21. Odette

21

Odette

R ain was our constant companion for the next forty nights, a ceaseless torrent. The sky remained an unbroken canvas of lead grey, the sea churned angrily beneath us, and everyone was miserable. Each one of us was soaked through, the cold seeping into our bones – no matter if we were above board or not.

Odysseus had tasked me with drying out the fish, meats, and fruits, so that they might last longer on a journey that seemed never-ending. It was a near impossible task in this weather, and I’m sure all the other slave women would have agreed, should we have been able to see each other through the relentless hammering of rain from the sky.

Guilt and hunger gnawed at my gut, for I suspected it was my vow making this journey so arduous and long. Funny how hindsight could make you rethink things in the moment. I could barely remember the pain of losing Alcander. Even Lykas, though the pang of memory hurt my heart, struggled to contend with the pain of hunger and of my lips, now chapped and blistering from the brine of the olives I was practically living on, to make sure the men were given the majority of bread and cheeses that had not staled.

So, when we finally caught sight of the next island, I was not surprised to hear Odysseus yell to the men to head toward it. The island’s outline was dark and foreboding, like a dragon rising from cloud cover or fog, only for us to realise how huge it was. Coupled with the howling wind and the jagged rocks along the shoreline, I was unsure this island wasn’t a monster disguised in nature – and yet it still presented as a promise of respite from the interminable ocean.

It was twilight by the time we made it to the shore. Ahead of us was a cave, its entrance yawning open before us, further reinforcing my belief that this was some monster. It was too good to be true – an island and a cave in which to shelter from the weather?

I was two steps behind every one of Odysseus’, even though he was pulling my hand, so I saw him stop and raise his other arm, even as my body lurched forward to catch up to the tug and then swayed as I halted beside him.

His focus was fixed on the cave’s entrance, his jaw clenched, and I could practically hear him doing the risk calculations in his head as his eyes darted back and forth and his fingers twitched against mine.

“We go in,” he commanded, his voice steady but with an edge that made me nervous. His authority was undeniable to the men, but, for the first time, I wasn’t convinced. Perhaps it was because ever since we’d left Troy, trouble had followed us in a way that Odysseus couldn’t seem to shake. Or perhaps it was because I had been close to Odysseus when he had been confident in his actions, and this was something … other. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

Perhaps it was just because I knew, in his position, I would make a different choice. That I could make a different choice, and he could not stop me. He could kill me, but he could not stop me.

And let’s face it, whatever was in that cave could kill us anyway.

The air grew heavier as we walked towards the entrance, and as we stepped into the cave it felt like the darkness swallowed us whole. The air inside grew colder, almost suffocating. The smell of raw, earthy dampness was mixed with the faint, sickly sweet scent of decay. I heard a crunch and could have sworn I stepped on a bone. Then another crunch followed, and another. The ground was littered with bones. I could only hope they were animal.

But hope, as Odysseus had said once, was a foolish man’s method. He wouldn’t rely on that.

Would he?

My trepidation immediately subsided upon seeing the cave filled with provisions – there were large wheels of cheese stacked as high as the cavern walls, and clay jars brimming with milk. Sheep bleated from the back recess of the cave, and for some reason I thought that because livestock were here, it was a safe space. Someone who protected the livestock, who respected the laws of nature, would be a decent man.

If only I could ignore the bones.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us trembled and the entrance darkened as some sort of creature lumbered in, his frame so massive it filled the cave. He bent to pick up a log of wood and struck it against the cave wall like it was kindling, throwing it with eerie accuracy into a pit that within minutes became a giant bonfire.

I think we then collectively noticed the single narrow eye, for it seemed as if everyone drew a breath at the same time. He was a grotesque sight, his single eye glaring down at us, completely naked and built like a man – but five times the size.

“Who … are … you?” he boomed, his voice reverberating off the stone walls, though his voice was not hostile. Instead he seemed curious, which only made the situation more unnerving.

“We are travellers,” Odysseus said smoothly, his eyes never leaving the Cyclops, “blown off course by the whims of the gods.”

Even I could not deny it was impressive how he kept his voice steady.

“I am Nobody,” he added.

Clever, so clever. Too clever.

“Who are you?” Odysseus asked the Cyclops.

Without warning, he grabbed two of the men, smashing them against the cave walls before devouring them with a sickening crunch. My stomach churned, and I fought to keep my fear at bay.

He did not like us not knowing who he was.

