They made haste through the quiet streets as dusk descended. Philemon called out turns until they reached the northern pier. Miklos helped down Homer and Philemon, while Nerissa lifted Eury from the cart. She told Eugenia to collect the amphora of lemon drink and covered bowls of food still on the cart. She borrowed Homer’s empty sack to put them in, then gave it to Miklos. She patted her good horse Arion as tears welled in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean what I said to Leptos about you being slow,” she murmured. “You’re fast and strong and very faithful. You should be numbered with your namesake among the immortal horses. I’ll really miss you, boy.”
He’d belong to Tyrus now, but there was nothing she could do about it. Philemon pointed out the racing boat at the left end of the pier. Nerissa led them to it. By moonlight, the Tachytata looked to be in fine condition. She lifted Eury over its rail, then boosted Eugenia aboard. As Miklos was helping Homer, a man came running up the pier, carrying a torch. His face was scarred and he was missing his left arm. Probably an ex-soldier, now working as a watchman.
“Oi, you lot!” he shouted at them. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re getting on my boat,” said Homer.
“This boat belongs to Jeremos.”
“He stole it from me, you mean. We’re reclaiming my property.”
“Wait, I know you. You’re that addled poet. I heard about you at the tavern. They say you’ll wind up Jeremos’s slave.”
“I have no interest in what your tosspot cronies say. This is my boat and we’re sailing on it. Now get out of our way.”
“By Hades’ hairy shithole, I will not!” The watchman brandished his torch at Homer, unaware that he was blind. “Now climb on down. You too, missy. Bring the brat.”
Nerissa saw more torches approaching on the street that led down to the pier. She heard a rumble of many voices. She knew that Dzunga must have disobeyed Vasiledes and alerted the town watch. She couldn’t let this guard delay her people from escaping. She ran at the guard’s back.
Hearing her step, the man began to turn. She slammed into his shoulder, knocking him into the water. His body, then his head went under. Oh no, she thought. The water’s deep. I’ve killed again. Hurling away the sling couldn’t stop this blood lust in me. Then she saw the man’s arm break the water’s surface, then his face. He seemed all right, bobbing on the wavelets. He wore no breastplate or greaves, so he was light enough to float.
“You can swim?” Nerissa called.
“Yes, may Triton ream you with his spear! I might’ve guessed a woman would use such a treacherous attack.”
At least, he didn’t say, “a slave.” As the guard began to swim around the pier to reach the shore, Nerissa vowed she’d never again be anybody’s chattel. She hurried Miklos and Philemon aboard. As she was urging the still fuming Homer to accept her assistance, a knot of men approached the pier. The moonlight still was low in the eastern sky, but Nerissa could make out about a score of them.
“They’re coming, sir!” cried Philemon to Homer. “The town watch has all turned out. There’s Stenarch in front. He has his sword.”
“That pompous ass. I’m surprised he didn’t take the time to strap on armor, too. Never been in battle, but ever since he bought his captaincy in the militia, he has to strut about like some great general.”
“Get off that boat immediately!” shouted Stenarch as he stepped onto the pier. “You’re all under arrest for aiding in this murdering slave’s flight.”
“Go back to your mine and count your drachmai,” Homer retorted. “Maybe you’ve hoarded enough to buy a Titan’s helmet. Just make sure it’s large enough to fit your bloated head.”
“Surrender immediately if you don’t want your own head joining the slave’s as it rolls across the orchestra floor.”
“He should lose it anyway for thievery,” said a very large man next to Stenarch.
“For parchment? That’s only petty theft. At most, he’ll lose a hand.”
“For my boat. It’s worth a fortune.”
“Jeremos is here, too,” Philemon said to Homer.
“Do you think I’d ever forget his noxious voice? I’m not surprised he’s come. He’s moved into his father’s town house ever since he came into his inheritance. He wouldn’t dream of missing out on my disgrace.”
Nerissa cast off the stern end’s mooring line, then hurried in her uneven gait for the other at the prow. But Stenarch moved to intercept her. Because of her maimed foot, she couldn’t run. Overtaking her in two long strides, Stenarch grabbed her by the shoulders. He was a big-bellied man, easily twice her weight. Nerissa struggled in his grasp until she got one arm free. Wheeling on him, she tried to punch him in the throat. But Stenarch bulled in close, then wrenched Nerissa’s arm behind her back.
