Oh My Gods, page 33
My men and I spent a year on Circe’s island while we rested and they enjoyed the delights of her handmaids. I myself mounted the bed of the witch each night—so as not to offend her—and lost all track of time. But at last I roused myself and told our hostess we must leave. Circe did not try to stop us, but she warned me of what lay ahead: “Odysseus, royal son of Laertes, to sail home to Ithaca you must first make another voyage, one no ship has made before. You must journey to the house of death, the abode of Hades, and there seek counsel from the ghost of wise Tiresias.”
These words crushed my heart. Sail to the land of the dead? I asked her how this was possible. She replied that an entrance to Hades’ realm lay across the great river of Ocean far to the north. The spirit of Tiresias would tell me what I needed to know to complete my journey and make peace with Poseidon.
The men were overjoyed that night as they drank heavily from Circe’s wine for the last time and made love to her nymphs. One of the sailors, a foolish young man named Elpenor, fell drunk from the palace roof and broke his neck in the early morning hours, but there was no time to bury him before we sailed. Once we were under way, I spoke to my crew: “Men, we are on our way to Ithaca, but there is one final journey we must first make. I ask you to trust me this last time. Circe has told me that we cannot find our way home until I have consulted the prophet Tiresias in the land of the dead.”
The men thought at first I must be joking, then they saw from my face that I was serious. How could anyone travel to the land of the dead and return? they asked. Hercules had journeyed there, as had Orpheus, but they were great heroes of another age. We are just men, they cried, who want to see our families again. Even if by some miracle we could sail this ship to Hades’ realm, we would be trapped there forever.
But finally, with much persuasion and not a few threats, I convinced my crew we must travel to the dwelling place of shades or never see home again. With a last look at the world of the living, we turned our ship to the setting sun and sailed into darkness.
I don’t know how long our voyage lasted—weeks, perhaps months—but at last we sailed to a land where the sun never shines and endless night hangs over everything. We beached our ship on a desolate shore and disembarked, taking with us animals for sacrifice. I found a sandy spot on that lifeless coast and dug a trench with my sword, then poured milk, honey, and wine into the hole for the dead, followed by water and barley. With that I took sheep and cut their throats over the trench so that the dark blood flowed in. Then I saw a sight to freeze your soul. Thousands of ghosts appeared out of the darkness and drifted toward me. There were young brides and old men, children and warriors cut down in battle. I drew my sword and held them all back from the blood they craved until I saw the shade of young Elpenor, who had fallen to his death on Circe’s island and made his way to this place faster than our ship. I let him sip the black blood so that he could speak, then he begged me to give him a proper burial if I made it back to the witch’s home. I swore that I would do so and watched as he faded into the gloom.
The figure I saw next brought pity and fear to my heart so that I wept on that dismal shore. It was my own mother, Anticlea, whom I had left alive when I sailed for Troy. She was only a shade now, just a fleeting image of the woman who had raised me and loved me so. But in spite of my desire to question her, I would not let her approach the blood until I had spoken to Tiresias.
The ghost of the Theban prophet then appeared before me and motioned me to lower my sword while he drank from the trench. At last he spoke.
“Odysseus, son of Laertes, you have a difficult journey ahead of you. Many trials and much pain await you on many shores. You will come to an island where the cattle of Helios, god of the sun, graze. But no matter how hungry you are, do not touch them. If you leave them alone, you may reach home. If you do come to rocky Ithaca, you will find things are not as you left them. Even if you do become master of your house again, your journey will not be over. You must take an oar and carry it high into the mountains far from the sea. When someone at last asks you why you have a winnowing fan on your shoulder, plant the blade there and sacrifice to Poseidon. Then you will finally know peace.”
The seer left me and withdrew into the darkness. Then I allowed my mother to come forward and drink the blood so that she could speak. When she had finished, I implored her to tell me of events in Ithaca and how she had come down to the house of Hades.
“My son, your home is overrun by wicked men who seek your fair Penelope as their bride. She resists them, at least for now, but she and your son, Telemachus, cannot hold them off forever. Your father, Laertes, has withdrawn in sorrow to a hut in the countryside to live like a pauper. As for me, I could not wait for you any longer. My sweet Odysseus, I died of longing for you.”
Tears rolled down my face like rain as I tried three times to embrace her, but her shade passed through my hands like smoke.
Others came to drink from the trench full of blood. Mothers of great heroes, such as Leda, who bore Castor and Pollux, and Jocasta, the mother of Oedipus. Then warriors marched forward, friends I had known at Troy. The spirit of Agamemnon was there, telling me of his murder at the hands of his wife, Clytemnestra, and warning me never to trust a woman, even Penelope. Then great-hearted Achilles drank the blood as I congratulated him on being the most famous of the ghosts in Hades. But he scoffed at me: “Shining Odysseus, you are a fool if you think there is any glory here. I would rather be a living slave to the poorest farmer in Greece than rule over the kingdom of the dead.”
I also saw mighty Ajax, but he turned away from me and would not drink, still angry over the armor of Achilles I had won instead of him.
