The Adventures of Ulysses
Read The Adventures of Ulysses Online
Authors: Bernard Evslin
Bernard Evslin
for Hirsh W. Stalberg, voyager on other seas.
From Ancient Myths to Modern English
T
HE ADVENTURES OF ULYSSES
begin many years before the opening of this book. He was the master strategist of the Greek forces in their war against Troy, the war that started with an apple, ended with a horse, and was fought by a thousand kings for the love of a single woman. It left an ancient city in flames that still burn in man’s imagination after three thousand years.
The war started when Peleus, mightiest hero of his time, was married to Thetis, the most beautiful naiad that ever sported among the waves or fled the embrace of Poseidon. It was a magnificent wedding, attended by all the gods on Olympus. Unfortunately, however, Thetis had neglected to send an invitation to Eris, Lady of Discord and sister to the God of War. It was an omission that was to cost a river of blood. For Eris came without invitation and threw upon the banquet table a golden apple inscribed “To The Fairest.” Mischievous words! The apple was claimed immediately by Hera (Queen of the Gods), Athene (Goddess of Wisdom), and Aphrodite (Goddess of Love).
The feud between the three goddesses waxed so bitter that no god dared attempt mediation but passed judgment on to Paris, a shepherd boy of Troy, the son of King Priam, whose royal birth had been kept secret. Paris was said to be the most beautiful of all the lads of the Inner Sea.
Bribes came his way immediately. Hera offered him power, promising to make him the mightiest king the world had ever seen. Athene offered him wisdom. All the lore of heaven and earth, and all the lore beyond death, too—all that has been written and spoken, and also that too secret to be uttered, would be his. Aphrodite said little. She came close to him and whispered in his ear. When she had finished whispering, he gave her the apple. She smiled and kissed him. Hera and Athene flew off, screaming their rage.
What the Goddess Aphrodite had whispered to Paris was a promise—that he should have any woman he looked upon with desire. She then recommended the most desirable, a Spartan queen named Helen, who the goddess said was the mortal most resembling herself. In fact, Helen was by way of being a relative, for she had been born of Leda, who had been loved by Zeus disguised as a swan, and so she herself had the radiant stature of the gods, a swan’s soft muscularity, and her mother’s eyes. Paris straightaway gave up being a shepherd and resumed his rank as Prince of Troy. He demanded of his doting father a treasure ship and a piratical crew. Thereupon he sailed to Sparta on a diplomatic mission to King Menelaus, Helen’s husband. Paris and Helen met at a state banquet. By dawn she was aboard his ship and it was sailing for Troy.
Now, Helen had been courted by all the kings and princes of the Greek islands. Her father had hesitated long before allowing her to accept any suitor. He was afraid that the rejected suitors would band together to destroy the successful one—and himself and his kingdom in the bargain. So Helen flirted with them all, encouraged them all, and accepted none. Finally, Ulysses, who was one of the suitors, offered a plan. All Helen’s admirers would swear a mighty oath to refrain from murdering the successful suitor and would join to defend Helen and her husband—whoever he might be—against any attack.
Thereupon Helen chose Menelaus, King of Sparta, most powerful of the Greek chieftains. Thus it was that when Paris made off with Helen, a thousand kings were summoned to keep their oath. They assembled a huge fleet and sailed for Troy.
The Greeks camped outside the walls of Troy, and for ten years tried to fight their way into the city. But the walls were strong and the Trojans brave. The defenders were led by King Priam’s fifty warrior sons. The great Hector was their chief. And even after Hector was killed by the Greek hero, Achilles, the Trojans refused to be defeated—until they were tricked into defeating themselves.
The author of that fatal trick was Ulysses, sharpest tactician among the invaders. The Greeks pretended to lift their siege. They struck their tents, boarded their ships, and sailed around a headland out of sight, where they anchored and waited until nightfall. Behind them on the beach they had left a giant wooden horse. The Trojans reacted just as Ulysses had calculated. They began to celebrate and quickly lost their wits. They thought the wooden horse an offering to Poseidon, God of the Sea, and dragged it through the gates into the city, so as to anger Poseidon against the Greeks and spoil the voyage home. But the wooden horse was hollow, and so artfully made that Ulysses and a company of armed warriors were able to hide inside and remain undetected as the horse was rolled into the city. That night, as Troy slept, the Greeks crawled out of their hiding place, killed the Trojan sentries, and opened the gates to the Greek army, which had sailed back in the darkness.
It was a complete surprise. Troy was taken, its fighting men slaughtered, its women and children enslaved. Then Ulysses sailed for home, his three ships loaded with booty. But victory never comes cheap. Poseidon’s anger had indeed been kindled. He roused the winds and tides against Ulysses and sent word to island ogres and monsters of the deep.
And for ten long years the great voyager had to battle his way through the worst perils that the imagination of an offended god could devise.
This is the story of that voyage.
A
FTER TROY WAS BURNED
, Ulysses sailed for home with three ships holding fifty men each.
Three thousand years ago ships were very different; through the years they have changed much more than the men who sail them.
