“Don’t be crude, girl!” grumbled Homer. “That’s no way to end a tale.” “I’m sorry, sir. But it’s no tale. I merely tell you exactly what befell my family.” “Piffle. Worse yet, it’s even less heroic than your last episode. You should have had a
warrior make the rescue, not yourself. Your father would have served. He should have conquered Circe, forced her to release his men. Then your hero, filled with mortal lust, becomes enslaved by his own heart. He stays there for a year with Circe, ignoring his men’s pleas to return home. Finally, duty to his crew wins over, and he breaks Circe’s heart by leaving. Enraged, she convinces him to undertake an impossible task. She makes an augury that he must penetrate the underworld and speak to the greatest souls who dwell there. From them, he must learn the key to completing his journey.”
“But that’s your story, sir, not mine. That’s what you’d have Odysseus do.”“Indeed. Odysseus came to Tenedos, you know. Your description of the island’s accurate, at least. It is boot-shaped, a low and windy place with labyrinthine forests.”
“Of course I got it right. I’ll never forget those ripping vines. They seemed to grab our flesh with a determined will to slow us after we escaped from Circe.”
“Yes, fine, maybe you were there. I’m not saying every detail of your story’s fabricated. But the point is, Odysseus really was connected to this place. It’s where Menelaus took their fleet after departing Troy.”
“I’ve heard about this. I think it was a ruse by Menelaus.”
“And how do you know this?”
“When I first came to Ithaca, I served in the household of Theoton. I heard you recite for Lady Phyllis and her friends while I was cleaning up their feast. I remember the part where Menelaus fooled the Trojans into thinking that the war was over. Then they returned in force, the war grew yet more savage, until finally Achilles slew the Trojan champion Hector and dragged his body many times around the city’s walls.”
“You grasped all this while cleaning in the banquet hall? I find that hard to believe, since I held my recitation in the courtyard. And those ladies were prattling so much, I doubt any of them even remember the names Hector and Achilles. I think it’s far more likely that your father knew The Iliad after all. Did he let you memorize it?”
“He never mentioned it that I recall. I’m sure he would have, had he read your poem. As I’ve told you, Father’s greatest pleasure was reciting from great epics.”
“Are you suggesting that my work doesn’t number among these?”
Though Homer maintained his habitually ironic tone, the look across his face was deeply hurt. Nerissa wondered if he’d lost the ability to disguise his feelings, since he’d gone so long without seeing his own reflection in a glass or pond.
“Not at all,” she said. “What I’ve heard of your verse has been superb. But I don’t think your Iliad reached my part of the world before we sailed. Before today, I never heard your name.”
“Never heard my name? And yet, you reel off drivel from that scribbler Hesiod like the words are golden nectar, fit for Gods.”
“I meant no disrespect. It’s simply that Father adored Hesiod’s poetry. He recited it at every opportunity.”
“Probably something that charlatan stole from me. Like my phrase Polyphoisboio thalasses… that starts my line, ‘By the shore of the much sounding sea-’”
“That’s in Hesiod’s Works, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and he had the nerve to claim I was the thief.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, sir. But I think your poetry is very fine.”
“What rot. I told you that I need no flattery.”
Homer’s upturned lips said otherwise. His pique departed rapidly. Now he looked well pleased at Nerissa’s good opinion.
“I never say what I don’t mean. Your lines are glorious. I see beauty, danger, and cruel fate with every word.”
“Keep still, girl. Females! That’s the trouble with your species. Never know when silence will serve better. And silence is required now -- inspiration comes. Your phrase, ‘celestial charms,’ that’s rather good. It’s usable, I think. Here, take this down.” Homer held out another stick of charcoal. “Be quick. The verse comes flooding through my soul.”
“Yes, sir. But please remember, not too fast.”
As Nerissa fumbled to unroll the sheet of parchment, Homer recited rapidly:
“Nor shun the blessing proffered to thy arms, Ascend her bed, and taste celestial charms; So shall thy tedious toils a respite find, And thy lost friends return to human kind…”
“Magnificent! I’m awed that you can pull such luminous verse out of the lightless void.”“Never mind all that. You must really think I crave your compliments like a drunkard needs his wine. Did you write it down exactly?”
“Yes, sir. Just finishing the last line.”
“Good. Now read it back.”
Nerissa did.
“Yes, I think that will do nicely… Here, write again. Calliope sends more:
The goddess vowed: then seized my hand, and led To the sweet transports of genial bed.
Ministrant to the queen, with busy care
Four faithful handmaids the soft rites prepare;
Nymphs sprung from fountains, or from shady woods,
Or the fair offspring of the sacred floods.
One o'er the couches painted carpets threw,
Whose purple luster glowed against the view:
White linen lay beneath. Another placed
The silver stands, with golden flaskets graced:
With dulcet beverage this the beaker crowned,
Fair in the midst, with gilded cups around:
That in the tripod o'er the kindled pile
The water pours; the bubbling waters boil;
An ample vase receives the smoking wave;
And, in the bath prepared, my limbs I lave:
Reviving sweets repair the mind's decay,
And take the painful sense of toil away.”
Nerissa scratched at the parchment until reaching the last word, then made a slight noise in her throat, letting Homer know she’d finished.
“Did you get all that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose there’s another phrase or two that you don’t like.”
“Well, since you ask…”
Despite the poet’s sarcastic tone, Nerissa couldn’t help herself. It was wonderful verse,
but with just a few improvements, men might remember it for generations.
“Yes, pray tell me what you’d change.”
“The line where you mention water twice.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Homer’s voice rose high in protest. “I repeated the word
water to emphasize it.”
“That might make people doubt your brilliance. Some would wonder if you couldn’t
think of another term.”
“You know nothing of epic poetry!” Homer’s face looked darker than the thunder clouds
that morning. “Anything else?”
“Er, well, ‘ministrant’ when you described the handmaids. Wouldn’t ‘attentive to the
Queen’ be better? And also, ‘take the painful sense of toil away.’ Personally, I would have said,
‘take the sore burden of toil away.’”
“And how’s that better, girl?”
“It’s more accurate, wouldn’t you say? That’s exactly how a hot soak makes me feel
after a hard day. What I wouldn’t have given to lie in such a bath after our ordeal on Buskados.” “Why, what happened on Buskados?”
“Many things. It’s no exaggeration to say all of them were ruinous. Even those that
looked clever at the time.”
“Such as?”
“ I know I’ve tried your patience, sir--”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, and I apologize. But if you don’t mind another dismal tale, I’ll tell you.”