Penelope pushed Helen up into the boat and then she hauled herself in.
Mentor climbed in after, and Odysseus was next.
Leaning out over the stern, Odysseus held out a hand to the satyr, who was still standing on the rocky beach. “Come on, Silenus,” he cried. “The tide is carrying us away.”
The satyr put one hoof into the sea and paled as water surged up his leg. Gritting his teeth, he advanced one step, two, until his entire goat half was under the waves.
“Come on!” Odysseus shouted again.
Penelope took up the cry.
The satyr got as far as the boat and put his hands on the side. He tried to climb in, and the little skiff tilted alarmingly.
“He’s going to drown us all!” Helen cried.
“Hush, cousin,” Penelope said. “We’re hardly three feet from shore.”
At Helen’s cry, Silenus had let go of the boat and fallen back into the water. He rose up out of the waves like some pitiable sea creature, wet strands of long grey hair hanging over his face.
“Silenus!” Odysseus cried out again. “Hurry!”
But the goat-man, coughing and spitting up brine, his body trembling in full panic, was already splashing back to the shingle. Once he reached the shore, Silenus turned a grim face to them.
“Don’t be stupid, Silenus—the pirates will find you,” Odysseus called to him.
“Don’t worry, maaaanling,” he bleated. “Goats and waaaater just don’t mix.”
The tide had now carried the boat too far out for the satyr to wade after them—even if he could have summoned up the nerve.
Odysseus lifted a hand in salute. “I will get a ship and come back for you,” he shouted. “I swear it by the gods.”
“Never swear by them, maaanling,” came the return. “They taaaake themselves too seriously.”
And then satyr and island were gone in one long swell of a wave.
CHAPTER 12: SINGERS IN THE MIST
THE LITTLE BOAT SHUDDERED with every new wave, but the patches held. The boys managed to raise the linen sail, which was as patched as the hull. A small wind teased into the sail, filled it, and—to their delight—the boat began to skim across the water.
“We’re away!” Mentor shouted.
Screaming seabirds wheeled overhead, cheering them on.
Penelope grinned up at them, but Helen turned her head to one side and contemplated the endless sea.
It was some time later when Helen made her way to the little stern, where Odysseus and Mentor were taking turns trying to use the club as a makeshift steering oar.
“So,” Helen purred to Odysseus, “you are the prince.”
Odysseus nodded.
“And your father is king of Attica?”
“Ithaca. It’s an island off the coast of—”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Helen said dismissively. She pushed her curls back from her forehead. “Does he own a lot of ships?”
Odysseus paused to calculate. His father’s fleet numbered about a dozen. “Quite a lot,” he said.
“Well,” Helen said, “my father is King Tyndareus of Sparta, and he has hundreds and hundreds of ships. Right now they’re all scouring the seas for me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Odysseus muttered.
Mentor cleared his throat. “Ummm, Helen, I come from one of Ithaca’s noblest families. We have many slaves and many hectares of land, and my father fought at Thebes and—”
Helen sighed loudly, effectively silencing him. “How long have we been drifting, Prince Odysseus? It feels like forever.”
Joining them, Penelope replied, “Only half a day. See—the sun is just past the—”
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” Helen said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be so hungry. And so thirsty.” She reached for the water jar.
“You know we agreed on two swallows each a day, to conserve our supply,” Penelope said, putting a hand over the top of the krater.
“Well, a drop then, just to moisten my face. Even the pirates allowed that. I’m turning into a dried olive.”
“You look lovely to me,” Mentor assured her.
Odysseus stifled a groan. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to throw overboard first. Helen was insufferable, but Mentor was an embarrassment to Ithacan manhood. Only Penelope seemed to have any sense. Sense was what was needed on a voyage like this.
“Pig herder or prince,” Penelope said suddenly, “what we really need is a good pilot. Do you have any idea where we are?”
Odysseus rubbed his chin and wished he were old enough to have started a beard already. He made a show of scrutinising the horizon. There was no sign of land or a friendly sail, but at least the pirates had not caught up to them. Yet.
“From the sun’s position, I believe we’ve been drifting southeast,” he said with authority, though he hadn’t any idea where they’d begun. A deep crease appeared between his eyes.
“Where will that take us?” Penelope asked. There was a look in her eye that told him she guessed how little he knew.
“Far away from anywhere we want to be,” he told her honestly. He hadn’t meant to say that. It just popped out.
“Great!” Helen said. She made her way to the front of the little boat. Mentor followed.
The day dragged on and on. They were now so far from any land, there were no longer gulls calling above them.
Helen dozed, which at least meant that she was quiet. Mentor huddled near her, as if he could translate closeness into warmth. Penelope sat in the bow of the boat, keeping her own counsel. Odysseus was sure that she hated him. He wasn’t sure he liked her very much, either. It’s hard to like someone who has figured out your weaknesses.
There was little wind, and so the patchwork sail hung forlornly from the mast. The hot sun, the rocking waves, the silence in the sky soon had them all dozing fitfully.
Suddenly Odysseus jerked awake and gave a cry. Heading towards them was a wall of sea mist, looking like the gossamer skirts of a giant goddess. Something about the mist made him uncomfortable.
His cry wakened first Penelope, then Mentor.
Helen stirred slowly, her eyelids fluttering open. “What is it?”
“Just a sea mist,” Penelope told her, as a thick fog enclosed the boat in its chilly, clammy embrace.
“These mist banks are never very large,” Odysseus said. “We just have to wait them out.” He sounded confident, but was not. He wished he could put a name to his unease.
Helen turned over and started to fall asleep again.
Just then a high-pitched keening came from inside the mist, a sound both joyous and despairing. One voice, then another, then another sang out. Soon the voices were all around them.
“Was that you singing, Helen?” Mentor asked. His eyes seemed strangely glazed. “Surely such a song could come only from lips such as yours.”
Helen sat bolt upright. “Are you mad? My throat is parched. How could I possibly sing?”
“The singing, yes!” Odysseus cried. He had the same glazed look on his face. “It calls to me. Calls …” Getting up unsteadily, he started to put a leg over the side of the boat.
“No!” Penelope shouted. “Odysseus, what in Athena’s name are you doing?” She seized him by the arm and yanked him so hard, he fell over on to his back.
“The song, the women, they’re calling me,” Odysseus said again in that same dreamy voice. He smiled up at the sky.
Letting out a sudden shriek, Helen made frantic shooing motion with her hands.
Penelope turned. “What is it?”
“There! There!” Helen screamed. “A woman’s face. There. Now it’s gone.” She put a hand over her mouth, then took it away and screamed again. “Look! There’s another.”
This time Penelope saw it too. A pale, sharp-featured human face, long black hair flying in the wind. A flash of a wing behind it, and it was gone.
“The song,” Odysseus said again, starting to rise once more.
Penelope pushed him down again, then turned and grabbed Mentor’s wrist, for now he was halfway over the stern. She threw him next to Odysseus. Neither boy put up much of a fight.