by Anna Harvey
“It’s looking that way.”
“It would make a lot of sense,” Richard continued. “As you know, anyone sailing from Pylos on the mainland would have come across to Poros on the south side of the island and then followed the coastline up to the straits. It would be the natural way to go. And I hear that you found your second beach.” Thea nodded, assuming Rob had imparted this information. “That’s a further sign we’re on the right track,” Richard confidently asserted, tipping his hat back. He was obviously still conscious of providing Dimitri with some good news.
“So where are you planning to look next, Thea?” Mark asked.
“I’m thinking of retracing the path taken from the landing site near Porto Katsiki towards one of the villages over a weekend.” The plan had formed in her mind a few days before. “It would be at least a half day’s trek.”
“I could join you,” said Mark good-naturedly. “We haven’t seen much of one another lately and I’d enjoy a day out.”
“It would be good to have your company.”
Alistair had been standing nearby, his eyebrows raised. “Elizabeth isn’t a keen walker, but the trail would be interesting and we could offer an archaeological perspective.”
“Certainly your expertise would be useful,” Thea readily agreed.
“And I could join you too.” Thea looked up to discover Rob standing over her. It was the first time he had stirred all afternoon, since the excursion to Vardianoi. At last, a normal colour had returned to his cheeks and whatever ailed him had vanished.
“Alright,” Thea replied hesitatingly, puzzled by Rob’s sudden change in demeanour. “It sounds like the trip is settled.”
The shadows had lengthened, as they prepared to leave. Most of the traces of the afternoon had been removed, the food packed away, the barbecue extinguished and the rugs refolded. The speedboat had not yet reappeared and Matthew had accompanied Sophie to the parked cars to say his goodbyes. To her surprise Thea discovered herself alone with Rob. He was looking out over the water towards Vardianoi, his face scrunched up against the dying beams of sunlight.
Thea drew her arms around herself, mustering her courage to break the awkward silence that lay between them. “I think I owe you an apology, Rob,” she began cautiously.
“Why?” he asked, his voice toneless, as he stared out into the distance towards the sunset.
“For all the interest in your lab these past few weeks.” Thea looked up at Rob, not quite sure what to say. He was obviously angry with her. “I didn’t mean to betray your confidence,” she said, swallowing hard. “Richard was in a tight spot and I mentioned what you had said to help him out. I’m really sorry if I put you in a difficult position,” she ended apologetically.
Rob swung round to face her, glowering. “That’s not the issue, Thea.” His Adam’s apple stood out in his throat and his face had flushed pink. ”I know you’re seeing Dimitri Kampitsis.” He almost spat out Dimitri’s name, through clenched teeth. “And it didn’t look platonic the other night when I saw you two together!”
The force of his words caught her off balance and for a moment Thea stumbled to answer. She stared at him, feeling a rush of anger rising in her body. “I don’t understand what interest it is of yours,” she snapped, losing all patience. “You wrote me a cursory note and then left the island without explanation! How dare you complain about who I see!”
He flinched and hung his head, as if preoccupied by his thoughts. “You’re right Thea,” he finally said at last, his voice mellowing, turning to face her. “It‘s none of my business. But there was a reason for my sudden departure that I can’t explain right now.”
A gust of wind caught her hair and whipped it over her face. Evening was drawing in and she hoped their boat journey back across the straits would not be too bumpy. She suddenly felt a need to account herself to Rob, though perplexed why she had to explain. She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and turned to Rob.
“You’re right, I did have dinner with Dimitri a couple of nights ago.” Thea paused and fingered the ring on her hand, unsure how much to say. “Years ago, we were in a relationship together when we were both young. It’s a complicated story. I hadn’t wanted to see Dimitri again only Richard forced me into a meeting. It all happened after you abruptly left the island.” She looked down, biting her lip, hoping not to sound reproachful. “I’m sorry if my relationship with Dimitri causes you offence, as this wasn’t my intention.”