I’m dead, she thought. I’ll never even get to hug Eury goodbye. Or see my daughter born.
She kicked her stump of a foot at Stenarch, got free for an instant. Despite her resolve that she must never kill again, she would have plunged a blade into his chest. But she had no weapon, only her two fists and one and a half feet. Stenarch lunged and bashed her in the temple. Grabbing her by the hair this time, he began to drag her off the dock. Nerissa cried a desperate farewell to Eury.
Someone crashed into them, releasing Stenarch’s grip. She heard the clang of his sword falling on the wooden pier, then the grunts of two large men wrestling like bears. One rolled over her, pressing his knee into her back. She crabbed away, with her hands wrapped around her belly to protect the growing baby. She looked up to see that it was Homer grappling with Stenarch. As she gaped with shock, Homer closed his hand over the fallen sword. Stenarch rose to his knees and brought a knife out of his belt.
“Don’t!” Nerissa shouted as she saw both men swing.
She heard the crash of metal as Homer’s blow connected with Stenarch’s helmet. The wealthy man went down and didn’t move.
“Oh no!” she cried. “Why did you do that? Now you’ll be executed, too.”
“He won’t die. I turned the blade to its flat side. Hear that, the jackal’s breathing. Now hurry, girl. We have to go.”
Nerissa retrieved the torch that the watchman had dropped on the pier. She helped Homer climb over the boat’s rail. It seemed equally astonishing that he’d chosen to save her life as that a blind man had been able to fight so well.
“But how?” she asked him as she scanned the deck, searching for the sail locker.
“I wasn’t always a poet,” Homer answered with a touch of pique. “In my youth, I was a respected warrior.”
“That’s not what I meant.” How could she say the obvious? That he needed a guide to steer him everywhere. It was inconceivable that a blind man could defeat an armored swordsman. “How did you know where to attack?”
“You were screeching like a soaked cat as he dragged you. It wasn’t hard to locate Stenarch. And he’s a fool -- he should have scrambled away where he’d have every advantage. I can only fight an enemy if I can get close in.”
“That was very brave of you. I thank you, Homer.”
“Nine years ago, you came to my defense. I wanted to repay the debt.”
She had the good sense not to mention that he’d chastised her for defeating Jeremos that other time.
“You’re wrong, there never was a debt,” she said. “But you were right about the wind. It’s blowing out to sea a fair clip now. I need to get the sails up. Where are they kept?”
“They’re coming, sir!” warned Philemon. “They’re all rushing up the pier. Jeremos is leading them.”
“Beg for mercy, Homer!” they heard the huge man cry. “Prostrate yourself like the base slave you are, or I’ll gladly twist your scrawny neck.”
“Never mind the sails!” yelled Homer. “Put another stone into Jeremos. Aim for his head this time.”
“I mustn’t kill again,” Nerissa said. “I threw away my sling.”
“I haven’t,” said Miklos.
He brought out a sling fashioned from a seed sack. Immediately, he whipped a stone at Jeremos. Striking him on the shoulder, it knocked the large man down. Nerissa saw the butcher Linus and the slave dealer Antechron struggle to drag him away as the whole militia scrambled back in panic. Fortunately, they were only townsmen. No professional soldiers among them. There hadn’t been war here in centuries.
“How did you learn to do that?” Nerissa asked Miklos.
“I saw you hunting hares one day. I made a sling and practiced. I kept at it every day, until I became good enough to scare off eagles when the ewes were lambing. I learned to store the sling and a good stone in my tunic.”
“That was a fine shot. I’m glad you didn’t strike his head.”
“I was aiming for his leg.”
“It was a good shot anyway in this wind. If they grow bolder and advance, keep aiming for their legs. But you’ll need more stones. Go down below and find some in the ballast.”
“Yes, Mistress. I mean, Aunt Nerissa.”
“Eugenia, you go with Miklos. Take this torch the watchman dropped. After you get the stones, go around and light the weather lamps aboard.”
“Yes, M-Should I call you Aunt Nerissa, too?”
“That would be nice. I’d like it very much.”
