Finding Ithaka

by Anna Harvey

  Kirke smiled, replying with soft soothing words. “You are right to have fears for your people, Odysseus. For you have seen much. We knew your departure would come as you were never destined to live out your days here. And yet it is now hard to leave, and you question your own path.” She pressed her head against his solid shoulder. “There is a blind seer, Teiresias. He lives two days sail under canvas to the south, where the fruit ripens more quickly and the wide river meets the sea. You will recognise the land as it is low lying and wooded with tall poplars and willows. Go there and consult with him. He will tell you what you need to know to make this journey.”

  At her words, he felt his spirit lift. It would put an end to his dilemma. “I will do as you say Kirke,” he said, looking up towards her. “We will prepare the ship to sail at the first light of day after tomorrow, though the men will not be happy that we do not set a course for Ithaka.”

  “Nevertheless, Odysseus, they will follow you.” Kirke pressed his hand. “They may grumble and complain, but they look to you as their leader. They will do as you say.” She smoothed down the forest-green folds of her tunic over her swollen belly. “Now shake off this melancholy mood. Let us not waste this precious time the gods have granted us.” And she pulled him up by the hand and led him back towards the house.

  *********************************************

  As the silver light of Dawn had filtered across the sweeping bay, he had broken the news to the assembled men. At first they had protested, but had nonetheless gone about the preparations for the voyage, relieved to be putting to sea at last. On the morn of their departure, there was no sign of Kirke, but a black ram had been tethered close to their camp for sacrifice on their journey.

  The voyage was as Kirke had described. During the day, they sailed under canvass and oars, hugging the sea-shore, making good progress in the southerly direction. At night, they sheltered on a sandy cove or shingle beach, hauling up the boat onto the beach and making camp for the night.

  Close to the wide mouth of the river Acheron, they found the blind seer living in the sacred wood. They tracked his simple dwelling through the sight of a smoking fire not far inland. The old man, came out to meet them, walking slowly with a stick to guide his steps; the gods had clouded over the orbs in his creased face. He greeted them warmly in Kirke’s language.

  “Greetings strangers, I have been expecting you.” He looked towards them with his unseeing eyes. “Please come and sit with me,” he beckoned them with his arm. “Tell me the nature of your business.”

  Odysseus frowned, as he tried to make sense of the jumbled words. “We seek the seer-priest Teiresias.” The words came slowly as he tried to express himself in this foreign language, the sounds jumbling on his tongue like sand grains in a storm. “We come from the priestess Kirke, who said we must speak with you.”

  “Basileos,” whispered Elpenor, the youngest of the warriors. When they had set sail sailed for Troy, he had scarcely been out of boyhood, his face covered in a soft down. But the young warrior had a sharp ear for language and had quickly picked up the local dialect from the novice maidens. “I can speak for you,” he said eagerly, “and tell you what the old man says.”

  Odysseus nodded his head. “Go on then.”

  Elpenor quickly repeated Odysseus’ words, transformed into an unfamiliar string of sounds to which the old man responded with a deep utterance. “Tiresias says that Kirke, the priestess, is well known for her wisdom and healing. If she honours you as a friend then he must do likewise. He offers you refreshments. Afterwards you will make a sacrifice to the gods of the Underworld to summon the spirits of the dead.”

  “Very well,” Odysseus replied. He gestured the others to sit on the ground and called over one of the men to bring the black ram from the ship. The old man called inside to the hut and a young woman appeared, bearing a pitcher and beakers.

  “This is my granddaughter,” Elpenor explained on behalf of their host. His eyes lingered on her slim body, as the young woman filled the vessels with wine. A blush rose across her cheeks, as she handed a beaker to each of the men, lowering her head modestly. When they had all slaked their thirst and were well rested, Odysseus ordered the men to dig a pit as Kirke had instructed him. Then the men poured offerings of mixed milk and honey, wine and finally water sprinkled with barley grains before sacrificing the black ram, its dark blood mingling with the earth. Suddenly the gods brought to Odysseus’ mind that terrible sacrifice at Aulis and the look of horror on the innocent Iphigeneia’s face. He felt himself flinched betraying his thoughts, when Teiresias turned to him speaking in his rasping breathless voice.

