Odysseus in the Serpent Maze

CHAPTER 2: FIRST BLOOD

“WE NEED TO GET the boar’s attention,” Odysseus said.

“No, we don’t.”

Odysseus ignored him. “So this is what I want you to do.”

Mentor’s mouth went even drier, if that was possible. “Me?”

“Just stand up and wave your arms. Till the boar sees you.”

“Me?” Now his mouth felt like it was stuffed with Egyptian cotton.

“Stop worrying,” Odysseus said. “Boars have notoriously bad eyesight.”

“I’m sure that’s a great comfort.”

Odysseus sighed and shifted his weight. He put his left hand around his right wrist to help hold the weight of the spear. “Really—there’s nothing to worry about, Mentor.”

“I hate it when you say that.”

The big black boar had trotted over to another patch of brush and was now ripping it up and grunting with pleasure.

“Look,” Odysseus whispered, “I’ll be hidden right here in front of you. As soon as the boar comes close, I’ll jump up and spear him. Just like my father did when he and the other heroes slew the great boar of Calydon.”

“I thought the great boar of Calydon killed or maimed half of the men in the hunt before anyone slew him,” Mentor said.

“Do you want to be a hero or not?” asked Odysseus.

“Right now,” Mentor said carefully, trying not to let the hand holding the sewing-needle javelin shake too much, “I’m not sure.”

Odysseus sighed. “If we go back with no prize to show, we’re going to look like fools. Or worse. Like cowards!”

“We’ll only look like boys, Odysseus. Which we are.” Mentor knew the argument was already lost. There was no greater disgrace for an Achaean warrior than to be thought a coward—man or boy. He stood slowly and waved his hands. “This is a really bad idea.”

The black boar ignored him and continued rooting in the briars.

Mentor waved his hands more vigorously.

“Don’t you feel like a hero now?” Odysseus asked.

“I feel like a fool,” Mentor answered flatly. “I just don’t want to feel like a dead fool. How fast do you suppose that boar can run between its bit of brush and ours?”

“Not so fast that I can’t get my spear into it,” said Odysseus. He was holding the spear with both hands now. “Shout, Mentor! Let it know you’re over here.”

“Hoi! Widow maker! Over this way,” Mentor cried.

The black boar paused in its egg hunt and looked up. Its small piggy eyes searched out the source of the sound. Swinging its massive head back and forth, it finally focused directly on Mentor.

“Again,” Odysseus whispered. “You’ve got his attention now.”

Mentor’s lips felt more padded than his leggings. He couldn’t make another sound. The boar was now heading towards their thicket at a lope.

“Is it coming?” Odysseus whispered.

All Mentor could manage was a grunt, much like the boar’s.

Slowly Odysseus stood, peering over the bush. He could feel the boar’s hooves drumming on the earth. Then he saw it.

“What a monster!” he cried appreciatively.

Behind him Mentor was silent.

“I’m ready,” Odysseus cried. “Hold your ground, Mentor. Keep him coming.”

“I don’t …” Mentor managed to croak, “don’t think I could stop it if I tried.”

The boar was now only a few yards away. Its tusks seemed gigantic and sharp and curved and deadly.

Finally upright, Odysseus braced the long spear against his body, the bronze point aimed at the boar’s heart.

The boar lowered its head for the attack, grunted twice, and then ploughed into the brush.

Bronze spearhead met bristly hide right above the breastbone, lodging there for a moment before the wooden spear shaft snapped in two. The broken stump of the weapon dropped from Odysseus’ numbed hands.

“Oooof!” he grunted.

Mentor shrieked, “Odysseus, no!”

Odysseus twisted away from the boar’s continuing charge, but a second too late. One of the tusks scored a ragged gash down his right thigh. Like lightning, pain flashed along his leg. He fell back against Mentor, biting back a scream.

The boar ran on past them, further into the brush.

“Odysseus—are you alive?” Mentor cried.

“Get … your … javelin.” Odysseus’ face was screwed in pain.

Only then did Mentor realise that he had dropped the thing. He bent to pick it up and when he stood again, he saw that the boar had broken through the other side of the thicket and was making a large circle back towards them, snorting with rage.

“One … good … throw …” said Odysseus, carefully speaking through his pain. “That’s … all … you … need.”

Mentor licked his dry lips and hefted the javelin in his right hand. He had thrown in competition with other boys, had hunted small game, but how could he hope to stop this great beast with what was really no more than a toy?

“Look … in … eye…” Odysseus said.

Mentor could hardly breathe. He kept his own eye fixed on the boar. His heart seemed to be pounding in time with the boar’s hoofbeats.

And then—as the beast came within striking range—Mentor felt his own breath stop. His arm seemed to drive forward by itself, sending the javelin flying. The javelin wobbled a bit in its flight, and the sound it made was a strange whoosh.

Then everything went dark.

Eyes closed, Mentor waited for the boar to rip him to shreds.

“You … did … it!” Odysseus was hitting him on the leg.

Mentor opened his eyes. The boar was speeding away from them, the javelin trailing from its flank.

“But I didn’t kill it,” Mentor said miserably. “All I did was make it madder.” He paused. “And lost us our only weapon.”

“Real … weapon … here,” said Odysseus, touching a finger to his head. “Help … me … up!”

“You can’t run on that leg,” Mentor said.

“Not … run,” Odysseus told him. “Roll.” He pointed behind them to the steep slope.

Glancing nervously over at the boar, which had now managed to shake the small javelin loose, Mentor whispered, “Are you crazy, Odysseus? That slope’s a hundred feet down if it’s a—”

“Take … hold.” Without waiting for an answer, Odysseus grabbed Mentor’s arm and hauled himself to his feet.

Mentor wheeled Odysseus around, and they headed back the way they had come. They ploughed through the tangled thicket towards the edge of the slope while the boar was still making up its mind whether to charge again. Mentor half carried, half dragged Odysseus, who hobbled as best he could.

“Faster …” Odysseus said, gasping with pain.

Behind them they could hear the boar bellowing as it started to charge again.

“Faster …”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Mentor said through clenched teeth.

“Talking … to … myself,” Odysseus said. “Not … you.” He took a deep breath and said in a rush, “Better leave me. Only slowing you down.”

“Heroes together or not at all,” Mentor told him, and just then they reached the edge of the slope.

Slipping free of Mentor’s grasp, Odysseus pitched himself forward, going head over heels. Mentor slid after on his bottom, thinking that there was no hope for his tunic now.

Thorns and shards of flint tore at their clothing and flesh. Every bump and knock jarred their bodies, till Mentor began to think they would have had an easier time with the boar.

Then they landed in a heap at the bottom, fetching up against a spindly tree.

“Odysseus, are you …?”

“Keep … still,” Odysseus said.

Mentor raised his eyes warily and saw the boar standing at the top of the slope, stamping the grass in frustration. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Remember … poor … eyesight,” Odysseus said. “Small brain.”

Mentor shut his mouth.

Time seemed to drag by as the boar shook its massive head and peered down the slope. But at last, seeing nothing and hearing nothing, it gave one last grunt and snort, and disappeared back to the bushes to finish its breakfast.

When the boar didn’t return, Mentor whispered, “We need to get you back down to your grandfather’s palace so your wound can be properly tended, Odysseus. But meanwhile…” He stripped off his linen leggings and, using them as a makeshift bandage, bound up the gaping wound on Odysseus’ leg.

“Thanks,” Odysseus said. His normally ruddy face was blanched with pain.

“Being a hero,” Mentor said, “is awfully bloody work.”

“Isn’t … it …” Odysseus said, and then, unaccountably, he grinned.