Odysseus in the Serpent Maze

CHAPTER 24: A BATTLE IN THE DARK

THEY RACED DOWN THE twisting, turning passages. Silenus was in the lead, shouting, “My nose knows.”

Odysseus’ nose knew nothing. Between the satyr’s stink, the musty tang of snake, the damp cave odour and the nose-drip of fear, he couldn’t smell a thing. His arms were both red-hot with pain, his shoulders ached, and terror dogged his heels. Going after Silenus made as much sense as anything.

They ran and ran, panicked, through the zigzagging corridors until they were all out of breath.

Except for their own heaving sobs, an eerie silence filled the Labyrinth.

Odysseus looked back warily. “Have we lost Ladon?”

Silenus didn’t answer. His shudder was enough.

Penelope sighed. “Who is this Ladon anyway?”

Taking a deep breath, Silenus said, “From whaaaat the gloating king told me, Laaaadon is one of the maaaany offspring of the giaaaant Typhon and the she-serpent Echidnaaaa.”

Now it was Penelope’s turn to shudder.

The satyr went on. “Laaaadon terrorised Crete during the early years of Deucalion’s reign. There weren’t aaaany heroes who could kill him. So they lured him into the Laaaabyrinth.”

“And here he’s been ever since?” Odysseus had caught his breath. “So why hasn’t he starved to death?”

The old satyr straightened. “Oh—he haaaas regular meals. Deucalion sends all Cretan criminaaaals into the Laaaabyrinth.”

Odysseus smiled wryly. “No wonder the dungeons are empty and lightly guarded.” He glanced at the torch in Penelope’s hand. It was flickering now, a sure sign it would soon die.

“Ladon hasn’t been giving you any trouble,” Penelope said. “Both members of the same monster’s guild?”

“Oh, he’d eat me soon enough,” Silenus admitted. “Snaaaakes love goat meat. But so faaaar I’ve staaaayed clear of the centre of the maaaaaaaaze.” His bleating voice let go on the last word.

Penelope sighed. That small bit of breath fluttered the torch. “Too bad. Odysseus’ plan to bring us into the centre was the only plan we had.”

“And it was a good plaaaan too,” said the satyr. “Except for Laaaadon, that is.”

“We could sneak past Ladon in the dark, and …” Odysseus began.

“His maaaany eyes are shaaaarp enough to penetraaaate the gloom of Erebus, the blaaaackest region of the Underworld,” Silenus said.

All three were silent, contemplating just how dark such a gloom might be.

“Maaaaybe we should let him eat us aaaand be done with it,” Silenus said. Exhausted, he squatted down on the floor.

“Never!” Penelope cried.

“There must be a way to kill him,” Odysseus added. Though he doubted he’d have the strength to lift the sword one more time, even if they found a way.

“Oh, there is,” said Silenus. “But you haaaaave to kill his one true head, the one containing his scheming braaaain.”

Odysseus leaned over the old satyr and stared at him, eye to eye. “And how do I tell which one is the one true head?”

The satyr’s eyes closed. “It’s maaaarked, Deucalion saaaid, with aaaa crimson crest. The others are really just tentacles with eyes aaaand mouths.”

“Crimson crest, eh?” Odysseus said, straightening up. “That shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Haaaard enough,” muttered Silenus.

“Harder still,” Penelope warned, “if the torch goes out.”

But having gone through fear and defeat, Odysseus had already come out on the other side. “All we have to do is find the crested head and”—he lifted the sword with a barely concealed grunt—“and I will kill him!”

Buoyed by Odysseus’ spirit, Penelope lifted the sputtering torch. “You will! You will!” She smiled.

Grateful for her support, Odysseus smiled back and set the sword down carefully.

Silenus got to his feet wearily. “Now Laaaadon’s haaaad a taaaaste of your sword, he’ll keep his one true head aaaat the centre of the maaaaze, well out of your reach.”

“The centre of the maze!” Odysseus and Penelope said together, and Penelope added, “We’re back where we started.”

“No, we’re not!” Odysseus was suddenly certain. “Do you remember what happened when I cut off that first head?”

Penelope nodded. “The neck disappeared back into the dark.”

“Yes!” Odysseus was triumphant. “Just what you’d do if you pricked your finger. Pull the finger away without thinking. Ladon’s done the same thing, and that’s what gives us a chance!”

“I still don’t like this idea,” Penelope said as they made their way through the dark corridor. The torch was madly flickering.

“We don’t have another choice,” Odysseus reminded her. “Soon we’re going to be completely in the dark. Better to strike when we still have some light on our side.”

“We’re getting close to the centre,” said Silenus, touching a finger to his nose. “Laaaadon’s bound to attaaaack soon.”

“Remember: when he does, you two get away and leave the rest to me.”

“I really don’t like this idea,” Penelope said.

Odysseus ignored her complaint. “Lift the torch, Penelope.”

She held the torch higher.

They’d come to an intersection of two passages, and Silenus sniffed loudly. Odysseus didn’t need any help from the satyr’s nose this time. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck had already warned him of the danger.

“He’s coming,” Odysseus whispered.

“He’s here!” Penelope whispered back.

A single serpent body writhed down the corridor to his left. Odysseus turned to face it.

“Here come some more,” cried Silenus.