“Then I hope you know what you are doing, Thea,” Rob replied his voice tinged with regret. She felt between them a deep unspoken understanding, the source for which she could not fathom. But there was a connection. “If that is what you want. Only I’m afraid of you getting hurt,” Rob continued more mildly. “The man just seems so full of himself. It’s not Odysseus he’s really looking for but the kudos of finding him, so he can become the next hero of the Greeks.”
His words resonated and she suddenly recalled her dinner conversation with Dimitri earlier that week. “I know,” Thea assured him.
Chapter 17
Home Coming
In the privacy of their bedchamber, Penelope had undressed, as always covering herself modestly with her arms. Then she had climbed beside him into the intimacy of their marital bed, carved by him from the trunk of a single olive tree. He made love to her, wanting to reassure her as she lay passively in his embrace. Afterwards he had held her to him, caressing her smooth milk-white skin and slender waist. Despite their years of love-making, she had not conceived again and now she had reached the end of her child-bearing years.
He cradled her in his arm and spoke to her with soft words. “I hope you will not distress yourself by what the bard sang tonight. For you are a blameless and faultless wife, outstanding in your virtue. Despite being hard pressed to take another as your husband, you held fast to preserve this kingdom. For that I am forever obliged to you and in your debt. We have spent these many good years happy together, living out our days in peace and may the gods grant us many more.”
“Have no fear husband,” she murmured. ”I am content in our life together,” and then she had given him her most loving and dutiful smile.
He didn’t quite know what he expected from her, but some god unsettled his mood. Afterwards, when Penelope slumbered in his arms, he could not give himself over to sweet Sleep. From time to time the darkened room was illuminated by the distant flashes of lightning, soundless, sent by Zeus who thunders on Mount Olympus. Remembering Kirke disturbed him still and whatever thought a god was trying to plant in his mind, he shook it off.
Carefully he untwined himself from Penelope, trying not to break her slumber. Wrapped in heavy Sleep, she still slept soundly as a soft murmur escaped her lips. He crossed the familiar darkened room not knowing what to do with himself; this restlessness during the time of Sleep was becoming commonplace. Tomorrow would be the feast day of Apollo and he could not be absent in his bed. It marked the twenty years since his return to reclaim his island kingdom and for some time a plan had been forming in his mind. He seated himself on a chair, solidly carved, where he could ponder things in his mind until Sleep overpowered him. From time to time the room was brilliantly illuminated by the distant lightning flashes, revealing just for an instance the features of the room.
Odysseus now turned over the proposition in his mind this way and that to determine the best course to steer. When he had left Kirke, his purpose had been so very clear. It had been a long hard battle that he had fought to bring himself back from that accursed war to reclaim his natural and rightful place here on Ithaka. But now a new strategy for his kingdom kept occupying his mind, taking over his thoughts. He had tried to discuss it with Penelope, but she simply deferred to his judgement.
“Do as you think fit,” she had said, lowering those compliant eyes. “For you are the Basileos.”
Now as he pondered this matter, his thoughts led him back to that earlier time, when it had been so different, when he had set in moti
on that strategy to reclaim his kingship and authority.
When he had first set foot back on Ithaka, there had been no big reception or thanks-giving feast for his long awaited home-coming. Indeed he had not even recognised that he had at last returned to his beloved island. For the Phaiakian boat that had conveyed him from the palace of Alkinoos had set him down in a remote long shallow bay, sheltered by two headlands that projected out into the sea.
He had cut a solitary figure on that isolated beach. Except for the gifts of guest friendship he, the great hero of Troy, was alone. No longer was he accompanied by those brave Kephallenian warriors, the companions alongside whom he had fought so long and hard to capture that cursed city. Those conquering heroes were long gone, scattered to the winds and his countrymen dead or lost at sea. He had done his duty and returned with his kleos, but it was a bitter sweet moment.
