Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

After they had finished sharing their tales, the three men agreed that the mules should be kept closer to their camp for the night, rather than leaving them tied to a tree far from the safety of the fire. They also discussed the wisdom of setting a guard in this strange, underpopulated country, and to Eperitus’s relief Halitherses split the watch between two of his men.

Eventually, they pulled their blankets over themselves and lay down to sleep. There were no clouds or moon in the sky above, but the stars were like the grains of sand on a beach and their pale light made everything about the men clear. The cold air carried every sound clearly: the rush of the river over the rocks that were scattered along its banks, the snorting and stamping of their mules, even the cry of owls hunting in the darkness. Eperitus fell asleep listening to the noises of the night and thinking about the wolfmen of Arcadia. He dreamed he was in the great hall in Alybas, where a giant wolf was crouched over the dead body of King Pandion. The king’s blood dripped from its jaws, and as it looked at Eperitus it seemed to grin.

They stood in a circle about the raft. Eperitus could not imagine how it was supposed to carry them across the foaming waters that separated them from the next stage of their journey. The wood was rotten, broken in places and bound together by leather ropes that were cracked and splitting. Although the rectangular deck would fit six men and a mule, he doubted whether it would take their combined weight. Another problem was the strong current. The raft must usually have been pulled from one side of the river to the other along a rope, and though the stumps were still there the rope itself had gone. Because of this it would take two or three men using poles to get the raft across safely.

Despite these problems, Odysseus wasted no time in sending Antiphus out to trap a wild animal for sacrifice, whilst ordering others of the party to repair the ropes that held the raft together. The islanders were skilled seamen and, using a combination of axes and some rusty tools from the deserted ferryman’s shack, were soon busy replacing the worst of the wood. Before joining them in their work, Odysseus sent Eperitus on a chore of his own, to find and cut lengths of wood to act as staves in punting the raft across the river.

By the time he returned with four long poles the work on the raft was finished. Replacement wood had been taken from the contents and walls of the shack to repair the worst of the damage, whilst the ropes that lashed it together were the original cords reinforced with strips of cloth, leather or the intertwined branches and stems of plants.

Last of all, Antiphus arrived carrying a squealing goat over his shoulder. He handed the struggling animal to Odysseus, who carried it under his arm to a large rock by the river. Close by, a fire had been lit using the oddments of wood that had been discarded in repairing the raft. Odysseus took a dagger from his belt, whisked off a tuft of hair from the goat’s head and threw it into the flames. Then, offering prayers for safe passage to the god of the river, he picked up a stone and gave the animal a swift blow to the forehead, killing it at once. Quickly laying it on the flat-topped rock, he slit the animal’s throat and let the blood gush out onto the earth. A couple of the men stepped forward to help him dismember the carcass with easy and practised movements. The meat from the thighs – favourite of the gods – was cut out and covered in a layer of glistening fat before being thrown on the fire as an offering. The remainder of the beast was dissected with speedy efficiency and was soon being roasted on spits over the flames.

Odysseus left his men to finish the bloody work and went to wash his hands in the cool, clear water of the river. His men made quick work of the sacrificial meat, downing the scraps with a few pieces of bread and the water from the skins they carried. By that time it was already late morning, so without further delay they shoved the raft into the fast-flowing river and Odysseus led the first party across. Keeping the mule still proved the most difficult task, unused as it was to floating on water, but after the prince threw his cloak over its head and assigned two of the guards to hold the animal steady they were able to cross without mishap.

The two men who had not been on the poles began the return journey as Odysseus and the others stood ready with their shields and spears, remaining vigilant whilst their force was divided and at its most vulnerable. Soon they were joined by four more of their comrades, who arrived with the second mule, and not long after that the third crossing brought another four, the provisions for the journey and the gifts for Tyndareus and Helen.

Eperitus had been left with Halitherses and a few others to take the final load across, and as the raft struggled back towards them the landsman from Alybas suddenly felt nervous at the prospect of crossing the torrent. Although he had learned to swim in the mountain pools and streams of his own country, he was not confident in water and muttered a hurried prayer to the god of the river.

The boat thumped against the bank and the two men leapt off and pulled it safely up on to the pebble-strewn ground. As Eperitus considered how to get the last of the mules aboard – a docile creature that he hoped would give little trouble – he noticed that the condition of the raft was deteriorating rapidly. Already some of the hastily repaired lashings had frayed to the point of snapping and a hole had been punctured in the centre of the raft, where a mule had put its hoof through the old wood. But there was nothing for it now but to load up and set off.

He helped push the raft into the water again, then led the mule up onto its ramshackle planks. Wrapping his cloak around the head of the beast, he began talking softly into one of its hairy, oversized ears. Meanwhile Damastor stood against the animal’s flank and signalled for Eperitus to take up position opposite him. Together they took a firm hold of the beast as Halitherses and the last two men of the escort splashed aboard and began to push them out into the rapidly flowing waters. The force of the river hit them straight away, sweeping the raft into an eddy that momentarily spun the flimsy vessel out of control. The men on the poles strove with all their might, their muscles tensing and straining as they fought to steady the fragile platform. For an anxious moment they looked to be lost, but finally managed to regain control of the craft and straighten it back on a course to the opposite shore.

The roar of the water raged in their ears so that they could hardly hear the shouts of encouragement from the far bank. The raft began to ride the strong current, almost bouncing along the surface as the men on the poles fought against the pull of the river. Eperitus watched Halitherses’s ageing face, contorted with the exertion of battling against the current, and debated whether to leave hold of the placid mule and help with the spare pole. Then everything went suddenly and terribly wrong.

With the mule still quiet beneath its cloak and the shore looking temptingly close, Damastor released the animal and shook the stiffness out of his aching limbs. But before he could take hold again, a sudden blast of wind tore the cloak from its eyes. Seeing the rushing water on either side it panicked and kicked out with its strong hind legs. There was a splash and a shout behind Eperitus; in the same instant one of the planks cracked and gave way beneath the stamping hoofs of the mule, tipping it headlong into the water and beyond any help the men could give it.

‘Halitherses is in the river!’ shouted Damastor.