  “These offerings of drink nourish the dead imprisoned underground,” translated Elpenor, “allowing them to draw near. Once the ram has been roasted, he Teiresias will tell you what you need to know.”

  For a long time, as the fire crackled, they sat watching the ram’s burning carcass roasting in the pit, the smouldering wood and the plumes of grey smoke. As the shadows began to lengthen, the seer bolted upright like a spear, crying out aloud.

  “He says that the spirits of the dead are drawing near,” whispered Elpenor.

  “Then tell the other men to withdraw to the ship as I would hear this alone,“ said Odysseus. “But you stay!” The younger man did as he was bid and a short time later only the three men remained: the blind seer, Elpenor and himself.

  “Odysseus!” The old man had begun to speak once more. He seemed to be in a trance, as if taken over by a god. “I see that you are destined to return to the land of your birth.” Elpenor’s eyebrows drew together and a look of dread passed over his face. “But this will not be the joyful return you seek. A god puts up barriers to block your way. For the sea god and earth shaker is angered at you for taking Troy and then harming his beloved son.”

  The memory of the Cyclops shot through his mind as suddenly the pieces fitted together. The wild man had called down a curse on him as his sight was robbed from him. Were their troubles due to the god Poseidon, the protector of the Trojans, who had taken against them he wondered?

  “Will I reach Ithaka with my companions?” Odysseus pressed, his anxiety mounting.

  The old man drew breath, the air escaping through his cracked lips. “It is hard to say. I see a pastureland with grazing cows that you will come across when you are in sore need. These belong to Helios the sun god and it is a test of your steadfastness. You and your men must resist your appetites and leave the cattle unharmed.” He lifted his sightless eyes towards Odysseus. “Otherwise your ship will be lost and you will return home alone, late and luckless.”

  From the corner of his eye, Odysseus noticed his younger translator flinch, but he needed answers to his questions. He mastered his own spirit. He must find out now all he could, whatever might help him.

  “And what is the state of affairs in my homeland of Ithaka?” he urged.

  The old man lifted his head upwards. “Your father is alive, but your mother has passed over to the world of the spirits.” At this news, Odysseus’ eyes pricked with tears as sadness swept over him. His beloved mother, who had pressed him to her body so tightly, as he had set off on this ill-fated venture. Now he would never have the chance to behold her dear face once more or perform her death rites.

  “And who governs the kingdom?” he demanded, sweeping aside his sentiment. He glanced as Elpenor, white-faced like ash, as he repeated the old man’s words.

  “Your wife holds steadfast and refuses to take another man as her husband. She remains true and your son administers your estates. But there are troubles ahead and suitors who will come to your house, eating your wealth, flocks and livelihood. They seek to seize from your son that which is yours.”

  At these words, Odysseus recoiled in horror as a bitter taste of saliva filled his mouth. His fears for the fate of his son and his kingdom were coming true. He had to return with full haste. He turned to Elpenor, whose colour had drained from his body and beads of sweat appeared on his lips. �
��We set sail at first light for Feronia and then onto Ithaka.”

  He started to rise to his feet, but the old seer raised his arm to delay him. “Odysseus, there is a man here who died in battle before his time. He towers like a god in shining armour. He claims acquaintance with you. He claims you tried to advise him in a quarrel, but he could not let go of his anger.”

  “Achilles?” he asked. His face came to his mind. Their godlike warrior, the very best of the Achaian Greeks. Brilliant but also temperamental, so moved by anger and pride. That terrible quarrel with Agamemnon had delivered so much death to the troops.

