Chapter 22: 21: the lord of lies

Eulises

"Tell us where you've been all this time."

"I----" I haven't been around this many people since the siege. I feel like I can't breath. I can hear metal clanging in my ears.

"This is my father, I told you," there's a pretty girl standing next to me.

"Naucissa, let the man speak. If you were a solider in the war, where have you been all this time?"

"I----I am Eulises of Ithaca, son of Laertes," I say, forcing the words out, blinking back the blood staining my vision. Not here. These people are just standing here staring at me. In a fine house. And they closed the doors. They closed the doors. We are locked in. They could do anything with me.

"I think I know that name," the man says, leaning back in his chair, "Weren't you one of the lost?"

"I---I was yes hence the reason I am---imposing on your generosity I am trying to, finally, reach home," I say.

"Aye, sit down. Rest a while; you don't look well."

"Sir," I reluctantly move to sit as his table. Everyone is eating. There is so much food. I'm sickened by the smell of it. it's probably poisoned. Could be poisoned. Definitely could be.

Aeiea didn't look very imposing either. And after our ship was dashed apart on the rocks, I was less than eager to trust it. My men (for whatever fucking reason) were less concerned, insisting on going inland to forage for any sort of food or supplies. At that point we had but one serviceable ship and by serviceable meaning we might be able to collect the parts to rebuild it.

I stayed behind, fishing for bits of the boat and any supplies that might come in with the tide. The men were restless and wandered inland and I confess I was too angry and full of self-pity to bother to stop them from walking to their own doom, as was my custom.

"So there's a witch--,"

"My lord," I'd  spun, a sword in hand, only to see Hermes standing in the surf behind me.

"So there's a witch," completely ignoring me, "You'll not mind her."

"But?" I asked, biting my own lip.

"But she'll likely try to poison you before she discovers you're the same sort of disaster as her, so to that effect," He held out a handful of herbs, "Hold them in your mouth, swallow them if you must, and her potions at least will have no effect."

"An odd gift, I thought I was out of favor with the gods," I said, accepting it.

A terrible screaming issued from the island. I stared at Hermes. He shrugged.

"You are, so are they, ah, life goes on and is endlessly interesting to me. Don't look at me like that, Eulises, worse things have happened to you."

"Do you—have any idea---how low that puts the bar?"

"I do actually, farewell, feel free to tell her I sent you with it; she's precious when she's cross," and then he sprinted off into the sunset.

I sighed. Nothing for it. And the screaming stopped, typical. There was something like rocky path up into the island.

"If all of you died, I won't forgive you," I said, haughtily, picking my way up the path, "Penelope will say I'm exaggerating, but I'm not--- you are all this stupid---fucking ---okay."

I had reached an old, decaying looking farm house. And farmyard. The yard was surprisingly well stocked with pigs. Equal in number to my missing morons.

"Do not look at me like that," I said, taking the moly in my mouth. "I'm having as bad a day as you are, by having to be around you."

"Who are you?" a woman walked out of the house. I knew well when I saw her she was no mortal. Much shorter than I, with fiery copper hair pulled back in a tight bun, soft green blue eyes, wide set, on a small if plain face. But her voice was thick and deep like a rolling wave. And her footsteps just a bit too light. She was wearing a blue dress, her hands were stained as if from mixing potions, and her apron damp with blood.

"My lady, I do apologize for disturbing you. I and my—at the moment missing—crew have been shipwrecked on your fine island," I said, bowing a little. She looked me up and down.

"Come inside."

"I do not mean to impose," I said, not moving.

"You said you were shipwrecked, come in," she said, flatly, motioning for me to do so.

I obeyed, smiling at her politely, the moly bitter in my cheeks. If it didn't work I was going to be very angry at my ancestor for the rest of time.

"Have some wine," she said, pouring us each a drink.

"I appreciate your hospitality. I'm afraid our ship is quite destroyed, but we should be able to salvage it," I said.

"Where do you hail from?"

"War, I'm on my way home," I said, taking a goblet of I was sure poisoned wine. She poured from the same decanter, however.

"You don't look like a soldier."

"Thank you," I said, taking a sip. The moly near scorched my mouth which I took to mean that it was entirely effective.

"What did you do in war?" she asked, going to stand by her hearth.

