Free Odysseus in the Serpent Maze by Robert J. Harris Page B

hull. A small wind teased into the sail, filled it, and—to their delight—the boat began to skim across the water.
    “We’re away!” Mentor shouted.
    Screaming seabirds wheeled overhead, cheering them on.
    Penelope grinned up at them, but Helen turned her head to one side and contemplated the endless sea.
    It was some time later when Helen made her way to the little stern, where Odysseus and Mentor were taking turns trying to use the club as a makeshift steering oar.
    “So,” Helen purred to Odysseus, “ you are the prince.”
    Odysseus nodded.
    “And your father is king of Attica?”
    “Ithaca. It’s an island off the coast of—”
    “I’ve never heard of it,” Helen said dismissively. She pushed her curls back from her forehead. “Does he own a lot of ships?”
    Odysseus paused to calculate. His father’s fleet numbered about a dozen. “Quite a lot,” he said.
    “Well,” Helen said, “my father is King Tyndareus of Sparta, and he has hundreds and hundreds of ships. Right now they’re all scouring the seas for me.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Odysseus muttered.
    Mentor cleared his throat. “Ummm, Helen, I come from one of Ithaca’s noblest families. We have many slaves and many hectares of land, and my father fought at Thebes and—”
    Helen sighed loudly, effectively silencing him. “How long have we been drifting, Prince Odysseus? It feels like forever.”
    Joining them, Penelope replied, “Only half a day. See—the sun is just past the—”
    “I’m sure you’re wrong,” Helen said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be so hungry. And so thirsty.” She reached for the water jar.
    “You know we agreed on two swallows each a day, to conserve our supply,” Penelope said, putting a hand over the top of the krater.
    “Well, a drop then, just to moisten my face. Even the pirates allowed that. I’m turning into a dried olive.”
    “You look lovely to me,” Mentor assured her.
    Odysseus stifled a groan. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to throw overboard first. Helen was insufferable, but Mentor was an embarrassment to Ithacan manhood. Only Penelope seemed to have any sense. Sense was what was needed on a voyage like this.
    “Pig herder or prince,” Penelope said suddenly, “what we really need is a good pilot. Do you have any idea where we are?”
    Odysseus rubbed his chin and wished he were old enough to have started a beard already. He made a show of scrutinising the horizon. There was no sign of land or a friendly sail, but at least the pirates had not caught up to them. Yet.
    “From the sun’s position, I believe we’ve been drifting southeast,” he said with authority, though he hadn’t any idea where they’d begun. A deep crease appeared between his eyes.
    “Where will that take us?” Penelope asked. There was a look in her eye that told him she guessed how little he knew.
    “Far away from anywhere we want to be,” he told her honestly. He hadn’t meant to say that. It just popped out.
    “Great!” Helen said. She made her way to the front of the little boat. Mentor followed.
    The day dragged on and on. They were now so far from any land, there were no longer gulls calling above them.
    Helen dozed, which at least meant that she was quiet. Mentor huddled near her, as if he could translate closeness into warmth. Penelope sat in the bow of the boat, keeping her own counsel. Odysseus was sure that she hated him. He wasn’t sure he liked her very much, either. It’s hard to like someone who has figured out your weaknesses.
    There was little wind, and so the patchwork sail hung forlornly from the mast. The hot sun, the rocking waves, the silence in the sky soon had them all dozing fitfully.
    Suddenly Odysseus jerked awake and gave a cry. Heading towards them was a wall of sea mist, looking like the gossamer skirts of a giant goddess. Something about the mist made him uncomfortable.
    His cry wakened first Penelope, then Mentor.
    Helen stirred slowly, her eyelids fluttering open.