They followed an easterly breeze to the mainland port of Stratos. There, Homer consulted a chandler in the market across from the famed Temple of Zeus. He quickly learned of a leading citizen who was known to enjoy boat racing. Within an hour, he’d found the man, shown off the Tachytata, and come to an arrangement. The deal they struck was far short of what the boat was worth, but the heavy bag of silver restored a good deal of the sum that the Ithacan council had forced him to pay Jeremos.
With a small part of this money, Nerissa secured passage for all of them on a coastal freighter departing at noon for Korinthos. She bought provisions in the market, then hustled everyone aboard. They traveled all afternoon through the Gulf of Corinth, and reached the handsome city with an hour of light still left in the sky.
Nerissa stopped briefly at the magnificent Temple of Aphrodite, perched high on the acropolis of Korinthos. The Goddess of Love had been sacred to Aunt Melissa. After finishing her prayers, Nerissa approached one of the famed hetaerai, who assumed she wanted to arrange a tryst for Homer.
“I’m very expensive,” she warned, noting Homer’s humble clothing.“No, it’s not that,” Nerissa said. She reminded herself to tell Homer he must buy a new chiton and chlamys as soon as possible.
After mentioning she was the niece of Cythera, a noted hetaera in Smyrna, Nerissa learned the quickest way across the isthmus. They followed the same route by which ships were hauled on sledges over the ridge to the port of Isthmia on the Saronic Gulf. From here, they could resume their journey across the Aegean Sea.
Once they reached Isthmia, Nerissa found a merchant captain willing to take them to Chios. His ship would sail upon the morning tide. That night, they stayed at a reputable inn that the hetaera had recommended. It was a cheerful place, where they enjoyed a good meal in a pleasant courtyard.
For the first time in her adult life, Nerissa experienced what it felt like to be free. Miklos asked why she’d smiled all through deipnon, but she simply tussled his wavy hair. Any spoken answer would have fallen far short of the joy that came from sharing simple pleasures with those closest to her in the world. She’d miss Berenice, of course. And she wondered if she’d ever have the chance to meet Vasiledes, again. But it felt so good to sit here with her loved ones. She realized how fortunate her life had turned.
Though Nerissa would have been happy to sleep in the common hall, with its clean straw and well-banked fire, Homer paid extra so they could all lodge in a private room upstairs. He said that it was necessary to stay away from strangers, but Nerissa doubted this was his chief concern. It seemed that with his purse restored, Homer had regained his distaste for low-born neighbors.
It didn’t lessen her admiration for his character and talent. Once the others were asleep, Nerissa encouraged him to tell the story of his youth. Homer had a very hard time beginning. For a proud man, he seemed especially uncomfortable talking about himself.
Little by little, she coaxed out the details of his background. He was the only surviving son from a lesser branch of Ithaca’s ancient nobility. The king, his great, great great-grandfather, had been deposed over a century before Homer’s birth. But his father Hippomachus had retained his lands and served as leader of Ithaca’s battle fleet.
Hippomachus was a stern, but learned man, a faithful husband, and extremely conscientious in his duties as a father. He’d trained Homer in the art of war, and also oversaw his education in all forms of knowledge. He’d employed tutors in literature, geography, philosophy, and rhetoric. At seven, Hippomachus brought Homer on a journey to Egypt. En route, he’d instructed Homer in seamanship and navigation. It was the one occasion when they’d spent much time together.
Homer’s mother Leucania was a celebrated beauty, daughter of a wealthy merchant. A most religious woman, she’d taught Homer to love the Gods. From her, he’d learned extensively about their genealogies, their rivalries, and intrigues. Leucania was a loving mother, as softhearted as Hippomachus was severe.
When Homer was fourteen, Hippomachus led his men to war on the island of Euboea as an ally of Chalcis. Though news came back that they’d defeated the Eretrians on the Lelantine Plain, Hippomachus’s ship did not return. They never learned its fate, but likely, it sank in a storm.
As a wealthy woman, presumably a widow, Leucania was courted by Aetes, the most powerful man on Ithaca’s council at the time. Though Aetes was far from a rogue, Leucania refused him for many years. And though it was only one man, not a plague of suitors, Homer chafed at this man’s constant visits to their hall.
At last, when Homer was seventeen, Aetes forced a vote on the council to declare Hippomachus dead. He then demanded an answer from Leucania on his marriage proposal. When she still refused, he threw her over his shoulder, stormed out of the house, and mounted his horse with Leucania before him on the saddle.
This was too much for Homer, who attacked. Hurtling into them before Aetes could leave, he knocked them from the horse. He drew his knife and told Leucania to return inside. Aetes merely shoved her back against the horse and laughed at Homer. So Homer lunged with the knife, but Aetes was a battle veteran. Homer quickly learned that real fighting was nothing like his father’s drills. Aetes dodged the strike and swung his sword. Homer fell and then lay motionless.
