus followed, driving the ram he had hidden beneath before him. They found the others waiting anxiously by the entrance to the compound. To their surprise Astynome was among them. She ran straight into Eperitus’s arms and buried her face in his shoulder.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with a mixture of surprise, pleasure and anger. ‘I gave Eurybates orders to keep his eye on you.’
‘It’s not his fault. I came looking for you.’
‘Alone? Where are the others?’
Odysseus thought he saw something in Astynome’s expression, something quickly hidden.
‘At the ship, stubbornly following Odysseus’s orders to stay put. They’re just as certainly preparing to sail back as we speak.’
‘Ironic they should start obeying me so faithfully now, don’t you think?’ Odysseus said, embracing Astynome. ‘That’ll be Eurylochus’s influence.’
A phantom of guilt flitted across her dark features and disappeared again.
‘More like Selagos’s, my lord.’
‘How did you find us?’
‘I heard a scream last night, something inhuman, and knew you had to be inside the cave. So I waited, fearing the worst and praying to every god I could think of. I’m only happy they listened.’
‘They haven’t entirely abandoned me,’ Odysseus agreed. ‘But if we don’t leave now, my own crew will.’
Hurried on by fear of the Cyclops, they soon reached the headland that hid the galley. They found the ship fully manned, with its mast, cross spar and sail fitted and the oars out. On the beach, two groups of around a dozen men each were facing each other, some leaning warily on their spears, others with their hands resting on the pommels of their swords. Selagos and Eurylochus were at the head of one group and Eurybates the other, so engrossed in their debate that it took them a few moments to register the bleating of sheep and goats and realise they were not alone. As they turned, Odysseus noted the sudden joy on Eurybates’s face, while Selagos gave an angry scowl. Eurylochus stared not at his cousin but at Astynome, his face blanching as he surreptitiously hid behind Selagos’s bulk. Astynome seemed no less surprised to see Eurylochus.
‘What’s this?’ Odysseus asked as Eurybates ran to greet them.
‘They were going to leave without you; I and a few others wanted to stay.’
‘Well, we’re here now, just as I said we’d be. Get these animals aboard and lift the anchor stones, as quick as you can.’
Before long, the galley was slipping out of the bay and rounding the headland. The sun had topped the distant cliffs and only a thin veil of mist now clung to the shoreline. Then someone gave a shocked cry. Heads turned towards the beach, and more dismayed voices called out until Odysseus ordered silence. Standing up to his thighs in the surf was Polyphemus, stock still as he trained his ears on the shouts that had been carried to him by the sea breeze.
‘What did you mean in the Cyclops’s compound when you said I had lost more than my men?’ Odysseus asked.
Eperitus was standing beside him in the stern, looking out at the monster.
‘You took the Cyclops’s goats and sheep because a warrior’s reputation is built on what he brings out of battle. You did it to humiliate him. But whose name is he going to attribu
te his shame to? Whose name will he live in fear of and blame his woes on? Nobody’s, Odysseus. Nobody’s. And a man is truly nobody if he loses his name.’
Eperitus looked him in the eye and then went to join Astynome, who was staring tight-lipped at the giant figure standing in the surf. Odysseus followed her gaze and felt his cheeks burn as he looked at the great monster he had blinded. Without his cunning and courage he and all his men would have perished. He had defeated the Cyclops where many greater men would have failed. And yet Eperitus was right. Where was his credit for what he had done? Where was his glory? Was he a king, or was he Nobody?
As he watched, the Cyclops raised his head and sniffed the air.
‘I can smell you, Nobody, you and your vile companions with the animals you stole from me. But your name isn’t Nobody, is it?’
‘Don’t answer him, my lord,’ Eurybates warned from his position at the twin rudders. ‘He wants to know where we are, that’s all, and the sea isn’t so deep yet that he couldn’t wade out and smash the ship with his bare fists.’
But Odysseus paid him no attention. He was intrigued that the Cyclops had seen through the false name. But how, he wondered.
‘What’s my name to a savage like you, who ignores the decrees of the gods and treats his guests with contempt? In your arrogance you thought I was nothing more than a bit of sport to be played with, until I put out your precious eye and repaid you for murdering my men! Who am I? A servant of Zeus, meting out justice on the ungodly.’
The Cyclops gave a bellow of rage and strode back up the beach. Tearing up a boulder, he hurled it towards the sound of Odysseus’s voice. The crew shouted out in terror as the black rock spun through the air towards them. Odysseus stood fast, his fingers gripping the bow rail. He felt the wind of it pass over the top of the mast before hitting the sea three or four oars’ length from the stern of the ship. The impact threw up a wall of water that caught the galley and drove it forward, tossing its occupants across the crowded deck. Odysseus locked his arms about the mast to steady himself, but to his horror realised the wave was propelling them towards the beach. Grabbing a long pole, he signalled to Eperitus and Polites to do the same. They thrust them down into the sand and only by the greatest effort prevented the ship’s prow from embedding itself in the shingle.