But, he was blocking the entrance, which was also our only exit. I glanced at the provisions around us, wondering how we could use them to our advantage. Then Odysseus pulled out a skin of wine from somewhere.

“Something to wash them down with?”

He held out some of our wine to the monster. I had to stifle a gasp – to offer a gesture of xenia? 1 was a sacred duty, watched over by none other than Zeus himself. Admittedly, the beast that stood in the door hadn’t exactly greeted us warmly, but to offer food and drink, between one party or the other, took this to the next level. If this ended up being our place of rest, or if he and Odysseus exchanged stories, there is no way we wouldn’t be bound by the rules of xenia.

The Cyclops swiped the skin of wine from Odysseus’ hand and began gulping it down greedily until he was shaking the dregs of it down his throat. A minute later, a belch echoed around the cave. He eyed all of us, like he was deciding who to eat next, but when his arm swiped forward and the men jumped back, the beast stumbled. His eyelids drooped. Then, with a crash, he collapsed into a drunken stupor, his snores exhaling alcohol.

“You didn’t water down the wine,” I breathed, turning to Odysseus, who pinned me with a knowing look.

“You think it would have been better to mellow him out?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

I had meant to compliment his ingenuity in a time of great pressure, but – now that I thought about it – perhaps it had been more opportunity and sheer, dumb luck that Odysseus had undiluted wine on him.

When all he did was smile at me across the fire, I crossed my arms. “Well? What do we do now?” I nodded to the sleeping giant in front of the cave’s entrance. “He will wake eventually, and then we will be damned.”

Odysseus looked around, as did I and everyone else. But there was nothing other than the original provisions I had already clocked – the cheese, the milk, the sheep, the fire. I watched as Odysseus’ eyes focused on the fire.

“You plan on blinding the beast?” I hissed.

Odysseus shrugged. “We could sharpen one of the logs and heat it in the fire first. We have time.”

“And when he is blindly scrambling for us? He could wipe us out with a sweep of his arm, whether he could see or not.”

Odysseus looked around, scanning the cave. Even in the dim light of the bonfire, I could see his eyes taking in every detail, every possibility, until he moved with purpose towards a long, thick branch. “Here, this will do.”

Even as he yanked the branch free from the bonfire, his movements were fluid. He laid the branch on the ground and stripped it of its bark, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

“We need to sharpen one end,” he said to another of the men, not looking up.

One of the younger boys handed him a jagged rock. Odysseus took it without a word. As he worked, I couldn’t help but watch him, noting the set of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the bulge of his forearms.

I crouched down beside him, while the other men in the cave looked for other ways out, deliberately giving us space. “Odysseus, what happens after this, hmm?”

He didn’t pause in his work, but I saw his eyes flicker with something.

“This plan of yours – do you ever think about the lives you gamble with your schemes?”

The muscle in his jaw tightened. “Every day. But right now, we have to survive. We can’t afford distractions.”

“It’s not about distractions, Odysseus. It’s the way you treat us all like we’re pawns supposed to just go along with your game. I used to think it was just me you did this to, but what you’ve pulled the men into …?”

The stake continued to take shape, the point sharpening under his skilled hands as he rebutted. “So what would you have me do? Sit and wait for the gods to decide our fate? I’ll let you in on a little secret, Odette. They don’t give a damn. I’m trying to save us. And yes, every plan carries risk, Odette. But we don’t have the luxury of playing it safe.”

I didn’t say anything to that. I couldn’t; he wasn’t wrong. Instead, the silence between us became thick until the stake was ready and Odysseus was turning it in his hands, inspecting it.

“This will do,” he told me, his voice resolute.

He met my eyes, and for a moment, the barrier seemed to crumble. Everything that had happened between us since he’d been injured washed over me. The absolute terror that filled me at the prospect of being handed over to another Grecian man. At becoming a new slave; at an unknown territory once again. Then the kiss. The heat that had travelled through my body. The war ending, the sadness and relief I’d been flooded with. The confusion that had followed at that realisation. The terror of what came next. The thrill of being in Hecuba’s presence, the elation of power, the crumbling feeling of losing it as quickly as I’d got it. And the rest … the rest had just felt like survival.

And through it all, he had been there beside me, my only constant in the horrors of war.

And I couldn’t figure out anymore which parts he was responsible for, and which parts he kept me safe from. All I knew was that I didn’t want to lose the one constant I had. It left me with no choice but to trust him.