"Killed men, that's what men do in war."

"You don't sound proud," she said, "Most men brag of war."

"I am not most men," I said, sipping my poisoned wine confidently now.

"Where's home?"

"Mycenae," I lied, lest she be able to curse a place. Hopefully the old bastard found his way home by now to be cursed.

"Are you a farmer?"

"Do I look like one?"

"You look like a thief," she said.

"I am not," I lied.

"You also look like a liar."

"I am not," I lied.

"What does wait for you at home then? If you're not a liar and a thief, and you are just a farmer or, whatever men pretend to do," she said.

"A wife and son wait, whom I pray to return to," I said.

"I don't believe you," she said, looking at me still curiously.

"That's your option then, what shall we speak of now? Oh ,I know—why you keep glancing at my goblet," I said, "Not as though there was poison in there was there?"

"There was not I don't—," she took a step back, hand tightening on a dagger in her dress, fear clearly in her eyes.

"I come in peace, goddess," I said, holding up my hands and stepping back as well, "I mean you no harm, though I see you mean myself and my men harm."

"Who are you?" she growled.

"Eulises, son of Laertes," I said, bowing again, "And you?"

"Circe, the witch of Aeiea," she said.

"A finer title than mine, if more sinister."

"That's because Eulises will be remembered as a hero, and Circe as an evil witch. I am well with that," she said, face set and fierce, "Why do you come here?"

"I was ship wrecked, that is true--- I just need my crew and we'll be off your island as soon as possible is there---any way—whatsoever, that they are not out there turned into pigs?" I ask.

"None whatsoever," she folded her arms, "Who gave you moly?"

"Someone."

"Fuck Hermes."

"As you will, I think that might be incest," I said, lightly, drinking more wine.

"Stop that, it probably hurts with the moly in your mouth, stupid trickster," she took my goblet.

"It does, but I was enjoying the effect."

"I have untainted---would you like to stay for dinner?" she asked, shrugging a little.

"I'd rather like my crew freed and your word that we can use your beach to repair our ship," I said, following her all the same.

"Why should I do that for you?"

"I'd pay you any price I could manage, I have nothing as you see but once I return I shall have access to great treasures and could find whatever article you requested and send a crew with it in return---? Unfortunately our ship was quite destroyed I have nothing material in my possession," I said.

"You have more than enough," she said, looking me up and down.

"I need my men back, they're idiots, but I'm responsible for them. I'll do you a favor just name it, goddess," I sighed.

"Stay with me tonight."

"I'm probably going to have to considering I don't have a ship—,"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not if I can help it -----got it," I realized as she raised her eyebrows. "You'd have me personally as—payment."

"And you think you're clever."

"So let's get this straight, I am clever. Also yes that's—possible," not getting home as opposed to getting home and telling Penelope I sold myself to a goddess? I'm going home that's it. Even if she wouldn't have me back I'd know she was well at least.

"I'll turn them back if you do. Just spend tonight with me," she said.

"Island get boring?" I asked.

"More than a little, do you agree?"

"We'll still need time to prepare the ship," I said, shaking my head, "And do the necessary repairs, find more wood—,"

"Then you'd better make tonight count hadn't you? If you're not valuable to me then why should I bargain with you?"

"I can be valuable," I said.

And that was how I sold myself to her. The evening and dinner dragged on forever, until finally she led me up to her room. A simple, single bed, nothing on the walls, a thick soft rug. She dropped her little dress to the ground, soft white underthings like a child. I was repulsed, more so even by the scars on her back. She never told me where the scars came from. Her skin was cold and slick like kelp. Her eyes glowed, even in the dark. And all I could think of was how wrong she felt to me in my arms.  Her hair was long and loose, it stuck to my own skin.

I was selfish, thinking only how I hated it and myself. Wondering if I had fine words for this. I had fine words for the battles, the bloodshed. The carnage. What fine words would I spin for my own prostitution? Make myself sound willing to appease my own pride and pretend that my stomach didn't twist at the sight of her? Say nothing and live with the night? I didn't know, and that angered me. I liked knowing. I liked having a plan but I had no plan for this. All I could do was imagine Penelope back in my arms and I'd wake from the nightmare.

