Throughout a long morning and afternoon, the weather worsened steadily. The sky above grew darker than a moonless night. But being day, there weren’t even stars to guide our way. As the storm increased, waves surged as high as liquid mountains. Our vessels were like hobbled creatures on their slopes, stumbling vainly for a foothold. Each time we struggled up an impossibly steep wall to gain its crest, we’d immediately plummet into a fearsome trough.
Poseidon’s frenzied ocean slid and heaved; black plumes of water tried to crush us with their might. And all the while, the Sea God’s anger lashed our sails with stinging spume. The salt of His cold spittle ate into our hulls. We heard His fury in the seething wind. We felt His promise of revenge each time a towering whitecap broke against our planks.
I scarcely had the heart to hang onto the mast. I felt so grieved for Nikos and Philippos, rotting there unburied in the cave of Polyphemus, I couldn’t bring myself to care about the storm. Once again, I’d failed to save those closest to me. I’d let a misplaced sense of honor stop me from drugging Polyphemus soon enough. No, it wasn’t even something as forgivable as honor. The bare truth is that fear alone had stilled my hand.
Let the next wave tear me from my family -- these were the words that filled my anguished heart. Let the water pull me down and take my life. Let hagfish suck the jelly from my eyes. Let all my bones be scattered, swept across the deeps, let dark, cold tides wash every scrap of flesh away. I had little hope that the abyss could also wash away my pain.
We struggled on for hours, desperate for rest. When Poseidon’s rage was at its worst, Father ordered us to bind ourselves securely. Our sail was in shreds, the rudder cracked. There was nothing more to do but tie our bodies to a mast or beam or spar. The others all managed,, but I couldn’t make my fingers work. They wouldn’t open from their crooked prayer.
“Please take me as your sacrifice,” I called against the howling storm. “I’m sorry about Polyphemus. I’m sorry about everything. Take me, and leave my family at peace.”
But great Poseidon wanted no part of my offer. Instead, the dark clouds lifted and the waters stilled. I knew He’d opted to prolong our agony. He wanted time to devise yet greater torments. No easy drowning for such cursed malefactors.
After Father lashed the rudder, we were able to row in the direction of Aunt Melissa’s boat. It was hopelessly smashed, demasted, leaking badly. Without Uncle Clemon, Demethes, or Philippos, it had fared badly in the storm. There was no one with strength enough to turn their prow into the crashing waves. The family’s two oldest sons had died three years earlier, forced to serve as soldiers in the Lydian wars. Aunt Melissa had suffered a broken arm in the storm, her remaining children each were gashed and battered.
As the largest vessel, we took them all aboard, then left Clemon’s boat to sink. My other uncles reassembled, but our little fleet was in a perilous condition. There was no land in sight, and with no stars, no means to orient ourselves. Once more, we had few provisions. Our only fresh water was the rain we wrung out of our tattered sails.
But Father was never one to panic. He told my uncles that we must wait for a clear night, then determine our position. In the meantime, we must mend our sails. For just such emergencies, he always stored a good supply of canvas, strong sisal thread, and long, curving mariner’s needles.
While we all sat at this work, Father tried to cheer us with a story.
“There’s no need to feel heartless,” he said. “Men have lived through much greater ordeals. Disaster is a part of human life. Our ancestors endured despite worse sorrows than we’ve known. Think of Prometheus, for instance.”
“But he was a Titan, not a man,” I said.
“My point exactly. His foe was indomitable Zeus. Imagine coming up against omnipotence. That’s far more than anything we’ve faced.”
“Will you tell us about when Prometheus stole fire?” asked my cousin Chloe.
“It started much earlier than that,” said Father. “It was all because Zeus wanted to make a permanent division between the rights of mortals and immortals. So He hosted a great banquet where these accounts would all be settled.”
“Prometheus resented his minor status, didn’t he?” said Chloe. “So he played a trick on Zeus.”
Of course, she’d learned this tale before, since it was one of Father’s favorites. Back home, Chloe’s family lived next door. She often spent her evenings with us. But I knew the great attraction wasn’t Father’s stories. Like me, Chloe breathed a little faster when Andrastus was around. Her large eyes sparkled and she’d throw her shoulders back to make her chest stand out.
