Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  “It’ll wait,” he said, forcing a smile, staring hard at the offending object.

  They were coming within sight of the hotel and Thea felt her heart began to thump, her pulse beating in her ears. It was then she realised that she had too much pride to ask the question directly weighing on her mind. Where was this relationship heading? Uncertain, Thea glanced across at Rob, trying to decipher his expression, but his face was inscrutable.

  As they entered the hotel lobby, the shrill peal of Electra’s laughter rang out. A dark-suited figure was leaning over the desk, as Electra flicked back a strand of hair. Rob had already let go of her hand, as Thea recognised, to her horror, the familiar figure of Stelios Ioannou.

  “Ah, good evening Dr Sefton and Dr Hughes,” Stelios came forward to greet them with exaggerated politeness, slightly bowing his head. “I dropped by in the hope of perhaps discovering you this evening, Dr Sefton. You can be a very difficult woman to track down.”

  “We’ve just been out for something to eat,” Thea replied, the linguist in her intrigued by his Epiriot annunciation. It struck her Stelios came from a poor family and had to work hard to make something of himself. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, not long, “Stelios replied. “And I have had excellent company,” he said turning to Electra, who beamed in reply, bestowing upon Rob a warm smile. “I won’t keep you from your evening only I wanted to confirm your meeting with Mr Kampitsis. Would this coming Friday be convenient?”

  “I have some messages to check,” said Rob, glancing down at his phone and snatching his key. “I’ll say goodnight Thea and leave you to make your arrangement.” His glance briefly settled on her face, before he turned and made his way up the stairs.

  Thea now turned her full attention towards Stelios, forcing herself to meet his eyes flanked by dark eyelashes. For some reason, she had the feeling of being ensnared, like a wild animal lured into a trap. If only she had time to think and come up with a plan. Trying not to betray these thoughts, Thea simply replied “Friday will be fine.”

  “Good! Then I will arrange for a car to pick you up.” A smirk played on his lips. “I know that Mr Kampitsis is very much looking forward to meeting you. And so,” he said, turning his head towards Electra, “I bid you two ladies good night.”

  Chapter 13

  Departures

  Gradually throwing off Sleep, Odysseus slowly opened his eyelids. It must be getting late in the day as there was a coolness from the breeze stirring round him and the full heat of the day had softened. He became aware of the sleeping form of the woman besides him. She slept still, breathing softly, the long curls of her hair falling over the finely woven coverlets. He held her closely, enjoying the soft touch of her skin and fragrance of her body.

  At first, during those early days, it had been an uneasy coupling. Desire for her had raged through his body, but he could not disregard the humiliation meted out to his men. Enchanted by a spell, the veterans of the Trojan War had grovelled in the dirt like pigs. But then all that changed on the tenth day.

  It was growing late in the day, when Eurylochos had burst into the chamber, his eyes blazing and his mouth frothing. “The witch!” he screamed. “A god has taken her wits and she is attacking one of the men.” Odysseus had rushed out into the precinct and in the dim light had found her in an isolated spot, where the grove gave way to the dense forest undergrowth. She was stood panting over the warrior, who lay sprawled on the ground, clenching a wooden stick in her hand. The low moan from the crumpled body signalled the man was still alive, but he had been beaten senseless.

  He had felt his fury rise up outraged at the impertinence of the woman. “What is the meaning of this, witch!” he snapped, rounding on her. “That you would thrash my men.”

  But Kirke had turned, squaring up to him. “And your man would force himself on an untried maiden and rape her.” She lifted her face up to him in defiance. It was then he noticed one of the young novices lying on the ground, curled into a ball, sobbing. She was one of the fairest, whose task it was to feed the caged beasts. She was clutching her ripped robe against her naked body to protect her modesty, an upturned pail beside her. Kirke cast aside her cudgel and took the young maiden into her arms, wrapping her cloak around her. As she cooed and rocked the trembling young woman in her arms, like a lioness guarding its young, she looked up eyes blazing, challenging him. “What would you have me do? If the man had forced himself on her, she would be cast out by our peoples and die childless without a husband.”

