Stone rolling son of aeolus

Book X The Bewitching Queen of Aeaea “We reached the Aeolian island next, the home of Aeolus, Hippotas’ son, beloved by the gods who never die— a great floating island it was, and round it all huge ramparts rise of indestructible bronze and sheer rock cliffs shoot up from sea to sky. The king had sired twelve children within his halls, six daughters and six sons in the lusty prime of youth, so he gave his daughters as wives to his six sons. Seated beside their dear father and doting mother, with delicacies aplenty spread before them, they feast on forever … All day long the halls breathe the savor of roasted meats and echo round to the low moan of blowing pipes, and all night long, each one by his faithful mate, they sleep under soft-piled rugs on corded bedsteads.

To this city of theirs we came, their splendid palace, and Aeolus hosted me one entire month, he pressed me for news of Troy and the Argive ships and how we sailed for home, and I told him the whole long story, first to last. And then, when I begged him to send me on my way, he denied me nothing, he went about my passage. He gave me a sack, the skin of a full-grown ox, binding inside the winds that howl from every quarter, for Zeus had made that king the master of all the winds, with power to calm them down or rouse them as he pleased. Aeolus stowed the sack inside my holds, lashed so fast with a burnished silver cord not even a slight puff could slip past that knot. Yet he set the West Wind free to blow us on our way and waft our squadron home. But his plan was bound to fail, yes, our own reckless folly swept us on to ruin …

Nine whole days we sailed, nine nights, nonstop. On the tenth our own land hove into sight at last— we were so close we could see men tending fires. But now an enticing sleep came on me, bone-weary from working the vessel’s sheet myself, no letup, never trusting the ropes to any other mate, the faster to journey back to native land. But the crews began to mutter among themselves, sure I was hauling troves of gold and silver home, the gifts of open-hearted Aeolus, Hippotas’ son. ‘The old story!’ One man glanced at another, grumbling. ‘Look at our captain’s luck—so loved by the world, so prized at every landfall, every port of call.’

‘Heaps of lovely plunder he hauls home from Troy,

while we who went through slogging just as hard, we go home empty-handed.’

‘Now this Aeolus loads him down with treasure. Favoritism, friend to friend!’

‘Hurry, let’s see what loot is in that sack, how much gold and silver. Break it open—now!’

A fatal plan, but it won my shipmates over. They loosed the sack and all the winds burst out and a sudden squall struck and swept us back to sea, wailing, in tears, far from our own native land. And I woke up with a start, my spirit churning— should I leap over the side and drown at once or grin and bear it, stay among the living? I bore it all, held firm, hiding my face, clinging tight to the decks while heavy squalls blasted our squadron back again to Aeolus’ island, shipmates groaning hard.

We disembarked on the coast, drew water there

and crewmen snatched a meal by the swift ships. Once we’d had our fill of food and drink I took a shipmate along with me, a herald too, and approached King Aeolus’ famous halls and here we found him feasting beside his wife and many children. Reaching the doorposts at the threshold, down we sat but our hosts, amazed to see us, only shouted questions: ‘Back again, Odysseus—why? Some blustering god attacked you? Surely we launched you well, we sped you on your way to your own land and house, or any place you pleased.’

So they taunted, and I replied in deep despair,

‘A mutinous crew undid me—that and a cruel sleep. Set it to rights, my friends. You have the power!’

So I pleaded—gentle, humble appeals—

but our hosts turned silent, hushed … and the father broke forth with an ultimatum: ‘Away from my island—fast—most cursed man alive! It’s a crime to host a man or speed him on his way when the blessed deathless gods despise him so. Crawling back like this—

it proves the immortals hate you! Out—get out!’

Groan as I did, his curses drove me from his halls and from there we pulled away with heavy hearts, with the crews’ spirit broken under the oars’ labor, thanks to our own folly … no favoring wind in sight.

Six whole days we rowed, six nights, nonstop.