Circe sobbed. It was finished and I was thinking of if I could leave politely. She was sobbing and shaking.

"What's wrong? Are you well?" I draped a blanket around her shoulders, as she put her face in her hands, rocking back and forth.

"I'm sorry, please tell me," I said, gently then, tucking her hair out of her face.

"I wanted to be okay," she whispered, sobbing a bit harder. "I wanted to be okay."

"Shh, you're fine, you're right here," I said, getting a blanket for myself and then tucking it better around her to cover her nakedness, as if that still mattered between us in the moonlight.

She sobbed still.

"Someone hurt you," I realized, quietly. I stood, getting my clothes. I knew how to comfort my cousins from sobbing from a broken bone out on the hunt. I know how to quiet Penelope's tears. I knew how to cajole my son out of his temperamental sobs. Not this.

"It's not you. Please don't go?" she whispered, voice shaking, "I really—really—really, hate being alone."

"As you will," I said, sitting back down on the bed. Gingerly, I put an arm around her shoulders. She crushed into me, sobbing bitterly.

I didn't know what to say for once. "I'll stay," was all I could manage.

"I just hate being alone."

"Because when you're alone the ghosts come out," I said, quietly.

"Yes. I thought I could make it stop."

"No, nothing makes it stop," I said, stroking her hair out of her face, "Let's get you dressed now, goddess. I'll stay till morning."

"I hate it," I didn't know what she meant. So I just held her. Then I found her a night dress and bid her put it on. She did, numbly, stupidly, like a sleepy child.

"Thank you," she whispered, as I found a tie to tie her hair from her face. "How do you know?"

"The ghosts?"

"Yeah."

"I've got my own. "

"I didn't think men got them," she whispered.

"This man does, do you want it braided, stop sticking to your face?"

"How do you know how to braid hair?"

"My wife," I laughed, "She prepared me should we have a girl." It felt strange to speak of her after what we'd done. And yet it was well. This wasn't like betrayal anymore. It didn't feel it anyway or that was maybe my conscious glossing it over.

"So she is real?"

"Oh yes, my Penelope is very real," I said, sorting her thick hair out as best I could. Better than it was, all sticking to her back and getting tangled.

"She's lucky to have you," she said, wiping her face with a hand.

"No, not really. I'm lucky to have her," I said, quietly. "If I ever get home to her."

"Good men don't usually exist—good people. I'm not a good person, I don't think," she said.

"Then we match, goddess. I'm not a good man," I said.

"We do match," she said, leaning against me, "Please stay? I'm not telling you. I'm asking."

"I'm saying yes, even though you're not telling me, lie here, I'll do my best to keep the ghosts away," I said, sitting back against the stone wall. She leaned against me, tugging a blanket around her. "I'll tell you a story, what about that?"

"Is it a true story?"

"Who's to say? I'll tell you of Achilles. The swift footed, lion hearted warrior. He was faster than any mortal man, and more light of foot than even you, goddess. He could trip and prance about with a sword in ways the mortal eye couldn't follow. But he preferred to spend his days dancing in the sun, with the one he loved. And when he sobbed, his grief was so great that it shook even the bottom of the  ocean," I said, rubbing her arm.

"Why was he sad?"

"Oh, I didn't say this was a happy story, goddess."

"Well make it happy then? There's enough sad in the world not to put more into it."

"Maybe it's reflecting the world, and in doing so making it easier for us. You're here in the world but you still look in a mirror so you know your own likeness. So with stories. It doesn't have to be true, but the meaning behind the words is."

"All right, your silver tongue wins this round. Go on."

I did. I spoke until she finally slept. And eventually I too surrendered to sleep, leaned against the stone wall, watching the moon beams on the wooden floor waiting for dawn to come.

I woke before she did, and slipped away quietly, tucking a pillow under her head to replace my arm. Then I ventured outside, disturbed myself how accustomed to tents and bare ground I was, and completely repulsed by being trapped by stone walls.

The pigs were still clustered in absolute fear in one corner of the pen.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, their eyes of course on me. "I am doing what I can about this situation. You're welcome, by the way, for prostituting myself for your benefit. Honestly, you can take this time to think of a proper thanks you can give me. Bear in mind I'm fond of money."

Needless to say, no response.