  The seer nodded his wrinkled head. “Yes, that may be the man’s name. He now laments his death, preferring to live as a lowly labourer or slave, than amongst the shades of Hades with glory. He brings a message to you. He urges you to live well according to the purpose of your life, so that one day you may have kleos and be known to all men.”

  The old man now put out his arm to restrain him. “I have one final prophecy for you, Odysseus,” he said, his breaths now coming in deep gasps so the words scarcely escaped from his mouth. His sightless eyes stared at him milky like cooked eggs. “Your death will come from the sea. It will take you in the weakness of old age with your people prospering around you.” He stopped and bent his head. ”I have nothing more to say as the spirits draw away.”

  “I thank you for your words old man. For now I know I must return to Ithaka as soon as the gods permit.” He stood up and started to fasten his sword belt around his waist, which he had cast aside. An urgency had come over him, now his son and his kingdom were in danger. “We will take our leave and go.” He glanced at the seer, his body hunched over the pit, his head shrunken into his body. “I thank you for your prophecies and will make due sacrifice in your name once we reach Ithaka.” The old man scarcely raised his head, as he bowed and turned towards the ship. The path he must follow was clear. If he delayed any longer, though it tore his heart, all might be lost and his family ruined.

  A voice stopped him in his tracks. “Basileos!” It was Elpenor running up behind, panting and breathless. “Please stop! I would speak with you.” His face was still pale and wide-eyed, with beads of sweat standing on his forehead. “I have heard and understood all that passed between you and the seer. I cannot come with you,” he said, trembling with fear. “Please, I beg you my lord, leave me here. If it is my fate to die at sea, then I cannot go on. To be food for fishes is not the fate I wish. ”

  “How can I let you, Elpenor, stay here alone?”

  “And how can I hold my tongue and not speak to the others of our shared fate?”

  Odysseus scanned the younger man’s face and grasped at once his fear. “What you say is true, Elpenor,” he said patiently. “This knowledge is a burden we must carry. But how would I explain your absence to the men, if you don’t come?”

  Elpenor replied without hesitation. “Say I fell drunk from the roof of the hut and broke my neck. Let them raise a burial mound for me at Feronia. For I would rather live my days here, then endure the fate of an early death swallowed by the sea.” The younger man raised his head, an appeal in his face.

  “Very well then, Elpenor. I will give you until tomorrow to consider your decision. But we will set sail at Dawn.” He briefly clasped the young man to his chest, holding him close to his chest, momentarily thinking of his own son Telemachos on Ithaka. “Take care.”

  “Thank you Basileos,” said Elpenor, the tears spilling over his face. With that the young warrior turned and retraced his steps to the seer’s dwelling. Momentarily Odysseus cast his glance back to watch Elpenor’s figure recede into the shadows of the woodland.

  “He is always one for the pretty woman!” remarked one of the men bawdily back at camp, to the raucous laughter of the men. “And that granddaughter was a fine maiden, ready for the poke of a man!” Without question, they had readily accepted his explanation for Elpenor’s absence. Even Eurylochos allowed a smirk to touch his lips.

  At nightfall, he gathered the men around him, a plan now fully formed in his mind. “Men, my dear companions,” he began, observing the bank of sullen faces. Even a full year of hospitality and being well fed could not undo the suffering and hardship inflicted under foreign skies.

  “I have heard news of our destiny,” Odysseus announced, “and I cannot pretend our journey ahead will be easy, but-” he paused, watching carefully to measure their responses: the curl of a mouth, the square of a shoulder, the raising of a brow. He continued, his words ringing out clearly for all ears. “But if you listen and obey me in all things, we will survive and return to our native Ithaka. This is what the ancient seer told me. We leave for Feronia at tomorrow’s Dawn, where we will stay briefly to take on provisions for the journey. Then we set sail for Ithaka.” A huge cheer went up, almost snatching away his words. The men were laughing and clapping each other on the back. Soon they expected to see their loved ones and home at last. “Take your fill of rest and food now, while you can” he shouted above the din, “for men cannot toil on an empty stomach.”