On the seventh day we raised the Laestrygonian land, Telepylus heights where the craggy fort of Lamus rises. Where shepherd calls to shepherd as one drives in his flocks and the other drives his out and he calls back in answer, where a man who never sleeps could rake in double wages, one for herding cattle, one for pasturing fleecy sheep, the nightfall and the sunrise march so close together. We entered a fine harbor there, all walled around by a great unbroken sweep of sky-scraping cliff and two steep headlands, fronting each other, close around the mouth so the passage in is cramped. Here the rest of my rolling squadron steered, right into the gaping cove and moored tightly, prow by prow. Never a swell there, big or small; a milk-white calm spreads all around the place. But I alone anchored my black ship outside, well clear of the harbor’s jaws I tied her fast to a cliff side with a cable. I scaled its rock face to a lookout on its crest but glimpsed no trace of the work of man or beast from there; all I spied was a plume of smoke, drifting off the land. So I sent some crew ahead to learn who lived there— men like us perhaps, who live on bread? Two good mates I chose and a third to run the news. They disembarked and set out on a beaten trail the wagons used for hauling timber down to town from the mountain heights above … and before the walls they met a girl, drawing water, Antiphates’ strapping daughter—king of the Laestrygonians.

She’d come down to a clear running spring, Artacia, where the local people came to fill their pails. My shipmates clustered round her, asking questions: who was king of the realm? who ruled the natives here? She waved at once to her father’s high-roofed halls. They entered the sumptuous palace, found his wife inside— a woman huge as a mountain crag who filled them all with horror. Straightaway she summoned royal Antiphates from assembly, her husband, who prepared my crew a barbarous welcome. Snatching one of my men, he tore him up for dinner— the other two sprang free and reached the ships. But the king let loose a howling through the town that brought tremendous Laestrygonians swarming up from every side—hundreds, not like men, like Giants’ Down from the cliffs they flung great rocks a man could hardly hoist and a ghastly shattering din rose up from all the ships— men in their death-cries, hulls smashed to splinters— They speared the crews like fish and whisked them home to make their grisly meal. But while they killed them off in the harbor depths I pulled the sword from beside my hip and hacked away at the ropes that moored my blue-prowed ship of war and shouted rapid orders at my shipmates: ‘Put your backs in the oars—now row or die!’ In terror of death they ripped the swells—all as one— and what a joy as we darted out toward open sea, clear of those beetling cliffs … my ship alone. But the rest went down en masse. Our squadron sank.

From there we sailed on, glad to escape our death yet sick at heart for the dear companions we had lost. We reached the Aeaean island next, the home of Circe the nymph with lovely braids, an awesome power too who can speak with human voice, the true sister of murderous-minded Aeetes. Both were bred by the Sun who lights our lives; their mother was Perse, a child the Ocean bore. We brought our ship to port without a sound

as a god eased her into a harbor safe and snug, and for two days and two nights we lay by there, eating our hearts out, bent with pain and bone-tired. When Dawn with her lovely locks brought on the third day, at last I took my spear and my sharp sword again, rushed up from the ship to find a lookout point, hoping to glimpse some sign of human labor, catch some human voices … I scaled a commanding crag and, scanning hard, I could just make out some smoke from Circe’s halls, drifting up from the broad terrain through brush and woods. Mulling it over, I thought I’d scout the ground— that fire aglow in the smoke, I saw it, true, but soon enough this seemed the better plan: I’d go back to shore and the swift ship first, feed the men, then send them out for scouting. I was well on my way down, nearing our ship when a god took pity on me, wandering all alone; he sent me a big stag with high branching antlers, right across my path—the sun’s heat forced him down from his forest range to drink at a river’s banks— just bounding out of the timber when I hit him square in the backbone, halfway down the spine and my bronze spear went punching clean through— he dropped in the dust, groaning, gasping out his breath. Treading on him, I wrenched my bronze spear from the wound, left it there on the ground, and snapping off some twigs and creepers, twisted a rope about a fathom long, I braided it tight, hand over hand, then lashed the four hocks of that magnificent beast. Loaded round my neck I lugged him toward the ship, trudging, propped on my spear—no way to sling him over a shoulder, steadying him with one free arm— the kill was so immense! I flung him down by the hull and roused the men, going up to them all with a word to lift their spirits: ‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship— we won’t go down to the House of Death, not yet,

not till our day arrives. Up with you, look, there’s still some meat and drink in our good ship. Put our minds on food—why die of hunger here?’

