The Dolphin Rider (9 page)

“You, captain!” Aeolus roared, pointing at Ulysses. “You, sir. I take you to be the leader of this ragged crew. Do you have a story to tell?”

“For those who know how to listen, I have a tale to tell,” said Ulysses.

“Your name?”

“Ulysses — of Ithaca.”

“Mmm…yes,” said Aeolus. “I seem to remember that name. Near Troy I think it was… a little quarrel. Yes… were you there?”

“I was there, dear host, and indeed took part in that petty quarrel that will be remembered by men when this island, and you and yours have vanished under the sea and been forgotten for a thousand years. I am Ulysses. My comrades before Troy were very mighty heroes, and in modesty I did no less than they.”

“Yes,” said Aeolus. “You are bold enough. Too bold for your own good, perhaps. But you have caught my attention. Tell on, captain.”

Then Ulysses told of the Trojan War — of the great battles, the attacks and retreats, the hand-to-hand fighting. He told of friends and enemies. Of men killing and dying. Of heroes and cowards, and those in between.

Then he told of his own great trick which had ended the war. How he had made a hollow wooden horse of enormous size, and how the Greek army had hidden in the belly of the horse. He told how the Trojans, amazed by this gigantic statue, had dragged the horse inside their gates, and how the Greek warriors had crept out at night and taken the city and killed the Trojans.

Aeolus shouted with laughter. His face blazed and his body shook. “Ah, that's a trick after my own heart!” he cried. “You're a sharp one, you are. I knew you had a foxy look about you with that red hair and red beard. Wooden horse… ho ho…But tell me, is it true what they say about Troy? Was it a rich city?”

“Quite true,” said Ulysses. “It was a wonderfully rich city.”

“And you sacked it,” Aeolus said. “You must be sailing home with a pretty piece of loot under your deck, eh?”

Ulysses smiled to himself. From his first glimpse of Aeolus he had recognized the wind god's greed, and he was prepared now to use it to his own advantage. “Yes,” said Ulysses. “There was some very pleasant looting at Troy. I picked up this little curio in the royal palace — in the king's own chamber.”

Ulysses opened a soft leather pouch at his belt, took something from it, and handed it to Aeolus.

“What is it?” asked Aeolus. “It looks like a frog made of green stone.”

“That frog,” said Ulysses, “is the largest emerald in the world.”

“Is it, indeed?” murmured Aeolus. “Largest in the world, eh? Interesting…”

“More interesting than you think. Its jaw is hinged. See? Now ask it a question.”

“You want me to question this toy? Foolishness!”

“Try it and see,” said Ulysses. “I'll tell you this. It was made by Vulcan himself who can do some very ingenious things, as you know. Go ahead, ask it a question. Any question.”

“Very well,” said Aeolus. “Frog, frog, answer true — the strongest god is — who?”

“You,” said the frog.

“Me?”

“You.” And then the frog sang,

Gods they come,

Gods they go,

But the winds of Aeolus

Always blow…

Blowing late and soon

They quench the moon—

Gentle breeze

And wild typhoon…

“A marvelous song!” cried Aeolus. “Well sung too!”

“Know this, oh Aeolus,” said the frog. “The earth was born when a wind, blowing starfire upon starfire, shaped it into a flaming ball. And the earth will die when foolish men — wise in evil — will hurl that flame upon each other. They will start a blaze that will turn the seas to steam and the mountains to cinder. And you alone will be left, Aeolus, master of winds, the last god.”

“A most remarkable frog!” roared Aeolus. “A wise and musical frog, Ulysses. Truly a fine piece of booty to take from Troy.”

“It is yours, Aeolus.”

“Mine?”

“Yours, dear host,” said Ulysses. “A slight return for your hospitality.”

“By the gods, this is most generous of you, captain. In return you may have any favor within my power. Speak out, Ulysses. Ask what you will.”

“There is only one thing I seek, great Aeolus. Your help. I need your help in getting home. It has been a long time since we saw our homes and families. We thirst for the sight of Ithaca.”

“No one can help you better than I,” Aeolus assured him. “You sail on ships, and I am keeper of the winds. Come with me.”