She realized that this was her household now. The two youths had joined Eury and the baby growing in her belly. Not to mention Homer and old Philemon.
“Where are the sails?” she asked Homer.
“The locker’s at the prow,” he answered. “But who will man the Tachytata? I once owned a crew for races, but they’re all gone, of course.”
“If you believe my stories, I have more than a little experience.”
“Yes, I believe you, Nerissa… But even if you know what to do, who’ll carry out your orders?”
Homer was right. What an unlikely crew they made. Two children, a toddler, a relic, a blind man, and a pregnant woman.
“We’ll do the best we can. Eugenia and Miklos both are strong. Young people always make good climbers. The lines are all in place; the mast appears in good condition. We only need the sails. I can’t say where we’ll go once we leave the bay. Father never taught me navigation.”
“Leave that to me,” said Homer.
“But you’re--”
“Blind? I wasn’t always. I remember every star and island and coastline I ever saw. With Philemon’s assistance, I’ll man the helm.”
Nerissa broke out the sails. They were in good shape, too. While Miklos held back the militia with his stones, she attached sails to the rigging. Fortunately, the militia had no archers. As she sent Miklos and Eugenia up the ratlines to extend the sails, Nerissa reluctantly took over the sling. But she couldn’t bring herself to aim at the townsmen’s bodies, so she sent her stones whizzing over their heads.
As they got underway, six men came rushing up the pier. They were armed with spears and shields. Stenarch must have revived and sent a runner to the armory. Nerissa pelted them as rapidly as possible, but they advanced in phalanx, covering their heads and bodies. As she reloaded for a tenth time, one stood up and flung his spear. It struck so close to Philemon, he screamed. She saw that it had nipped the corner of his chiton, pinning him to the cabin’s wall.
Homer reached down, yanked it out, then flung it back. It struck one of the shields. Another amazing feat for a blind man, she thought. She’d really underestimated him. All these years, she’d had an image of Homer as a hopeless intellectual. Brilliant, but useless when it came to taking a stand. In truth, he was courageous and incredibly resourceful.
Handing Eury to Homer, she asked him to take the boy below. She knew he’d never leave the fight otherwise. It would also remove Philemon from danger, since he had to lead Homer down the hatchway.
The wind filled their sails and they slowly gained momentum. The next time one of the phalanx stood up, she knocked the spear out of his grasp. He yelped shrilly. She saw that it was Antechron. The slave dealer who’d once ripped open Berenice’s peplos.
I’ve broken his arm, Nerissa thought. Well, he can thank me that it’s not a broken head. Another man stood up and cocked his arm. In the moonlight, she recognized his face. It was Caphates, the foreman at Ductor’s linen mill.
Since he didn’t live in Polis, she guessed what must have happened. Caphates had come to see Tragus about some detail of his flax delivery. He’d learned of the murder, then ridden into Polis and alerted Stenarch, captain of the militia. Stenarch quickly learned from Phyllis that her slave Dzunga had seen the fugitives in a wagon heading for the northern pier.
Nerissa sent her stone a fraction wide this time. Feeling it brush the hairs on his arm, Caphates ducked back beneath the shields without hurling his spear. She had nothing against Caphates and didn’t want to injure him. He’d been very nice to her when he came to the farm a month ago to buy their crop of flax. He’d even spent half an hour that evening catching lightning bugs for Eury.
The Tachytata’s speed increased as a wind out of the east picked up. Nerissa steered due west into the bay’s deep water. Except for Antechron, the phalanx all stood up and flung their spears. One sliced through a sail, but no one was injured. Nerissa held the helm steady as they made for the shadowy shape of Kefallinia. After she rounded that large island, she’d call Homer above. He’d know where they should go next.
“It’s best to round Ithaca and head for the mainland,” Homer advised. “There, our enemies will have to guess which of many ports we’ve reached.”
Unfortunately, this proved impossible, since the wind held strong to the west. “What do we do now?” Nerissa asked.
“We must continue straight to Kefallinia,” said Homer. “If we had oarsmen, it would be
As they left the bay, Nerissa saw many lights from torches in the shape of a bireme coming after them. Stenarch must have taken the militia onto one of Ithaca’s war galleys. In calm air, it could easily overtake them, but as long as the wind blew hard, Homer’s boat would stay well ahead.
