Odysseus in the Serpent Maze

CHAPTER 13: ADRIFT

ONE DAY PASSED WITH Penelope carefully rationing the water.

Then a second.

The sun beat down on them, and they took turns resting in the little bits of shade offered by the krater.

By the third day, when they were all burned by the sun, hungry, cranky, sour-mouthed and thirsty, Penelope said quietly, “There’s no more water.”

Her announcement was met with silence. No one was surprised, though Helen bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Never mind, Helen,” Penelope said. “Let’s talk about Sparta. Listen—I’ll sing you a song.”

Mentor turned and stared out to sea, as if by looking hard enough he might discover land.

Odysseus nodded, drifting into a half sleep, where he heard a faint echo of the sirens’ song. When he woke, startled by Penelope’s real song, he found himself angry. Angry at the boar, who had gored him and so sent him on this death’s journey; angry at his grandfather, who’d hired an incompetent ship’s captain; angry at the pirates for their brutal stupidity; angry at Silenus for salvaging such a fragile craft; angry at Mentor so entrapped by a girl’s beauty that he was useless; angry at Helen, who’d surely sneaked more than her share of water. And mostly he was angry at Penelope for waking him.

Then he shook himself out of his anger.

In fact, Odysseus knew that Penelope was the one who’d saved them thus far with the krater of water and the club. It was Penelope who’d kept him—and Mentor—from diving overboard after the sirens. It galled him to admit it, but in her own womanish way, she was the real hero here.

And now she was standing and raising her arms.

“What are you doing?” Odysseus asked.

“The only thing left to us,” Penelope said. “Praying to Zeus for rain.” She looked up into the cloudless sky. “Father Zeus, lord of the storm, send us even the merest shower to lighten our sufferings. We will make sacrifices in your name when we’re on land once again.”

Not a cloud appeared in the sky.

“Silenus warned us not to rely on the gods,” Odysseus said. “Surely he knows them better than we do.” If anyone is to blame for this mess, he thought, it’s the gods.

Penelope looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m only asking for a little bit of water,” she said. “A favour anyone would do for a thirsty stranger. If the gods refuse us, then the dishonour is theirs, not ours.”

The hours dragged by and the girls slumped, shoulder to shoulder, at the front of the boat.

Odysseus couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about what Penelope had said. He’d never before considered that the gods might do something dishonourable. He just thought they were usually too removed from all human endeavour to actually care.

The very fact that it was a girl who’d given him something to consider made him uncomfortable. Girls, after all, became women. Women were meant to run the household, do the weaving, cook the food, raise the families. They weren’t supposed to be on board boats, fighting sirens, battling pirates—unless of course they were Amazons.

And neither Penelope nor her cousin Helen was an Amazon.

They were Spartans.

He turned to ask Mentor what he thought, but once again Mentor was staring at the sleeping Helen the way a drunkard stares into his wine cup.

“Hsst, Mentor!” Odysseus poked him in the small of the back.

Mentor turned his sunburned face towards Odysseus and forced a smile. “Hsst, yourself. Have you a plan at last?”

“No plan yet. But there’s something I want to ask you. It’s about girls. And women.”

“Isn’t Helen wonderful?” Mentor had that dreamy look again.

Disgusted, Odysseus forgot everything he’d just been thinking and blurted out, “I think she’s a sorceress.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because she’s made a slave of you without the use of chains or bonds.”

Mentor sighed. “No spells are necessary, Odysseus. It’s her beauty that so affects me.”

Odysseus drew himself up. “Oh, she’s comely all right. If she were a slave girl on sale at the market, I might consider purchasing her. But you’ve let her unman you completely.”

Mentor turned to face Odysseus directly. “Odysseus, we’re inches from dying. Is it wrong for me to want her to find me worthy of her love before we cross over to the Underworld?”

“You’re supposed to worry about being worthy in the eyes of the gods, in the eyes of your fellow men—not a mere woman. What matters is your courage. Your honour.” He struck himself on the chest.

“What honour is there in drifting in a boat, Odysseus?”

Actually, Odysseus had been wondering that same thing himself. “At least …” he began, “at least I can die on this boat without complaining, facing death with courage. Otherwise, what will I say when I face the judges of the Underworld? If we haven’t been worthy, how can we hope to enter the paradise of the Elysian fields? We’ll be forced to wander the gloomy caverns of Tartarus forever.”

