Odysseus in the Serpent Maze (20 page)

“Why did you run off?” Idomeneus spun on his heel and addressed Helen. “I’ve spent all night searching for you.”

“I was bored and decided to take a walk,” Helen answered snippily. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“In the middle of the night?” Bosander said with a growl. “And in bad company?”

“I bumped into them and thought your father had let them go. How was I to know they’d escaped?” Helen continued haughtily, but Odysseus thought he could detect a bit of strain in her voice.

“We told her we’d been pardoned,” Mentor put in, but he had no authority in his voice.

He’s never been a good liar
, Odysseus realised.
Whereas I can tell a tale that everyone believes
.

“Haven’t I given you everything you asked for? And kept you safe from the Labyrinth?” Idomeneus was trying to sound masterful, but he kept slipping into unmanly pleading.

“Oh yes, I’m very grateful,” Helen said. “And I’m grateful for not being sent to a horrible death like my cousin. If only every Cretan were as considerate!”

She does sarcasm really well
, thought Odysseus, suddenly realising what a good defence it was. Behind her incredible beauty, Helen was not all that sure of herself.

Idomeneus huffed for a moment, then directed his anger at Mentor. “Where’s your scheming friend Epicles?”

For a moment Odysseus couldn’t remember who Epicles was. Then, biting his lip, he recalled that it was the name he’d chosen for himself.

“Epicles made himself a pair of wings and flew away,” Mentor replied stubbornly.

There was a loud
thwacking
sound, and Mentor cried out. Odysseus started to get up, but Penelope pulled him back, silently shaking her head.

Idomeneus’ voice, now silky, said, “And what about you, craftsman? We can always put you back in the dungeon. What do you have to say?”

“Being beaten in the dungeon or out, what’s the difference?”

Behind the wagon, Odysseus pressed the golden key into Penelope’s palm and whispered, “I’m going to create a diversion. While Idomeneus and his soldiers are looking the other way, sneak over to the slave pens and set Tros and his men free.”

Before he could leave, Penelope grabbed him by the wrist. “Haven’t you taken enough chances?”

“Mentor is my friend. Tros and his men are Ithacans. I can’t leave without trying to save them. So just one more chance,” he whispered. “If the gods grant it.” He grinned at her.

“I was wrong about you,” she said softly. “You really
are
a hero.”

He looked down and spoke quietly. “I was wrong about you too.” Then he slipped away, ducking through the shadows until he was a good distance from where Penelope was hidden. There he stepped out and walked calmly towards Idomeneus.

“My lord,” Bosander said, drawing his prince’s attention. “See who comes.”

“Ah, Epicles,” Idomeneus said, head to one side. “You’re wise to give yourself up. It’ll go easier on your friends.”

“You mistake me, sir,” Odysseus said, his hands held out to show he had no sword. “I haven’t come to give myself up to you. I’ve come to challenge you.”

Idomeneus raised one elegant eyebrow and moved towards Odysseus. “Challenge? Me?”

“Personal combat, warrior to warrior. If you win, you can do what you want with us. If I win, you let us go free.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Idomeneus. He glanced at his men. “You’ve no weapon.” He took two more steps in Odysseus’ direction.

Odysseus smiled. “Then give me one. Unless you’re afraid.”

Idomeneus drew his great sword. “This blade belonged to my grandfather, Minos the Great, and has been passed down to me as crown prince of Crete. I won’t dishonour it with the blood of a mere boy and a commoner, Epicles of Rhodes.”

Odysseus’ jaw tightened, and a quick flush of anger lit his cheek. But he calmed himself, remembering that he’d already dispatched a far greater foe. And realising that he’d probably disgrace himself by dropping another heavy sword.

“I’m no commoner nor am I from Rhodes,” Odysseus said. “My name is Odysseus, son of Laertes the Argonaut, prince of Ithaca.”

“And a lying rogue to boot,” said Idomeneus, which caused his men to laugh aloud.

“Better to be the lying rogue than the fool who believes him,” said Odysseus. He grinned impishly.

Idomeneus gritted his teeth. “If you’re a prince, then your homeland is going to need a new heir.” He took another step forward and raised his sword. Behind him, his men closed the gap at his back.

Odysseus whipped the leather cord from around his neck and held the spear point up. “With this blade, O prince of the Long Island, I slew the many-headed Ladon down in your maze.”

