Kalliades looked into the dark eyes of Bias. The man was smiling as he listened to Banokles spinning his tale.
“A good tale,” they heard Odysseus say as Banokles concluded the overblown story. “Though it lacks a truly powerful ending.”
“But he won and survived,” Banokles argued.
“Indeed he did, but for the story to make men shiver, there needs to be a mystical element. How about this: The moment the head of Arelos was cut from the body, a plume of black smoke rose from the severed neck, forming the figure of a man wearing a high plumed helm.”
“I like that,” Banokles said. “So what is the figure of smoke?”
“I don’t know. It is your story. Perhaps it was a demon who had possessed Arelos. You sure you didn’t see a little smoke?”
“Now that you mention it, I think I did,” Banokles told him, to the laughter of the crew.
Kalliades closed his eyes. Bias chuckled. “Welcome to the Penelope,” he whispered, “where the truth always gives way to the golden lie. There, the wound is sealed. I’ll cut and draw the stitches in a few days.”
“My thanks to you, Bias. So what brought the Penelope to this island? The flax plants are still in flower, and I have seen no sign of other industry.”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Bias told him. “It should be an amusing day. Well, for passengers, anyway. I doubt there’ll be much laughter among the crew.” Sitting back, he scooped up a handful of sand and scrubbed the blood from his fingers. “A fine bruise is going to form around that cut,” he said.
“Where is the Penelope heading next?”
“We are making for an island a day’s sail to the east, then, if the gods bless us, we’ll head northeast for Kios, then the eastern coast and Troy.”
Banokles joined them, handing Kalliades a dark loaf and a round of cheese. “Did you hear that about the plume of smoke?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What could it be, do you think?”
“I don’t know, Banokles. There was no plume of smoke.”
“I know that. Intriguing, though.”
Bias chuckled. “It was the spirit of an evil warrior from long ago who was cursed never to see the Elysian Fields. His soul was trapped in an ancient dagger, which the pirate leader found in a grave he desecrated. When Arelos stole the dagger, the evil spirit overcame him, filling him with hate for all living things.”
“Now, that is storytelling,” Banokles said admiringly.
Bias shook his head. “No, lad, that is stolen from a tale Odysseus tells. With luck you’ll hear the full story sometime on the voyage. We’ll beach somewhere, alongside other ships, and sailors will beg Odysseus to tell a tale or two. You might hear that one, though he will certainly have devised new stories over the winter. When last we spoke, he was preparing something about a witch with snakes for hair. I’m looking forward to that.” Bias glanced along the beach. “Now the fun begins,” he said.
Kalliades turned. Some two hundred paces away a fat old woman wearing a shapeless gown of faded yellow linen was leading a herd of black pigs onto the beach. Every now and again she would tap her staff against the side of an animal seeking to leave the herd, and it would trot obediently back into the pack.
“That is your cargo?” Kalliades asked.
“Yes.”
“You need help slaughtering them?” Banokles asked.
“They are not going to be slaughtered,” Bias said. “We’re shipping them live to another island. Swine fever killed all the pigs, and there is a merchant there who will pay dearly for another breeding herd.”
“Shipping live pigs?” Banokles was astonished. “How will you contain them?”
Bias sighed. “We’re using the mast and the spare mast to create an enclosure at the center of the deck.”
“Why would anyone want to ship live pigs?” Banokles asked. “They’ll cover the deck with shit. I was raised on a pig farm. Believe me when I tell you that pigs can really shit.”
Kalliades pushed himself to his feet and wandered away from the two men. He had no interest in pigs or their excrement. Even so, he watched the fat old woman walking with the beasts. They were trotting along quite happily behind her, making small squeaking, grunting sounds. Odysseus strode to meet her. As he approached, three of the pigs darted away from him, but the woman made a whistling sound and they stopped and turned.
“Welcome to my campfire, Circe,” Odysseus said. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Save the flattery, king of Ithaka.” She gazed at the Penelope with baleful eyes, then gave a harsh laugh. “I hope you are getting a sack of gold for your troubles,” she said. “You will earn it. My little ones will not be happy at sea.”
“They seem docile enough to me.”
“Because I am with them. When Portheos first approached me with this idea, I thought him simple in the head. When you rejected his plan, I assumed it was because of your greater intelligence.” She gazed around the beach. “Where is he, by the way?”
“Died in his sleep back home.”
Kalliades heard the old woman make a clucking sound. She shook her head. “So young. A man of such laughter should live to a great age.” She looked at Odysseus and remained silent for a while. “So,” she said at last, “why did you change your mind about the plan?”
“It is merely trade. Oristhenes no longer has pigs. A pig breeder without pigs has no purpose in life.”
“Have you considered why no one else is bringing him live pigs?”
“What others do or don’t do is not my concern.” A large black boar began snuffling at Odysseus’ feet, nudging its snout against his bare leg. Odysseus tried to push it away with his foot.
“He likes you,” Circe said.
“I like him, too. I am sure we will be fast friends. You have any advice for me?”
“Carry plenty of water to swill down the decks. And a few splints for the broken bones your crew will suffer if the pigs panic and break through your enclosure. If you reach Oristhenes’ island without mishap, ensure that Ganny here”—she tapped the big black boar with her staff—“is the first one you lower to the beach. The others will gather around him. If Ganny is content, you will have little trouble. If he is not, there will be mayhem.”
Kalliades saw that Piria also had moved away from the campfire and was sitting alone on a boulder. He walked across to her. She looked up but did not offer a greeting.
“Why are there pigs on the beach?” she asked.
“Odysseus is taking them to another island.”
“We are to travel with pigs?”
“It would seem so.” The silence between them grew, then Kalliades asked, “You wish to be alone?”
“You can have no idea of how much I wish to be alone, Kalliades. But I am not alone. I am surrounded by men—and pigs. Not a great deal of difference there,” she added scornfully.
He turned away, but she called after him. “Wait! I am sorry, Kalliades. I was not referring to you. You have been kind to me and—so far—true to your word.”
“Many men are,” he said, seating himself on a rock close by. “I have seen cruelty. I have seen kindness. Sometimes I have seen cruel men being kind and kind men being cruel. I do not understand it. I do know, though, that all men are not like the pirates who took you. You see that old man there?” He pointed to a white-haired figure standing back from the crew and watching the pigs being herded toward the Penelope. He was tall and stooped and wore a cloak of blue over a dark gold-embroidered tunic.