He led Ulysses into the night. A hot orange moon rode low in the sky so they could see without torches. Aeolus led Ulysses to the mountain. He was carrying a sword in one hand and a great leather bag in the other. “Stand back,” said Aeolus. “They come out with a rush.”

“Who does?”

“The winds, man, the winds,” said Aeolus. “They hate to be penned in that mountain. They are like caged beasts, but wilder and stronger than all the beasts in the world combined. They want to run free over land and sea, kicking up storms. But I alone can set them free. And let me tell you, friend, you are the first mortal ever to be granted use of the winds.”

“I thank you, Aeolus.”

“They are a tricky loan, though, these winds. They could mean your death unless you do whatever I tell you.”

“I will do whatever you say,” Ulysses promised.

“Stand back, then.”

Ulysses stepped back as Aeolus stood tall before the mountain, chanting,

Winds, winds, sally forth —

South and East and surly North.

Hurry, hurry, do not lag —

Get inside this leather bag.

Then Aeolus stabbed the side of the mountain. There was a rushing, sobbing sound. He clapped the leather bag over the hole and Ulysses, amazed, saw the great bag flutter and fill. Aeolus held it closed, strode to the east face of the mountain and stabbed again. As the East Wind rushed out, he caught it in the sack. Then very carefully he wound a silver wire about the neck of the sack. It was full now, swollen, tugging at his arm like a huge leather balloon trying to fly away.

“In this bag,” said Aeolus, “are the North Wind, the South Wind, and the East Wind —”

“What of the West Wind?” said Ulysses.

“He's for sailing.” Aeolus strode now to the west slope of the mountain and chanted,

Hurry now from stony lair,

Wind that blows when sky is fair —

Of all my winds the very best,

Sailors' friend, the wind called West.

“But if the West Wind will bear me home,” said Ulysses, “why do I need the other winds in the bag?”

“Need, indeed,” said Aeolus. “You of all people should know how changeable the sea can be. In this bag are the three winds, North, South, and East, and you must keep them prisoner. But if you wish to change course — if a pirate should chase you, say, or a sea monster, or if an adventure beckons — then you open the bag very carefully, you and you alone, captain, and call up the wind you wish. Let just a breath of it out, then close the bag quickly and tie it tight. Winds grow swiftly, that is their secret. So they must be carefully guarded.”

“I shall not change course,” said Ulysses. “No matter what danger threatens or what adventure calls, I will sail straight for Ithaca. I shall not open your bag of winds.”

“Good,” said Aeolus. “But just in case, tie it to the mast, and guard it yourself. Let none of your men approach, lest they open it accidentally. And I will send the gentle West Wind to follow your ship and fill your sails and take you home. When you are safely home, then you can open the bag and I will call the winds home.”

“Thank you, great Aeolus. Thank you, kindly Keeper of the Winds. I know now that the gods have answered my prayers. I shall be able to cease this weary heartbreaking drift over the face of the sea. I shall never stop thanking you, Aeolus, till the day I die.”

“May that sad day be far off,” said Aeolus politely. “Now, sir, much as I like your company, you had better gather your men and be off. I shall be uneasy until my winds return to me and I can shut them in the mountain again.”

Ulysses went back to the castle and called his men together. Gladly they trooped down to the ship and went aboard. Ulysses bound the great leather sack to the mast, warning his men that no one must touch it on pain of death. Then he himself, armed with his sword, stood under the mast, guarding the sack.

“Up anchor!” he cried.

The West Wind rolled off the mountain and filled their sails. The black ship slipped out of the harbor, away from the island toward the wall of bronze. When they reached the wall, the great gate swung open and they sailed eastward over water oily with moonlight. Eastward they sailed for nine days and nine nights. In perfect weather they skimmed along, the West Wind hovering behind them, filling their sails, pushing them steadily home.

And for nine nights and nine days, Ulysses did not sleep. He did not close his eyes or sheathe his sword. He kept his station under the mast and had food and drink brought to him there. He never, for an instant, stopped guarding the sack.

Then on the morning of the tenth day, he heard the lookout cry, “Land ho!” Ulysses strained his eyes to see. What he saw made his heart swell. Tears ran down his face, but they were tears of joy. For he saw the dear familiar hills of home. He saw the brown fields of Ithaca, the twisted olive trees. And as he watched, he saw the white marble columns of his own palace on the cliff. And his men saw the smoke rising from their own chimneys.