I saw Tantalus there in his endless torture, reaching in vain for fruit and trying to drink water that vanished away. I saw Sisyphus pushing his rock endlessly up a hill, only to have it roll down again. I even talked to Hercules—the mortal part of his spirit that was burned away, not the god who lives forever on Olympus. I saw Theseus, Minos, the great hunter Orion, and countless others there as they pressed forward to drink the blood. But soon so many dead came surging around me that I could not hold them back. Terror gripped me and I called on my men to ready the ship before we were overwhelmed by all the shades of Hades. We cut the cables and rowed for our lives as the spirits crowded the shore, crying for blood. At last we left that dark land behind and began our long journey back to the world of light and life.
We returned to Circe’s island and buried our companion Elpenor, just as he had asked. The beautiful witch herself welcomed us back from the dead, then took me aside to warn me of what lay ahead—temptations, monsters, and death for some, though I did not tell this to my men. The next morning we set out again for Ithaca.
A fair wind blew for many days, but suddenly we were becalmed in a strange sea and took out our oars to row. Circe had told me what would happen next, so I sliced beeswax into pieces and told my crew to fix this tightly in their ears until the danger was past. I then ordered them to bind me to the mast with double ropes so that I alone could hear the song of the Sirens. These hideous creatures lured men to their doom with their lovely words that no one could resist. The men rowed with powerful strokes away from the island of these creatures, but still I heard them singing: “Welcome, Odysseus, come closer, great captain! We know what wonders you accomplished at Troy, we know it all, and will sing to you of your glorious deeds. Come and lose yourself in the past.”
I was driven mad by their voices and told my men to untie me so that I could go to them. But two of my companions bound me all the tighter for my struggling until at last we were far from their shore, covered with the bones of their victims.
Scarcely were we safe from the Sirens than we came to a narrow strait. On one side lay the monster Scylla, once a beautiful maiden but now a creature with six heads that snatched men and ate them raw. We would have steered clear of her, but on the other side lay the great whirlpool Charybdis, which dragged ships down to their doom. Our only hope was to row as swiftly as we could between Scylla and Charybdis, praying to the gods that not all of us would perish. Then Scylla struck suddenly and took six of my brave men, all screaming my name with their last breath. She dragged them back to her dark cavern and devoured them alive, while we could do nothing. Of all the deaths I had seen at Troy and on our voyage home, these were the hardest to bear and most horrible to watch.
At last we found a green island and pulled up on shore. I had told my men we should row on, for this was the island of Helios, lord of the sun. Circe had warned me not to visit here lest my men in their hunger eat the god’s cattle. But they begged for rest and swore they would not touch his herds. At first they kept their word, but a fierce south wind held us on the island for a month until the food on our ship ran out. Hunger racked our bellies while we listened to the sweet lowing of cattle on the hills at night. At last while I slept, my men decided they would rather face the wrath of the god than starve. They killed and roasted one of the cattle, then ate to their hearts’ content. I awoke and told them they were fools, but the deed was done.
The next day when the wind finally died away, we set out from the cursed island. But Helios had gone before Zeus to complain about the violation of his herd, so the ruler of the gods struck our ship with a lightning bolt in a storm. My men were thrown from our broken craft and cried to me as they sank down into the waves for the last time. I could do nothing except cling to a few broken planks as I watched them all drown and wait to die myself. But the gods had other plans for me. I lived to wash up on the shores of Calypso’s island ten days later, alone of all the men who had set out from Ithaca so many years before.
That is my story, great king Alcinous and gracious queen Arete, until I washed ashore on your island yesterday. You have heard the whole sad tale and now I ask only that you grant me a small ship so that I may find my way home.
The Phaeacian king and his court sat spellbound as Odysseus finished his story. Then Alcinous rose and assured him he would have his sailors take him to Ithaca that very evening in his fastest ship. The king called on his nobles each to give the penniless wanderer a fine gift of gold or silver so that he would not return to his home empty-handed. The lords of Phaeacia all agreed and had their servants place a hoard of treasure on board the swift ship. The king and queen led Odysseus to the docks and saw him onto the craft, bidding him a warm farewell. The son of Laertes was so exhausted that he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he heard the rhythmic movement of the oars. At miraculous speed, the Phaeacian ship cut through the waters that night so that as the morning star rose in the east they spied the shores of Ithaca off their bow. Odysseus was still dead to the world, so they carried the sleeping man to the beach and laid him gently down on the earth of his homeland. The treasure they stored safely away in a nearby cave, then boarded their ship and sailed away.
It was midmorning before Odysseus awoke and found himself again in an unknown land. He thought at first the Phaeacian sailors had left him on some desolate coast and taken his treasure for themselves, but he soon found the cave and counted his riches, blessing King Alcinous and his men for their honesty and kindness. But where was he? At that moment a shepherd boy appeared on the hill above the beach herding his goats. Odysseus hailed him and asked him what country this was. The lad laughed and said he was on the island of Ithaca. Odysseus was overjoyed to be home, but he did not show it to the shepherd. He was determined not to reveal his identity to anyone until he knew who his friends were on the island. He replied, “Ithaca? Yes, I think I’ve heard of it. I’m from Crete myself. I killed a man there after I returned from Troy when he tried to steal the booty I won at that great city. I fled then on a ship of Phoenician traders who brought me here.”