"Right, well, as you're quite the definition of a captive audience, we might as well get started with our morning meeting," I said, sorting in my coat pockets for my notebooks.

"Ah yes. Let's see. First item on the agenda—and this is really an excellent time for you to ruminate on this ---first item, when your Captain, that is me, says something to the general effect of 'do not go onto the island it's probably cursed or haunted, stay here by the ship' the best course of action for you to take would be to NOT stagger onto aforementioned cursed island and instead to do as Captain Eulises says, as clearly he is the only person among you with a functioning brain. Next item, based off of how many monster inhabited islands we have suffered in the past what makes you honestly think anything is safe? Seriously? Why do you think that this situation would go in any way well---?"

"Those are normal pigs you know," Circe, leaned in the doorway, eating from a bowl of what looked like grits. She was dressed, now as a man, with tan pants and a faded blue sweater. Her hair was tightly braided around the crown of her head.

"Ah, right," I said, about to climb off the fence.

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Those are yours. I've just not changed them back yet. Come have breakfast," she said.

"Asking or telling? We are having a meeting and it's going much quicker since they can't speak," I said.

"Suggesting? You haven't eaten," she came and climbed onto the fence next to me.

"I'm fine," I said, as she raised the spoon to my lips.

"It's not poisoned, I'm not a monster. Well, I am, but it's not poisoned," she  rolled her eyes.

"Fair enough," I did accept it, "Anyway, we're having a meeting. It may be boring. I don't want to keep you."

"What do shipwrecked sea captains have meetings about?" she asked.

"Not walking onto cursed islands after their captain told them not to, mutiny, that type of thing," I said, holding up my notes.

"Let me see—what, they were going to mutiny?" She asks, taking a few pages and one of the books I held.

"I expect they aren't smart enough---yes I know you can hear me—," general grunting from the pigs, "I speak of you like this when you can speak---anyway I confiscated that journal from one of them. I was going to do a public dramatic reading in order to discourage the contents through humiliation. Works very well as a rule."

"Here," she holds up the journal, giving me another spoonful of grits, " 'Signs our Captain is a Sociopath'."

"That's the one," I said, "It's quite long, feel free to skip about I wasn't going to get through the whole thing unless you slept till noon."

" 'He mocked and taunted someone after blinding them, star star star, oh footnote star star star denotes that this also might be a reason why we are cursed'," Circe says, looking up at me.

"For the record, I did do that---however I maintain we would not have been in that situation if we were not previously cursed."

" 'He talks to himself. A lot'."

"I need intelligent conversation at times."

"That's actually fair," she said, looking the pigs, "All right, 'he gets irrationally angry when we have fun'."

"Seducing local women and getting drunk is not fun. Push ups are fun. Target practice is fun. Ending a war in three days and going home is fun," I said, haughtily.

" 'He talks in his sleep'."

"You'll be the judge of that, goddess."

"True enough. I didn't note it last night—,"

"I really didn't sleep."

"Hm, that's why then. 'As a group we are keeping a tally on a board of the number of times the Captain tells us he's smarter than us.' Then the next entry, noted the next day 'we have run out of space for tally marks on the board'," Circe, nearly laughing.

"And I would be right considering I did not get turned into farm animals you did," I tell them.

"That's because he's pretty."

"Yes, I am."

"This one doesn't mean anything-- 'his wife probably does not exist'."

"Why would you even care about that? Also no, she does," I said.

"I don't know some of these are just weird –oh here's a good one 'every time something horrible happens he feels the need to point out it is not worse than previous horrible things'," Circe reads, looking up at me.

"But they aren't? That is true, you can't weigh one trial against the other you'll get a headache, just move on it's not like previous horrible things haven't happened," I said, reasonably.

"That almost makes sense, hm, this is quite good," she said, flipping through the book, " 'the only time I have seen the Captain laugh or smile is when we are stealing something or committing murder'."

"That might be true," I said, shrugging.

"  'He names dogs after people that died'."

"That's not unusual."

" 'He names his arrows and talks to them'."

"I do not."

" 'Have determined he is an only child'."

"What's that to do with anything?"

" 'The captain takes our personal property'."

"I do not."

"Is this not his journal?" gesturing broadly at the pigs.

