Lacuna 7: Take In the Spectacle Sound of It All
For the love of Poseidon and all the gods, what had Captain Dunam, called the great-hearted, done to deserve this?
Dunam paced the length and breadth of his narrow cabin. Though really it was as much a shrine as a cabin; this was where the captain made plans as to how best to honor Poseidon, and the sea-god's influence showed in the paintings and carvings that decorated the room. Dunam liked having them there. They reminded him that his god saw all he did, and that his pious works would be rewarded.
Only today, for the first time since his commander Achilles had been felled at Troy, Dunam did not feel that Poseidon was with him. He would almost have said that Poseidon had been acting erratically, if the thought alone had not carried intolerable undertones of hubris. Only a week ago the wind had been blowing strong at the Eriphyle's stern, guiding the ship towards Ithaca with a gentle but firm hand. Since then... well, the reversal had been complete.
First there had been the phantom ship. It had flown at the Eriphyle at full sail; every mariner had been terrified, and even the rats began throwing themselves overboard. In desperation the captain had turned to his priest, Brother ChinDoGu of the sober jests, for help. ChinDoGu had knelt and prayed like no man the captain had ever seen, and just as the ghostly craft was about to fall on the Eriphyle, it evaporated like so much mist. Dunam, of course, was relieved at its disappearance; but worry about its origin gnawed at his gut. Why had that ship, for the few moments he'd been close enough to see it clearly, looked so familiar? And why, moreover, had Brother ChinDoGu been so shaken and affected ever since? It was demoralizing the crew, and Dunam knew Poseidon did not look well on malcontents. What had ChinDoGu seen in his religious trance?
Such concerns had been lifted from the captain's mind soon thereafter, however, when the wind -- Poseidon's wind -- had ceased to blow. At first Dunam assumed that Poseidon's divine business had distracted him from the Eriphyle; but as the days wore on, he began to wonder whether the god even remembered they were there. Concerned, he had once again turned to his trusted priest for guidance, and the priest gave him a name.
Keitalia. The Odyssey's oracle, the crazy old second-sighted one, had prayed to Poseidon to retard the Eriphyle's progress. Normally Dunam wouldn't have cared; everyone knew the seer was as balmy as Cassandra. What bothered him was that Poseidon had listened! By what right... Dunam stopped himself. For what reason -- surely a just one, but none the less inscrutable for that -- had Poseidon taken away the wind at her behest? Unless it had been coincidence that the wind had died when it did. There would be vengeance, oh yes, there would be vengeance.
And now, to compound injury upon injury, Dunam had just returned from a resupplying expedition (that he'd been forced to go on by the lack of wind, he thought bitterly) during which half his men had nearly been enchanted by the sorceress of the island. Oh, she'd been pleasant enough once Dunam had used his masculine wiles on her; but the news she'd delivered would have been hard for any hero to bear.
"Really," Dunam thought. "I've heard of taking the long way back -- but through Hell?"
Dunam paced the length and breadth of his narrow cabin. Though really it was as much a shrine as a cabin; this was where the captain made plans as to how best to honor Poseidon, and the sea-god's influence showed in the paintings and carvings that decorated the room. Dunam liked having them there. They reminded him that his god saw all he did, and that his pious works would be rewarded.
Only today, for the first time since his commander Achilles had been felled at Troy, Dunam did not feel that Poseidon was with him. He would almost have said that Poseidon had been acting erratically, if the thought alone had not carried intolerable undertones of hubris. Only a week ago the wind had been blowing strong at the Eriphyle's stern, guiding the ship towards Ithaca with a gentle but firm hand. Since then... well, the reversal had been complete.
First there had been the phantom ship. It had flown at the Eriphyle at full sail; every mariner had been terrified, and even the rats began throwing themselves overboard. In desperation the captain had turned to his priest, Brother ChinDoGu of the sober jests, for help. ChinDoGu had knelt and prayed like no man the captain had ever seen, and just as the ghostly craft was about to fall on the Eriphyle, it evaporated like so much mist. Dunam, of course, was relieved at its disappearance; but worry about its origin gnawed at his gut. Why had that ship, for the few moments he'd been close enough to see it clearly, looked so familiar? And why, moreover, had Brother ChinDoGu been so shaken and affected ever since? It was demoralizing the crew, and Dunam knew Poseidon did not look well on malcontents. What had ChinDoGu seen in his religious trance?
Such concerns had been lifted from the captain's mind soon thereafter, however, when the wind -- Poseidon's wind -- had ceased to blow. At first Dunam assumed that Poseidon's divine business had distracted him from the Eriphyle; but as the days wore on, he began to wonder whether the god even remembered they were there. Concerned, he had once again turned to his trusted priest for guidance, and the priest gave him a name.
Keitalia. The Odyssey's oracle, the crazy old second-sighted one, had prayed to Poseidon to retard the Eriphyle's progress. Normally Dunam wouldn't have cared; everyone knew the seer was as balmy as Cassandra. What bothered him was that Poseidon had listened! By what right... Dunam stopped himself. For what reason -- surely a just one, but none the less inscrutable for that -- had Poseidon taken away the wind at her behest? Unless it had been coincidence that the wind had died when it did. There would be vengeance, oh yes, there would be vengeance.
And now, to compound injury upon injury, Dunam had just returned from a resupplying expedition (that he'd been forced to go on by the lack of wind, he thought bitterly) during which half his men had nearly been enchanted by the sorceress of the island. Oh, she'd been pleasant enough once Dunam had used his masculine wiles on her; but the news she'd delivered would have been hard for any hero to bear.
"Really," Dunam thought. "I've heard of taking the long way back -- but through Hell?"
<< Home