At that moment the shepherd boy laughed again and turned into the goddess Athena.
“Odysseus, this is why I love you so. Any other man would have rushed to his house straightaway after twenty years, but you are always thinking and scheming. That’s why I can never forsake you in your troubles. You’re right to be careful and trust no one—not even your wife, Penelope. Test her first, test them all, before you reveal yourself. I will help you now by transforming you into an old beggar so you can move about unknown in your own household. Then I’m off to Sparta to fetch Telemachus, who has been looking for you. Be careful, Odysseus—you’re not home yet. You have faced monsters and angry gods, but the dangers ahead are more treacherous.”
With that the goddess touched Odysseus and shriveled his skin, turned his hair white, and clothed him in dirty rags. She gave him a staff and a beggar’s sack slung from a frayed rope over his shoulder. Then she disappeared, leaving him alone.
Odysseus made his way from the beach to a nearby hut in the hills where his swineherd Eumaeus lived. The old servant welcomed the stranger—for Zeus watches over strangers—and gave him food to eat. The king did not reveal himself, but told the swineherd he was a refugee from Crete who had once served beside Odysseus at Troy. He told Eumaeus how he had fought bravely in the war, but was blown off course to Egypt on the way home, and his crew all died because of their foolish greed. He had lost everything—family, home, riches—before he washed up on these shores and only wanted directions to the local palace so that he could beg for scraps. Eumaeus told him how to find the home of the king, but warned him his lord was long absent and that wicked suitors, filthy pigs seeking the hand of fair Penelope, had taken over his home. They were beggars of a sort themselves, but they would not treat him kindly, so he had best be on his guard. Odysseus thanked the shepherd, then asked instead if he might stay with him awhile. Eumaeus consented, as he welcomed the company, and made a bed for the stranger in a corner of his hut.
Athena meanwhile had flown to Sparta to rouse Telemachus and send him on his way home. The prince thanked Menelaus and Helen, then returned to his ship at Pylos and set sail for Ithaca. By the help of the goddess he avoided the trap the suitors had laid for him and landed on the far side of the island, sending his crew on to the port, where he would join them later. The young man wanted to find his old friend Eumaeus first and question him about what had happened at the palace during his absence.
The swineherd embraced the prince like a long-lost son and brought him into his simple hut for bread and wine. The old beggar in the corner gazed at him in wonder and rose to offer Telemachus his seat, but the prince bade him sit while Eumaeus told him all the latest news. The beggar watched the young man closely as he spoke, noting his fine bearing and clear mind. When they had finished and Telemachus asked him who he was and where he had come from, the wanderer said he was nobody, just a poor castaway from Crete blown to these shores. Then when Eumaeus left to take care of the pigs, Athena removed the disguise she had placed on the king so that he stood like Zeus himself before the startled prince.
“Friend,” exclaimed Telemachus, “your clothes and look have changed before my eyes! Are you a god come down from Olympus? Be kind to us here on this humble island and we will offer you rich sacrifices.”
But the shining figure shook his head and said, “I am no god, but a man like yourself. Listen to me, Telemachus. You have borne a world of pain these last twenty years, but no longer. I have returned. I am Odysseus, your father.”
At first Telemachus did not believe these words, but Odysseus told of what he had been through and how Athena had transformed him. Then at last the prince saw that it was true and threw his arms around his father as both stood weeping.
The two talked far into the night as Telemachus shared with his father everything that had happened and told him about each of the suitors who had come to steal Penelope. Odysseus listened carefully and finally told his son what they would do. The prince would return to his mother and let her know he had returned safely from Sparta. Then the next day when Athena had changed Odysseus back into an old beggar, the king would make his way to the palace himself. When he had learned everything he needed to know, he would drive the trespassers from his home, no matter how many there were. Telemachus was to say nothing about him to Penelope. Odysseus would reveal himself to her in his own good time.
After Telemachus left the next morning, the swineherd Eumaeus led his guest to the palace of Odysseus with another warning to be on his guard against the cruel suitors. Along the way they met Melanthius, the royal goatherd, who mocked the shabby beggar and kicked him into the dirt. For a moment Odysseus was going to take his staff and beat the man to death, but he quickly mastered his temper and let Melanthius go on his way.
The wandering king at last entered the courtyard of his palace after twenty years away. He could hardly believe the tattered look of his beloved home or the crowd of boisterous suitors he saw gathered around eating his stores. It was then that an old dog in the corner of the courtyard pricked up his ears. He was Argos, trained as a puppy by Odysseus many years before as his companion on hunts through the woods and hills. Now, with his master long gone, he lay blind and crippled on a pile of manure for warmth. Sometimes the servants threw him a scrap of food, but most of the time he slept in the manure scarcely able to move his old bones. But then he heard the voice of his old master as he entered the gate and used what little strength he still had to raise his head, though he could not even crawl forward to greet him. Odysseus saw him there, but did not dare show any recognition lest he give himself away. The faithful hound then lowered his head for the last time and quietly died, while his master, unseen by all, wiped away a tear.
