Leaning against the prow, scanning the sea, Odysseus was riveted on the horizon when Penelope came to stand beside him.
“My turn,” she said, touching him lightly on the arm.
“I’d rather watch here than look after your cousin.”
She smiled wryly. “Mentor is doing that ably. He’s telling her all about Ithaca, and she’s just bored enough to listen.”
Odysseus gave a short bark of a laugh. “How do you put up with her? I’d have thrown her over the side of the ship by now if you weren’t here.”
“And how brave would that make you then?”
Odysseus sighed. “I’m not trying to start an argument.”
“Neither am I,” Penelope said. Her face softened. “But I’m trying to make a point. You were raised a warrior. Adventure has been bred into you. Helen was raised to be beautiful and pampered and spoiled. It’s not her fault that she can’t face danger with a hero’s heart.”
“But you,” Odysseus said carefully, rubbing a hand through his thick red hair, “you’re not like that. And as a princess of Sparta yourself, surely you were raised the same way.”
“My looks never invited such a spoiling.”
“You’re handsome enough,” Odysseus said. Then he looked away, embarrassed about delivering a compliment.
“Thank you,” she whispered to his back, not caring if he heard. “But no one is in Helen’s class.”
Odysseus turned to face her again. “So who pampered and spoiled her then?”
“Everyone,” said Penelope. “Her father most of all. If she’s desired by every king and noble in Achaea, she becomes worth more to him than gold or jewels. He can use her beauty and desirability to make any king his ally.”
Odysseus turned back to gaze at the endless length of the dark sea. Suddenly he leaned forward, squinting his eyes. “Look!” he cried.
Penelope turned around and stared. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Land!” Odysseus shouted. Then to be sure that Mentor and Helen had heard as well, he cried out again. “There’s land ahead!”
They raced over to see.
“What land is it?” Mentor asked.
“Egypt?” hazarded Penelope.
“Too mountainous for Egypt,” Mentor said.
“We’ve been sailing west, not south,” said Odysseus. “My guess is it’s the Long Island.” There was an eager gleam in his eye.
“I hope not,” Mentor said. He stared straight ahead.
“Why do you say that?” Helen asked. Now she too leaned over the ship’s side and stared ahead.
“Well, because … because it’s a long way from home.”
“But at least it’s land,” Helen said. Then she turned and went back to the shelter of the canopy, where she began running her fingers through her hair like a comb.
As soon as Helen was too far away to hear, Penelope rounded on the boys. “What is really wrong with this Long Island?”
“The Long Island is what we Ithacans call Crete,” Odysseus said.
“King Minos’ island? Where the monster was in the maze?” Penelope nodded. “That makes a kind of sense. Daedalus made a ship that takes us straight to Crete, where once upon a long time ago he made a maze to hold a monster. But …” She thought a minute. “You said the monster in the maze is dead.”
The boys looked quickly at each other.
“It is dead—isn’t it?” Penelope asked.
“Very dead,” said Mentor. “But …”
“But what?” Penelope asked, hands on her hips.
“Sailors’ tales,” Odysseus said. “That’s all. Men who are too long at sea like to make up stories.”
Penelope was not to be fobbed off with that answer. She’d already noticed that when Odysseus told a lie, a vertical line grew between his eyes. The line was there now. “What stories?”
“Other … kinds of monsters,” Mentor said at last. “But none that are to be believed.”
She was unable to tell whether they were speaking the truth or cushioning her from fear, so she looked instead at the land that was coming nearer with every stroke of the oars.
It was clearly a very, very long island, and as the ship drew closer, a great cliff face reared before them. The four now stood shoulder to shoulder, watching.
“The oars don’t seem to be slowing down,” Mentor noted with a worried expression.
“We’ll all be dashed to pieces on the rocks,” Helen cried.
“I don’t understand,” Penelope said thoughtfully. “Is the ship trying to destroy itself?”
“Us,” Helen screamed. “It’s trying to destroy us!”
Grabbing her cousin’s shoulders, Penelope said very clearly, “Listen, Helen—if the ship had wanted to kill us, it need never have picked us up in the first place.”
Helen’s beautiful blue eyes widened. “But it didn’t pick us up. We found it!” The eyes began to pool.
Penelope’s face scrunched up, and she stared down at her feet.
“Maybe we should jump off and swim to shore,” Mentor said.
Odysseus had been silent through this frantic conversation, trying to gauge wind and water, trying to make sense of the oars’ tireless drive through the sea. At last he turned to the others.
“There’s one thing we can do,” he said. He went back to the canopy and returned with the satyr’s club. “Help me open the hatch again, Mentor. I’ll go down there and smash the ship’s innards. That should kill it.”
“No!” Penelope cried, grabbing his arm. “Who knows what could happen to you down there.”
“Nothing worse than what will happen to all of us up here if the ship rams those cliffs,” he said.
Shrugging off her grip, Odysseus once again pried open the hatch with his knife. Mentor helped him lift the door, which seemed even heavier this time. They gazed down into the ship’s fearsome belly, where rods and wheels pounded and creaked relentlessly.
Then they both sat back on their heels.
Odysseus spoke first. “If this doesn’t work, make sure you all jump before the ship hits the cliffs. Grab some wreckage to keep you afloat till you find a safe stretch of shore.”
Mentor glanced quickly at Helen, who was staring mutely at the fast-approaching rock face. “Let me go down into the hold,” he said. “You’re a prince. She’s not interested in me.”
Odysseus smiled. “I’d rather die down there than have to swim your princess to shore. She’s all yours.”
He took hold of the edge of the hatch and was just preparing to lower himself down when Penelope cried out. “Wait! There’s a gap in the rock!”
Odysseus leaped up, and he and Mentor ran to where Penelope stood, pointing. Helen came too.
“There! There!”
A dark sliver, a narrow canyon, was barely visible in the grey rock wall.
Mentor squinted and shook his head. “It’s too narrow. The ship will never make it through.”
“The ship seems to think it can,” Penelope said.
Instinctively, they all retreated to the stern, linking arms.
Just then there was a loud clanking, and the oars suddenly tipped upward till they were pointing towards the sky. Catapulted by a large wave, the ship sped forward through the gap, and into a darkness blacker than any night.
Helen screamed.
And then the others—even Odysseus—screamed with her.
CHAPTER 16: THE BRONZE GUARDIAN
“I KNEW THIS WAS a death ship,” Helen moaned. “Knew it the minute I saw it. Surely we’ve found the Underworld, and this is the River Styx.” In the pitch black her voice seemed much too loud.
Odysseus wanted to dismiss her fear, but any words of comfort stuck in his throat.
“Perhaps it was Hades himself who made the ship. To steal me away as he stole Persephone,” Helen continued. Her voice was strangely calm, as if such a fate were almost appealing.