For the next six days, we endured rough passage through livid seas. Above, the sky was ash and clamshell. Finally, we came to a rocky isle, where low clouds menaced its peaks. Father didn’t know this place, though we later learned its name was Buskados. It appeared too small and barren to be settled. But we needed fresh water desperately -- there’d been no time to refill our casks before fleeing Tenedos.
There was a narrow inlet on Buskados, guarded by steep crags on both sides. Waves crashed constantly against them, sending up gigantic plumes of water. These twin fountains created a perpetual salt mist. Helios continued to cower behind thick clouds. But later when He found enough nerve to appear, the colored arc of Iris shone out of this vapor.
Father sent Andrastus up our mast to have a look. He reported that there was calm water past the inlet’s entrance. With great skill and experience, Father steered our boat into the cove. Keeping a careful distance, my uncles followed Father’s wake. My favorite cousin Philippos was helmsman for his family’s boat in the absence of Uncle Clemon.
We anchored in a sandy bottom, close enough to wade ashore. A fast-flowing stream emptied into this cove, still cold from its mountain source. We felt very glad to sate our thirst before filling up the casks.
Everyone was hungry, too. Circe had let her captives gorge themselves, but it had been a week since we’d escaped. There’d only been short rations of dried fish during our voyage. Here on Buskados, we found no wild pears or plums, no nut trees or berry bushes, no herring in its waters. There wasn’t even the sea lettuce or kelp that Mother had taught us to gather at low tide during Smyrna’s famine. It looked like nothing edible grew on this island.
But Philippos spotted a herd of ibex on the north crag high above this cove. I counted fifteen of these wild goats, though I may have got the number wrong. There was never any moment when all of them were still. They jumped from rock to rock, paused just long enough to crop some vegetation, then moved on. They seemed wonderfully nimble, landing on the smallest footholds, never slipping on rocks slick with spray. The fountains didn’t bother them. They ignored it every time a jet of water soaked their long, coarse hair.
Philippos and Andrastus took their bows and climbed until they came in range. Their shots struck close each time, but missed. The wild goats were too alert to danger. They always bounded off an instant before the arrows hit the rock walls where they’d stood.
After using their last arrows, Andrastus and Philippos began climbing down. Dark clouds once more bullied Helios into hiding. As the two youths descended, an enormous geyser broke over Philippos's back. I feared he’d plummet to his death, but when the vapor cleared, I saw my rangy cousin clinging to a rock. Even from this distance, I could see joy etched across his face. A smile stretched the sharp lines of his jaw. He swept the long hair off his forehead. I could almost hear the laughter singing in his dove-gray eyes.
Both youths returned to us sopping wet. Nonetheless, Andrastus looked as well pleased as Philippos. Though they’d failed to bring us meat, their mission wasn’t futile. Andrastus said they’d had a good view of the isle’s interior. The terrain appeared much more hospitable, with a thick forest and a clear stream running down the central mountain’s slope.
They’d spotted a herd of deer, grazing in a meadow perhaps two hundred stadia away. It was led by a buck with antlers so large, he appeared to carry thick branches on his head. Andrastus suggested that the men form a hunting party. Though this buck might prove a formidable opponent, surely his herd would be easier to slay than wary ibex.
Father agreed to this plan. Fortunately, Uncle Xolon also was an archer. He kept a large supply of arrows on his boat. His shoulder hadn’t healed sufficiently to draw his heavy war bow, but he was a gifted tracker. During army service in his youth, my uncle had been put in charge of his phalanx’s forage party. Before we set off, Xolon distributed twenty bronzetipped arrows each to Andrastus and Philippos.
Most people had changed to iron long ago, but Xolon insisted bronze was stronger than cheap iron. Father said the advantage of iron was that it could be sharpened anew once dull, whereas bronze had to be melted down and then recast. He explained that the Mycenaean culture of our ancient ancestors had collapsed because they’d run out of timber. They couldn’t build the hot wood fires needed to melt bronze. They’d felled every forest in their heartland and in their colonies, as well.
Still, Father did approve of Xolon’s arrows. In addition to unbreakable, armor-piercing tips, their shafts were made of yew, a wood both strong and light. Fletched carefully with stiff tail feathers from a golden eagle, blessed at our Smyrnan shrine to the centaur Sagittarius, they flew to the center of their targets every time.