Idomeneus laughed. “You do have a certain courage, rogue, though you’ve said more lies in that sentence than I can count.”

“Give me a sword, and I’ll show you how much courage I have,” Odysseus said.

“Stop it, Odysseus,” Helen cried. “He’s the greatest warrior in all of Crete.”

From the corner of his eye, Odysseus watched the Cretan guards. Many of them were smiling.

“And how do you know this, Helen?”

She said in loud ringing tones, “He told me so himself!”

Odysseus smiled too, but didn’t relax his guard. “Then let him live up to his boasts.” All the while he was thinking,
Hurry, Penelope, please hurry
.

“I don’t wish fair Helen to witness your blood on the sand,” Idomeneus said. “But you need to pay for your arrogance and lies.” He sheathed his sword and unbuckled his sword belt, setting them carefully on the ground. Then he held up his fists.

Odysseus didn’t move, waiting to see what would happen next.

“We have a sport here in Crete where we fight with our closed fists alone,” Idomeneus said. “Are you up to that, young Ithacan?”

“Do you mean brawling?” Odysseus laughed. He put the spear point on the thong around his neck again. “In Ithaca that’s done in the taverns.”

“Here we call it boxing,” Idomeneus said. “No kicking, no wrestling. If you break the rules, you forfeit the fight.”

“And if I win, will you set my friends and me free?” Odysseus asked, making fists, though his hands were still raw and painful from the ride on the serpent’s back.

“You—win?” Idomeneus laughed, and his men echoed him. “I’m champion of the Cretan Games,” he said, adding casually, “I intend to beat you senseless. As a lesson of course. Merely as a lesson.”

Fists raised, Odysseus ran at the Cretan prince and took a swing, but Idomeneus—who was a head taller, though no heavier—stepped easily aside and punched Odysseus hard on the ear.

Knocked off his feet, his right ear ringing, Odysseus took a moment to get his bearings.

The Cretan guards were shouting for their prince, and Mentor and Praxios were yelling for Odysseus. Helen watched through laced fingers, not calling out for either.

If I can keep the fight going long enough, Penelope can free my men
. He stood up, shook his head to try and clear it, then closed on Idomeneus again.

This time Idomeneus blocked him with a forearm, and then, as quickly as one of Ladon’s heads, a fist thumped Odysseus under the chest and another across the chin.

Odysseus reeled back, throwing his arms up to protect himself. Something salty was dripping into his mouth. He wiped a hand across his lip and he saw blood there.

Keep the fight going
, he thought again, then realised that the only way for that to happen was to make Idomeneus come to him.

So he took a few steps back.

Idomeneus followed, as did the half circle of onlookers.

Then Odysseus took another few steps back. Each step brought the Cretans farther from the slave pens.

“Are you running from me, boy?” asked Idomeneus.

“No more than I ran from the crested head of Ladon,” Odysseus said. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Penelope had darted between the shadows of buildings and was heading towards the slave gate. He forced his eyes forward.

Idomeneus took another step, and Odysseus retreated again.

“It looks like running away to me,” the Cretan prince said.

Odysseus had been in his share of scraps over the years, sparring with friends and brawling with enemies his own age. He’d never been beaten. But what Idomeneus had done in those first blows was different than any fighting Odysseus had known. Idomeneus had used his fists like weapons. Odysseus actually admired the man’s skill.

But Odysseus knew he didn’t need to win the fight. He just needed to hold out long enough for Penelope to free the slaves. Still, he hated being a loser in anything, and he certainly wasn’t going to run away.

Entirely sure of himself, Idomeneus was now advancing. Before Odysseus could move back again, he’d taken another couple of punishing blows to the ribs. So he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around Idomeneus and held on long enough to recover his breath.

The Cretan finally threw him off and backed away, almost dancing on nimble feet. “Where’s your bragging now, Ithacan boy?”

For a moment Odysseus lost his temper and he charged at Idomeneus, who smacked him once again on the jaw.

“Come on, Odysseus,” Mentor called out. “You can beat him. Remember the boar?”

All Odysseus remembered was that the boar had slashed him in the thigh. Now his jaw hurt and his ear rang and his ribs were sore, not his thigh. His hands were raw, his arms and shoulders ached. Still, Mentor’s cry of encouragement raised his spirits, and Odysseus launched a sudden attack on the Cretan, one blow glancing off Idomeneus’ chest, another landing solidly on his chest.