  And in that moment, he had finally understood her and why she practised these enchantments. They shared a common duty of protecting their people but chose a different weaponry: he by the sword and she through enchantments.

  He signalled to Eurylochos, who had been patiently standing nearby witnessing the scene, a smirk on his face. “Take the man back to the camp,” ordered Odysseus, “and see that his injuries are tended. I will deal him myself, when he is sufficiently recovered from his wounds. But from now on, the men stay in camp by the sea-shore and do not venture into the precinct after dusk.”

  Eurylochos, nodded mockingly, raising an eyebrow. “Of course, Basileos, as you wish” As he dragged the man away, Odysseus turned to Kirke, speaking in a measured voice. “I would have done the same,” he said, touching her on the shoulder. “And as the gods are my witness, I give my oath it shall never happen again.”

  That night he had lain with her as he had never done before. Only when the first light of Dawn appeared and the crowing of the cockerel, did he untangle his limbs from her. But news of the witch beating a companion spread like wildfire through the camp, only deepening the men’s suspicions and disturbing Peace in the ranks.

  As the darker stormier months of winter set in, they had fallen into a comfortable domestic pattern. At dawn, he would return to his men in the camp to organise the repair and refurbishment of the ship. Aware of his orders and still wary of Kirke, the warriors had kept to the shoreline, cautious to venture inland. Eurylochos in particular and those men who had been seized by the enchantment, steadfastly kept their distance, refusing to let go of the memory of their ordeal. And they passed on their fear and distrust to the others like a contagion. Nevertheless Kirke had been a generous and faultless host, each morning sending the men bread and wine from her kitchen. As the men worked, cutting timber to reshape into solid planking, they exchanged reminiscences of their time in Troy or their future plans for their return home. Sometimes they went hunting in the wooded hill above and afterwards sat around the campfire, cooking spits of meat over the crackling flames.

  As the Sun’s chariot fell once more below the sea, that was the time Odysseus spent with Kirke, observing her performing her duties, mixing her healing potions or lovemaking in her bed. And he had desired her with a passion he could hardly control, like a young pup he had found it hard to tear himself away from her side. But he had felt unnerved by her too, especially by the strange wild beasts, who lived in the clearing, penned in like domesticated cattle or pigs. When she and the young women had approached without fear the caged mountain lions and fierce wolves, as a herdsman might hand rear a sickly lamb, he and his men had gawped dumbstruck. When he had questioned her, Kirke had simply shrugged her shoulders. “Why do we have any reason to fear these creatures,” she had replied, “when we treat them with due care and respect.”

  But it was more than that. The way she addressed him like an equal, as Nestor or Diomedes might have done, voicing her inner most thoughts and offering him counsel. The way she held sway over the sacred precinct, though a woman, drawing respect and deference from all who entered this strange world. But although he found her boldness and authority deeply unsettling, it was also irresistible, like a moth fluttering over a flickering flame.

  When the goddess Demeter breathed new life into the earth and the time had come to plant the wheat, visitors arrived at the shrine travelling from the hinterland or sea. These strangers presented with a myriad of afflictions:
toothaches that nagged day and night; limbs that had been torn from their sockets and women expectant with child. Each one Kirke warmly greeted, each one she guided into the inner part of the sanctuary, each one she would listen to with sympathy as she examined their infirmity. At her direction, the younger women would dart back and forth, bearing jugs of heated water, swaddling cloth, dried herbs or carefully prepared tinctures. Sometimes she had touched the unfortunate on the arm, shaking her head with a look of sorrow. She had later explained that this was because the gods had seen fit to number their days of life and nothing could be done.

  At the same time the offerings placed on the shrine had multiplied, as people beseeched the goddess Feronia for assistance or expressed their gratitude for her divine intervention. There were metal plates of shiny silver and beaten copper, leather skins of wine, sacks of wheat flour for bread, olive oil in stone jars, vegetables for cooking and dried out fruits for when the earth slept. Sometimes visitors left on the stone altar small figurines carved out of clay representing the goddess herself or their personal afflictions. And Kirke was as skilled and knowledgeable in this craft as any physician Odysseus had encountered at Troy, even Machaon himself. The prosperity of the shrine testified to her fame and skills as a healer.

