ship was swallowed by the mist once more.
“Many of her oars have gone,” Bias said. “Looks like she’s sinking.”
No one moved. They stood in a ragged line, staring out at the wall of mist. Then the stricken vessel appeared again, this time broadside on. In the moonlight they could all see the painted bull’s head on the prow.
Odysseus swore colorfully. “That’s Meriones’ ship,” he said. “By the gods, don’t just stand there, you cowsons. I have a friend in trouble.”
Instantly the crew ran to the beached
Penelope,
pushing her out, then swarming aboard. Kalliades and Banokles would have gone with them, but Odysseus, the last man to scramble onto the deck, called back to them to stay on the beach. “Set some signal fires,” he said. “Likely we’ll need some light to guide us back in.”
Odysseus ran to the foredeck and climbed to stand on the prow. The mist was so thick that he could not see the rear deck or the figure of Bias at the steering oar. Even the sound of the oars dipping into the water was muffled and distant. He heard Bias calling out a slow beat, his voice muted and distorted by the fog.
Glancing to his left, Odysseus stared hard at the shimmering mist. Somewhere close, though invisible now, was a sheer wall of rock rising from the sea. The blond giant Leukon was the lead rower on the port side. Odysseus called out to him: “Stay watchful. Remember the cliff.” They were not moving fast enough for a collision to damage the
Penelope.
The danger was to the oars.
The
Penelope
’s hull creaked and groaned as the ship scraped slowly against a line of submerged rocks. “Steady, lads!” Odysseus shouted. “Lightly now!”
He was tired, his eyes gritty, his muscles aching and bruised from the rescue of Ganny. Sucking in a deep breath, he squinted into the mist. “Can you hear me, Meriones?” he bellowed.
There was no reply, and he called out several times more. A sailor appeared alongside him, a heavy rope looped over his shoulder. Then the
Penelope
began to vibrate. Odysseus swore loudly as another earthquake shivered the sea. The water began to roil. The
Penelope
swung sharply as the undertow took her, then suddenly pitched to port. Odysseus lost his hold on the high prow and started to fall. The crewman with the rope grabbed him, hauling him back to the deck. A large wave lifted the ship, and the
Penelope
tilted sharply to starboard. Two of the rowers were thrown from their benches.
Odysseus scrambled back onto the prow. Bias was calling out urgent orders to the men, and the ship steadied. But they had been pushed back toward the cliff. It loomed out of the mist, huge and dark. Rocks began to fall into the sea, sending up great splashes all around them. Odysseus looked up. High above the
Penelope
was a massive overhang, almost as long as the
Penelope
’s keel. A large crack had appeared in it. The wind picked up, lashing the sea against the ship, driving it back toward the black wall.
“Row hard, you cowsons!” Odysseus shouted. The oars bit deeply into the heaving water, but against the power of the incoming waves the rowers were struggling just to prevent the
Penelope
from being dashed against the cliff.
A sickening groan sounded from the rock face above. Dust and rock shards tumbled down from the widening crack in the overhang, striking the deck of the
Penelope
like hailstones.
“Ramming speed!” Odysseus bellowed. There was no ram on the
Penelope,
but all the sailors knew what he meant. With all their strength they hauled on the oars. Bias took up the fast beat.
“Pull! Pull! Pull!”
The
Penelope
began to inch forward. Odysseus licked dry lips with a dry tongue, his heart hammering.
“Come on, my girl!” he said softly, patting the prow. “Bring us clear.”
Then came a thunderous crack from above—and the overhang sheared away. The passage of time ceased for Odysseus. He watched as the colossal rock broke clear and knew that the ship was doomed.
“Many of her oars have gone,” Bias said. “Looks like she’s sinking.”
No one moved. They stood in a ragged line, staring out at the wall of mist. Then the stricken vessel appeared again, this time broadside on. In the moonlight they could all see the painted bull’s head on the prow.
Odysseus swore colorfully. “That’s Meriones’ ship,” he said. “By the gods, don’t just stand there, you cowsons. I have a friend in trouble.”
Instantly the crew ran to the beached
Penelope,
pushing her out, then swarming aboard. Kalliades and Banokles would have gone with them, but Odysseus, the last man to scramble onto the deck, called back to them to stay on the beach. “Set some signal fires,” he said. “Likely we’ll need some light to guide us back in.”
Odysseus ran to the foredeck and climbed to stand on the prow. The mist was so thick that he could not see the rear deck or the figure of Bias at the steering oar. Even the sound of the oars dipping into the water was muffled and distant. He heard Bias calling out a slow beat, his voice muted and distorted by the fog.
Glancing to his left, Odysseus stared hard at the shimmering mist. Somewhere close, though invisible now, was a sheer wall of rock rising from the sea. The blond giant Leukon was the lead rower on the port side. Odysseus called out to him: “Stay watchful. Remember the cliff.” They were not moving fast enough for a collision to damage the
Penelope.
The danger was to the oars.
The
Penelope
’s hull creaked and groaned as the ship scraped slowly against a line of submerged rocks. “Steady, lads!” Odysseus shouted. “Lightly now!”
He was tired, his eyes gritty, his muscles aching and bruised from the rescue of Ganny. Sucking in a deep breath, he squinted into the mist. “Can you hear me, Meriones?” he bellowed.
There was no reply, and he called out several times more. A sailor appeared alongside him, a heavy rope looped over his shoulder. Then the
Penelope
began to vibrate. Odysseus swore loudly as another earthquake shivered the sea. The water began to roil. The
Penelope
swung sharply as the undertow took her, then suddenly pitched to port. Odysseus lost his hold on the high prow and started to fall. The crewman with the rope grabbed him, hauling him back to the deck. A large wave lifted the ship, and the
Penelope
tilted sharply to starboard. Two of the rowers were thrown from their benches.
Odysseus scrambled back onto the prow. Bias was calling out urgent orders to the men, and the ship steadied. But they had been pushed back toward the cliff. It loomed out of the mist, huge and dark. Rocks began to fall into the sea, sending up great splashes all around them. Odysseus looked up. High above the
Penelope
was a massive overhang, almost as long as the
Penelope
’s keel. A large crack had appeared in it. The wind picked up, lashing the sea against the ship, driving it back toward the black wall.
“Row hard, you cowsons!” Odysseus shouted. The oars bit deeply into the heaving water, but against the power of the incoming waves the rowers were struggling just to prevent the
Penelope
from being dashed against the cliff.
A sickening groan sounded from the rock face above. Dust and rock shards tumbled down from the widening crack in the overhang, striking the deck of the
Penelope
like hailstones.
“Ramming speed!” Odysseus bellowed. There was no ram on the
Penelope,
but all the sailors knew what he meant. With all their strength they hauled on the oars. Bias took up the fast beat.
“Pull! Pull! Pull!”
The
Penelope
began to inch forward. Odysseus licked dry lips with a dry tongue, his heart hammering.
“Come on, my girl!” he said softly, patting the prow. “Bring us clear.”
Then came a thunderous crack from above—and the overhang sheared away. The passage of time ceased for Odysseus. He watched as the colossal rock broke clear and knew that the ship was doomed.
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