But now they couldn’t dock at Kefallinia. This pursuit destroyed her hope of quickly finding passage on an ocean-going ship. At best, Stenarch was only a quarter hour behind. Past Kefallinia, there was no landfall in the wide Ionian Sea until Sicily and wild Etruria.
Worse, the torches appeared to be gaining steadily on her. Nerissa glanced up and indeed her sails were luffing. The wind had paused, as suddenly as it began. She turned the helm a half point to the south. The slack sails puffed a bit, but still Stenarch gained on her.
I beg thee, merciful Athena, Nerissa prayed. I know I’ve sinned. I’ve killed the man who’s been a husband to me. I’ve deprived my child of his father. I should have left Tragus’s punishment to you. But I don’t ask this favor for myself. The others on this boat are innocent. Scourge me in full suffering when we’re far away from Ithaca. But please, Blessed Mother, Thou Who Never Loses the Day, grant me strength and knowledge to save these five blameless people.
Athena turned away. Nerissa’s words fell drowning in the moonlit water. The wind died down to nothing and the torches gained. She could hear the slap of rowing now. A staggered sound, unpracticed. Stenarch must have been lax about drilling his militia on the oars. While Ithaca owned numerous municipal slaves to serve the temples and clean the streets and work the docks, none were trained to man the bireme.
Still, it gained on them relentlessly. She sent Miklos and Eugenia aloft with the rounded third sail. She told them to set it forward of the mast as they ran before the wind. With the strong gale before, this extra canvas might have snapped the mast, but now she needed to catch all the wind she could.
It made little difference. The bireme gained ten stadia on them each minute. Nerissa could hear their voices now. Stenarch braying at his oarsmen to increase their stroke. Jeremos crying out the vengeance that he’d take.
Nerissa could see their oars flash in the moonlight. She cut a sling from extra sailcloth so she could join Miklos in bombarding the bireme. It would do little good, she knew, but she must emulate Athena and fight on to the end. She had no illusions that it would restore her in the Goddess’s favor. Athena would look elsewhere as the bireme’s iron ram smashed into the Tachytata.
Maybe if they see me tie a heavy stone around my neck and leap into the sea, they’ll spare the others. Maybe Stenarch will consider my death enough and call off his attack.
A flight of arrows quashed this thought. Soaked in pitch, they flamed brightly as they arced. Stenarch must have pressed into service all of the men in Polis who possessed war bows.
He intends to burn us to the water line.
The arrows fell short, but not by much. Nerissa hobbled around the boat, extinguishing all its lamps. She turned the helm sharply to port, hoping to escape into the darkness. But the moonlight was too bright.
They can see us nearly as well as we see them with all their torches blazing.
Another flight of arrows proved that she was right. Two of the burning missiles lanced into their strakes. She lowered a bucket on a rope, hauled up water, and extinguished these two arrows. As soon as Miklos came down from the mast, Nerissa had him fill more buckets. She lined them along the rail in readiness.
The next flight of arrows mostly found the deck. No one was hit, because she’d sent them all below. She extinguished the fires with little trouble, but knew that the bireme’s archers would soon come into range to hit the Tachytata’s sails. Dry, they’d catch fire very quickly. The burning canvas would be impossible to extinguish. Fire would spread to the mast and decks as the blazing pitch dripped down. Now, it was too late to send Miklos and Eugenia back above. She’d made a ruinous mistake leaving the sails up. This light wind was doing them no good. It was no more their ally than the Minotaur had been on the side of Heracles.
“Stop now, or burn to death!” they heard Jeremos call across the waves. “Maybe a jury will spare you, Homer. Anyone can see that you’ve become demented. We show mercy to those whose minds are not their own to rule.”
“No, you’d be fortunate to burn or drown!” cried Jeremos. “You’ll not survive this night! If you escape the flames and water, I’ll cut you into dog meat for what you did to my Penelope.”
Homer didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn in the direction of his enemies’ voices. He simply stared away at the black things only he could see.
Oh, sweet Athena, I know I’ve wronged you intolerably, prayed Nerissa. I’ve caused you grave offense. But life is learning, isn’t it? My father taught me that. Asclemelion loved knowledge and so do I. For the sake of those aboard who’ve never caused you pain, teach me what I must do here.