As a reward for my resourcefulness in tricking Circe, Father returned my sling and let me join the hunt. I went down to the rocky beach, where I filled a sack with stones about the size of walnuts. My moon time was over, so I wasn’t banned from joining the men. I felt very proud to be invited, but nervous also. I’d never pursued anything so large and dangerous as a full grown buck.
Noticing my apprehension, Philippos gently coaxed me into a cheerful mood. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how Philippos once tied sardines to my braids when I napped as a little girl. Though everybody laughed to see it, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I was delighted that he bothered with me. Usually, the older boys had no time for small children. Afterwards, Philippos convinced me it was a good way to catch herring if I hung my hair down in the water.
Of all my clan, he’d always been the most light-hearted. Quick with a jest, clever with his mimicry, Philippos often had us laughing so hard, it felt like we’d crack our ribs. He liked to tease, but unlike his older brother Demethes, who’d died on Imbrus, it never was mean-spirited. It’s not polite to speak ill of the dead, but it always seems that eldest sons are warlike, caring only for their personal glory, while middle sons learn well to be peacemakers.
As we passed a bog, surrounded by a stand of alders, Philippos told me I must smear mud on my face. He said the bloom that glowed on my cheeks would warn the deer long before we came in range for a shot. I began to do this, until a wide grin burst out on his face. I laughed and flung the mud at him. Now I felt a bit of happiness returning.
Uncle Xolon found the deer tracks easily. He stayed in front with Father while we trailed them through the forest. We soon came to the mountain’s slopes, where the terrain steepened sharply. Now the gloomy weather turned even more unfriendly. The sky grew very dark, and stinging bits of ice came from the clouds. These pelted us, growing ever larger, as big as fava beans, until they were a danger.
Ahead, I spotted caves low on the mountainside. We ran through the thinning forest and reached the nearest of these. Since it had a large opening, Father said it was the best choice. Wolves and bears and other ferocious creatures prefer tight spaces for their dens.
There were ten of us, but the cave had more than ample room. We all raced in, the entrance high enough that even tall Philippos didn’t have to duck his head. It was dry inside, but there was a dank odor. Above the hail’s drumming from outside, we strained to hear the sound of beasts or snakes, but could detect no danger.
Still, I felt a mounting fear. I knew that we should leave. The ice storm would bruise our unprotected limbs and heads, but the pellets likely wouldn’t kill us. Within the cave, I sensed a lethal presence. I didn’t like the smell in here at all. I didn’t want more guilt burdening my soul. If something ruinous occurred, it would be my fault again, since I’m the one who found this questionable place of shelter.
I backed into the cave wall, then recoiled. A cry was stifled in my throat. There was nothing sinister about the smooth, hard sheet of stone. Its surface was dry, not slimy. It wasn’t overhung with spider webs.
Maybe it was only spirits causing my disquiet. My recent thoughts of Demethes, who’d died beside my eldest brother Kestides. I couldn’t hear their voices, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t speaking to me. Sometimes you only hear voices of the dead as a slight buzzing in your ears. I edged toward Philippos, who’d raced in just ahead of me.
“This isn’t a good place,” I whispered to him. “I like it no better than Circe’s pens.” Before Philippos could answer, we heard a loud cry from Andrastus.
“There’s cheese!” he said. “Great stores of it!”
Andrastus always had the sharpest eyesight. He’d adjusted to the dim light first, and now
stood pointing away from the cave’s entrance. As the rest of us peered at the far recesses, we began to see not only rounds of cheese as big as cart wheels, but also casks as tall as men. These turned out to be full of milk, kept cool far back in the cave. At a nod from Father, we slaked our thirst and hunger with this feast.
The cheese was very rich, the milk so creamy, I knew it must come from the fattest ewes. There was such a great quantity, Father and Uncle Xolon agreed the owner shouldn’t mind the small dent that we made in it. If he even noticed when he returned.
While we sated ourselves, the storm eased as rapidly as it began. As we carved off wedges of cheese to bring back to the others, I could hear the hail had slowed to a light patter.
I glanced at the entrance to confirm this. And then the light was blocked entirely. A huge man strode into the cave, followed by a dozen sheep. So this was the shepherd and this was his cave. He was dressed in a matted robe of wool. Not spun wool, but many shearling fleeces crudely sewn together.
His face was very ugly, stretched to titanic proportions, and there was only the pit of an old injury where one of his eyes should have been. He wore no shoes. He possessed no sword or knife. Instead of a staff, he carried a thick branch. A primitive, I thought. Was this the way that humans lived before Prometheus brought us fire?