It was then he had recalled the words of the seer, whom Kirke had advised him to see and that had lodged in his mind all these years. “You will return home alone, late and luckless,” the old man’s words rang out. Standing there on that beach, it was just as the blind seer had described. But there were other words too that unsettled his mind and sent shivers down his backbone, “There will be those who come to your kingdom, eating your wealth and livelihood, trying to take what is yours away from your son.” It had been a warning to Odysseus and he had come so far that he was not about to take any chances.
He sat on the sand, looking out across the calm water as the waves lapped against the shore-line. A plan had started to form in his mind perhaps sown by his patron goddess, Athena herself. It was too perilous to present himself to his household unexpectedly as he could not be sure of what reception he might receive. He had no way of knowing which retainers had stayed true to him and which had become loyal to another. He could be set upon and murdered. Until he knew for certain who was now ruling the palace, he would enter as a stranger disguised as a beggar.
A small cave at the water’s edge caught his eye. Covered by an olive tree, it had not been immediately visible from the beach. A good place for hiding the precious gifts, he reasoned, thinking of the pile of tripods, precious metals and finely made clothes. It took some time to stow them in a corner of the cave, which he then covered with rocks. He uttered a prayer to the water nymphs to protect the precious stash, promising gifts in return. He then stripped off his well-made clothes, provided by his host, down to a simple tunic which he tore in places and smeared with earth. Likewise he splashed himself with saltwater to shrivel his skin and rubbed dirt into his hair and beard. Once done, he was ready.
At the far end of the strand, he discovered a small path leading up the steep slope between the hollow of two hills. He followed it. The land was lush and verdant on this side and he noted the well-tended olive and lemon trees loaded with ripe fruit.
Signs of human labour suggested a dwelling place could not be far away, he thought to himself. He would spin a story to cover his sudden appearance on the island. He considered this in his mind: to avoid suspicion, he must stay true to the lie even if it meant bearing insults and dishonourable treatment from others.
The light of Helios was fading when he finally reached the top of the hill. Sitting at the entrance to his hut, he had come across a swineherd. The man was watching his drove of pigs foraging for acorns and woodland fruit. There was the sound of excited grunting, as the animals greedily snuffled the ground. It was the barking of the dogs which had alerted the man to his presence and he would have suffered injury had the stranger not called them off, scattering a handful of pebbles.
“Welcome stranger,” the man greeted him. “You look as if you have travelled some distance.” His eyes flashed bright but kindly. “You must be weary.” Beneath the full black beard of curly whiskers, it was hard to discern the man’s features except for the skin tanned like leather hide.
“I have indeed,” Odysseus had replied, noting with satisfaction the well-constructed yard. Care had been taken to divide it into sties to house the swine. “I would welcome a place to sit and take some rest for my tired bones.”
“Then please allow me to give you hospitality according to the rules of Zeus himself. My name is Eumaios,” the man continued, “I work in the service of Odysseus, king of Ithaka, who has been absent these twenty long years.”
The sound of his own name jolted his ears, like the twang of the bowstring when discharged. He could almost have wept in relief at the kindly greeting. He studied the swineherd more closely, but it was hard to discern his features. He judged him as a servant, perhaps taken as a slave during a raid. The fellow had an open and honest demeanour, but prudence held him back from revealing his true identity.
He allowed himself to be led by the man inside the small wooden dwelling, furnished with a thick goatskin pelt for a bed.
“Please sit and take some rest,” said Eumaios, clearing a place on the floor and scattering brushwood. He then left Odysseus to go and prepare food for them both. It wasn’t long before the swineherd returned with a plate piled with cooked pork and a wooden bowl of wine, which he set down on the floor, urging his guest to eat. Suddenly hunger overcame his body at the sight of the roasted meat, the crackling fat golden and glistening.
When their bellies were bloated with food and wine, only then did Odysseus question the servant, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“So tell me, good Eumaios, what land is this that I have come to and who rules here? For you said that your master is absent.”
