The Adventures of Ulysses (6 page)

Ulysses said to his men: “You hear the story Eurylochus tells. I must go to the castle and see what has happened to your companions. But there is no need for you to risk yourselves. You stay here. And if I do not return by sunfall tomorrow, then you must board the ship and sail away, for you will know that I am dead.”

The men wept and pleaded with him not to go, but he said: “I have sworn an oath that I will never leave another man behind if there is any way I can prevent it. Farewell, dear friends.”

It was dawn by the time he found himself among the oak trees near the castle. He heard the first faint howling of the animals in the courtyard. And as he walked through the rose and gray light, a figure started up before him—a slender youth in golden breastplates and a golden hat with wings on it, holding a golden staff. Ulysses fell to his knees.

“Why do you kneel, venerable sir?” said the youth. “You are older than I, and a mighty warrior. You should not kneel.”

“Ah, pardon,” cried Ulysses. “I have sharp eyes for some things. Behind your youth—so fair—I see time itself stretching to the beginning of things. Behind your slenderness I sense the power of a god. Sweet youth, beautiful lad, I know you. You are Hermes, the swift one, the messenger god. I pray you have come with good tidings for me, because I fear that I have offended the gods, or one of them anyway, and he has vowed vengeance upon me.”

“It is true,” said Hermes. “Somebody up there doesn’t like you. Can’t say who, not ethical, you know. But if you
should
suspect that he may have something to do with the management of sea matters, well, you’re a good guesser, that’s all.”

“Poseidon … I have offended Poseidon,” muttered Ulysses, “the terrible one, the earth shaker.”

“Well,” said Hermes, “what do you expect? That unpleasant Cyclops whom you first blinded, then taunted, is Poseidon’s son, you know. Not a son to be proud of, but blood is thicker than water, as they say, even in the god of the sea. So Polyphemus tattled to his father and asked him to do dreadful things to you, which, I’m afraid, he’s been doing. Now, this castle you’re going to is Circe’s and she is a very dangerous person to meet—a sorceress, a doer of magical mischief. And she is waiting for you, Ulysses. She sits at her loom, weaving, waiting. For you. She has already entertained your shipmates. Fed them. Watched them making pigs of themselves. And, finally, she helped them on their way a bit. In brief, they are now in a sty, being fattened. And one day they will make a most excellent meal for someone not too fussy. Among Circe’s guests are many peculiar feeders.”

“Thunder and lightning!” cried Ulysses. “What can I do!”

“Listen and learn,” said Hermes. “I have come to help you. Poseidon’s wrath does not please all of us, you know. We gods have our moods, and they’re not always kind, but somehow or other we must keep things balanced. And so I have come to help you. You must do exactly as I say, or nothing can help you. Now listen closely. First, take this.”

He snapped his fingers and a flower appeared between them. It was white and heavily scented, with a black and yellow root. He gave it to Ulysses.

“It is called
moly
,” he said. “It is magical. So long as you carry it, Circe’s drugs will not work. You will go to the castle. She will greet you and feed you. You will eat the food which, to her amazement, will leave you unharmed. Then you will draw your sword and advance upon her as though you meant to kill her. Then she will see that you have certain powers and will begin to plead with you. She will unveil enchantments more powerful than any she has yet used. Resist them you cannot, nor can any man, nor any god. Nor is there any counterspell that will work against such beauty. But if you wish to see your home again, if you wish to rescue your shipmates from the sty, you must resist her long enough to make her swear the great oath of the immortals—that she will not do you any harm as long as you are her guest. That is all I can do for you. From now on, it is up to you. We shall be watching you with interest. Farewell.” The golden youth disappeared just as a ray of sunlight does when a cloud crosses the face of the sun. Ulysses shook his head, wondering whether he had really seen the god or imagined him, but then he saw that he was still holding the curious flower, and he knew that Hermes had indeed been there. So he marched on toward the castle, through the pack of lions and wolves, who leaped about him, fawning, looking at him with their great intelligent eyes and trying to warn him in their snarling, growling voices. He stroked their heads, passed among them, and went into the castle.