"I do not, other than his journal, which I suspected contained talk of mutiny, which it almost does," I said.

"Almost, let's not give it back, it's entertaining me," she said, still reading, while eating her breakfast and alternately giving me spoonfuls.

"This is actually quite good what's in it?" I asked, giving her the spoon back.

"Bacon."

We both started laughing at that.

"From an actual pig," she said, covering her mouth, nose scrunched up from laughing.

"Those are actual pigs!" I said, covering my face as well. It wasn't funny. But it stupidly was in such a stupid situation.

"Yeah, no, an actual original pig---I think." That set us off again.

"That is not funny," I said, despite laughing.

"No, I know I can't help it—gods I haven't laughed that hard in ages," she said, trying to stop, "Should I just jot down now 'laughed about eating bacon while we were pigs' or do you think it's therapeutic for him?"

"Oh, he is not getting that book back, it's entirely too accurate. Read it to remember us by, goddess," I said, finally recovering myself.

"I think I shall, it's more entertaining without context or your smart retorts,"  she said, putting the book in a pocket of her trousers

"Would you mind?" I asked, gesturing to the pigs.

"What----? Oh that, yeah I suppose, let me go get the potion," she said, hopping off the fence.

"The sooner we fix the ship the sooner we'll be gone," I reminded her, not knowing then that she didn't really want us to leave.

She transfigured my poor abused men back. At the time I was entirely cheerful about it, helping them to get their balance back and telling them to stop crying she wasn't going to hurt them again thanks to me. Now of course they're all dead and I'd give anything to kiss all their cheeks and assure them were are almost home.

But that day was drunk with sunshine and peace.

Circe proved helpful and showed us where dry good wood was on the island to start about repairing our boat. By 'us' I mean, myself and my crew who were paralyzed in fear when she looked at them and skirted around like frightened dogs refusing to come inside or get anywhere near her or I. Circe offered her own maps to confer with mine to plot a course home, and to help look at the ship and remains there of to see what we'd need. It's very hard to get help from someone while about fifteen people stand behind them making pleading and rapid hand gestures to the effect that we should swim off the island post haste. Anyway, we managed.

Circe agreed to come down to the ship, but insisted she was too tired to walk.

"Can't you fly?" I asked, she was on my back all the same, short stubby legs around my waist quite strongly, head resting on my shoulder.

"My feet are tired. I've walked around the whole island for you today."

"Again, can't you fly?"

"I am telling you to shut up, do you ever?"

"Not remotely." my crew who were skulking mumbled their assent at that.

"When you said you had a ship, I thought you meant primarily in one piece?" Circe said, hopping off my back when we got to the beach.

"The hull is doing well, thank you," I said, gesturing to it broadly.

"You're going to need far more wood than I imagined," she said, circling it, frowning.

"I'm hoping the sea will spit more up," I said.

"Is it not the sea that cursed you?"

I shrugged, "Six months perhaps?"

"If you're lucky, the wood must be dried first if you have to fell trees," she said.

"I know."

"What's an Ithacan prince know of carpentry?" she asked. I'd admitted where we were truly from, by then.

"My father, what's a sea goddess know of it?" I asked.

"You're not the first sailors to be stranded here," she said.

"Will we be the first to get off alive?" I asked, while multiple people stood behind her begging me not to ask her that.

She shrugged, "Let's collect your maps and compare them to mine."

"Get started gathering wood---is there anything on the island they need to be wary of?"

"Wild animals, and myself," she said.

"I think they got that—go on then you heard her---yes we do trust her, be quiet."

"You're trusting me?" she asked.

"On my personal adjusted scale of trusting no one? Yes, goddess," I said, folding my arms, "So, may we impose upon you for six months or until the boat is done?"

She nodded, "Come on, let's go back to the house and leave them to it."

"Asking or telling?"

"Are you always going to say that?"

"It's always going to be a question, goddess. I'll do as you command, you know that," I said, shrugging.

"Asking."

"Let's go then," I followed her. I suppose it was more often asking than telling, looking back. That sounds bad. Any way I spin her story it tastes sour on my lips. But at the end of it all she was not truly bad I didn't think. Perhaps I have more pity for her than I should. Because I had to keep asking myself the question, would I have behaved differently than she did in the same situation?