“Trust me, Odette,” he said softly, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “We’ll get through this.”

The Cyclops’ snores grew louder, jolting me out of the moment, and I realised my heart was hammering so hard against my chest that I could hear it in my ears. This was it. But as Odysseus stood, stake in hand, a thought struck me.

I grabbed Odysseus’ forearm. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Once you stab him, we’ll still need a way to get out without being caught. He’ll be blinded, but not helpless.”

Odysseus frowned. “I know that. We’ll use his sheep,” he said, as if it wasn’t the most obvious solution in the world.

“The sheep?”

“We can cling to the underside of their bellies when he lets them out to graze. He’ll feel their backs but not their undersides. It’s our best chance.”

It was genius, and yet it angered me that he hadn’t thought to explain that beforehand.

His eyes searched mine, but when he saw my eyes harden, he moved on with a nod, signalling to others and quietly explaining the plan. The men’s expressions shifted in understanding, fear mingling with hope. It was a risky plan, but it was all we had.

While the men moved towards the sheep, Odysseus moved towards the slumbering beast. I stood torn between the two.

When the moment came, Odysseus plunged the stake into the Cyclops’ eye. A scream of agony, so painful I felt my eardrums crack, filled the cave. The Cyclops thrashed in pain against the heavy stake firmly lodged in his eye, and I held my breath, every nerve in my body on edge, waiting for him to pull it out. But while his hands clawed at his face, the damage was done, blood and ichor pouring down his body into puddles larger than a man at his feet.

I grabbed Odysseus’ arm again and pulled him towards the sheep. Together, along with the other men, we crawled beneath the animals, clutching their wooly bellies as the monster staggered around, blindly searching for us.

If we could just hold on a little longer, we might have a chance of escaping this nightmare.

The next few moments dissolved into chaos, with the deafening roars of the monster, the frantic bleating of sheep, and all of us scrambling beneath the animals’ bellies. Dust and debris filled the air, while the beast’s hands blindly groped for any one of us. Finding nothing, he let out a terrifying bellow, one that made me squeeze my sheep tighter until it let out a bleat among the many, and flung open the cave entrance. My sheep immediately bolted for the outside, the giant’s hands brushing the back of the sheep as he did so, barely missing me, but I held on tightly. The rough wool scratched at my skin, but I didn’t dare let go.

When we passed through the cave entrance, the fresh air that hit my face felt like a blessing. We were outside; we were free. The sheep ran towards the fields at a surprisingly fast speed, until we all tucked and rolled off and each one of us ran for the ships.

Once we were on the vessels safely, I took a chance to look around at the others. The women were cowering in fear, huddled together, crying. The men followed closely, their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear I hadn’t been able to see in the darkness of the cave. Even Odysseus was tense, his face haggard in a way I hadn’t seen before as he leaned against the mast, his usual confident demeanour sagging in his shoulders. Here was a man weighed down by the burden of leadership, and the impending doom that seemed to follow us.

It made him more human, more real. I reached out, my hand resting lightly on his arm.

“You were scared, we all are, but we made it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I stood beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body and the tension radiating from him.

He straightened, looking down at me, when the Cyclops’ cry pierced the air. “Father, Nobody blinded me!”

Odysseus moved away from me at that moment, and went to stand at the bow. “No, it was Odysseus, King of Ithaca, who blinded you, you dumb monster!” he shouted, glancing back towards the men with a suave smile, once again the confident general they had gone into battle with. The men cheered Odysseus and jeered the creature.

Odysseus glanced at me then, and in that moment, I understood why he had done it. He could not afford to be seen as weak. Better to be arrogant to keep the men on side than be scared and afraid, and have them turn on him. And if I, a mere woman, could see it … Yes, I understood why he believed he had to do it.

I just didn’t agree with it.

“Odysseus!” the Cyclops’ voice thundered, his words carrying across the island. “I am Polyphemus, son of Poseidon! Father, if it is your will, let this man never return home! Or if he must, let him arrive too late, having lost all his comrades, in a stranger’s ship, and find trouble in his house!”

Let this man never return home.

There it was – the god who had taken up my vow. I had always assumed it would be Hera – but this curse was too similar to my own to be a coincidence. I glanced again at Odysseus, his face hardened at the curse placed upon him. I wondered, knowing this man as I did now, would I rather face the wrath of Athena, or divine retribution at Poseidon’s hands?

1 ? Hospitality.