And here, he found Circe, sitting at her loom, weaving and singing. She wore a white tunic now and a flame-colored scarf and was as beautiful as the dawn. She stood up and greeted him, saying:

“Welcome, stranger. I live here alone and seldom see anyone and almost never have guests. So you are triply welcome, great sea-stained warrior, for I know that you have seen battle and adventure and have tales to tell.”

She drew him a warm, perfumed bath, and her servants bathed and anointed him and gave him clean garments to wear. When he came to her, she gave him a red bowl full of yellow food and said, “Eat.” The food smelled delicious; its fragrance was intoxicating. Ulysses felt that he wanted to plunge his face into it and grub it up like a pig, but he held the flower tightly, kept control of himself, and ate slowly. He did not quite finish the food. “Delicious,” he said. “Your own recipe?”

“Yes,” she said. “Will you not finish?”

“I am not quite so hungry as I thought”

“Then drink. Here’s wine.” She turned her back to him as she poured the wine, and he knew that she was casting a powder in it. He smiled to himself and drank off the wine, then said: “Delicious. Your own grapes?”

“You look weary, stranger,” she said. “Sit and talk with me.”

“Gladly,” said Ulysses. “We have much to speak of, you and I. I’m something of a farmer myself. I breed cattle on my own little island of Ithaca, where I’m king—when I’m home. Won’t you show me your livestock?”

“Livestock? I keep no cattle here.”

“Oh, do you not? I fancied I heard pigs squealing out there. Must have been mistaken.”

“Yes,” said Circe. “Badly mistaken.”

“But you do have interesting animals. I was much struck by the wolves and lions who course in a pack like dogs—very friendly for such savage beasts.”

“I have taught them to be friendly,” said Circe. “I am friendly myself, you see, and I like all the members of my household to share my goodwill.”

“Their eyes,” said Ulysses. “I was struck by their eyes—so big and sad and clever. You know, as I think of it, they looked like … human eyes.”

“Did they?” said Circe. “Well—the eyes go last.”

She came to him swiftly, raised her wand, touched him on the shoulder, and said: “Change, change, change! Turn, turn, turn!”

Nothing happened. Her eyes widened when she saw him sitting there, unchanged, sniffing at the flower he had taken from his tunic. He took the wand from her gently and snapped it in two. Then drawing his sword, he seized her by her long golden hair and forced her to her knees, pulling her head until her white throat was offered the blade of the sword. Then he said: “You have not asked me my name. It is Ulysses. I am an unlucky man but not altogether helpless. You have changed my men into pigs. Now I will change you into a corpse.”

She did not flinch before the blade. Her great blue eyes looked into his. She took the sharp blade in her hand, stroked it gentry, and said:

“It is almost worth dying to be overcome by so mighty a warrior. But I think living might be interesting, too, now that I have met you.”

He felt her fingers burning the cold metal of the sword as if the blade had become part of his body. He tried to turn his head but sank deeper into the blueness of her eyes.

“Yes, I am a sorceress,” she murmured, “a wicked woman. But you are a sorcerer, too, are you not? Changing me more than I have changed your men, for I changed only their bodies and you have changed my soul. It is no longer a wicked plotting soul but soft and tender and womanly, full of love for you.”

Her voice throbbed. She stroked the sword blade. He raised her to her feet and said:

“You are beautiful enough to turn any man into an animal. I will love you. But even before I am a man, I am a leader. My men are my responsibility. Before we can love each other I must ask you to swear the great oath that you will not harm me when I am defenseless, that you will not wound me and suck away my blood as witches do, but will treat me honestly, and that, first of all, you will restore my men to their own forms and let me take them with me when I am ready to leave.”

“I will try to see that you are never ready,” said Circe softly.

Circe kept her promise. The next morning she took Ulysses out to the sty and called the pigs. They came trotting up, snuffing and grunting. As they streamed past her, rushing to Ulysses, she touched each one on the shoulder with her wand. As she did so, each pig stood up, his hind legs grew longer, his front hooves became hands, his eyes grew, his nose shrank, his quills softened into hair, and he was his human self once more, only grown taller and younger.

The men crowded around Ulysses, shouting and laughing. He said to them: “Welcome, my friends. You have gone a short but ugly voyage to the animal state. And while you have returned—looking very well—it is clear that we are in a place of sorceries and must conduct ourselves with great care. Our enchanting hostess, Circe, has become so fond of our company that she insists we stay awhile. This, indeed, is the price of your release from hogdom. So you will now go down to your shipmates on the beach and tell them what has happened. Ask them to secure the ship and then return here with you to the castle. It is another delay in our journey, but it is far better than what might have been. Go, then.”