She looked up to beseech the sky. There was no answer from the Goddess. Only bright Selene, who was allied with Stenarch. Another flight of arrows struck the boat. Nerissa managed to extinguish them all, including one that stuck into the mainsail’s bottom corner. The moon shone on as she gazed up. The wind died to a whisper. No sacred owl came to rescue her, only a flight of terns, winging home to Kefallinia. Athena had abandoned her entirely. Whatever hope Nerissa harbored vanished like a grievous sigh.
But wait. The terns had also vanished. Nerissa studied the vaulted patch of night intensely. The flock was gone. One moment they were racing Selene’s team of silver horses, the next moment, they’d been swallowed by a famished sky.
Nerissa continued staring at the spot. Its hunger seemed to grow. And with it, a swirling darkness. From the north, it blotted out all light…
And then she understood. It was a bank of fog. Athena hadn’t scorned them, after all. She’d sent the terns as guides.
With every bit of strength cached in her now-free arms, Nerissa wrestled the wheel all the way to starboard. What little wind there was came from the south-east. But still, her struggle went for nothing. She’d never reach the fog in time before they were ablaze.
She called the others up, except for Philemon, who must remain below with Eury. She had no choice but risk the others’ lives. Together with Homer, Miklos, and Eugenia, she attached the racing oars to their pivots and thrust them through their port-holes. They rowed like demons across the glassy sea. Homer was very strong, and in her desperation, Nerissa nearly matched his power. Miklos and Eugenia had worked hard all their lives, and though they weren’t full grown yet, their rowing made a contribution.
Another flight of arrows smacked into the deck and sails as the first wisps of mist caressed their faces. Nerissa had Miklos and Eugenia run around extinguishing the fires with water from the buckets, while she and Homer pulled the oars so hard, steam rose up from their handles.
They slipped into the fog like the spirit of an ancient ship. Nerissa felt the shade of staunch Odysseus pulling on the oar beside her. Five years or five hundred after Troy, he never quit. But she signaled him to stop, then spoke a soft word to Homer. Now, their greatest asset would be silence. As Miklos and Eugenia came back from their task, Nerissa put a finger to her lips. The children understood they mustn’t speak or move from where they sat. Before he went below, she’d told Philemon he must be careful to stay quiet. Even Eury understood. Down in the hold, he rested silently in old Philemon’s arms.
They drifted in the fog for hours. They all felt terrified that it would lift or that they would be found. The wet murk that protected them was also their dank prison. They could see nothing further than their hands. Each creak of their ship seemed like the first sound of Stenarch approaching. Here in the dense fog, they all knew he was always just one turn from crashing into them.
Nerissa made the others eat, though no one had much appetite. Then she sent everyone to sleep, claiming the first watch as her privilege. She didn’t plan to wake anyone until morning.
After less than an hour, Homer came up to join her. He said he couldn’t sleep. Nerissa thought it very kind of Homer to keep her company. No one would expect him to take a watch.
She longed to ask about his poem. But sound could travel a great distance in the fog, she knew. Still, it shredded her nerves to simply sit here voiceless. She edged next to Homer, until their arms were touching. It would be all right if they only whispered.
Before she could ask about the tale of desolate Odysseus, Homer put his lips against her ear. He asked her to relate the story of her last nine years. Nerissa told him everything, including the maiming of her foot, her near death, and her impregnation while delirious with fever.
Unexpectedly, the long tale helped allay her dread of discovery. Not only the realization that she’d already overcome worse obstacles than this. But feeling Homer’s indomitable strength beside her gave her hope. He was a man who always would endure to finish what he’d started, despite blindness, poverty, and the ridicule of lesser men.
“You mentioned composing a long epic in the Cave of Loizos,” Homer said when she was finished.
“It would take hours,” said Nerissa.
“That’s exactly what we have,” said Homer. “This fog shows no sign of leaving.”
“All right,” Nerissa said. Then she began whispering the epic verse committed to her memory.
She didn’t finish until dawn’s light seeped into the mist. Homer sat motionless until the end.