A dozen of Ladon’s snake heads, like a great roiling wave, surged towards them.

Odysseus felt the battle fever surge through his body again and grabbed the torch from Penelope with his left hand. Raising the heavy sword in his right, and heedless of the weight, he rushed towards the snake body.

A hissing head rose to greet him.

With one well-aimed stroke of the sword, he sliced through the snake neck which sent the head twirling through the air. Immediately the bleeding stump whirled back into the shadows.

Odysseus sprinted after it, caught up, and rammed the sword, point down, straight through the scaly hide until it fixed into the thick muscle. Then he wrapped his right arm around the sword hilt.

Now, he thought, I don’t have to raise that awful heavy weight again. Now, he knew, he just had to hang on.

The snake retreated, carrying Odysseus at dizzying speed along the corridor.

Bang! Into the floor.

Bash! Into the ceiling.

He bounced bruisingly off the walls, his arms and legs scraping over the stones. His arm muscles ached with the effort of keeping his grip on both sword and torch.

At last he was hauled into a huge cavern that could only be the very centre of the Labyrinth.

He set down the torch for a moment, and with both hands twisted the sword out of the snake body. It came out more easily than he’d expected, like a knife through meat.

He picked up the torch again. As he did so, he was immediately aware that everything on his body hurt. He was a single hot point of pain. But he knew he’d have to think about that later.

Now there was only the hero and the snake.

Holding the flickering torch aloft, he looked around. Coiled before him was Ladon’s scaly body, as huge as the hull of a ship. Swaying in the air above it was a head twice the size of the others, topped with a bright red crest.

“The one true head,” Odysseus whispered.

The narrowed snake eyes glared balefully at Odysseus, and gigantic fangs gleamed like silver swords in the torchlight.

On every side of the body, dozens of elongated necks were thrust down the tunnels. Odysseus was certain they were pursuing Penelope and Silenus, who were weaponless. He hoped the old satyr could keep them clear of the snakes until he finished this task.

If I can finish my task, he thought. Then shook his head. He had to think like a hero. So he forced himself to look up at the head above him and shout, “Come, Ladon, son of Echidna and Typhon, let us see which of us lives and which of us dies!”

Ladon’s crested head came straight down towards him, hissing like a waterfall.

Odysseus was so focused on the head before him, he didn’t see what was behind. The bloody stump of the neck he’d ridden smacked into his back with the force of a club. The torch fell from his left hand and the heavy sword from his right.

Like a tentacle, the stump wrapped around his waist and hoisted him into the air.

His legs dangled helplessly as the one true head of Ladon drew close. In the last flickerings from the fallen torch, he saw the lipless serpent mouth spread in a cold grin.

He pressed his hands against the coils that were crushing him. He pushed with all his might. But he was a boy—not a man. Even a man could not have resisted those relentless coils.

One by one, the other snakes returned to the centre of the maze. They turned their merciless eyes upon him. The crested head was now so close he could feel its cold breath.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Odysseus clenched empty fists.

If only, he thought, if only I had a weapon. At least I could die fighting. A hero’s death.

He would never have a song sung about his death. How good it had felt when—in the midst of his grandfather’s warriors—he’d told them of his courage in the boar hunt.

“The boar hunt!” he gasped. He did have a weapon.

Ladon’s jaws were almost over him, the fangs about to bite him in two.

Odysseus reached into the neck of his tunic, pulled out the broken spearhead, yanked it over his neck, and rammed the pointed shard of bronze straight into Ladon’s unblinking eye. It pierced the black centre, the leather cord dangling.

With a howl of awful pain, Ladon’s crested head reared back.

The stump that had held Odysseus loosened with the shock of Ladon’s pain, dropping Odysseus. The gold key that had been in his belt clattered to the floor.

He scrambled over to the sword and torch and snatched them both up, surprised that he had the strength to lift either, surprised his legs still worked, surprised that he could breathe again. Then he turned to face the monster.

The cavern was now filled with angry, twisting forms. They swayed and twined around the quivering body, echoing Ladon’s pain and rage.

“Come on, you cowardly snake!” Odysseus yelled, forgetting the songs and the stories, forgetting his aches, forgetting how heavy the sword was, remembering only that he’d got in a blow. “Fight me now that I’m truly armed. That small point was but a first taste of death. This large point will be your last!”

Goaded by pain, tormented by the boy’s arrogance, Ladon’s crested head swooped down like a hawk plunging from the sky.

Odysseus braced himself, holding up the sword to meet the attack. And just as the monster’s head closed on him, the torch guttered out.

But the momentum had already been set. Ladon’s downward motion landed the head on to the upthrust sword. The sword point burst through the soft underside of Ladon’s jaw and drove straight through the roof of his mouth.

Odysseus’ knees buckled under the impact, and he had to let go of the sword’s handle. But the blade was so firmly set now in the monster’s head that Ladon’s own unstoppable downward movement jammed the hilt on to the stone floor and forced the sharp bronze blade straight into his own brain.

At the moment the brain was pierced, a shriek of agony burst from every one of the monster’s multiple heads. His dying cry shook the walls of the Labyrinth and brought dust showering from the ceiling.

One by one the long necks thudded to the floor, and—with a final shudder—Ladon was dead.