My hardy urging brought them round at once. Heads came up from cloaks and there by the barren sea they gazed at the stag, their eyes wide—my noble trophy. But once they’d looked their fill and warmed their hearts, they washed their hands and prepared a splendid meal. Now all day long till the sun went down we sat and feasted on sides of meat and seasoned wine. Then when the sun had set and night came on we lay down and slept at the water’s shelving edge. When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more I called a muster quickly, informing all the crew, ‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship, we can’t tell east from west, the dawn from the dusk, nor where the sun that lights our lives goes under earth nor where it rises. We must think of a plan at once, some cunning stroke. I doubt there’s one still left. I scaled a commanding crag and from that height surveyed an entire island ringed like a crown by endless wastes of sea. But the land itself lies low, and I did see smoke drifting up from its heart through thick brush and woods.’

My message broke their spirit as they recalled

the gruesome work of the Laestrygonian king Antiphates and the hearty cannibal Cyclops thirsting for our blood. They burst into cries, wailing, streaming live tears that gained us nothing—what good can come of grief?

And so, numbering off my band of men-at-arms

into two platoons, I assigned them each a leader: I took one and lord Eurylochus the other. We quickly shook lots in a bronze helmet— the lot of brave Eurylochus leapt out first. So he moved off with his two and twenty comrades,

weeping, leaving us behind in tears as well … Deep in the wooded glens they came on Circe’s palace built of dressed stone on a cleared rise of land. Mountain wolves and lions were roaming round the grounds— she’d bewitched them herself, she gave them magic drugs. But they wouldn’t attack my men; they just came pawing up around them, fawning, swishing their long tails— eager as hounds that fawn around their master, coming home from a feast, who always brings back scraps to calm them down. So they came nuzzling round my men—lions, wolves with big powerful claws—and the men cringed in fear at sight of those strange, ferocious beasts … But still they paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids, Circe—and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave. Polites, captain of armies, took command, the closest, most devoted man I had: ‘Friends, there’s someone inside, plying a great loom, and how she sings—enthralling! The whole house is echoing to her song. Goddess or woman—let’s call out to her now!’

So he urged and the men called out and hailed her. She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting them all in, and in they went, all innocence. Only Eurylochus stayed behind—he sensed a trap … She ushered them in to sit on high-backed chairs, then she mixed them a potion—cheese, barley and pale honey mulled in Pramnian wine— but into the brew she stirred her wicked drugs to wipe from their memories any thought of home. Once they’d drained the bowls she filled, suddenly she struck with her wand, drove them into her pigsties, all of them bristling into swine—with grunts, snouts—even their bodies, yes, and only

the men’s minds stayed steadfast as before. So off they went to their pens, sobbing, squealing as Circe flung them acorns, cornel nuts and mast, common fodder for hogs that root and roll in mud.

Back Eurylochus ran to our swift black ship to tell the disaster our poor friends had faced. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a word out. Numbing sorrow had stunned the man to silence— tears welled in his eyes, his heart possessed by grief. We assailed him with questions—all at our wits’ end— till at last he could recount the fate our friends had met: ‘Off we went through the brush, captain, as you commanded. Deep in the wooded glens we came on Circe’s palace built of dressed stone on a cleared rise of land. Someone inside was plying a great loom, and how she sang—in a high clear voice! Goddess or woman—we called out and hailed her … She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting us all in, and in we went, all innocence. But I stayed behind—I sensed a trap. Suddenly all vanished—blotted out—not one face showed again, though I sat there keeping watch a good long time.’

At that report I slung the hefty bronze blade

of my silver-studded sword around my shoulder, slung my bow on too and told our comrade, ‘Lead me back by the same way that you came.’ But he flung both arms around my knees and pleaded, begging me with his tears and winging words: ‘Don’t force me back there, captain, king— leave me here on the spot. You will never return yourself, I swear, you’ll never bring back a single man alive. Quick, cut and run with the rest of us here— we can still escape the fatal day!’

But I shot back, ‘Eurylochus, stay right here, eating, drinking, safe by the black ship. I must be off. Necessity drives me on.’