“And what of your father?” he finally spoke. “You’ve told me what happened to each member of your family. It seems that only you and Chloe remained alive to reach the distant land of Scheria. Did Asclemelion die like your mother, Aristides, and Mavros on Laestrygon?”
“Oh, did I fail to say how we lost Father? That’s odd. I thought I had.”
Nerissa searched back in her memory, but found she couldn’t recall mentioning his death. In fact, she couldn’t picture how he’d died at all.
“He was with us on the raft. I know he was, because he’s the one who helped me pull Chloe aboard after I found her floating in the wreckage. And it was Father who spotted the sail, rowed to it, dragged it from the sea, and spread it to collect rain water. Then he saved the water carefully, just as he’d done that time we were becalmed. He meted sips to me and Chloe every hour. And kept our spirits up with songs and verse and stirring tales. But now that I think back, it’s strange, I can’t remember Father taking a single sip, himself… And then one day, I tended Chloe all alone. Father simply wasn’t there.
“Oh, heartless Fates! I see it now. I see the guilt I’d banished from my mind. He gave us all the water, waited until we slept, then allowed himself to slip into the sea. He did it so that we might have a better chance to live. And I wasn’t so young or innocent that I didn’t guess his plan!
“Now do you understand what sort of fiend I am? And why I deserved everything I suffered at the hands of Captain Hycron and Tragus? I killed both my mother and my father, the most noble, selfless people on this earth. The only wonder is that the Gods haven’t devised a harsher punishment for me.”
Homer placed his calloused palms on Nerissa’s cheeks. She was surprised that they were rough, not the soft hands of a scholar. He held her face as if he were a peasant asked to hold a marble bust of great antiquity and value. Though he stared at her with sightless eyes, Nerissa knew he saw her as she really was, with all her monstrous flaws and empty places.
“You’re anything but a fiend, Nerissa. You’re an exceptionally brave woman with so much grief to bear, you’ve chosen to trade the largest part for penitence. But now I understand from whence your courage comes. Your father was a hero, too. May Asclemelion’s name live on forever in your verse.”
“But how can it? I’m no poet and no scholar. In all my life, I’ve read only a handful of scrolls. I know only the rudiments of composition.”
“You’ve been divinely touched,” said Homer.
“What nonsense. You’re very kind to say so, but my poem is merely doggerel I carved to ease my boredom those long years in the cave.
“You couldn’t be more wrong. All these years, I’ve tried to make Odysseus’s tormented path sing with endurance and despair. What a stupendous fool I’ve been! All I ever had to do was come and hear your epic. Imagine, what arrogance I’ve harbored. I blush at how I lectured you on the qualities of epic heroes. You are the master, Nerissa, while I’m but an awkward student.”
“No, it’s the opposite,” she answered. Could Homer really have such a high opinion? She’d never allowed herself the hubris of imagining his approval. “If there’s any merit to my verse, it’s because I wrote it as you would. Your voice has never left my thoughts… You thought my lines flowed well? I made every effort to obey your meter.”
“There was one place I thought you misperceived the rhythm of Calliope.”
“I’m sure that there were many places.”
“A few, perhaps. But this one sticks out in my mind:
Odysseus! Ah, wert thou allowed to know
What Fate has doomed thee still to undergo, Thy heart might settle in this vale of ease.
And O, these slighted charms might learn to please. A willing goddess, and immortal life.
Might banish from thy thoughts an absent wife.
“But Homer, that’s one of my best verses. I took my experience with the hermit, but made him be a nymph holding Odysseus a captive of her love. When Athena’s messenger Hermes finally persuades Calypso to free Odysseus, I thought I captured exactly what she’d say to him.”
“You did. But I’d make a few changes, thus:But ah, Odysseus! wert thou given to know
What Fate yet dooms thee still to undergo,
Thy heart might settle in this scene of ease.
And e'en these slighted charms might learn to please.
“What of the last two lines?” Nerissa asked as irritation crept into her voice. “They’re fine.”
“So are the others. I like them just the way I wrote them.”
“‘Vale’ is inaccurate. Your poem describes a rocky island.”
“All right. If you insist, let the word be isle.”
“Fine, then. But ‘given’ is better than ‘allowed.’ That’s how knowledge is received.” “You’re quibbling. I thought you liked my poem.”