“You obviously didn’t die,” Nerissa said.
“No, he struck me with the flat side of his sword, like I did with Stenarch.” “But Aetes beat you with one swing. I thought you said you were a well-respected
warrior.”
“That was later. At this time, I was only a thin youth, whose height and pride had far
surpassed his strength.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“Aetes forced her back onto his horse.”
“He married her?”
“I didn’t give him time.”
“But how did you stop him?”
“When my tutor Mentor came that afternoon, he saw me lying in the dirt. He revived me,
then I ordered him to get our slaves ready for a long journey. I went to the estate of Aetes, then
crept around to the women’s quarters. I knew he wouldn’t have touched my mother yet, because
he’d want the marriage to be seen as legal. Aetes had few guards posted, since he didn’t expect
retaliation. My father’s kinsmen all had vanished with him. My uncles from my mother’s side,
as well. And certainly Aetes expected no trouble from me. He assumed that I was still
unconscious, or at best, terrified of him.”
“Wait a minute. Aetes died this spring, I heard. And Philemon said that Jeremos
recently inherited his father’s fortune. Is he the son of Aetes?”
“That’s right. Our feud’s continued to this day.”
“Is he your half-brother, then? Through your mother?”
“No. You interrupt too much. Just let me tell the story.”
“Sorry.”
“I suppose you can’t help yourself. It’s a storyteller’s natural curiosity. Like mine…
At any rate, it was dusk by now, and I went through a window. A young slave girl saw me, but
she hated Aetes as much as I did. I think he must have deflowered her. She didn’t say a word as
I led my mother out. We rode back to our house, where Mentor had everything ready for
departure. We left in a war galley that was being repaired at the time my father left for Chalcis.” “But wait. There’s one thing I don’t understand. If Jeremos is the son of such a
prominent man, why was he poor until his inheritance? For goodness sake, he used to be the
executioner. And when I stopped him from attacking you that day when we first met, he was
wearing homespun cloth.”
“His mother was a slave. When Aetes lost Leucania, no other woman was ever good
enough for him to marry. He made Jeremos his heir, but kept him no better than a tenant farmer
all his life.”
“No wonder he hates you. It wasn’t only about your betrothed Penelope, was it?” “He blames me for embittering his father. It’s perverse logic, clearly, since he wouldn’t
have been born at all had Aetes married my mother. But there you are. Jeremos is a moron.” “You haven’t explained what happened to your eyes. Did you have another fight when
you returned to Ithaca? Was it with Jeremos this time?”
“Nobody bothered with me when I returned. My mother had long since died, and Aetes
had no desire to prosecute me in a trial.”
“For what? He assaulted you and kidnapped your mother.”
“Yes, but I attacked him first. Broke into his house, too, and took the woman with whom
he had a valid marriage contract.”
“But your mother never agreed.”
“She didn’t have to. The council had sanctioned their marriage… Still, by the time I
returned, Aetes had little interest in punishing me. He’d already confiscated all my father’s
property. I suspect he thought reopening the issue would stain his name, as well. He didn’t even
object when I moved into a vacant cottage my father once owned.”
“If there was no further violence with Aetes, and you didn’t fight with Jeremos, what
happened to your eyes?”
“It was the original fight with Aetes, but my sight didn’t fail for years. Sometimes it
would be blurred as a result of Aetes’s blow, and I experienced severe headaches many days
each month. But mostly, I was able to manage well.
“My training in seamanship and navigation produced an uneventful trip to Cyme, the
homeland of my mother’s family. I grew, became a warrior, and saw action in a host of battles.
But every year, my eyesight deteriorated. I’m convinced that the blow from Aetes weakened
some connection between my eyes and mind.
“Finally, when I lost my sight entirely, it was a staggering thing to bear. I could fight no
longer and I couldn’t sail. I wished that it had been my life I’d lost and not my eyes…
Sometimes, I still do.”
“But you can’t mean that, Homer. You’ve accomplished wonderful things with your life.
If you’d lost it, the world would never have your poetry.”
“Maybe so, but darkness is an evil thing. Those born blind might bear it well, but when
you’ve known the light and beauty and all the things that young men savor… compared to a
black world, death often seems a kindness.”
“Do you still feel that way, even now?” Nerissa asked.
Homer didn’t answer. But after nearly a minute passed, Nerissa felt his hand close over
hers.
In the morning, they walked down toward the port. Passing the Temple of Poseidon, Philemon pointed out its splendid peristyle in the Doric fashion and the ornate decoration on its columns’ capitals, carved with many leaves and fronds.