  But then over time, something had started to mellow and change inside him too, like thawing snow. After all the years of conflict and hardship, a softness and warmth of sentiment had begun to take root. Perhaps the healing he had witnessed had touched him too, creeping into his darkened spirit. Bit by bit this new feeling had grown and with it had come a rekindling of Strength and Hope. He dare not name it but at its heart was Kirke.

  He often accompanied Kirke into the forest. He had closely watched her face, as she attentively surveyed the leaves and plants underfoot for signs of some healing herb. It was as if some god had taken her to a different world, so immersed was she. One day his curiosity had got the better of him.

  “Tell me, Kirke,” he had asked. “There is something I don’t understand. How can it be that you take such interest in the untamed animals you keep or these wild growing plants? Your goddess Feronia is not known to us Greeks. What is the purpose of her shrine that you worship and serve so dutifully?”

  Kirke had looked up at him smiling, as if addressing a young child, not he a seasoned Greek warrior. “Have you not realised by now, Odysseus, for all your resourcefulness and after the moons you have spent here. Have you not seen for yourself the work of Feronia and her power? Our goddess is that of nature herself. We pay her homage for the bountiful resources she supplies. The game in our woods, which you and your men hunt and satisfies your hunger. The wild berries and fruits growing untended. The wood for our fires and pliable twigs for making baskets. The healing plants growing wild that soothe and give comfort to the sick. These are all the gifts of Feronia. Here we live in balance and harmony with the natural earth goddess and those creatures that share our world. This is what observing the rites of the goddess and keeping our faith with her ways has taught us.”

  She spoke earnestly, upturning her face to speak a truth. “You and I, Odysseus, come from different places and our life’s course follows different paths. You are a warrior and I am a healer. What has being a warrior taught you? Does that help you to live in better harmony with the world around you?”

  He didn’t know what to say and for a moment had stood before her dumb- founded, as if a god had taken away his speech. Finally he had replied. “Kirke, I cannot answer you. It is so long now since I lived peacefully in my homeland of Ithaka, before the accursed war with Troy and all the trials hereafter. I can hardly recall this time. But my father taught me the importance of kleos. Of proving myself worthy through my deeds as a warrior that I may bring honour and prosperity to my family. That through good kleos, a man may be known and his name gain immortality like the gods themselves.”

  Kirke paused for a moment, a smile playing on her lips. “No doubt, Odysseus, you will have your kleos. But does this kleos help you live well and bring harmony, so that things are in their natural order?”

  “Of course, how could it not!” His answer had come more abruptly than he had expected.

  “But Odysseus, your pursuit for this kleos has taken you far away from all the things you hold most precious.” The words had pierced him like an arrow. For he realised that a truth lay in what she had spoken.

  He had looked at her, his words weighted with meaning. ”Not all, Kirke.”

  It had been several moons ago since the long days had returned and the sea had calmed once more. Yet still he had lingered in this place, unable to tear himself away from her side. Now as they lay there in their bed, he reached over and pulled her closer. He noticed how her breasts had filled out like ripened fruit. And the swollen curve of her body. There was no mistaking there was a child in her belly. In the heat of their love making, the gods had seen fit for them, the warrior and this strange priestess, to create a new life. As if the unborn child sensed his father’s presence, he felt a sudden movement under her skin like the ripple of a wave responding to his touch. He reached over and kissed her lovingly on the forehead and then the child inside the swollen belly.

  There was a light knock on the wooden door. He quickly pulled his tunic over his body, covering his nakedness and crossed over to answer, not wishing to disturb Kirke as she slept. It was one of the attendants, a young woman, her face ashen with fear.

  “Please forgive me for waking you, sir,” she stammered, casting her head downwards. The maiden novices still feared him, ever since seeing Odysseus hold his sword to Kirke’s throat.

  “Your mistress is still sleeping. What is it?” he asked in hushed tones, sensing a disturbance approaching the peaceful slumber of the bedchamber.