Leaving the ship and shore, I headed inland, clambering up through hushed, entrancing glades until, as I was nearing the halls of Circe skilled in spells, approaching her palace—Hermes god of the golden wand crossed my path, and he looked for all the world like a young man sporting his first beard, just in the prime and warm pride of youth, and grasped me by the hand and asked me kindly, ‘Where are you going now, my unlucky friend— trekking over the hills alone in unfamiliar country? And your men are all in there, in Circe’s palace, cooped like swine, hock by jowl in the sties. Have you come to set them free? Well, I warn you, you won’t get home yourself, you’ll stay right there, trapped with all the rest. But wait, I can save you, free you from that great danger. Look, here is a potent drug. Take it to Circe’s halls— its power alone will shield you from the fatal day. Let me tell you of all the witch’s subtle craft … She’ll mix you a potion, lace the brew with drugs but she’ll be powerless to bewitch you, even so— this magic herb I give will fight her spells. Now here’s your plan of action, step by step. The moment Circe strikes with her long thin wand, you draw your sharp sword sheathed at your hip and rush her fast as if to run her through! She’ll cower in fear and coax you to her bed— but don’t refuse the goddess’ bed, not then, not if she’s to release your friends and treat you well yourself. But have her swear the binding oath of the blessed gods she’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm you, once you lie there naked— never unman you, strip away your courage!’

With that the giant-killer handed over the magic herb,

pulling it from the earth, and Hermes showed me all its name and nature. Its root is black and its flower white as milk and the gods call it moly. Dangerous for a mortal man to pluck from the soil but not for deathless gods. All lies within their power.

Now Hermes went his way to the steep heights of Olympus, over the island’s woods while I, just approaching the halls of Circe, my heart a heaving storm at every step, paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids— I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice, she opened the gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now … She led me in to sit on a silver-studded chair, ornately carved, with a stool to rest my feet. In a golden bowl she mixed a potion for me to drink, stirring her poison in, her heart aswirl with evil. And then she passed it on, I drank it down but it never worked its spell— she struck with her wand and ‘Now,’ she cried, ‘off to your sty, you swine, and wallow with your friends!’ But I, I drew my sharp sword sheathed at my hip and rushed her fast as if to run her through— She screamed, slid under my blade, hugged my knees with a flood of warm tears and a burst of winging words: ‘Who are you? where are you from? your city? your parents? I’m wonderstruck—you drank my drugs, you’re not bewitched! Never has any other man withstood my potion, never, once it’s past his lips and he has drunk it down. You have a mind in you no magic can enchant! You must be Odysseus, man of twists and turns— Hermes the giant-killer, god of the golden wand, he always said you’d come, homeward bound from Troy in your swift black ship. Come, sheathe your sword, let’s go to bed together, mount my bed and mix in the magic work of love— we’ll breed deep trust between us.’

So she enticed but I fought back, still wary. ‘Circe, Circe, how dare you tell me to treat you with any warmth? You who turned my men to swine in your own house and now you hold me here as well—teeming with treachery you lure me to your room to mount your bed, so once I lie there naked you’ll unman me, strip away my courage! Mount your bed? Not for all the world. Not until you consent to swear, goddess, a binding oath you’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm me!’

Straightaway she began to swear the oath that I required—never, she’d never do me harm—and when she’d finished, then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed …

At the same time her handmaids bustled through the halls,

four in all who perform the goddess’ household tasks: nymphs, daughters born of the springs and groves and the sacred rivers running down to open sea. One draped the chairs with fine crimson covers over the seats she’d spread with linen cloths below. A second drew up silver tables before the chairs and laid out golden trays to hold the bread. A third mulled heady, heart-warming wine in a silver bowl and set out golden cups. A fourth brought water and lit a blazing fire beneath a massive cauldron. The water heated soon, and once it reached the boil in the glowing bronze she eased me into a tub and bathed me from the cauldron, mixing the hot and cold to suit my taste, showering head and shoulders down until she’d washed away the spirit-numbing exhaustion from my body. The bathing finished, rubbing me sleek with oil, throwing warm fleece and a shirt around my shoulders, she led me in to sit on a silver-studded chair, ornately carved, with a stool to rest my feet. A maid brought water soon in a graceful golden pitcher

and over a silver basin tipped it out so I might rinse my hands, then pulled a gleaming table to my side. A staid housekeeper brought on bread to serve me, appetizers aplenty too, lavish with her bounty. She pressed me to eat. I had no taste for food. I just sat there, mind wandering, far away … lost in grim forebodings.

As soon as Circe saw me, huddled, not touching my food, immersed in sorrow, she sidled near with a coaxing, winged word: ‘Odysseus, why just sit there, struck dumb, eating your heart out, not touching food or drink? Suspect me of still more treachery? Nothing to fear. Haven’t I just sworn my solemn, binding oath?’

