her. As he approached, three of the pigs darted away from him, but the woman made a whistling sound and they stopped and turned.
“Welcome to my campfire, Circe,” Odysseus said. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Save the flattery, king of Ithaka.” She gazed at the
Penelope
with baleful eyes, then gave a harsh laugh. “I hope you are getting a sack of gold for your troubles,” she said. “You will earn it. My little ones will not be happy at sea.”
“They seem docile enough to me.”
“Because I am with them. When Portheos first approached me with this idea, I thought him simple in the head. When you rejected his plan, I assumed it was because of your greater intelligence.” She gazed around the beach. “Where is he, by the way?”
“Died in his sleep back home.”
Kalliades heard the old woman make a clucking sound. She shook her head. “So young. A man of such laughter should live to a great age.” She looked at Odysseus and remained silent for a while. “So,” she said at last, “why did you change your mind about the plan?”
“It is merely trade. Oristhenes no longer has pigs. A pig breeder without pigs has no purpose in life.”
“Have you considered
why
no one else is bringing him live pigs?”
“What others do or don’t do is not my concern.” A large black boar began snuffling at Odysseus’ feet, nudging its snout against his bare leg. Odysseus tried to push it away with his foot.
“He likes you,” Circe said.
“I like him, too. I am sure we will be fast friends. You have any advice for me?”
“Carry plenty of water to swill down the decks. And a few splints for the broken bones your crew will suffer if the pigs panic and break through your enclosure. If you reach Oristhenes’ island without mishap, ensure that Ganny here”—she tapped the big black boar with her staff—“is the first one you lower to the beach. The others will gather around him. If Ganny is content, you will have little trouble. If he is not, there will be mayhem.”
Kalliades saw that Piria also had moved away from the campfire and was sitting alone on a boulder. He walked across to her. She looked up but did not offer a greeting.
“Why are there pigs on the beach?” she asked.
“Odysseus is taking them to another island.”
“We are to travel with pigs?”
“It would seem so.” The silence between them grew, then Kalliades asked, “You wish to be alone?”
“You can have no idea of how much I wish to be alone, Kalliades. But I am not alone. I am surrounded by men—and pigs. Not a great deal of difference there,” she added scornfully.
He turned away, but she called after him. “Wait! I am sorry, Kalliades. I was not referring to you. You have been kind to me and—so far—true to your word.”
“Many men are,” he said, seating himself on a rock close by. “I have seen cruelty. I have seen kindness. Sometimes I have seen cruel men being kind and kind men being cruel. I do not understand it. I do know, though, that all men are not like the pirates who took you. You see that old man there?” He pointed to a white-haired figure standing back from the crew and watching the pigs being herded toward the
Penelope.
He was tall and stooped and wore a cloak of blue over a dark gold-embroidered tunic.
“What of him?”
“That is Nestor of Pylos. When I was a child, I worked in his flax fields. I was a slave and the son of a slave. The king has many sons. Every one of them was sent to work among the slaves in the fields for a full season. Their hands bled; their backs ached. My mother told me the king did this so that his sons would understand the harshness of life beyond the palace and not be scornful of those who worked in the fields. Nestor himself journeyed through his lands, talking to those who labored for him, seeing that they were well fed and clothed. He is a good man.”
“Who still owns slaves,” she said.
Kalliades was bemused by the comment. “Of course he owns
“Welcome to my campfire, Circe,” Odysseus said. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Save the flattery, king of Ithaka.” She gazed at the
Penelope
with baleful eyes, then gave a harsh laugh. “I hope you are getting a sack of gold for your troubles,” she said. “You will earn it. My little ones will not be happy at sea.”
“They seem docile enough to me.”
“Because I am with them. When Portheos first approached me with this idea, I thought him simple in the head. When you rejected his plan, I assumed it was because of your greater intelligence.” She gazed around the beach. “Where is he, by the way?”
“Died in his sleep back home.”
Kalliades heard the old woman make a clucking sound. She shook her head. “So young. A man of such laughter should live to a great age.” She looked at Odysseus and remained silent for a while. “So,” she said at last, “why did you change your mind about the plan?”
“It is merely trade. Oristhenes no longer has pigs. A pig breeder without pigs has no purpose in life.”
“Have you considered
why
no one else is bringing him live pigs?”
“What others do or don’t do is not my concern.” A large black boar began snuffling at Odysseus’ feet, nudging its snout against his bare leg. Odysseus tried to push it away with his foot.
“He likes you,” Circe said.
“I like him, too. I am sure we will be fast friends. You have any advice for me?”
“Carry plenty of water to swill down the decks. And a few splints for the broken bones your crew will suffer if the pigs panic and break through your enclosure. If you reach Oristhenes’ island without mishap, ensure that Ganny here”—she tapped the big black boar with her staff—“is the first one you lower to the beach. The others will gather around him. If Ganny is content, you will have little trouble. If he is not, there will be mayhem.”
Kalliades saw that Piria also had moved away from the campfire and was sitting alone on a boulder. He walked across to her. She looked up but did not offer a greeting.
“Why are there pigs on the beach?” she asked.
“Odysseus is taking them to another island.”
“We are to travel with pigs?”
“It would seem so.” The silence between them grew, then Kalliades asked, “You wish to be alone?”
“You can have no idea of how much I wish to be alone, Kalliades. But I am not alone. I am surrounded by men—and pigs. Not a great deal of difference there,” she added scornfully.
He turned away, but she called after him. “Wait! I am sorry, Kalliades. I was not referring to you. You have been kind to me and—so far—true to your word.”
“Many men are,” he said, seating himself on a rock close by. “I have seen cruelty. I have seen kindness. Sometimes I have seen cruel men being kind and kind men being cruel. I do not understand it. I do know, though, that all men are not like the pirates who took you. You see that old man there?” He pointed to a white-haired figure standing back from the crew and watching the pigs being herded toward the
Penelope.
He was tall and stooped and wore a cloak of blue over a dark gold-embroidered tunic.
“What of him?”
“That is Nestor of Pylos. When I was a child, I worked in his flax fields. I was a slave and the son of a slave. The king has many sons. Every one of them was sent to work among the slaves in the fields for a full season. Their hands bled; their backs ached. My mother told me the king did this so that his sons would understand the harshness of life beyond the palace and not be scornful of those who worked in the fields. Nestor himself journeyed through his lands, talking to those who labored for him, seeing that they were well fed and clothed. He is a good man.”
“Who still owns slaves,” she said.
Kalliades was bemused by the comment. “Of course he owns
Similar Books