These beaked warships used by the pirate kingdoms of the Middle Sea were like no vessels you have ever seen. Imagine a very long narrow rowboat with twenty oars on each side. The timbers of the bow curve sharply to a prow, and this prow grows longer and sharper, becomes in fact a long, polished shaft tipped by a knife-edged brass spearhead. This was called the ram, the chief weapon of ancient warships.
In battle, the opposing ships spun about each other, swooping forward, twirling on their beams, darting backward, their narrow hulls allowing them to backwater very swiftly. The object was to ram the enemy before he rammed you. And to ram first was the only defense, for the brass beak of the ramming ship sheared easily through the timbers of its victim, knocking a huge hole in the hull and sinking it before its men could jump overboard.
These warships were also equipped with sail and mast—used only for voyaging, never in battle—a square sail, and a short mast, held fast by oxhide stays. The sail was raised only for a fair wind, or could be tilted slightly for a quartering wind, but was useless against headwinds.
This meant that these ships were almost always at the mercy of the weather and were often blown off course. Another thing that made them unfit for long voyages was the lack of cargo space. Only a few days’ supply of food and water could be carried, leaving space for no other cargo. That is why these fighting ships tried to hug the coast and avoid the open sea.
Ulysses’ problem was made worse by victory. When Troy was sacked, he and his men captured a huge booty—gold and jewels, silks, furs—and after ten years of war, the men refused to leave any loot behind. This meant that each of his ships could carry food and water for a very few days.
This greed for treasure caused many of his troubles at first. But then troubles came so thick and fast that no one could tell what caused them; hardships were simply called bad luck, or the anger of the gods.
But bad luck makes good stories.
T
HE VOYAGE BEGAN PEACEFULLY
. A fair northeast wind blew, filling the sails of the little fleet and pushing it steadily homeward. The wind freshened at night, and the three ships scudded along joyfully under a fat moon.
On the morning of the second day Ulysses saw a blue haze of smoke and a glint of white stone. He put in toward shore and saw a beautiful little town. The men stared in amazement at this city without walls, rich with green parks and grazing cattle, its people strolling about in white tunics. Ten years of war had made Ulysses’ men as savage as wolves. Everyone not a shipmate was an enemy. To meet was to fight; property belonged to the winner.
Ulysses stood in the bow, shading his eyes with his hand, gazing at the city. A tough, crafty old warrior named Eurylochus stood beside him.
“We attack, do we not?” he asked. “The city lies there defenseless. We can take it without losing a man.”
“Yes, it looks tempting,” said Ulysses. “But the wind blows fair, and good fortune attends us. Perhaps it will spoil our luck to stop.”
“But this fat little city has been thrown into our laps by the gods, too,” said Eurylochus, “and they grow angry when men refuse their gifts. It would be bad luck
not
to attack.”
Ulysses heard the fierce murmur of his men behind him and felt their greed burning in his veins. He hailed the other ships and gave orders, and the three black-hulled vessels swerved toward shore and nosed into the harbor, swooping down upon the white city like wolves upon a sheepfold.
They landed on the beach. The townsfolk fled before them into the hills. Ulysses did not allow his men to pursue them, for there was no room on the ship for slaves. From house to house the armed men went, helping themselves to whatever they wanted. Afterward they piled the booty in great heaps upon the beach.
Then Ulysses had them round up a herd of the plump, swaying, crook-horned cattle, and offer ten bulls in sacrifice to the gods. Later they built huge bonfires on the beach, roasted the cattle, and had a great feast.
But while the looting and feasting was going on, the men of the city had withdrawn into the hills and called together their kinsmen of the villages, the Ciconians, and began preparing for battle. They were skillful fighters, these men of the hills. They drove brass war chariots that had long blades attached to the wheels, and these blades whirled swiftly as the wheels turned, scything down the foe.
They gathered by the thousands, an overwhelming force, and stormed down out of the hills onto the beach. Ulysses’ men were full of food and wine, unready to fight, but he had posted sentries, who raised a shout when they saw the Ciconians coming down from the hills in the moonlight. Ulysses raged among his men, slapping them with the flat of his sword, driving the fumes of wine out of their heads. His great racketing battle cry roused those he could not whip with his sword.
The men closed ranks and met the Ciconians at spearpoint. The Hellenes retreated slowly, leaving their treasure where it was heaped upon the beach and, keeping their line unbroken, made for their ships.
Ulysses chose two of his strongest men and bade them lift a thick timber upon their shoulders. He sat astride this timber, high enough to shoot his arrows over the heads of his men. He was the most skillful archer since Heracles. He aimed only at the chariot horses, and aimed not to kill, but to cripple, so that the horses fell in their traces, and their furious flailing and kicking broke the enemy’s advance.
Thus the Hellenes were able to reach their ships, roll them into the water, leap into the rowers’ benches, and row away. But eighteen men were left dead on the beach—six from each ship—and there was scarcely a man unwounded.
Eurylochus threw himself on his knees before Ulysses and said:
“I advised you badly, O Chief. We have angered the gods. Perhaps, if you kill me, they will be appeased.”