  “Your captain, Eurylochos, is here to see you at the request of your men. He begs to speak with you,” she said, swallowing hard.

  “That is fine.” He replied lightly. “Tell him I will come soon.” He quickly finished dressing and then followed in the woman’s footsteps. Outside on the porch, Eurylochos was anxiously pacing, but turned at the sound of Odysseus’ approach. He recognised the look of discomfort in his old comrade’s face.

  “Greetings, Odysseus.”

  “And you too, my dear comrade.” He clapped the other man warmly on the back, aware that he seldom visited the precinct. “What brings you here so early? I hear that you wish to speak with me.”

  “Indeed I do.” And yet Eurylochos remained silent, the muscles straining in his ox-like neck.

  “Come tell me the nature of your business and do not hold back.” At these words of encouragement, he could see the colour rising in his friend’s face. At last, mustering his courage, Eurylochos spoke.

  “There is no easy way to say this Odysseus. The men are restless. They complain that we linger here when long ago we could have left and be on our way to Ithaka. Already the days are past their longest and the air begins to cool. For a whole year, we have rested here, taking our fill of food and drink. But if we are ever to return to our native land and this is our fate, then the time has come for us to take our leave.”

  For a moment Odysseus stood speechless, as if his body had been hit by the force of a full fist. “But surely, that time has not yet come?” he protested. Eurylochos’ words were truly spoken, but he could not bring himself to admit it.

  “Odysseus, this woman has put a spell of entrapment on you. Have you become so soft with all her hospitality, even wearing the clothes she provides, that you have forgotten who you are?” Odysseus suddenly felt self-conscious, standing there in his earth-red tunic, which Kirke had presented to him. But now Eurylochos continued unabashed.

  “Do you have to be reminded of your duty to your peoples,” he said, his eyes aflame, “And what of your own father or your son, who you left as a young infant, and wife. We miss our homes, our families and loved ones. We worry what will become of them, while we dawdle here.”

  “Your words are spoken truely, Eury
lochos,” he replied thoughtfully. “I will dwell on them and consider whether the time is ripe to continue our journey home.”

  Kirke found him on the sanctuary steps as the day was turning and the sun god Helios was tethering his horses to give way to Night. Ever since he had parted company with Eurylochos, he had been turning over in his mind what he should do. She sat down close besides him, naturally leaning into him as he stared down at the hardened ground.

  “What ails you, Odysseus, for I can see something has happened to grieve you?” Kirke had asked softly, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. His eyes were downcast as he had been staring at the same crack in the earth, where some ants scurried.

  “I will tell you outright, Kirke, as you will find out soon enough.” He heaved deeply, his voice blank of feeling. “Eurylochos came to see me today, while you were sleeping. He reminded me of my duty and said that the time has come to take my leave.”

  She was silent at first, as if catching her breath, but Kirke finally replied. “But of course you must go. You never planned to stay.”

  “I know I must go and it is my duty,” Odysseus replied wearily, turning towards her. “I have seen what happens when a city and its people are left defenceless without their men and a strong leader.” Briefly the accursed memory of Troy’s destruction coursed through his mind, the blood running down the city streets, its slaughtered citizens and the pitiful wails of the women waiting to be taken into slavery. He shuddered. The images were too raw to dwell on.

  Kirke reached over and lightly caressed him with her fingers. “Hush, you do not need to explain more.” He felt her touch, trying to soothe him.

  “But I must, Kirke,” he burst out. “I would happily live out the rest of my days with you if that was our allotted fate. But I have also seen the madness and destruction of Love, when people give into feeling and Desire, forgetting their duties and position.” He stopped and pressed his lips together in a slight grimace. “I witnessed with my own eyes the madness of passion between a man and a woman, Helen and the Trojan, which started the accursed war with Troy. Their desire was the cause of so much death and destruction to all who were touched by their love.” He broke off for a moment, shaking his head, his eyes moist with tears. “I cannot give into my feelings, Kirke. Yet I don’t know how to leave you, especially now you are with child.” He reached over and took her hand in his own, clasping it with his fingers.