Chloe was only a year older than me, but a world away in the ripe contour of her body. She always tried to draw Andrastus's attention with her womanly shape. She did everything possible to brighten her face and hair and clothes before she’d let Andrastus see her. I struggled to remember that jealousy only made me as ridiculous as her. Andrastus is too fine a person to fall for a vain and empty-headed girl, I’d tell myself. Of course, I badly underestimated Chloe’s determination to prevail. I hadn’t yet experienced the depths of treachery that lurked within my cousin’s heart.
“I wouldn’t say Prometheus intended it as a trick,” Father answered Chloe’s question, though I’d forgotten what it was. “More like a test, to see if Zeus could prove Himself allknowing. But don’t give away the secret. Geneia hasn’t heard this yet.”
“Yes, tell us, Papa,” said my little sister. “What did the Titan do?”
“He brought two gigantic platters to the banquet’s central table. He told Zeus these were offerings, then asked Him to select one. On the first was an ox’s stomach, slimy on its gray and lumpy surface, dripping blackened blood.”
“Yuck, I’d never pick that. I hope Zeus didn’t, either.”
“You get your wish. But Zeus didn’t enjoy his choice. He picked the other, a serving of crisply broiled, delicious smelling fat. Then biting into it, Zeus found it was only a thin sheet of crackling. It looked large, because it was wrapped around the ox’s bones. He broke a tooth, and spat it out with fury.”
“But a deal’s a deal,” said Andrastus. “You know that, Geneia. Even great Zeus had to stand by His choice.”
“That’s right,” said Father. “Zeus had to keep the bones and fat, while the portion that He didn’t choose would go to men.”
“I still say the stomach sounds disgusting,” said Geneia.
“Yes, but what I didn’t tell you is the same thing Zeus couldn’t see. Inside the ox’s stomach, Prometheus had hidden all the choicest cuts of meat. So that’s what men eat right to this day, while we burn the bones and fat as offerings. Zeus was furious at being tricked, of course. ‘Fine,’ He said. ‘Men may have the meat. But I’ll make them eat it raw.’ That’s why He chose to hide the secret of fire from our ancestors.”
“But we do have fire, don’t we?” asked Geneia.
“Yes, because of Prometheus. He was just as proud as Zeus. Determined to win their contest, he stole the fire and gave it to humans. Which made Zeus even angrier.”
“That’s when He sent Pandora, right?” I said. “With all the evils that still plague our world.”
“That’s right. This was to be our punishment. As for Prometheus, great Zeus chained him to an immense boulder. Every day, an eagle came to eat his liver. You can imagine how much that hurt. Especially since every night, his liver would grow back.”
“But Prometheus endured,” Andrastus said. “Is that the lesson you’d have us learn?”
“Correct. He didn’t cry or flinch or make protest. He simply abided until years later when Heracles rescued him. When that supreme hero slew the eagle and freed Prometheus from his chains, hope returned into the hearts of men. That’s why we must never let the threat of insurmountable obstacles defeat us. If we live, then we are not defeated. If our hearts beat on, we mustn’t allow them to be weighted down with sorrow.”
Father’s story eased my burden slightly, and so did many more through the next week. But nothing could assuage our growing thirst and hunger. It was only a few flying fish that kept us from starvation. After our small store of rainwater was depleted, all we had to drink were the meager juices from these fish. Father said they were the rising souls of drowned sailors, eager to help their brethren in a time of peril.
Meanwhile, Chloe’s presence continued to nettle me. In the ship’s tight quarters, she’d brush against Andrastus at every opportunity. She’d laugh delightedly at even the most ordinary things he said. She’d sway over every time I happened to be speaking with Andrastus. She’d say that Aristides had challenged me to a contest of cup and ball. I don’t know about Ithaca, but in Smyrna only children play with such a toy.
I knew that Aristides hadn’t really started up a game. I don’t think he even salvaged his cork and ox-hide ball from the wreckage of Uncle Clemon’s ship. Chloe said it only to embarrass me. It put me in the worst light in front of Andrastus. If I refused, I was being ungracious to bereaved Aristides. If I accepted, it made me seem a child like him. I decided that my only dignified response must be a womanly laugh. Unpracticed, it probably came off like a donkey braying.