So she asked, but I protested, ‘Circe—

how could any man in his right mind endure the taste of food and drink before he’d freed his comrades-in-arms and looked them in the eyes? If you, you really want me to eat and drink, set them free, all my beloved comrades— let me feast my eyes.’

So I demanded. Circe strode on through the halls and out, her wand held high in hand and, flinging open the pens, drove forth my men, who looked like full-grown swine. Facing her, there they stood as she went along the ranks, anointing them one by one with some new magic oil— and look, the bristles grown by the first wicked drug that Circe gave them slipped away from their limbs and they turned men again: younger than ever, taller by far, more handsome to the eye, and yes, they knew me at once and each man grasped my hands and a painful longing for tears overcame us all, a terrible sobbing echoed through the house … The goddess herself was moved and, standing by me, warmly urged me on—a lustrous goddess now:

‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, tried and true, go at once to your ship at the water’s edge, haul her straight up on the shore first and stow your cargo and running gear in caves, then back you come and bring your trusty crew.’

Her urging won my stubborn spirit over. Down I went to the swift ship at the water’s edge, and there on the decks I found my loyal crew consumed with grief and weeping live warm tears. But now, as calves in stalls when cows come home, droves of them herded back from field to farmyard once they’ve grazed their fill—as all their young calves come frisking out to meet them, bucking out of their pens, lowing nonstop, jostling, rushing round their mothers— so my shipmates there at the sight of my return came pressing round me now, streaming tears, so deeply moved in their hearts they felt as if they’d made it back to their own land, their city, Ithaca’s rocky soil where they were bred and reared. And through their tears their words went winging home: ‘You’re back again, my king! How thrilled we are— as if we’d reached our country, Ithaca, at last! But come, tell us about the fate our comrades met.’

Still I replied with a timely word of comfort:

‘Let’s haul our ship straight up on the shore first and stow our cargo and running gear in caves. Then hurry, all of you, come along with me to see our friends in the magic halls of Circe, eating and drinking—the feast flows on forever.’

So I said and they jumped to do my bidding.

Only Eurylochus tried to hold my shipmates back, his mutinous outburst aimed at one and all: ‘Poor fools, where are we running now? Why are we tempting fate?— why stumble blindly down to Circe’s halls?

She’ll turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions made to guard that palace of hers—by force, I tell you— just as the Cyclops trapped our comrades in his lair with hotheaded Odysseus right beside them all— thanks to this man’s rashness they died too!’

So he declared and I had half a mind to draw the sharp sword from beside my hip and slice his head off, tumbling down in the dust, close kin that he was. But comrades checked me, each man trying to calm me, left and right: ‘Captain, we’ll leave him here if you command, just where he is, to sit and guard the ship. Lead us on to the magic halls of Circe.’

With that, up from the ship and shore they headed inland. Nor did Eurylochus malinger by the hull; he straggled behind the rest, dreading the sharp blast of my rebuke.

All the while Circe had bathed my other comrades in her palace, caring and kindly, rubbed them sleek with oil and decked them out in fleecy cloaks and shirts. We found them all together, feasting in her halls. Once we had recognized each other, gazing face-to-face, we all broke down and wept—and the house resounded now and Circe the lustrous one came toward me, pleading, ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, man of action, no more tears now, calm these tides of sorrow. Well I know what pains you bore on the swarming sea, what punishment you endured from hostile men on land. But come now, eat your food and drink your wine till the same courage fills your chests, now as then, when you first set sail from native land, from rocky Ithaca! Now you are burnt-out husks, your spirits haggard, sere, always brooding over your wanderings long and hard, your hearts never lifting with any joy— you’ve suffered far too much.’

So she enticed and won our battle-hardened spirits over. And there we sat at ease, day in, day out, till a year had run its course, feasting on sides of meat and drafts of heady wine … But then, when the year was through and the seasons wheeled by and the months waned and the long days came round again, my loyal comrades took me aside and prodded, ‘Captain, this is madness! High time you thought of your own home at last, if it really is your fate to make it back alive and reach your well-built house and native land.’

