The men were silent, waiting, and Odysseus began again.
“But brave Odysseus would not have lived
To tell of his matchless deed
Had not the faithful Mentor,
Friend from boyhood, wise Mentor,
Stood over the injured warrior,
As a shepherd over a smitten ram
From the teeth of a ravenous wolf,
Even at the risk of his own life.”
He did not dare turn again to look at Mentor, but suddenly Mentor’s name was on everyone’s lips. “And there is yet a bit more,” Odysseus called out.
“As unflinching as Parnassus itself,
In the face of the north wind’s fury,
Mentor raised his spear and threw it.”
From behind him he heard Mentor whisper, “Javelin, not spear.” But javelin did not have the force in the verse, so Odysseus ignored truth for story and continued.
“He struck the beast a second wound
And put the widow maker to flight.”
He ended the story by letting his head drop slightly, as the bard had done.
The applause and cheers for his story made him feel good. But even better was the grin on Mentor’s face.
His grandfather, too, was smiling. So daringly, Odysseus called out, “Grandfather, what trophy of this hunt can I take back to Ithaca?”
Autolycus roared with laughter. “Oh, you are my grandson indeed!” he said. “Well …” He pursed his lips. “The tusks will stay here on Parnassus where they were won. They shall be carved into scales for my helmet. But this”—he pressed the broken spearhead into Odysseus’ palm—“will be your trophy. I’ll have my metalsmith drill a hole in it so it can hang by a leather cord around your neck. Let it be a reminder of both your courage and your folly.”
Odysseus smiled. “Grandfather, where there’s victory, there’s no folly.”
Who, thought Mentor, sounds like the old woman now!
CHAPTER 5: DANGEROUS VOYAGE
A MONTH LATER, AUTOLYCUS drove the boys down the coast himself, in a chariot pulled by two large, sturdy horses.
“There!” he cried above the noise of the chariot wheels, the snorting of the horses, and the bellowing of a gusty wind. “The ship to take you home.”
Odysseus looked over to the sandy harbour where the ship was beached. Sailors swarmed over the open deck and tested the mast, the oars.
“Is it big enough, Grandfather?” Odysseus sounded sceptical. “There seem to be only seven oars on each side.” He had arrived in a much larger ship.
“Big enough to carry the two of you and the gifts I am sending home with you,” Autolycus said. He urged the horses ahead with a slap of the reins. “By way of compensation for the injury you suffered under my care.”
Without thinking, Odysseus touched his right leg. The wound was well healed. All that was left was a bright-red scar that Menaera promised would fade after a while, though Odysseus hoped it would not fade altogether.
Mentor laughed. “His father grows rich on Odysseus’ folly.”
Autolycus laughed with him. “Just as well my grandson didn’t lose a leg, or I would have been left a pauper.”
Reining in the horses, Autolycus gave the care of the chariot to a nearby slave. Then turning to the boys, he said, “Come, see all that goes with you.”
By then a cart had come to a halt next to them. The boys watched as three men began the task of unloading the gifts. A pair of bronze tripods, several painted clay bowls, a polished sword, a massive two-handed gold goblet, a casket of jewels, a footstool inlaid with ebony and a fir-wood box carved with pictures of lions and gryphons. They were all taken on to the ship.
“That box looks familiar,” Odysseus said.
“So it should,” said Autolycus with a smirk. “I stole it from your father the last time I visited his palace.”
“Grandfather!” Odysseus said in mock horror. “Stealing from your son-in-law?”
Autolycus grinned. “Just keeping my hand in. He’ll be glad to see it back. If indeed he ever noticed it was gone. And your mother will be pleased with what I am sending her, too: those agate beads she loves so well, and three bronze finger rings. And another ring of white onyx. And Hera only knows what else. Woman stuff. Menaera picked them out for me.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I have something special for Mentor as a parting gift.”
“For me?” Mentor’s voice rose to an alarming squeak.
“For the young hero who saved my grandson. Here.” He handed Mentor a golden signet ring. “Do you see the carving?”
Mentor held the ring up so that the sun glinted on it. “A boar hunt!” he said.
“And finished by my goldsmith just this morning, or I would have given it to you before,” Autolycus said.
“Sir, I’m overwhelmed …” Mentor began.
“Quick, put it on your finger,” Odysseus said, his arm around his friend’s shoulder, “or he’ll have it back from you and hidden away before you know it.”
They walked down towards the ship, a black-tarred beauty with a red and white eye painted on its side. Mentor trailed slightly behind, admiring his new ring.
“What was in the box when you took it?” Odysseus asked. “In case Father is angry.”
Autolycus shook his head. “It was empty when I stole it, worse luck. So I’m sending it back just as empty. I may be a thief, but at least I’m an honest one.”
Mentor had caught up by then and heard the last sentence.
They all three laughed at that, Autolycus loudest of all.
At the sound of their laughter, the burly captain of the ship started towards them.
“It’s a fine ship, and a good crew,” he called out. “You’ll be proud, my king.”
Autolycus went to meet him. “Tros, you old pirate.” They grasped hands and began speaking rapidly, one to the other.
“That ship would look better to me,” Odysseus said quietly to Mentor, “if it weren’t taking us back home.”
Mentor refused to be discouraged. He grasped his friend’s shoulder. “But it’ll be a real voyage this time, Odysseus. We’ll be going the whole length of the Great Gulf—not just taking the short crossing to Ithaca.”
Autolycus and the captain had finished their conversation and joined the boys.
“Real voyage, eh?” said the captain, his broad face wreathed by a scraggly beard. There was a slashing scar down from his right eyebrow to his chin. “By sea is quicker. Safer too. You never know what sort of robbers you might run into by the road. Begging your pardon, Autolycus, but you’re—”
“A thief, not a robber.” Autolycus clapped the captain on the back to show he held no hard feelings. “A fine distinction from a seaman who has done some pirating of his own!”
“The sea has its own dangers,” Odysseus mused.
Mentor noted that he sounded more hopeful than scared.
“A few,” Tros agreed, fingering the scar on his cheek. “But we know how to handle them.”
“My soothsayer consulted the oracles not once but twice for this trip,” Autolycus said. “He assures me that you’ll have good weather, calm seas, and a fruitful voyage. And I’ll hold Captain Tros responsible if you don’t.”
“Hold the gods responsible for the seas, not me!” Tros retorted. “I assure you we’ll take proper care of your young princeling.”
“You will indeed—or have me to answer to!” Autolycus warned.
Odysseus made a face.
“Try not to be too disappointed, grandson,” said Autolycus.
Two days later, as Mentor bent over the side of the ship, the last of his breakfast disappearing into the white-capped waves, Odysseus laughed. “So much for Grandfather’s soothsayer.”