Behind them, Penelope had managed to sneak over to the gate without being seen.

The soldiers called out their own encouragement to their prince.

“He’s just a boy!” cried one.

“Finish him,” cried another.

“Give him a good one!” cried a third.

Idomeneus, still dancing about like the old satyr on his goat feet, called to Odysseus, “Your strength is failing, boy. But if you surrender now, I’ll spare you. You can be my slave, instead of going to your death in the Labyrinth.”

Odysseus shook his head twice, then lifted his bruised face to glare at the Cretan.

“What do I care about the maze?” he said. “I told you—I killed the monster. The horned beast and maiden met. I got my heart’s desire, which was to get out of the Labyrinth. And as for being a slave—I bow to no man. Not even if you beat me into the ground, Cretan.” He spit out a gob of blood.

For a moment, Idomeneus turned away and asked Bosander, “What does he mean about the monster? No mortal can kill Ladon. Isn’t that what Father says?”

Bosander shook his head. “He lied before and he’s lying now, my prince.”

Idomeneus turned back, grinning. “I’m not going to just beat you, boy, I’m going to finish you.” He danced over, raised his fist for a massive blow, and brought it down.

But Idomeneus didn’t have Odysseus’ cunning. At the moment the blow should have landed, Odysseus let his legs buckle as if he’d passed out, and the punch sailed harmlessly over his head.

Then Odysseus stood up quickly, driving his entire body behind his right fist. The fist slammed into Idomeneus’ stomach with the power of a battering ram. Every bit of wind was knocked clear of the Cretan’s lungs, and before he could recover, Odysseus’ other fist crashed into his jaw, sending him flying backwards.

Never having been hit solidly before, Idomeneus was overcome with both pain and embarrassment. He lay on the ground, trying to recover both breath and honour.

The soldiers ran to attend their fallen prince as Odysseus slumped to the ground. He was actually in more pain than Idomeneus.

No one noticed that at that very moment Penelope opened the slave pens.

Tros and the Ithacan sailors rushed out of their prison and leaped upon the men who’d enslaved them. Bent over their fallen prince, caught off guard, the Cretans were rapidly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of former slaves, who stripped them of their weapons.

“Odysseus,” Mentor cried, helping his friend up, “you did it!” He handed him Minos’ sword, which Odysseus could barely hold up.

Exhausted, one eye closed shut from a blow, Odysseus cried out to Tros and the sailors, “Keep the prince and put the rest of them in the slave pen.”

Once the Cretans were locked up, Odysseus went over to the pen and spoke quietly to Bosander. “If you want your prince to live, you’ll keep the men quiet.”

Bosander’s face, with its deep scar over the eye, showed no emotion, but he nodded.

Odysseus returned to his men. “Captain Tros,” he said, “time to go home.”

“I never thought to see you again, my prince,” the old captain said, clasping hands with Odysseus. “I never expected to see Ithaca again, either. But that was better than going back to explain to your father and grandfather about losing you.”

Odysseus laughed, then winced. “Laughing hurts. Captain—tell your men that anyone who makes me smile on the way home can learn to swim.”

“Do you have a ship then?” asked Tros.

Odysseus nodded. “I have one in mind. But we’d best hurry. I understand the tide turns at sunrise.” He pointed to the east, where the dawn’s rosy fingers had just reached the shore.

T
HE PIRATE VESSEL WAS
as poorly guarded as Odysseus had suspected. The men left on board were even drunker than the men ashore, and were easily overpowered. Before they knew what was happening, the pirates were heaved over the side of the boat, where they floundered about in the water until finally reaching shore.

Odysseus left Idomeneus on the dock and jumped aboard the ship with the last of his men. As Helen and Penelope settled themselves in the stern, the sailors slid the oars quickly into the water.

Tros saw to the raising of the stone anchor, and the old craftsman Praxios—delighted to be gone from the city—did a little dance on deck.

As the boat began to move away from the dock, the Ithacans raised a happy cheer. Odysseus looked back and saw that Idomeneus’ eyes were fixed on him.

I understand
, he thought. Bracing a foot against the stern, with the last ounce of strength he could muster, he flung the silver-studded sword into the air. It landed with a clang at Idomeneus’ feet.