“Abducted? How?” Odysseus asked quickly, quietly. He’d been right to keep his rank quiet.
“We were walking along the beach collecting shells,” Penelope explained. “Our men were further down the beach, around a bend, collecting firewood, starting a fire. Doing … things. As were our maids. Helen was bored and begged me to go with her.” She bent towards Odysseus and said in a confiding whisper, “You mustn’t mind her. She’s been terribly spoiled. Sometimes it’s simply easier to go along with her than to fight her.”
“I understand, my lady,” Odysseus whispered back, one finger against the side of his nose to show his agreement. Then he said, more loudly, “So—shells, beach, alone and …”
“And suddenly,” Penelope said, her voice matching his, “these brutes appeared from nowhere. From everywhere. We tried to run, but there were too many of them. I almost got away, but then they caught Helen, and she screamed, and I went back for her. I don’t know what happened to our men and our maids.”
“And just see what they did to me,” Helen said. She lifted one of the folds of her tunic to display a tear. “Father had this imported from Crete especially.”
“So they’re planning to ransom you,” Odysseus said.
The girls looked at one another with anxious eyes.
“Not exactly.” Penelope spoke quietly.
Helen leaned forward. “They’re planning to sell me to a wealthy king that he may have the most splendid bride in all the world.” There was a surprising note of pride in her voice. “They mentioned Theseus, the great king of Athens.”
Penelope made a face and turned away.
“Isn’t he an old man?” Odysseus asked.
“He’s an old king,” said Helen. “Rich and powerful. But I wouldn’t expect a pig boy to understand.”
Before Odysseus could answer, a shadow fell across them.
“Get up, you drowned rats,” a broad-faced pirate said to Odysseus. “Captain wants to talk to you.”
Odysseus helped Mentor to his feet, and they managed to make it across the deck to where the captain was waiting.
The captain reminded Odysseus of a mastiff his father owned. Like the dog, the captain was broad at the shoulder and narrow at the knee, and he carried himself with the same air of watchful aggression. Be careful of this one, Odysseus thought, remembering how his father’s dog once bit him on the ankle because he’d moved too quickly near the sheep.
“The box,” said the captain. “Where did you get it?”
Recalling how quickly Penelope had recognised his fine language, he answered with care. “We be simple swineherds, my lord,” Odysseus said, keeping a grip on Mentor’s arm.
“Swineherds, eh!” the captain roared. “And were your pigs doing the dog paddle with the fish?” He laughed, and his men were quick to laugh with him.
“We was chasing a sow who run off, great lord,” answered Odysseus, being careful not to look right into the captain’s eyes. “My mate and me.”
Mentor managed a nod of his head.
Odysseus figured the captain believed him now, else he’d have been stopped. So he went on expansively. “Fallen she had, on to a ledge. So we climbed down to get her. Me first. And my mate’s foot slipped. I grabbed him by the tunic as he went by. Whoosh!” He demonstrated catching Mentor’s tunic.
The sailors began to snigger.
“And he pulls me over with him.” He windmilled his arms to show how he fell.
The sailors were fully enjoying the tale now.
“And into the water went we,” Odysseus finished.
“What about the damned box?” growled the captain. He had, Odysseus noted, teeth like the mastiff’s too.
“Ah, the box,” Odysseus said. “It appeared from nowhere. A gift of the gods, my lord. Keep it if it please you.” He bobbed his head.
The captain let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh and his men all joined in, like dogs around the leader of the pack.
“It pleases me well,” the captain said. “But what should we do about you two pig boys, eh?”
“Let us off at the next habitable stretch of beach?” Odysseus asked. Then, realising that might be too highflown an answer, he added, “A dingle, a shingle, a wee bit of sand would make this pig boy’s life really grand!” He shuffled his feet in a kind of dance.
Again the captain gave his barking laugh. “Indeed, we already have too many mouths to feed—and not enough room at the oars.”
Odysseus nodded his head, trying to show enough gratitude.
“Toss the pig farmers back in the drink,” the captain said.
Three men grabbed Odysseus and dragged him to the ship’s side. He tried to wrench free, but he hadn’t the strength, having spent a night in the water. Besides, they were grown men. Large grown men. Large grown men with muscles. In a moment, they had him over their heads and were about to toss him overboard.
“Wait!” cried Mentor, coming out of his dazed state. “You’re throwing away a king’s ransom.”
There was a long silence, and Odysseus could see before him only the expanse of sea.
“Bring him here,” the captain ordered. “Bring them both here.”
The world turned end over, and Odysseus found himself with his feet back on the deck again. He’d only an instant to recover before he was face to face with the captain once more.
The pirate captain growled at him, sounding exactly like his father’s mastiff. “And what makes either of you boys worth a king’s ransom?” he said. “You look like pig herders to me.”
“You’re wrong,” Mentor said, his voice desperate. “King Laertes will pay handsomely for the safe return of his son.”
Odysseus knew that pirates were merchants—of a sort. Just like his grandfather. Before you steal something, be certain it’s worth the stealing! A prince would be worth keeping, but there was no profit in feeding and tending his companion. However, if Mentor were thrown back into the sea now, Odysseus knew he’d sink like a stone.
I can’t let that happen.
“You’re right, Prince Odysseus,” he said, turning to Mentor. “And if these men were to harm you, your father would surely not rest till he had his revenge. Not even if he had to set after them aboard the Argo herself.”
“Odysseus—what are you talking about?” Mentor asked woozily. “You know you’re the prince, not I.”
“He’s been so long in the water, his wits are waterlogged,” Odysseus said, tipping the captain a sly wink. “Tell me—would a prince wear a cheap scrap of metal like this around his neck?” He pulled the fragment of bronze spearhead from beneath his tunic.
“Not any prince I know,” said the captain. Then he looked Mentor over with a practised eye and, spotting the gold signet ring, he laughed. “Ah, Prince Odysseus, I shall have you—and the ring off your hand.” He turned to his men. “You, Phynos and Tsountas, get rid of this one with the red hair. He’s too crafty for my liking, and see that scar? He’s crippled as well.”
Mentor cried out. “No …”
Odysseus gave him a mighty shove. “Don’t plead for my worthless life, sir. I willingly return to the bosom of Poseidon, knowing you’re safe.”
He rushed to the side of the ship and threw himself over before his deception could be uncovered, flying for the moment through the air like some ungainly bird.
Then he hit the water with a loud splash.
CHAPTER 8: THE THREAD OF LIFE
IN THE BRIEF TIME he’d been aboard the pirate vessel, Odysseus had spotted the one thing that had given him some hope. There had been a flock of seagulls barely visible in the distance.
Where there are gulls, he thought, there must be land.
If he could only make it to land, anything was possible.