He grunted out a word. We didn’t understand it. He didn’t respond to anything we said, though Father tried six languages. The shepherd said something else while gesturing. We gathered that his name was Polyphemus. When he pointed at us, Father recited all our names.
Satisfied with these introductions, the cave’s owner didn’t seem angry. In fact, he gestured that he’d milk the sheep, then share the warm drink with us. He used a pail made from stiffened leather. We didn’t know how to explain that we’d already drunk our fill, and ate fat chunks of his cheese, so we squatted on the pebble-littered floor and waited. If this giant wished to be a cordial host, the least we could do was sit there patiently.
He finished milking, then brought each of us his pail. The warm milk was even better than what we’d drunk already, so we had little trouble obliging Polyphemus. Now I felt ashamed that I’d suspected evil here, when we were the ones who’d acted criminally. We’d entered this man’s home and taken what we wanted, no better than thieves. But still I didn’t like our generous host’s smell.
After encouraging us to pass the pail and drink again, Polyphemus led his sheep to a crude pen he’d built beside the food stores. After closing their gate, he stepped outside the cave and spread his hands. I saw him smile, as if in confirmation that the hail had stopped. He dropped his arms and sauntered back inside. I thought it was to tell us that the weather had grown favorable, that now would be a good time to resume our hunt. But instead, he turned to the left just inside his entranceway.
From a niche I hadn’t noticed, Polyphemus pushed a massive rock. It was almost perfectly round, making very little noise as it rolled across. I marveled that such an uncivilized man could have carved it. Then I gaped in horror as he brought the rock to rest directly in front of the cave mouth. It was his door and now he’d sealed us in!
As the cave went dark, my kinsmen cried out in consternation.
“He’s made us prisoners!” yelled Father.
“It’s Circe all over again!” shouted Nikos. “Or worse -- I’ll bet he plans to eat us instead of selling us as slaves. That’s why Polyphemus doesn’t kill the lambs. He prefers human meat.”
“Quick -- we all must rush him with our knives!” said Andrastus.
“No,” said Father. “We might defeat him, but how would we get out? That stone’s much too big for anyone but a giant to push.”
“Then what’s our plan?” asked Uncle Xolon.
“Let’s pretend we’re happy to stay inside with Polyphemus. When he takes his sheep outside to graze tomorrow morning, we all can run.”
Everyone agreed to do this, but it didn’t work out as Father wanted. In the morning, Polyphemus forced us to retreat from the cave mouth before letting out his sheep. He stood guard with his alder branch until the last ewe passed, went outside to join them, then rolled the stone to seal us in once more.
This went on for days. We didn’t want for food or drink, but we worried that the others starved back at the cove. And we feared that Polyphemus really meant to eat us. That would explain why he was allowing us to fatten.
On the fifth day, Nikos and Philippos tried to rush the giant as he returned with his flock. They stabbed him with their knives, but he barely seemed to notice. He seized each youth by the nape and lifted them high above his head. I watched with horror as he flung my brother and my favorite cousin to the ground. They struck the cave floor upside down. The walls echoed with the most dreadful sound I’ve ever heard. It was their skulls exploding. In the light that streamed through the cave’s open mouth, I saw shards of bone sprayed in two wide arcs, along with brains and gore.
I screamed and had to vomit, while all the men shouted out with rage. Father caught Andrastus before he tried to attack Polyphemus, too. It might seem cowardly to offer no resistance while he killed us, but Father knew there was no defeating such a giant with a direct attack.
Drenched with yet more guilt, I whispered an idea to Father. In my herb-collecting pouch, I had some poppy resin. I’d collected it after our escape from Circe, thinking that it might prove useful. That evening in the cave of Polyphemus, all of us felt sick with grief and rage. Yet, Father had spread the word and we masked our emotions well. We ate our cheese as usual. After drinking deeply from the leather pail, I returned what was left to Polyphemus. But first, I’d mixed in the poppy resin. I had no wine or honey, but hoped the rich taste of the milk would mask the poppy’s bitter flavor.
In one gulp, Polyphemus drained the half-full pail. Soon, he lay down and went to sleep. In the small amount of moon light coming past the huge, round rock, Father was able to creep alongside our captor. He plunged his knife into the single eye of Polyphemus. But he was careful not to let it sink too deep, or he might have killed the giant. Polyphemus didn’t even stir.