“I’ve entertained Aristides all morning playing Ephidrismos,” I said.If you didn’t have this game when you were young, the players aim at a large stone called the Dioros. We got it and the shooting stones from the ballast of our ship. The one who strikes it gets a ride upon the other’s back. When you’re the donkey, you must stumble blindfolded until you find the Dioros.
“Then play Chytrinda with him,” Chloe said. “You can use the soup pot.” “I came up for fresh air,” I said. “Why don’t you take a turn? I’m sure the pot’s big enough to fit over your head.”Chloe ignored my insult, tossed her curls with an amused smile, then resumed her conversation with Andrastus. Like I was just some flat-chested girl who couldn’t possibly be interesting to such a strapping youth. If I opened my mouth again, she’d roll her eyes as if to say, “What an irritating child -- Nerissa doesn’t even have the manners to keep quiet while we’re courting.” If I could have chosen between Chloe and the becalmed sea, it would have been an easy choice. I gladly would have borne another month of nothingness if it could be spent without her.
More favorably, the stars returned, so Father was able to estimate our latitude. We were somewhere between Limnos and Lesvos, in the wide part of the sea. If we allowed the prevailing winds to push us west, we’d reach Hellas, likely somewhere in Thessaly. If we didn’t die from thirst, that is. There was still no sign of rain.
We continued for another week. The wind had died. The heat grew strong. It punished us unbearably, until our bodies couldn’t shed another salty tear. A slow tide pushed us to the south, away from any chance of landfall. There were no stories now. We didn’t need them, since we each saw what we chose inside our addled heads.
Finally, Andrastus shouted that a flock of white terns passed overhead. Shaking the visions from my eyes, I saw that he was right. This was no ghostly flock. The birds were real. They called aloud. They made a noise like mewling kittens.
We all roused with a fresh will to survive. We realized that these birds must come from land. Dragging ourselves out of our private miseries, we began to trust in life again. Those of us who still were able climbed the masts to peer across the waves. An hour later, Andrastus spotted the hills of a small isle. And above them, brilliant clouds like the streaming tails of proud white stallions. These didn’t promise rain, of course, but maybe later. If this isle was beloved by spirits who dwell among the nimbi, they’d grant it frequent showers, enough to nourish streams.
We set our rope-bound rudder toward the isle. There still was only the occasional hot puff of air, as if from the mouth of an exhausted horse. There certainly wasn’t enough wind to stir our heavily patched sails. But we pulled our oars with all our strength. The hills grew higher and the white clouds nearer, then Andrastus saw a line of surf. After another hour, he was able to make out a gap. Father said that it looked large enough for our boats to pass through the reef unharmed.
By mid-afternoon, this channel came in sight. Our strength renewed by the promise of safe haven, we rowed like demons toward it. Father distributed the last water squeezed from our sails nine days before. Against a time like this, he’d hidden it in the covered basin where he normally stored bait. There was just enough for each of us to wet our throats and clear our heads. Though it tasted strongly of fish oil, the water revived us. We all must be alert as we navigated through the rocks.
“Watch as I maneuver through the shoal,” Father called across to Uncle Xolon. “Don’t follow closely. Tell Demetrios the same and have him pass the word along to Stamede and Aremethus. If we go aground, don’t try to rescue us. Avoid that spot and get your family safe ashore.”
“Good advice, but I’ll go first,” called Xolon. “Your rudder’s lashed together. My boat is sound. It’s smaller, too. So I must risk the crossing first.”
“No,” shouted Father. “You’re injured, Xolon. And Klepatos died on Imbrus. You have no one to help you steer. Except for Irene and your daughters, but I doubt they’re strong enough.”
It was too late. Xolon had already turned his boat toward the gap. Aunt Irene and the older girls pulled hard on their oars, while young Phoebe sat on the single mast’s cross-tree, calling down sightings of sunken rocks.
We saw them make it through the first bend of the channel. Then the surf grew stronger, crashing high enough to obscure their sail from sight.
My uncle Demetrios followed Xolon. Then Stamede and Aremethus, whose families shared the boat we’d captured. They’d all been to Xolon’s leeward, so they didn’t hear Father’s call. Fortunately, they were experienced mariners. They kept a sizeable distance between their boats. Once they’d passed the line of crashing surf, Father had no choice but follow.
