The Maiden's Odyssey by Paul Coulter - HTML preview

Epilogos

Some days later, Nerissa woke to a refreshing sea breeze. A bed had been slung for her beside the cabin’s open hatch. She felt hungry, but in a pleasing way, as if her stomach was finally ready to accept food after a long illness. She pulled herself up a bit by one of the bed’s ropes. Her arms were weak and looked thin to her eye. She felt flushed by the exertion, but again, it was a good feeling. She remembered her flight from Ithaca. She’d escaped the executioner, while bringing Eury, Eugenia, and Miklos off the island. Homer and Philemon, too.

Ah, what joy to know she was no longer a slave. Not only this, but her successful flight proved that she’d harbored safely in the Gods’ favor. Maybe now they’d listen to her prayers when she asked them to protect her kinsfolk in the Fields of Asphodel.

Gazing down the blanket that covered her, Nerissa saw a man’s head resting on the bed’s edge beside her lap. She couldn’t see his face, but knew that it was Homer from his chestnut curls and an old scar on the back of his right hand. Though he slept, Homer held tightly to a cloth. A basin of water sat beside the cask where he was sitting. He didn’t stir during the time she watched him. He must be very tired, because she’d learned that Homer was ordinarily a very restless sleeper. In the Grotto of the Nymphs and also in the upstairs room at the inn, he’d shifted every minute or two. He often spoke out in his sleep.

Clearly, she’d been sick, and Homer had been tending her. Searching her memory, Nerissa recalled the fight with Jeremos at the Isthmia dock. She’d been wounded in the thigh, but her femur wasn’t broken. And, oh yes, Jeremos had battered Homer’s head against the paving stones. She couldn’t see the wound, because Homer was lying on that side. But they’d been forced to flee before she could clean it for him. Or her leg, for that matter.

Now she remembered that she’d done a thorough job with both once on the ship. Seawater was very good for cleaning wounds, she’d learned from Father. And Captain Gymnos had been kind enough to provide lengths of boiled linen to make proper dressings. But still, she must have sickened. Without the herbs for making a healing poultice, fevers were usually the result of wounds that tore the flesh. She wondered if Homer had suffered from sickness, too.

Ah well, his fever couldn’t be too severe if he’d been tending her. And hers hadn’t been nearly as bad as when Tragus chopped off half her foot. If they were still aboard the ship, the most she’d slept was a week or two. And now, apart from hunger and weakness, she felt quite well.

Nerissa didn’t wish to wake Homer, but she wanted to rise and move about. She wanted to see Eury, to check on Eugenia, Miklos, and Philemon, to get some food, and to ask Captain Gymnos about stopping at Chios. Actually, that last one wasn’t necessary. Homer would have done so, already. With his purse from selling the Tachytata, Homer had more than ample funds to offer a sizeable incentive.