Their urging brought my stubborn spirit round. So all that day till the sun went down we sat and feasted on sides of meat and heady wine. Then when the sun had set and night came on the men lay down to sleep in the shadowed halls but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe’s, hugged her by the knees and the goddess heard my winging supplication: ‘Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once— it’s time to help me home. My heart longs to be home, my comrades’ hearts as well. They wear me down, pleading with me whenever you’re away.’

So I pressed and the lustrous goddess answered me in turn: ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner, stay on no more in my house against your will. But first another journey calls. You must travel down to the House of Death and the awesome one, Persephone, there to consult the ghost of Tiresias, seer of Thebes, the great blind prophet whose mind remains unshaken. Even in death—Persephone has given him wisdom, everlasting vision to him and him alone … the rest of the dead are empty, flitting shades.’

So she said and crushed the heart inside me. I knelt in her bed and wept. I’d no desire to go on living and see the rising light of day. But once I’d had my fill of tears and writhing there, at last I found the words to venture, ‘Circe, Circe, who can pilot us on that journey? Who has ever reached the House of Death in a black ship?’

The lustrous goddess answered, never pausing, ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, born for exploits, let no lack of a pilot at the helm concern you, no, just step your mast and spread your white sail wide— sit back and the North Wind will speed you on your way. But once your vessel has cut across the Ocean River you will raise a desolate coast and Persephone’s Grove, her tall black poplars, willows whose fruit dies young. Beach your vessel hard by the Ocean’s churning shore and make your own way down to the moldering House of Death. And there into Acheron, the Flood of Grief, two rivers flow, the torrent River of Fire, the wailing River of Tears that branches off from Styx, the Stream of Hate, and a stark crag looms where the two rivers thunder down and meet. Once there, go forward, hero. Do as I say now. Dig a trench of about a forearm’s depth and length and around it pour libations out to all the dead— first with milk and honey, and then with mellow wine, then water third and last, and sprinkle glistening barley over it all, and vow again and again to all the dead, to the drifting, listless spirits of their ghosts, that once you return to Ithaca you will slaughter a barren heifer in your halls, the best you have, and load a pyre with treasures—and to Tiresias, alone, apart, you will offer a sleek black ram, the pride of all your herds. And once your prayers have invoked the nations of the dead in their dim glory, slaughter a ram and black ewe, turning both their heads toward Erebus, but turn your head away, looking toward the Ocean River. Suddenly then the countless shades

of the dead and gone will surge around you there. But order your men at once to flay the sheep that lie before you, killed by your ruthless blade, and burn them both, and then say prayers to the gods, to the almighty god of death and dread Persephone. But you—draw your sharp sword from beside your hip, sit down on alert there, and never let the ghosts of the shambling, shiftless dead come near that blood till you have questioned Tiresias yourself. Soon, soon the great seer will appear before you, captain of armies: he will tell you the way to go, the stages of your voyage, how you can cross the swarming sea and reach home at last.’

And with those words Dawn rose on her golden throne and Circe dressed me quickly in sea-cloak and shirt while the queen slipped on a loose, glistening robe, filmy, a joy to the eye, and round her waist she ran a brocaded golden belt and over her head a scarf to shield her brow. And I strode on through the halls to stir my men, hovering over each with a winning word: ‘Up now! No more lazing away in sleep, we must set sail— Queen Circe has shown the way.’

I brought them round, my hardy friends-in-arms, but not even from there could I get them safely off without a loss … There was a man, Elpenor, the youngest in our ranks, none too brave in battle, none too sound in mind. He’d strayed from his mates in Circe’s magic halls and keen for the cool night air, sodden with wine he’d bedded down on her roofs. But roused by the shouts and tread of marching men, he leapt up with a start at dawn but still so dazed he forgot to climb back down again by the long ladder— headfirst from the roof he plunged, his neck snapped from the backbone, his soul flew down to Death.

Once on our way, I gave the men their orders: ‘You think we are headed home, our own dear land? Well, Circe sets us a rather different course … down to the House of Death and the awesome one, Persephone, there to consult the ghost of Tiresias, seer of Thebes.’

So I said, and it broke my shipmates’ hearts. They sank down on the ground, moaning, tore their hair. But it gained us nothing—what good can come of grief?

Back to the swift ship at the water’s edge we went,

our spirits deep in anguish, faces wet with tears. But Circe got to the dark hull before us, tethered a ram and black ewe close by— slipping past unseen. Who can glimpse a god who wants to be invisible gliding here and there?”