The next morning, he woke much later than usual. But he must have thought that it was very early, well before the dawn. That the cave’s usual darkness was now complete for him didn’t seem to alarm our warder. He simply let his sheep out of their pen, rolled back the stone, and stood aside to let his flock go out. Still groggy with my potion, it didn’t occur to Polyphemus that we might walk out in their midst.
We continued silently down the mountainside as he rolled his great stone back in place. Once we’d reached a safe distance, we ran all the way back to the cove.
“No, by Triton’s soggy beard, you have it wrong again!” groused Homer. “You just don’t grasp the concept of heroic verse. What lesson has your hero learned? He’s showed mortal failures, yes, with duplicity and cowardice and greed, but he cannot run away at the tale’s end.”
“Why not? That’s exactly what we did. We had no choice, or Polyphemus would have killed us all, like poor Nikos and Philippos.”
“Both of whom you left unburied, their gore splattered across that dismal place.”
“I know. It was a terrible thing to bear. We all felt so ashamed, but it would have been a greater sin to return and sacrifice ourselves. Father had to think about our clan. We had to take food back to them. We had to get them off this island before we were attacked. Father suspected there were other giants on Buskados. After all, Polyphemus wasn’t sired by a ram. He likely had parents and siblings just as large as he.”
“Now that would be more like it. Other giants, yes. And they shouldn’t be mortal, but a clan of Titans. One eyed Titans, a race of Cyclopes. Defeating such an enemy would be much more of a feat.”
“But sir, that isn’t what we faced. Only one man held us in that cave. And Polyphemus was no God -- he bled. I saw it dripping down his flank after Nikos and Philippos stabbed him. I saw the ooze splatter from his eye when Father gouged it out.”
“Yes, that was good. I liked the utter treachery. It sets up a possible redemption.”
“What do you mean treachery? Father was a good, courageous man.”
Nerissa stopped and glared at Homer. Almost immediately, she realized this was foolish. Of course, he couldn’t see her umbrage. But she hoped he felt the cold censure coming from her eyes.
“But don’t you understand?” Homer held out his hands, as if explaining the four elements to children. “Treachery is vital here. I thought your story establishes that mortal failure well. You said it, yourself -- your father trespasses in this cave, then encourages his followers to steal provisions. When the rightful occupant returns and offers shelter, your father allows two men to attack.”
“What are you talking about? Though Polyphemus made us prisoners, Father was wise enough to warn us not to kill him. Nikos and Philippos disobeyed him, but that was understandable when it looked more and more like Polyphemus meant to eat us. He killed Nikos and Philippos when they were only trying to escape.”
“You miss the point. Polyphemus had a right to kill them. Your people stole cheese and milk. They should slaughter half the sheep, too. And there should be a scene where the Titan’s tender with his lambs. It would make him almost sympathetic. That way, your people would exhibit a more monstrous nature than this Cyclopes.”
“We were only trying to save our lives. There’s nothing monstrous about that.”
“You still don’t understand. Quite correctly, you’ve established a display of human weakness, but you fail to take it through.” Then Homer beamed, his tone of pique replaced by joy. “I know! Initially, your hero must conceal his identity from the Titan. When asked, he must give Polyphemus a false name. He believes he’s doing this to protect his family from retaliation. But falsehood can never be the action of true heroes. They must always show pride in announcing their names and lineage and feats.”
“So Father always was. He announced his name was Asclemelion when the giant first stepped in the cave. But Polyphemus was brutish. He wasn’t capable of understanding what we said.”
“That needs to change. Quite civilly, he must ask the hero for his name. Ah, I’ve got it. The answer will be ‘Noman.’”
“Why Noman?”
“After he’s drugged and blinded, Polyphemus must scream for help. His kinsmen rush to his door from neighboring caves, shouting ‘Who attacks you?’ When Polyphemus answers “Noman does,’ they’ll think he’s saying, ‘No man does.’ That’s why they go away.”
“But--”
“Wait. I’m coming to the key. After Polyphemus rolls back his stone, enabling escape, your hero’s better nature will emerge. As he sails away, he’ll call out his true name and history. This will enrage the tribe of Cyclopes, who’ll bombard his ship with boulders. He’ll narrowly avoid shipwreck, but Polyphemus will call out for succor to Poseidon, father of the Titan race. Vengeful as Zeus, Himself, the Lord of Earthquakes and the Deep will assail your voyage to its end with crushing storms and all manner of earthbound catastrophe.”
“That’s not at all what happened! Besides, you’re saying the right thing to do on Buskados is the very thing that brings a final ruin.”
“Indeed. That’s always how it is for tragic heroes.”