“If you hadn’t been a classics major yourself, you’d never have dreamed this up. It’s totally far-fetched.”
“No, it isn’t. It took Odysseus ten years to get home. All those islands he visited, all those adventures he had — they all took place here, in the Caribbean. The key text is right there.” She flipped through the printout. “This is from Book Nine of the Odyssey. I’ll translate as I go along.”
A deadly current and howling winds forced us westward, past Cythera. For nine days we were helplessly driven over the deepest ocean. On the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus Eaters, people who eat a delicious fruit, which is said to give health and heal all manner of infirmities, but at the expense of mind and memory. On that desolate coastline we found water and ate a hasty meal. Once we’d eaten and drank I sent some of my men ahead, two soldiers and a runner, to see who might live there. They left immediately for the north and found the Lotus Eaters, who accepted them in peace and gave them the lotus to eat. Those who ate of it were healed of their wounds of war, but forgot all about home and their companions, and did not care to return to the ships or even send back a message. All they wanted was to stay with the Lotus Eaters and eat the sweet fruit, lost in their dreams, forgetting everything. They wept bitterly when I forced them to come back with me. I had to lash them to the rowing benches.
Amy lowered the printout. “Most scholars think Cythera was an island off the Greek mainland. But here’s the catch: Cythera was also an ancient name for the Straits of Gibraltar. In other words, they were blown past Cythera into the Atlantic — the ‘deepest ocean.’ From there they were driven nine days westward, carried by high winds and currents.”
“Nine days to cross the Atlantic?”
“The main route of tropical storms goes southwestward from the Cape Verde Islands straight across into the Caribbean. In such a storm, he would have been driven along by the effects of wind, reinforced by the powerful Main Equatorial Current. This is exactly the route mariners took in times past. In reasonably favorable winds they could make the crossing in twenty days. There are many instances of ships caught in storms making the crossing in as little as a week — if they survived.”
Gideon fell silent. He felt skeptical — and annoyed. “So you strand us here on this desolate shore, refuse help, place us both in jeopardy — just to prove this ridiculous theory of yours.”
Amy sighed with impatience. “Haven’t you been listening? If Odysseus had been pushed across the Atlantic in a storm, his ships would have been subsequently caught in the Caribbean Loop Current, which connects to the Main Equatorial Current. And that would have brought him right here.” She hesitated. “That’s the research I was doing on the boat before we were attacked.”
“Why did you keep it such a big secret?”
“Because I was afraid of exactly the negative reaction I’m getting from you now.”
Gideon shook his head. It all seemed so speculative. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
“There’s something else in the Odyssey—something you might find more persuasive.” She read again from the printout: “‘. . . a delicious fruit, which is said to give health and heal all manner of infirmities, but at the expense of mind and memory.’ What does that remind you of?”
“I suppose it could be a reference to the medicine we’re looking for.”
“Of course. Can you imagine a clearer description of the remedium Glinn has sent us searching for?”
Gideon stared into the fire, thinking. He was beginning to feel weary again — too weary to be angry. If this were all true, it could be further proof the medicine was real…and might actually help him. Immediately he was seized with the foolishness of this line of thought and pushed it out of his head. He had to stop dwelling on this false hope, which would only bring him disappointment and grief.
“Consider the Phorkys Map. ‘Follow the Devil’s vomit.’ We’ve done exactly that. The spume trail leading out from Jeyupsi Cay naturally followed the Loop Current, which fetched us right up here. This is precisely where we’re meant to be — right where the next clue is. Right where Odysseus and his men landed three thousand years ago.”
Gideon tossed a stick into the fire. “When did this first occur to you?”
“I was familiar with the speculations of the dissident scholars. When I heard Glinn’s theory about the Greeks reaching the Caribbean, when I saw the Phorkys Map, I began to recall certain passages from the Odyssey. That’s when I began my research in earnest.”
For a moment Gideon was silent. Then he shifted before the fire. “I’m not saying I buy into any of this. But for the time being, it looks as if I have to go along. So what next?”
“Aquilonius. The unusual Latin term for ‘northerly.’ Which is where we must head to find the next clue — the very last clue. We’re almost there.”
“What is that clue?”
She pointed to the page. The drawing on the map showed a partially twisted rectangle without a bottom. The Latin inscription read: Trans ultra tortuosum locum.
“Tortuosum locum. Twisted place. Trans ultra. Beyond the beyond. That’s what we’re looking for, ‘beyond the beyond of the twisted place.’ Which should be a little north of here. And—” Her eyes glittered in the dying light—“when we get there, we’ll be in the land of the Lotus Eaters.”
35
His thirty minutes in the whirlpool bath was up. Using the powered platforms and the robotic arm, Eli Glinn raised himself with painstaking slowness — his narrow body dripping water perfumed by soothing herbs and oils — and transported the platform to his dressing alcove. It was the work of another difficult thirty minutes to dry and dress himself.
After the accident, Glinn had spent a great deal of time finding the kind of clothes that were most comfortable and easy to put on and remove. He had ultimately settled on warm-up pants of ultrasoft Persian cotton with an elastic waistband — tailored precisely to his needs by Jonathan Crofts of Savile Row — and mock turtlenecks one size too large. He now had several dozen pairs of each, and he used them as both daywear and nightwear.
The arduous process completed, he clicked the remote to extinguish the candles, lowered himself into the wheelchair, and rolled out of the bathroom, through his bedroom, and into the main living area. As was his custom, he maneuvered the wheelchair through the spare, cool-gray space to the massive window overlooking the Hudson. Glinn slept very little, and he often sat here for hours, reading poetry or simply gazing out over the landscape, his thoughts far away.
The monks used this secret alchemy and were able to heal themselves of “grievous wounds, afflictions, diseases and infirmities.” Was it really true? Was there a secret arcanum — or was it just another primitive legend, born of a crude and imperfect understanding of the world? Perhaps Brock’s skepticism was rubbing off on him.
But then there was the evidence of the skeletons. That was real.
His thoughts turned to Gideon and Amy. He felt a most disquieting mix of concern and uncertainty over the pair…and over the direction the project had taken. Their boat had sunk; they were marooned on the Mosquito Coast — and yet Amy had refused help. It was consistent with her Quantitative Behavioral Analysis. At the same time, they had not anticipated an attack from treasure hunters. They were in uncharted territory. Another item of concern lay in the team’s sat phone, which Amy had reported as being low on batteries. Ongoing communication with the two was of vital importance.