His caution was understandable, but so was my uncles’ haste. The island looked green with life, the white clouds promising. Food and water would be plentiful. There was no red tinge in the ocean here. Past the breakers, the bay was calm. My uncles must have sensed that it was full of sweet-fleshed fish. Better yet, the place was civilized. There was a small town situated on an inlet. Here, we’d face no wild men, no treacherous slave takers.
Best of all, we could see people waving to us. As Uncle Xolon’s boat drew near, they even offered songs of greeting. We could hear the choir’s voices drift across the placid water. The sound was delightfully serene. Then I heard Xolon’s voice join them. Proud owner of a celebrated baritone, he’d won many singing contests at the Festival of Dionysus back when Smyrna knew prosperity.
We saw Xolon land his boat, then step ashore. He was presented with a chalice and a laden platter, gifts of wine and fruit and honey cake, I guessed. We were too far away to see just what he drank and ate, but the taste was like ambrosia in my parched imagination.
Aunt Irene and my cousins followed Xolon onto the island’s soil. They were greeted warmly, too. Then Stamede landed at the pier, then Demetrios and Aremethus. Four maidens stepped forward and placed garlands on my uncles’ balding crowns. The chorus then resumed their sweet, harmonious song, calling across the bay to us.
“What a splendid thing!” said Father. “After all our trials, to find a land like this. A bountiful island and a friendly people. To be offered welcome instead of enmity. I doubt in all the world we could have found a better place.”
But the tide began to turn, and a stiff breeze rose. Together, they prevented us from landing. We had to anchor for the night. After darkness fell, we heard music and revelry from the direction of the town’s shimmering lights. The delicious aroma of roasting mutton drifted out. Our stomachs twisted painfully, jealous of the feast that we were missing. If we weren’t so deprived of water, we would have salivated, just like hounds. But still, we felt happy that the islanders had presented our clan with such a generous reception. We fell asleep with dreams of rejoining our kinsmen in the morning, amid these cordial people.
As dawn peeled back night’s blanket, I woke first. My pleasant dream had been disturbed by a faint cry. I’d seen jolly Stamede fed a pickled fish that sprouted daggers in his belly. After I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I threw off my own blanket, then stood and came out to the deck. I had to rub the dream out of my ears, as well, because I still heard traces of agony upon the wind.
But then I heard one unmistakably. It was the voice of poor Phoebe. High-pitched, it reached me clearly. I’d never heard such torment.
I woke Father and the others. I didn’t have to tell him what I’d heard. We all could hear the sounds of slaughter now. The islanders’ seeming welcome was a trap. These must be brigands who prayed on passing vessels. Those who made it through their reef, they lured in, plied with wine, then murdered. They either kept the vessels and whatever goods were on them, or sold their plunder to rogues who’d ask few questions.
Father quickly raised our anchor. The wind was still against us, but the tide was in. We all pulled ferociously against our oars. When we’d gathered enough speed to ride in on the shore break, Andrastus strung his bow. I readied my sling with broken ballast stones. Father strapped on his axe and knife.
Before we reached the pier, Andrastus slew six islanders. Oddly, three of them were women. They each were armed with bows, fighting alongside their men. I was reminded of a legend Father told about the race of Amazons, because these women all were beautiful. Daughters of Aphrodite, they were as radiant as Queen Hippolyte, the one from Scythia whose girdle was stolen by Heracles.
On this island, the warrior women were fully clothed. If they cut off a breast on the side where they drew their bowstrings, I couldn’t tell. But they were fearless in their bloodlust. As they loosed their arrows, I took down three more with my stones. No dulcet chorus now, the others screamed like harpies as they leapt over their fallen sisters. It didn’t bother me to kill them. Their limbs were streaked with blood, so I knew they’d participated in the slaughter that I’d heard.
We saw none of our kinsmen left alive, but there was a young girl’s body sprawled face down on the sand. Her ragged clothes told me that she was one of ours. From her size and the amber color of her hair, I think it must have been my cousin Phoebe.
The battle’s noise brought a hundred more islanders running from the town. They added a hail of lances to the archers’ arrows. Our boat became a porcupine. Mother was injured. Geneia, too. Father plucked the shafts and hurled them back. He roared back bold defiance, standing there amid a fresh deluge of lances.
“Father! No!” I called to him. “We have no hope to save the others. They’re all dead.”