“No one wants to hear you babble on about the architecture,” Homer cut him off. “The important thing is that athletic and artistic contests have been held here since antiquity. They take place in both the year before and the year after the Olympic Games. No matter if it was a time of war, there’d always be a truce, so contestants could cross enemy territory.”
“Exactly, sir. And always in the summer, to make travel easier. Though not necessarily on the second full moon after the solstice, as would be the case in Olympia. The winners of wrestling, pankration, and chariot racing receive a wreath, a statue, and an ode. Personally, I’d be happy with the wreath alone, because it’s made of celery. I’m quite partial to this herb, you know. It does wonders for digestion.”
“Yes, quite… The poetry contest attracts a very strong field, I’m told, though I’ve never participated myself.”
“That’s because the Isthmians allow female contestants in poetry and music,” Philemon said to Nerissa with a wink.
“It most certainly is not!” said Homer. “I have nothing against female poets. You must believe that, Nerissa. I was entirely sincere in my praise of your work.”
“Oh, I believe you. Philemon is merely teasing. You should see the grin stretching that old rogue’s face.”
“I knew that,” said Homer, though anyone could plainly see he hadn’t. “But I wished to make it very clear that poetry is poetry, no matter what the artist’s gender. If verse is good, it should be honored. If I’ve never honored another woman’s work, it’s because you’re the only one I’ve ever heard who understands the qualities of heroes.”
“I’m sure there have been others,” said Nerissa. “But I’d guess they found it necessary to pen a male’s name on their verse. Or maybe sent a brother to read their work at the Panathenaea. After all, few are as broad-minded when it comes to females as you are.”
“Yes, very true,” said Homer, unaware of the smiles that passed between Nerissa and Philemon. “You could be right.”
They came into the port, an extremely busy place. Past the crowd of dock slaves, sailors, townsmen, and travelers, they saw the tall masts of the merchant ship they’d found the evening before. Nerissa put a hand on Miklos’s shoulder. The boy stood gawking at the many ships and people from all nations. She understood he’d never witnessed such a scurry of activity before, but urged him to move on.
“We don’t want to be late,” she said. “Captain Gymnos could give our berths to other passengers.”
“Sorry, Aunt Nerissa. It’s just, I’ve never seen such a crowd before. This place is fantastic. I wish that we could stay.”
“Chios has a bustling port, too. And wait until you see Smyrna, if we’re ever lucky enough to reach it.”
“But I thought that you have enemies in Smyrna,” said Homer. “Whereas, I have many friends in Chios. Why would you want to go to a place where you might be thrown in prison?”
“My family was made outlaw, it’s true. But so were many others, and we were only obscure people. I’m sure we’ve been forgotten.”
“Not if your mother was a baron’s niece.”
“Maybe so, but my whole family is dead and I wasn’t accused of anything. I doubt very much that powerful people care if I come home.”
“But why would you want to? As you say, your whole family’s dead. There’s no one left in Smyrna to welcome you.”
“No one on my father’s side.”
“Don’t tell me you intend to claim your birthright from Baron Iadros as his grand-niece.”
“No, and I’ll have nothing to do with my Uncle Laedron, either. But my Aunt Cythera should still be well in Smyrna. She was only twenty-seven when we left.”
“Your aunt, the temple pros--”
But he was interrupted by a commotion coming toward them. People were protesting sharply as a large man dressed in armor knocked them from his path. Stopping to look back, Nerissa saw him brandishing a spear. With its butt end, he prodded those who didn’t retreat fast enough.
It’s Stenarch, thought Nerissa. She couldn’t see his haughty features beneath the helmet, but it seemed that he’d pursued them all the way to Isthmia. She felt surprised. She wouldn’t have guessed he’d care to this degree about her escape. It wasn’t like she’d killed a leading citizen. Though Tragus had risen a few notches to the point where citizens tolerated him, he was still considered a man of little worth.
Maybe it was Homer that Stenarch pursued. His defeat by a cripple in front of Ithaca’s militia must have been an unbearable blow to his honor. But Stenarch would never come alone. He’d bring a score of guards.
“Out of my way, you scum!” bellowed the large man.
She recognized that voice. Of course -- it was Jeremos. Newly rich, he could have easily paid members of the militia to come with him. But furious at Homer’s escape, he’d charged ahead alone. He’d been lucky enough to pick up their route in Stratos, then followed quickly through Korinthos. Intemperate, he hadn’t engaged mercenaries in the city. Not that he was unaware his enemy would be protected. He’d dressed in armor to deflect slung stones. Instead of the headsman’s axe she’d half expected, he carried a long spear.
Nerissa saw they’d never reach the ship in time. She handed Eury to Eugenia. Bringing out the new sling cut from sailcloth, she stepped in front of Philemon for a clear line of fire at Jeremos.
“Now you die!” the huge man roared at Homer. “This is for my beautiful Penelope.”
