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.
CHAPTER 27: WORTHY FOES
THE 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.
The prince picked up the sword and raised it in salute.
“You’re a worthy foe, Ithacan prince,” he called out. “The best of foes may one day be the best of allies.”
Recalling that for all his pride, Idomeneus had behaved with honour towards Helen, Odysseus cried out, “May the gods keep you safe till that time, Cretan prince. Now that your monster is dead, perhaps the Long Island will be a better place for visitors.”
“Helen,” Idomeneus called, his voice fading in the distance, “I promise I’ll see you again, however long it takes.”
Odysseus glanced over at the girls. Eyes shut, her head settled on Penelope’s shoulder, Helen looked fast asleep. But she was smiling.
The oarsmen rowed well, and soon the boat cleared the harbour rocks and was skimming along.
“Raise the sail!” Tros cried, and when the men had got the sail up, it bellied out at once with a strong wind from the south.
“The gods are favouring us at last,” the old captain said with gruff satisfaction.
“Those who help themselves, the gods favour,” said Odysseus. He started to smile, then raised a hand to his raw face. “Ouch!”
“Best not say that too loudly, lest the gods hear.” Penelope was suddenly at his shoulder. She handed him back the golden key. “And let me tend to those wounds. I’m sure the pirates will have a goodly store of medicines.”
They searched through the ship’s hold and found the fir-wood box that Autolycus had been sending back to Laertes, the one that had kept the boys afloat for so long.
Mentor laughed. “Your father will be pleased to see that!”
Penelope opened the lid, and Mentor let out a low whistle. The box was filled to the brim with gold and jewels.
“This must be the treasure Deucalion paid to buy old Silenus from the raiders,” Odysseus said, running his fingers through the loot.
“What does that stinking satyr have to do with anything?” asked Mentor.
“Oh, that’s right—you don’t know about that,” said Odysseus. “Well, better sit down, Mentor, for I’ve quite a tale to tell you.”
“What sort of tale?” Mentor asked suspiciously.
“A true one,” Penelope said. “A tale about a monster, a maiden, and a hero.”
EPILOGUE: THE GODDESS SPEAKS
ODYSSEUS WOKE IN THE middle of the night, aching all over. But it was not the hard pallet or the pain that had awakened him. It was the light.
Light?
In the middle of the night?
Standing about a foot off the deck in front of him was a tall, beautiful woman in a snow-white robe. The moon shimmered on her helmet, and the point of her spear caught fire from the stars.
“Athena!” he cried. Then he looked around. All his companions were fast asleep.
“They will not wake till I am gone,” said the goddess. “I am here for your eyes and ears only, Odysseus.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“The gods have tested you, and you have triumphed over all their tricks, as I told them you would.”
“The gods?” Odysseus was baffled. “What part did they play in all this?”
“Did you think it mere chance that tossed you into the sea? Mere chance that the mechanical ship rescued you? Mere chance that you escaped from the Labyrinth?”
Odysseus shrugged. “I thought it was ill fortune that dropped me into danger, and my own wits and courage that got me out.”
“I have been your luck, Odysseus,” Athena said. “I sent the dolphins to save you, the warning to flee the workshop. The box, the spearhead, the satyr, the ship, the key—all mine to give.”
Odysseus spread his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry if I didn’t recognise your handiwork.”
“You were not to know,” she told him. “You were to find ways to use what you were given. And you proved that the age of heroes is not yet over.”
The Age of Heroes. Odysseus grinned broadly. Then, as quickly, he grimaced because grinning hurt, even in a dream.