Nerissa was trying to figure out how to get down from the hanging bed without disturbing Homer when Philemon approached.
“You’re awake!” he greeted her with a pleased grin.
“Yes, and anxious to see everyone. How are they?”
“Everyone is well. Miklos follows the captain everywhere. I think he’d like to be a mariner. Eugenia’s with Eury. The last I saw them, she was teaching him his colors. That girl will make a fine mother some day. She’s seen to Eury’s every need, I can assure you. The boy adores her.”
“Good. Thank you for telling me. As soon as I can get out of this bed, I’ll go and praise Eugenia.”
“Er, it might be better if I have her come to you. You’ve been seriously ill, you know. We worried for your life.”
“Don’t be silly. It was just a little fever.”
“No, Miss. The Master was afraid you’d die. For seven days, he’s never left your side. He’s hardly slept, convinced that only the sips of water he trickled down your throat were keeping you alive.”
“But Philemon, what of his head? His wound was considerably worse than mine.”
“He did get a strong fever, with sweats and shakes and the inability to keep food down, but the herbs you prescribed cured him.”
“What herbs? I didn’t bring my healing pouch from Ithaca.”
“You don’t remember? We stopped on Kithnos. You were too weak to go ashore, yourself, but you told Eugenia what to buy.”
“But if the medicine worked for Homer, why not for me?”
“You were far worse. Your skin was so hot, we could feel its incandescence without even touching you. I think that only Homer’s constant prayers convinced the Gods he needs you more than they do.”
“He cares that much for me?”
“Can there be any doubt? I’ve never seen such tenderness in my Master’s face. Every time he’d dab you with cool water, it was like a Goddess smiled on him… And you? Forgive an old man’s curiosity, but do you share any portion of these feelings?”
Nerissa gazed at the back of Homer’s head. She reached down and gently touched his hair. She felt warmth flooding through her, a different kind of warmth than fever. It felt like the source of all life and all hope.
“I think you know the answer, Philemon.” She smiled shyly at him. “I think I’ve always known, myself. From the first time that I heard his verse. It spoke to me, as if it were a child that we’d formed together.”
“That’s good to hear. You make an old man very happy, Miss. I’m only sad about your loss.”
“My loss? What do you mean?”
“Oh, no! You don’t remember? Forgive me for speaking out of turn. I should have waited until my Master could tell you in some way that might bring you less pain.”
“Pain?” Nerissa felt a jolt of dread so sharp, Philemon’s choice of words was starkly accurate. “What is it, Philemon? You must tell me at once. What have I lost?”
Suffused with panic, Nerissa groped at the blanket. The fever must have come from putrefaction in her thigh. She hadn’t cleaned the wound in time, or thoroughly enough. They must have had to sever her femur to stop the rot from spreading. Many times before, she’d seen flesh wounds lead to death if left untreated. Though delirious, she must have told them what to do.
Homer must have held her down, maybe with help from a sailor. Captain Gymnos may have possessed a sword or long knife capable of cutting bone. She would have told Eugenia to keep Eury far away, and Philemon to hold a heated iron ready to cauterize the stump. Miklos, fearless and reliable, would have stood ready with clean linen to bind the wound.
But she felt two legs beneath the blanket! They both were there. She groped down the length of her left leg, consumed with the irrational fear that they’d taken her good foot for some reason. No, it still was whole.
Nerissa snatched off the blanket. She felt immense relief to see that both her legs were whole, her left foot was entire, and her right one no worse than before. There was a large bandage on her thigh, but it was only slightly tinged with blood and had no smell of rotting flesh. She moved the leg a bit. Feeling only moderate discomfort, she flexed it at the knee. She bent it more and more, rotated her ankle, pivoted her hip. Everything seemed to be working as it should.
“But what’s the problem, Philemon?” she asked. “Why do you say that you feel bad about my loss? This wound will heal. I may have a prominent scar, but we both know that in a life filled with fearsome challenges, that’s nothing.”
“It’s not your leg,” he answered in a voice weighted with regret. “As you say, the wound is healing nicely.”
“Then what?” Suddenly, Nerissa grabbed his arms and pulled herself toward his face. “Oh, no. Is it Eury? Did you lie when you said everyone was fine?”
“Calm yourself. Eury’s the picture of health… But I’m afraid his sister didn’t take so well to this world.”
“His sister?” Nerissa felt confused. She was only six months pregnant. Her child couldn’t have been born yet. Unless she’d slept far longer than she thought. “My baby is a girl?”
“She was. But she couldn’t stay. Your injury caused her early birth. She was formed enough to see that she was female, but she was very tiny. I think her lungs weren’t big enough to draw in air.”
“Oh, sweet Athena,” sighed Nerissa.
This was the worst blow yet. One final member of her family demanded by the Gods.