“She was mine, not yours, you cur! We loved each other very much. May you rot forever in the black waters of the Cocytus for what you’ve done.”
Jeremos raised his spear above his head. Nerissa and Miklos both flung stones before Jeremos could cock his arm. But Miklos’s shot clanged against his breastplate, while Nerissa’s stone lodged in his visor. They didn’t knock him down. Before they could reload, Jeremos hurled his spear at Homer.
Nerissa dove and took it in her thigh. Jeremos came charging forward. He leaped on Homer, seized him around the neck, and twisted hard. Miklos tried to grab his arms, but the man was huge. Homer fought back, but Jeremos was no Stenarch. He was a seasoned brawler. He slammed Homer’s head into the street. He lifted it to slam again, then slumped.
When Miklos and Eugenia managed to roll him off Homer, they found Philemon’s eating knife stuck in Jeremos’s throat. Meanwhile, Nerissa yanked the spear out of her thigh. Blood spurted, but she quickly bound the gaping hole with a strip torn from the hem of her peplos. She remembered doing something similar on Tenedos during her first bleeding.
After she’d staunched the flow of blood, Nerissa tested weight on her leg. Something gave, and she felt blood trickle down the inside of her thigh. Still, the important thing was that her femur wasn’t broken and she could stand. It was the same leg that ended in her maimed foot, so her customary limp was more of a lurch as she went to Homer. The side of his head was bloody, but he was moving. Though his blind eyes were open, it was impossible to tell if he was alert.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, a little woozy, but I’ll be fine.”
She helped him to sit up.
“We need to get that cleaned,” she said.
“We need to get aboard the ship, before more trouble comes.”
“It might fester if I don’t wash it and apply a poultice of healing herbs. Then where will we be?”
“I could say the same for you. But it will have to wait. The ship will sail without us.”
“Is that man dead?” a loud voice asked.
He wore the insignia of a harbormaster. He was accompanied by two guardsmen armed with swords.
“Yes, he’s dead,” answered Nerissa. “Which is only right. Since he attacked us. You can ask any of these witnesses.”
“I couldn’t just let him pound my Master’s head to pulp, could I?” said Philemon.
“The man you killed doesn’t look like a criminal,” said the official. “He’s wearing very good armor. While you people don’t look prosperous enough to bother robbing. I think you’d better come with me and let our magistrates sort this out.”
“This man that Philemon defended is Homer, the famed poet,” said Nerissa. “We’re poorly dressed because we had to flee suddenly from Jeremos’s attack in Ithaca. He’s feuded with my blind husband for years.” She didn’t have time to explain her real relationship to Homer. She didn’t know what it was, herself. “I’d be glad to explain everything to your magistrates, but unfortunately, our schedule won’t allow. Homer’s expected in five days on Rhodos. He’s the principal poet invited to perform at their summer festival. My husband is a very famous man, you know.”
“Never heard of him,” said the harbormaster.
“Surely every learned man knows of Homer’s celebrated work The Iliad. It won the golden tripod at the Apturian Festival twelve years ago, and many prizes since. I’d be happy to recite:
“Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son, of Peleus,
That brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Many a brave soul it sent hurrying down to Hades,
and many a hero it yielded prey to dogs and vultures.
“How long do you have?” Nerissa asked. “It will take all day to give you the whole story.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said a ship captain, who’d come over from the pier. “She’s right. I know this work. It tells the story of the Trojan War. I heard Homer read it ten years ago on Lesvos. He won first prize there, too.”
“Did he, now?” said the harbormaster. “That doesn’t change the fact a man’s been slain.”
“He attacked them,” said one of the bystanders, a well-dressed youth. We all saw it. They only were defending themselves.”
“Yes, but maybe the armored man had cause. Maybe he was sent from Ithaca. We must hold them until we learn the truth.”
“No, Captain Constanides is right,” said the youth. “This man’s a poet, not a felon. I’ve heard The Iliad recited, too. My brother owns a copy.”
The harbormaster relented. It was a good thing, because sailors from the merchant vessel began hauling its mooring lines aboard. Nerissa got everyone aboard just before it sailed. As they headed into the Saronic Gulf, she saw Stenarch arrive on the dock, trailed by a score of guards.
He knelt by the slain Jeremos, then grabbed a dock slave who’d brought a cart to remove the body. She saw Stenarch questioning the slave, who pointed at their vessel. Stenarch sprinted to the dock, his face a mask of fury. He ran to the harbormaster’s building, but soon emerged. Clearly, he’d been unable to commandeer a bireme. And it would be a full day before his own ship was sledged across the ridge from Korinthos.
He may have learned that they’d embarked for Asia Minor, but he wouldn’t know where. Nerissa had yet to offer Captain Gymnos a generous incentive to make an extra stop at Chios.