The men trooped happily down to the harbor and told the others what had happened. At first, Eurylochus protested. “How do I know,” he said, “That you are not still under enchantment? How do I know that this is not some new trick of the sorceress to get us all into her power, turn us all to pigs, and keep us in the sty forever?”

But the other men paid no heed to his warning. They were eager to see the castle and the beautiful witch, to taste the delicious food, and enjoy all the luxuries their friends had described. So they obeyed Ulysses’ commands. They dragged the ship up on the beach, beyond reach of the tide, unstepped its mast, then marched off laughing and singing toward the castle, carrying mast and oars and folded sail. Eurylochus followed, but he was afraid.

For some time, things went well. Ulysses and Circe lived as husband and wife. The men were treated as welcome guests. They feasted for hours each night in the great dining hall. And as they ate, they were entertained by minstrels singing, by acrobats, dancing bears, and dancing girls. During the day they swam in the ocean, hunted wild boar, threw the discus, had archery and spear-throwing contests, raced, jumped, and wrestled. Then as dusk drew in they returned to the castle for their warm, perfumed baths and bowls of hot wine before the feasting began again.

As for Ulysses, he found himself falling deeper under Circe’s spell every day. Thoughts of home were dim now. He barely remembered his wife’s face. Sometimes he would think of days gone by and wonder when he could shake off this enchantment and resume his voyage. Then she would look at him. And her eyes, like blue flame, burned these pictures out of his head. Then he could not rest until he was within the scent of her hair, the touch of her hand. And he would whimper impatiently like a dog dreaming, shake his head, and go to her.

“It
is
most curious,” she said. “But I love you more than all my other husbands.”

“In the name of heaven, how many have you had?” he cried.

“Ah, don’t say it like that. Not so many, when you consider. I have been a frequent widow, it is true. But, please understand, I am god-descended on both sides. I am immortal and cannot die. I have lived since the beginning of things.”

“Yes. How many husbands have you had?”

“Please, my dear, be fair. Gods have loved me, and satyrs and fauns and centaurs, and other creatures who do not die. But I, I have always had a taste for humankind. My favorite husbands have been men, human men. They, you see, grow old so quickly, and I am alone again. And time grows heavy and breeds mischief.”

“How many husbands have you buried, dear widow?”

“Buried? Why, none.”

“I see. You cremate them.”

“I do not let them die. I cannot bear dead things. Especially if they are things I have loved. Of all nature’s transformations, death seems to me the most stupid. No, I do not let them die. I change them into animals, and they roam this beautiful island forevermore. And I see them every day and feed them with my own hand.”

“That explains those wolves and lions in the courtyard, I suppose.”

“Ah, they are only the best, the cream, the mightiest warriors of ages gone. But I have had lesser husbands. They are now rabbits, squirrels, boars, cats, spiders, frogs, and monkeys. That little fellow there”—she pointed to a silvery little ape who was prancing and gibbering on top of the bedpost—“he who pelts you with walnut shells every night. He was very jealous, very busy and jealous, and still is. I picked their forms, you see, to match their dispositions. Is it not thoughtful of me?”

“Tell me,” said Ulysses, “when I am used up, will I be good enough to join your select band of wolves and lions, or will I be something less? A toad, perhaps, or a snail?”

“A fox, undoubtedly,” she said. “With your swiftness and your cunning ways—oh, yes, a fox. A king of foxes.” She stroked his beard. “But you are the only man who ever withstood my spells,” she said. “You are my conqueror, a unique hero. It is not your fate to stay with me. It is not my happy fate to arrange your last hours.”

“Is it not?” said Ulysses.

“No,” she said. “Unless you can wipe out of your mind all thoughts of home. Unless you can erase all dreams of battle and voyage, unless you can forget your men and release me from my oath and let them become animals, contented animals, then and then only, can you remain with me as husband forever. And I will give you of my immortality. Yes, that can be arranged. I know how. You will share my immortality and live days of sport and idleness and nights of love. And we will live together always, knowing no other, and we will never grow old.”