“Then we’ll die, too. We must avenge our kinsmen.”
“We can’t win,” I cried. “There are too many of them. Mother and Geneia are badly hurt. Do you want them to die?”
He didn’t hear me. A maddened frenzy lay across his face. He gathered an armful of spears, and stood up on the bow.
Andrastus cracked an oar over Father’s head. Together, we dragged him to the far side of our central mast. We propped him there where lances couldn’t strike. Then Andrastus set the sail to catch the seaward wind, and steered us back toward the narrow gap. When Father began to stir, Andrastus bound him to the mast. We needed him alive, not sacrificed in a futile effort at revenge. He frothed and bellowed in his madness. He called us cowards, heartless traitors. He swore he’d look on us no more. He cast us from the family. We had to seal our ears against his bitter words as we sailed out past the reef to face the empty sea.
“Much better,” Homer said.
“Better?” Nerissa could hardly believe he’d use that word. And yet the poet’s tone was anything but mocking. “It was the worst day of my life. My uncles, aunts, and cousins were all felled in a single swath, as by the wide stroke of a scythe. Mother and Geneia played at long odds with the weighted dice of death. Father had disowned me. We faced an empty ocean, that mocked our dry lips with its salty billows.
“And worst of all, I felt sickened with myself. Jealousy was making me care more about Chloe’s seductive presence on our boat than about our losses. Since Father was also furious at Andrastus, my cousin took every opportunity to console him. While I coaxed Mother and Geneia to eat the flying fish that came aboard, I’d see Chloe sit with him or mend his clothes or brush his hair, just like they were a promised couple.
Once, Chloe even got him to lift her in his arms. She used the excuse that she needed to reach a skein of sisal thread Father kept high up on a shelf. I couldn’t help noticing that Andrastus grasped Chloe around her perfectly formed hips. Or that she turned and pressed herself against him when he set her down.
I couldn’t even hate Chloe as a rival. When had Andrastus ever looked like that at me? I could see it was only out of respect to my parents that he stopped himself from running his hands over Chloe’s breasts, from tasting her mouth with hungry kisses, from pulling her round hips against him, from lifting her dress, from laying her down, and then-I despaired of ever seeing life return to goodness.”
“This episode was much improved,” said Homer. “You’ve drawn a worthy setting for heroic tragedy. You’ve provided your people with real passion, too. And finally, your hero acts with valor. He guides his people through a hostile sea, he leads with wise advise, he hurtles to the rescue though his counsel’s been ignored, he perseveres against the foe despite hopeless odds, then leaves the field only when betrayed. It makes me wish that such men really lived among us.”
“He did. Asclemelion was as real a man as ever lived. He was my father, sir, you must believe me. It isn’t bad enough I’ll never hear him say that he forgives me. I’ll never feel his patient smile warm my heart. I’ll never see him in this life; we can never become reconciled. But when you deny he ever lived, when you negate his very name, it aches like bones that splinter in my soul.”
“What a strange slave you are. I offer praise and you hear it as insult. I assure you that it wasn’t meant as such. I only said that you show promise. You’ve learned the lesson I intended. It’s not many girls who have the intellect to limn a hero well. Not many young men, either. Believe me, I was so often disappointed by my students, I stopped taking them a decade past. So if you’re truly clever, you’ll learn another lesson. Accept praise as well as criticism with a willing spirit.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll remember that.”There was no sense protesting further. In addition to his ruined eyes, Homer’s ears were also deaf to feeling. And yet, the people of his poems were rich with pain and rage and raw desire. The women just as much so as the men. Maybe Homer was only deaf to those around him, those of flesh and breath.
“I’m grateful for your interest,” Nerissa added. “I’m glad you like the way I’ve told my story. A lot more happened after the reef-encircled isle. Shall I continue, or do you wish to rest?”
“Let’s not leave this episode so soon. I said that it was better, but it’s hardly satisfactory. An isle of brigands? That’s far too ordinary. There are many such. I once was in a shipwreck at a small cay near Lesvos. Far from coming to our rescue, the inhabitants made their living on the salvage. They didn’t care if we lived or drowned. We should make your natives more exotic, something an audience would relish… Hmmm, they could keep pyres burning on their shore, oriented not to the channel but the rocks.”
