“He said quite quietly: ‘Set him before me, my lord Zeuks, and let me ask him something.’
“So I did, and set the man before him. And your herdsman Tis said to Enorches: ‘May I ask you one question, O great Master of the Mysteries?’ And when Enorches nodded, for I could see he regarded Tis as not grand enough, nor famous enough, nor learned enough, nor royal enough, to have any part or lot in these high matters, this was the question Tis put to him:
“‘If your will, Master, was done about Eros and Dionysos, it would mean, wouldn’t it, that your will would also be done about the Mysteries?’
“You should have seen the look the priest gave him. But he answered quick enough; and not sharply or angrily either: ‘It would also be done about the Mysteries.’ And it was then that the extraordinary thing happened that led to the Priest of the Mysteries to be marching up and down the deck of this ship as he is doing now in the eyes of all! Your herdsman Tis called upon the cow Babba.
“At the sound of his voice the cow Babba came straight from her stall and advanced among us, thrusting her cool wet nose into our bosoms, till we had, each one of us, pressed our lips against her upper lip with a noisy kiss.
“‘Drop your token now, Babbawatty, my Holy of Holies,’ said Tis in a low voice but a voice of the greatest authority I’ve ever heard since the day when I heard my grandfather addressing my father, and neither of them was an animal like Babba or a man like Tis; for indeed they both were and are immortal gods.
“At this command the cow turned towards us again as if she were going to repeat her recent nuzzling of us one by one. She did indeed move from one to another of us as before, but did no more nuzzling; and at that moment, O great King, there was one of those perceptible arrests, pauses, hushes, and sudden silences, as when the wing of a bird of omen touches the place where we are destined to rest in our final sleep. And it was after that weird pause that Babba stopped in front of Enorches, lifted her tail, straddled her legs and dropped on the ground the largest black-green cow-turd I’ve ever seen in my life.
“And, in the same pulse of time at which that huge dropping fell, Tis strode up to Enorches and said to him:
“‘Master, you arc holding something back from us. What is it?’
“And for answer the Priest of the Mysteries cried aloud in the hearing of them alclass="underline" ‘What I am holding back can only be revealed when, once more, as formerly they confronted each other in Arima, Eurybia confronts Echidna above the sunken City of Gom!’
“Having uttered these words he begged to be helped up upon the back of Pegasos and there was none among us who found it in him to refuse.”
Zeuks was silent: while Nisos, watching Odysseus with the closest interest felt as if the old warrior’s attitude to all these upheavals was not so much abysmally super-human as it was fathomlessly sub-human. Odysseus by this time had seated himself on a coil of ropes at the foot of the mast where the brothers Pontos and Proros, as they turned from the “protonoi” or “forestays” to the “kaloi” or “halliards,” were clearly obeying a sequence of silent signs from Akron, the Teras’ master, who with one hand against the mast was staring at the moon-lit horizon in front of the ship.
From the expression upon his face Akron might have been saying to himself: “The chief thing when you are master of a ship is to keep your ship afloat and your eye on the water in front of her. And there is great danger you may forget both these objectives if you listen for a single second to the song of a siren outside the ship or to the voice of a Prophet inside the ship.”
And it now suddenly struck Nisos, as he moved as near as he dared to the King’s extemporized throne, that the way the old man was now watching the objects and persons round him was exactly the way the winged horse watched the objects and persons round him before he proceeded to obey Spartika and carry her back to Ithaca.
Yes, the old king had at this very moment the same expression as the winged horse before he rose into the air. And Nisos told himself that a sea-lion, setting off, or a whale setting off, or even a sea-serpent starting to cross the ocean would have a look not very different from this aged adventurer’s as he contemplated the universe from that heap of ropes.
Nisos was too honest with himself not to admit to himself that along with this sub-human look in Odysseus’ eyes there was a distinctly normal human look there also. It annoyed our young friend to have to admit this but he was simply forced to do so.
“It must be,” he thought, “that in the look of a normal man there is something parallel to the expression in the face of a sea-lion or a sea-serpent.” It annoyed him to have to confess this; but he held rigidly to the idea that a prophet had to be honest with himself and he was resolved that when he reached mature years he would be a prophet: yes! a prophet of something, though he could not yet say in any clear terms, or indeed in any terms at all, of exactly what. And it was obvious to him that whatever elements of heroic endurance Odysseus possessed, they were in a really absolute sense human ones and normal ones.
The time taken by our future prophet to reach the conclusion that Odysseus was absolutely human had been so lengthy that most of the crowd, including the deck-hands, had entirely scattered, and there was nobody left but a small group of ordinary human beings, who were anything but professional, and Nisos’ friend Zeuks, whose personal obliquities were human enough in spite of his ancestry.
Nisos meanwhile moved nearer and nearer to Odysseus. What he felt at that moment he would have been extremely puzzled to put into words. There was in his feeling, mixed with many very different emotions, a definite protective instinct towards Odysseus. Watching him seated there with that absurd Helmet of Proteus on his head, and holding his Club of Herakles propped up between his knees, more like the staff of an aged beggar than the most formidable weapon in the whole Grecian hemisphere, that hemisphere out of which the ship Teras was now swiftly moving as she advanced into the unknown West, Nisos felt as if the old hero were some precious relic, being carried, for the purpose of using it as a charm, into some completely different universe.
Nisos himself was vividly conscious, as if it had been a magnetic hand laid upon his shoulder, of the intense pressure of the presence of Akron, the Sea-Captain, as the man with his hand on the mast stared with what might have been called a cool and competent stare, but with what at the same time was a desperate and frantic stare, at the moonlit water in front of them.
Pontopereia and Eione had evidently found some way of smoothing out their rather intricate knot of contrariety; for the two girls were now pacing arm-in-arm from one end of the deck to the other, talking eagerly and rapidly. Nausikaa and Okyrhöe also had discovered a way, perhaps the best of all possible ways, of bringing to an end, at least for a time, their convoluted rivalry: for Nausikaa had stretched herself out upon the arching back of the ship’s tremendous figure-head, with her arms round the lower part of its scaly neck, and from this point of vantage she was watching with dreamy fascination the churned-up flakes of white and yellow-brown foam which followed one another to left and right as the proudly-cleaving neck, below the cosmogonic countenance of that sublime Being who had neither the face of a beast nor of a man nor of a god, cut its way through the water.
As for Okyrhöe, she had bent down gracefully in front of Odysseus and had snatched at a piece of sail-cloth that in some way had got itself entangled with the coil of ropes upon which the old man was seated. Spreading this piece of sail-cloth under the mast Okyrhöe plunged into the particular activity which had, since she was first grown up, been the ecstasy of her life, that is to say the arranging of her limbs in a manner to provoke intolerable desire.