Mentor said nothing.

“Square your shoulders, Mentor. Head high. No more mooning over Helen. Let’s be true comrades laughing in the face of death.” He leaned towards his friend, hoping he had succeeded in bringing him to his senses. “Mentor?”

Mentor’s answer was a deep, rhythmic snore.

The next day they were all so exhausted from sun and hunger and thirst, they hardly spoke. Helen even stopped complaining.

One by one they dropped off into a semi-sleep. Odysseus was the last. But he woke suddenly, startled by the sensation of water trickling over his toes, then came completely awake.

The crude patches Silenus had used to repair the little boat were peeling apart, and seawater was seeping through the cracks.

“Get up!” Odysseus shouted. “Up! Up! Up!”

The others lifted heavy eyelids and roused at the sight of the seawater, which already covered the bottom of the boat.

“The jar!” Penelope shouted, and Odysseus began bailing with the krater, but the water came in as fast as he threw it out.

“This is the end of us!” Helen wailed. “One of you must have offended the gods.”

“If the gods so love you, why haven’t your father’s ships found us yet?” Odysseus countered.

For a moment Helen seemed poised to answer. Then she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Penelope glared at him, and Odysseus flushed, as ashamed as if he’d struck down an unarmed enemy from behind.

“Perhaps …” croaked Mentor. “Perhaps one of them has found us.” He pointed. “Look!”

There was a tiny outline of a ship far off in the hazy distance.

“But the wind is taking us away,” Helen pointed out.

Swiftly, Odysseus untied the sail and pulled it down, wadding it into a bundle, which he threw over into a corner of the boat.

“Are they getting closer?” Helen asked.

“They don’t seem to be moving at all,” Penelope said.

“Then we’re just going to have to swim for it,” Odysseus told them. “Before they get under way again.”

“I can’t,” Helen said bluntly.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Swimming isn’t going to mess up your dress or hair any more than they are already.”

Helen turned her back on him, but Penelope put a hand on his arm. “Helen was never taught to swim,” she said. “It wasn’t considered ladylike.”

“And you?” Odysseus asked.

She smiled wryly. “No one’s ever accused me of acting like a lady. But I can’t leave Helen here.”

“All right, then, I’ll swim,” said Odysseus. “And if the ship’s crew looks friendly, I’ll have them pick you up.”

Before he could go over the side, Penelope said, “Don’t be silly. You’re in no better shape than the rest of us. We haven’t come this far to see you drown because of some stupid heroics. We need to do something more practical.”

“Like pray to the gods?” Odysseus asked sarcastically.

“No. First spread the sail over the floor of the boat. That might just keep water from coming in. Then we can use the mast as an oar.”

With Mentor’s help, Odysseus wrenched the mast out of its socket. Meanwhile the girls stuffed the sail against the loosened patches.

Then the boys sat side by side on a bench, holding the mast. As it wasn’t much longer than Autolycus’ hunting spear—though a great deal thicker—they were able to draw it through the water, first on one side of the boat, then the other.

Gradually the little boat began to move.

“At this rate, that ship will be gone before we get there,”-said Odysseus, not stopping to wipe sweat from his eyes.

“I don’t think so,” Penelope said. “There doesn’t seem to be any sail hoisted. And there’s no sign of movement.”

She picked up the jar and began bailing while the boys propelled them slowly but surely towards the other ship.

An hour went by. Then another. But they grew closer and closer until the ship loomed before them, only a few yards away.

First Mentor, then Odysseus lifted their blistered hands from the makeshift oar. Their backs ached too.

Now that they were close, they could see that there was no visible mast, and the boat’s oars trailed lifelessly in the water.

“Halloooo,” Odysseus shouted up.

No one answered his hail.

“Halloooo,” they all cried together.

Still there was no answer.

“Why hasn’t anyone seen us yet?” Mentor asked.

“Halloooo,” Helen called by herself. “Anyone up there? Help!”

The sides of the hull were so high, it was impossible to catch sight of the crew.

“Perhaps,” Penelope said slowly, “it’s a plague ship.”

“Then it’d mean possible death to board her,” said Mentor.

“It means certain death if we stay here,” Odysseus said, pointing to the puddle of water spreading around his ankles.