“Father told us of such a place. Instead of waiting for ships to founder on their own, these cruel people misdirect them straight onto the reef with lights.”
“I suppose that won’t work, then. Too many will have heard about this trick… Ah, I’ve got it now, they’re Sirens. A race with female heads and torsos, but raptors’ parts below the waist. With an irresistible chorus, they lure sailors to smash their ships upon the rocks. Thereupon, the Sirens promptly devour every victim.”
“If they do that, how would such a tale continue?”
“The hero must be warned about them. Circe can do this, after he wins her love. So he plugs his sailors’ ears with melted beeswax. And bids them lash him to the mast. That part was good, when Andrastus bound your father.”
“Why can’t the captain plug his own ears?”
“Because he must listen for his men to cry out sightings of sunken rocks. I thought you were the daughter of a fisherman.”
“I am. But it still makes no sense. If he’s the helmsman, what good will lashing him do? His vessel either crashes without anyone to guide it, or if the wheel is near enough for him to reach, he’ll steer them straight onto the Sirens’ rocks.”
“Don’t quibble, girl. I swear I would have heard less carping out of Philemon. This captain needn’t be the helmsman because they’ve bound the wheel as well. They won’t be in a narrow straight like yours. They need only pull hard at their oars to circumvent the island.”
“But there were rocks. It was a very dangerous shoal.”
“Yes, yes. If they’re that important, we’ll have these rocks come later -- they can jump around. Much more interesting. You gave them scant attention.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But back to the Sirens, they should promise in their song to tell the hero’s future. That very thing his heart desires most, the one route that will lead him home. He must instruct his crew, no matter what he cries, if he calls anathema on their names, if he promises a terrible revenge, they mustn’t loose him until they’re out of earshot from the Sirens.”
“I thought you had him plug the sailors’ ears.”
“I did. Very good -- you’ve caught the test I set. They only see him shouting and struggling to break his bonds. So they wind more chains around him. Yes, that’s perfect. The Muse’s voice sings sweetly in this cave, free from all deception.”
“You said it was the Grotto of the Nymphs. But I assumed the spirits here were Oreads, not Naiads like the Muses.”
“They are, but never mind all that. Get out your parchment, girl. The verse, it echoes like a chorus in my ears.”
“It’s night, outside, and black as tar in here. How am I to write?”
“Oh. Of course. When one is blind, it’s easy to forget the time of day. But still, you must record my words. Philemon has done this in the darkness many times. Hold the straight side of my knife against your parchment as you write. Move it down about a dactylos each line, then they won’t run into one another. Concentrate on what I’m saying, so you can decipher any blurred places in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Good. Now I begin:
While to the shore the rapid vessel flies, Our swift approach the Siren choir descries; Celestial music warbles from their tongue, And thus the sweet deluders tune the song
Oh stay, O pride of Hellas stay!
Oh cease thy course, and listen to our lay! Blest is the man ordained our voice to hear, The song instructs the soul, and charms the ear. Approach! thy soul shall into raptures rise! Approach! and learn new wisdom from the wise! We know whate'er the kings of mighty name Achieved at Ilion in the field of fame;
Whate'er beneath the sun's bright journey lies. Oh stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise!
Thus the sweet charmers warbled o'er the main; My soul takes wing to meet the blissful strain; I give the sign, and struggle to be free;
Swift row my mates, and shoot along the sea; New chains they add, and rapid urge the way, Till, dying off, the distant sounds decay;
Then scudding swiftly from the dangerous ground, The deafened ear unlocked, the chains unbound.”
Her second stick of charcoal was worn down to a scrap again, having flown across the page. It didn’t matter that the invisible line might look like bird tracks trailing from a bowl of ox blood. She wouldn’t have to decipher it if Homer asked to hear the verse read back tomorrow morning. She remembered every word.
“It was magnificent,” she added.This wasn’t flattery. She really thought so, even if she hadn’t sensed the rising possibility that she might gain Homer’s patronage.
“Did you hear any flaws?” he asked, without a speck of irony.
It seemed he genuinely valued her opinion.
“‘Descries,’ in the second line. The meter’s off. I think ‘spies’ would be better.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“’Achieved at Ilion in the field of fame.’ There should be another syllable to make it flow. Maybe ‘far’ would serve well before ‘field.’”
“You don’t think that would be too much alliteration??