And she remembered now. The sensation of tearing in her belly soon after the spear lanced through her thigh. The blood that trickled down her leg, but not the one whose flow she staunched. Then later on that day, the sense of unbearable loss as she’d slipped into deep sleep. The knowledge that she’d never know this daughter. Never know any daughters, in fact, because the damage was too great.
Nerissa felt like a thin clay pot dropped by a careless God. She was a dactylos away from smashing on the floor. She gripped her arms around her shaking torso, but it did no good. Though she managed to stop her plummet in mid-air, there wasn’t enough room inside for such intense emotion. Like steam inside that thin clay pot. With no outlet, it was inevitable her fragile walls would burst.
In the space of a single minute, she’d woken to find that she was truly free, witnessed the measure of Homer’s devotion, and learned that the Gods were as merciless as ever. Far from turning benevolent at last, they’d chosen to punish her hubris by snatching away the daughter whom she would have loved so well.
It all was far too much. She couldn’t begin to accept or deny or do anything with these hurtling emotions. She couldn’t combat them, but she couldn’t allow them to dominate her, either. The Gods might be monumentally capricious, they might overwhelm mortals’ best efforts time after time, but they couldn’t make us stop trying to survive. The only essential human failure was when we added to their misery by losing hope.
As she’d learned to do throughout her life, Nerissa found the necessary route. She could only take care of her family if she put aside her grief. She must wall it in some fortress, and only let it out years later, when it had lost its power to prostrate her. She knew just how. Mother was right. A woman must be strong as iron.
With Philemon’s help, she rose and went to Eury. As promised, he was thriving under Eugenia’s care. He allowed her to hug him for a minute, then wriggled free. After Nerissa told Eugenia how much she valued all her help, she went to get a bowl of soup from the ship’s cook.
Feeling exhausted by these small exertions, Nerissa slumped against the rail to eat it. Then Eugenia helped her return to her hanging bed. After Philemon brought Miklos, too, Nerissa told both youths that they were free.
“I’d be greatly honored if you’d consider remaining with me,” said Nerissa. “You are my family now. I promise that I’ll always love you as much as I loved the people in my first one.”
“Does that include me?” asked Homer, who’d come awake.
“Of course,” Nerissa answered after an uncomfortably long pause. She felt thoroughly taken aback by Homer’s question. “If that’s what you want.”
“With all my heart. I love you, Nerissa. And little Euredon, as well.”
“Sir, I’ve been meaning to tell you, the child looks a bit like you,” said Philemon, to fill another worrisome gap. “That curly hair, the noble sweep of his forehead.”
“Not surprising. We are related, after all.” Homer tousled Eury’s hair. He lifted the boy from Nerissa’s arms. “I suppose we both get our physiognomy from our common ancestor Telemachus. In the marble bust my father once owned of that great hero, he’s shown with a broad brow and very curly hair.”
“You realize I won’t be able to give you children of your own?” Nerissa said, a tense edge to her voice.
“You already have. We make a perfect family. Blessed with three fine children and our poetry. I know that we’ll be very happy. Once we arrive on Chios, we’ll marry at the Temple of Cybele, where I once taught. The priests there all regard me highly.”
Nerissa’s thoughts swirled with chaos. Mixed joy and sorrow overwhelmed her. Homer must be utterly incapable of perceiving another person’s feelings. How could the Gods conspire to make her love this most maddening of men? Was he really so oblivious, he’d make a marriage offer in the same hour that she’d learned of her daughter’s death?
Then again, he’d been asleep when Philemon told her. At this moment, Homer was unaware she knew.
Which only made it worse that he’d propose. In fact, he hadn’t even proposed. He’d jumped straight to the wedding arrangements, without even asking if she’d want to be his wife. Homer’s absence of doubt that she’d agree was, in a word, infuriating.
But she had to admit that Homer’s perfect certainty was the very thing that drew her to him. It glowed in every word he wrote. She realized that the quality so often striking her as arrogance was something else entirely. It was actually the vast self-assurance he’d gained through overcoming every obstacle. Homer didn’t ask, because it wasn’t necessary. He trusted in her love.
“I’ll marry you on one condition,” Nerissa said at last.
“Anything. What is it?”
“You must free Philemon. If he wishes, he’ll become an elder of our household.”
“That old rogue? We’ll never hear the end of his dubious wisdom.”
“Even so. We both know he’s earned an honored place within our family.”
“Very well. If nothing else, we never would have met, had Philemon’s clumsiness not sent you sprawling all those years ago.”
“My clumsiness?” protested Philemon. “Is this the thanks I get for saving your ungrateful hide from Jeremos?”
“It was entirely my fault when I crashed into Philemon,” Nerissa hurried to forestall an argument.
She suspected there’d be nightly wars of words between these two beloved men for many years to come. She felt too drained to hear one now.