“It is hard to say,” the other man replied wearily, casting his eyes downwards. ”For my master has been gone such a time. He was called to fight on the battlefield of Troy by King Agamemnon himself, the Anax of the Greeks. But since the war ended over ten years ago, he has not returned and no word has been heard of him. He is thought now lost, perhaps wandering hungry and destitute in some foreign land.”
The words cut Odysseus like a knife. “And what became of his kingdom,” he asked feigning indifference. “Did he leave behind a family and children?” He could feel himself stiffen and alert to the man’s reply.
“That is a woeful business! Even though we live remotely here, a whole half day’s walk from the homestead, bad news still reaches us. Suitors lay siege to his house daily, pressing their suit on his wife, Penelope. They say that she is beside herself. His father, Laertes, could not bear the situation as it sorely vexed him, so he retired to another part of the estate. Through the gods’ blessings, his mother did not live to see this day as she suffered terribly at the loss of her son.”
He flinched at the mention of his mother’s passing. It pained him that he had not been there at her funeral rites to mourn her death as her dutiful son. He pushed down the tears welling in his eyes. He had come too long and too far to betray himself at this point.
“What else have you heard?” he pressed, concerned that the seer’s words appeared to have become true.
“They say each day these suitors, though high born, abuse the hospitality,” the kind-hearted Eumaios replied. “They deplete the wine stores and demand more flocks to eat and feast upon, making a poor man of my master. Each day we receive a summons for more animals to be sent to the homestead for the suitors to feed upon.” The man shook his head at the dismal situation he described, his shoulders hunched. “But I believe the gods will one day dispense their justice.”
“So the wife Penelope has not taken a new husband? “Odysseus asked casually, quickly calculating the situation in his mind. “And what of the son?” He quickly corrected himself. “The eldest son, I mean, if there is one. How does he manage this state of affairs in his father’s absence?”
A broad grin broke out on the other man’s face. “There is only one son, Telemachos, a fine boy now in young manhood. He is desperate for his father’s return and has gone away to Sparta on the mainland, seeking news of his father. For the situation is intolerable to the young man as each day he witnesses his inheritance being diminished and consumed by t
hose wretched suitors. May the gods bring down a curse upon their heads! But that apart, my master was a good and true man as ever lived. I greatly grieve his absence.”
The words of this good and faithful servant filled his heart with shame at his deception. For the man had remained loyal to his memory through all these long years. He tried to offer reassurance. “I have heard of your master Odysseus on my travels, Eumaios, and tell you truly that he is on his way. When I last saw him, he was mustering a ship and will be here by the month’s end.”
Eumaios eyed him courteously and without malice. “I know stranger you are only trying to offer comfort for our situation, but that time will never come.” He let out a deep sigh, staring blankly into the distance. “Had he returned in time, I might have looked forward to my freedom from service and been provided with small lands so I could take a wife and raise a family.“ He shook his head as if throwing off his mood. “Let us speak of things less grievous to the spirit. Tell me old man, from where do you come?”
Odysseus had been waiting for the questions to come and had prepared his story. He spun a false tale of being a Kretan wanderer weaving in details of his own plight: the fighting at Troy, a sea voyage going badly wrong; being ship wrecked and finally trying to make his way to the island of Doulichion. He had not been sure as to how much of the story Eumaios had believed.
“And so I plan to seek out the palace on this island and throw myself at the mercy of their hospitality.”
Eumaios had stopped him, his eyes wide with horror. “Don’t go,” he had urged. ”For I fear those haughty young suitors will disrespect you. Stay here for a while until you regain your strength. You will be quite safe for we are remote. When you are ready, I myself will show you the way.”
Even then he had not been content to trust the words of the swineherd but had devised other ploys to test out the servant’s loyalty. He shuddered to remember his attempts to deceive and catch out this good and loyal man, spinning more falsehoods of fighting alongside Odysseus at Troy. If Eumaios had suspected his ruse, he did not betray his doubts. Instead he made up a bed of sheep and goatskins by the fire for his guest, offering up a thick woollen cloak and vacating his comfortable bed to sleep in the sties.