When Ulysses saw the white columns of his palace, he knew that unless the West Wind failed, they would be home in an hour. And the friendly wind was blowing as steadily as ever. Ulysses heaved a great sigh. “I thank you, gods,” he whispered. The terrible responsibility that had kept him awake for nine days and nights was over. He put up his sword, raised his arms, and yawned. Then he leaned against the mast, just for a moment.

Two of the men, standing in the bow, saw him slump at the foot of the mast, fast asleep. Their eyes slid up the mast to the great leather bag, plump as a balloon, straining against its bonds as the impatient winds wrestled inside.

And now it was that Neptune, swimming invisibly alongside the ship, saw the chance he had been waiting for. He clinked the heavy golden bracelets on his arms.

He heard one man say to the other, “Do you hear that? Those are coins, heavy golden coins clinking against each other. There must be a fortune in that sack.”

“Yes,” said the other man. “A fortune that should belong to all of us by rights. We shared the dangers and should share the booty.”

“He has always been generous,” said the first. “He shared the spoils of Troy.”

“Yes, but that was then. Why doesn't he divide this great sack of treasure? Aeolus gave it to him, and we know how rich Aeolus is. He gave it to him as a guest gift, and he should share it.”

“He never will. Whatever is in that bag, he does not want us to know about it. He has been guarding it all these nights and days, standing there always under the mast, eating and drinking where he stands. He never put up his sword.”

“It is in its sheath now,” said the second sailor. “And his eyes are closed. Look, he sleeps like a baby. I doubt that anything would wake him.”

“What are you doing? What are you going to do with that knife? Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes, out of my mind with curiosity. Out of my mind with gold fever, if you must know. I mean to see what is in that bag.”

“Wait — I'll help you. But you must give me half.”

“Come then.”

Swiftly and silently the two barefooted sailors padded to the mast. They slashed the rope that held the bag to the spar, and carried it away.

“Hurry —open it!”

“I can't. The wire's twisted in a strange knot. Perhaps a magic knot. I can't untie it.”

“Then we'll do it this way!” cried the sailor with the knife, and he slashed at the leather bag. He was immediately lifted off his feet and blown like a leaf into the sea. The winds rushed howling out of the bag. They began to chase each other around the ship, screaming and laughing, jeering and growling and leaping, reveling in their freedom, roaring and squabbling, screeching around and around the ship. They fell on their gentle brother, the West Wind, and cuffed him mercilessly until he fled. Then they chased each other around the ship again, spinning it like a cork in a whirlpool.

When they heard the far faint whistle of the Keeper of the Winds, they snarled with rage and roared homeward to the isle of the winds, far to the west of Ithaca. As they rushed away, they snatched the ship along with them, ripping its sail to shreds, snapping its mast like a twig, and hurling the splintered hull westward over the boiling sea.

Ulysses awoke from his sleep to find the blue sky black with clouds, and his home dropping far astern. He saw his crew flung about the deck like dolls, and he saw the tattered sails and the broken spars, and he did not know whether he was asleep or awake. Was this some frightful nightmare, or was he awake now and asleep before, dreaming a fair dream of home?

With the unleashed winds screaming behind them at gale force, the trip back to Aeolus island took them only two days. Once again the black ship was hurled onto the island of the winds. Ulysses left his crew and went to the castle. He found Aeolus in his throne room, and he stood before him, bruised, bloody, clothes torn, eyes like ashes.

“What happened?” cried Aeolus. “Why have you come back?”

“I was betrayed,” said Ulysses. “Betrayed by sleep — the most cruel sleep of my life — and by a wicked, foolish, greedy crew who let the winds escape. We were snatched back from happiness even as we saw the smoke rising from our own chimneys.”

“I warned you,” said Aeolus. “I warned you not to let anyone touch that bag.”

“And you were right, a thousand times right!” cried Ulysses. “Be generous once again. You can heal my woes, you alone. Renew your gift. Lend me the West Wind to bear me home again and I swear to you that I shall do everything you bid.”