  Buoyed by the news of their imminent departure, there were high spirits in the camp that night. Some of the men broke into song, huddled round the flickering fire, thinking of home. But an anxiety hung over him. How could he break the news to Kirke? The thought of saying goodbye to Kirke disturbed his mind and felt worse than any misfortune inflicted by the gods. As he hunkered down for the night, wrapping a coverlet round him, Eurylochos whispered across to him.

  “So at last Odysseus, you have finally come to your senses!” He chose not respond, but simply wrapped the blanket closer to him.

  They were out at sea, when Odysseus broke the news of Elpenor’s apparent demise. The young man had not reappeared, throwing his lot in to stay in this strange land. Some of the men had let out gasps of anguish at the news of another loss. But they had all doubled their efforts and toiled on the oars, rowing with a renewed sense of purpose.

  They raised a mound for Elpenor on a point overlooking the winter camp, fixing his oar aloft. When they were done, Odysseus went in search of Kirke. He found her in the inner part of the sanctuary, busying herself with preparing healing potions and salves. At his approach, she did not even look up from her work.

  “So when do you leave?” she asked, without any hint of acrimony or recrimination.

  “Tomorrow as soon as we take on provisions,” he said, his heart beating fast, for he had feared this moment. “You are willing for us to take what we need?”

  “Of course, Odysseus,” came her easy reply. “Give instructions for your requirements to the maidens and they will see to it. For you will need supplies of bread, wine, water, dried fruits and meat too.” She turned away from him, refusing to meet his glance. “Tonight you and your men will take your fill of my hospitality one last time, eating and drinking to your hearts’ content, before your departure.”

  He touched her arm, lightly drawing her face around with his other hand to meet his eye. “Please Kirke, let us not be like strangers. Let me tell you what I have learned from the blind seer, Teiresias, so you will understand……”

  She cut across him, interrupting his words. “You don’t need to explain.”

  “But I do Kirke,” he entreated her. “For I cannot bear to part other than we are.” Kirke poured a pitcher of water to wipe her hands, pulling back a stray lock of hair from her face. She wore a robe of woodland green, her customary colour, beneath which the solid curve of her belly was conspicuous. Part of him wanted to cling to her, refusing to give her up even now.

  “According to the seer, my kingdom of Ithaka is under threat.” The words came tumbling out. “I have a son who is my heir and just entering manhood. My wife holds steadfast to our marriage but if she remarries, the kingdom will be lost. For this reason, I must go back. If the gods had not written my fate as such then… -”

  “Hush, Odysseus. You cannot alter what the gods have willed. It is not our fate to be together in this life.”
/>   “But Kirke, how can you know that? Surely we have a choice over what fate we choose.”

  Kirke held a finger up against his lips. Then she turned and led him by the hand onto the lower steps of the sacred shrine. They sat together so that their thighs pressed against each other and he could feel the heat of her body. “Of course, this is not your life’s course,” Kirke said, raising her face to his. “The gods have been playing with us to imagine we might live out our days together, raising our children and then their children. Let us not dwell on this for it will only bring us both sadness. Rather listen to me carefully and I will tell you everything I know to find the route back to your island and all the dangers that may lay ahead.” And she told him in detail, missing nothing out.

  “And what of our child?” he asked, when she had finished, drawing her close to him and feeling her thickened waist.

  “Don’t worry.” She reassured him. “I will cherish the child. When the time comes for the child to be born, there are many here within the sanctuary who will assist me.” She stroked the round of her belly with her fingers. “If the child is a boy, I will call him Telegonos, the last born. He will be raised to know who his father is and that he is a great warrior. And if the gods will it, when he comes of manhood, I will send him to find you.”

  He drew her to him, suddenly overcome by sentiment, he the Achaian warrior conquered by a woman. “I love you Kirke,” he whispered in her ear, as he held her to him breathing her fragrance.