She kept me with her some nights, not all. Only when I think she was too lonely to stand it any longer. I went to her without complaint. Otherwise I slept outside with my men. They dared not ask. I don't know what they thought of it as I never asked them their opinion nor wanted it. But now maybe I do. As only Circe and I remain who remember those days.

Of course she was right. It was closer to a year before the ship was ready. By then we had sunken into a quiet rhythm, of almost domesticity. Despite their fear of her, the men proved competent at helping her around the farm. And despite her distaste for them I think she grew used to us. She wouldn't always tell me to come to her. And sometimes when she asked I denied her. But I didn't dare too often. That was there. Did I have to submit to her will in the end? Perhaps not, I think she did have affection for me. But I also didn't know that. So I did as she bid, then felt guilt for my own distaste when she merely wanted to be kept company or spoken to till she could sleep.

Eventually, the ship was done. Circe was angry about that, and I was careful not to cross her. She had grown used to at least my company. And I expected her to demand my attention even more but the opposite was true for days she'd barely have two words to say to me. It put me on edge more than I wanted it to. I had something like pleasure from the easy rhythm of our customary banter and her coldness concerned me.

She saw us off the day we were to finally leave for good. The men were more than happy to set sail and leave the island, and I needless to say tampered my eagerness for fear of riling her.

It was a cold winter day. I in my leather coat, Circe was dressed as she typically was, in men's clothes, hair pulled back from her sad face. I could tell she'd been crying all night and then I regretted something, though I knew not what. I had pity for her, her captive as I was.

"Please?" she said, wiping her face with a hand. "I don't want to be alone."

"Come with us," I said, ignore strangled cries of terror from the ship.

"To your wife," she muttered, hugging herself and not looking at me.

"To anywhere you liked, there are other places than Ithaca—where there are many men or women who could care for you," I said, "We'd take you where you wished."

"Aiaia is my home," she said.

"And Ithaca mine," I said.

She sniffed back tears. I opened my arms a bit and she ran into them, pressing her face into my chest. I enveloped her in the hug, crushing her small stout frame easily in my arms.

"You deserve someone, who wants to stay, willingly, with you. You deserve a better man than I," I said, stroking her hair from her face one more time.

"I'm going to miss you," she said.

"I won't forget you goddess," I said, kissing the top of her head. She hugged me once more, then slowly she backed away.

The last time I saw her, she was standing on the shore, tear stains on her face, hair whipped by the wind, watching us go but not waving goodbye.

Even if I could tell her story it isn't mine to tell.  I didn't know why she was there, or what made her so lonely, or why she cried in the night and needed me to hold her gently and then sometimes not at all. I didn't know what dreams woke her. Just as she never knew why I couldn't stand to sleep in bed anymore, or why I couldn't look at her as I kissed her, or why I'd wake crying out, clutching old wounds, mumbling names of long dead men. We respected the others stories enough and knew enough pain not to speak of them. And her crimes against me felt like those of ignorance. Not abuse. She wanted to be good but good hadn't happened to her in far too long, and I was the last person who could show it to her.

Speaking of her felt like speaking of Achilles. To tell their crimes people look at you in horror. Yet all I see is their soft faces, babyish and innocent, irrationally angry. Gold curls falling in his eyes as he laughed at me, hanging off his boyfriend's neck and begging me not to tell anyone where he was not doing what he was supposed to do. Circe, standing in the rain, spinning around in it, bare feet squelching in the mud as I bid her come inside. To be angry with them or to blame them would be like blaming a toddler for hitting you in a tantrum. They were too pure and too kind deeply to know that their pain hurt others. And I could not bring myself to condemn them for their crimes, however terrible.

I know there were other versions of them. Achilles, soaked in his enemies blood, face blood shot from screaming, remorseless, unmerciful, a killing machine and nothing like a man. Circe, screaming at me never to mention my wife's name, to come to her and that I was staying with her as long as she asked. I know those things happened. But they melt away in my memory. That only came out of them because somewhere they were so hurt that all that sweetness had to protect itself somehow and that was with terrible rage. Perhaps the only reason I survived both of them was that I saw that. I had no more anger for their rages than I did for my two year old son saying he hated me for not letting him stick his hand in the fire. They didn't know better. Nobody had protected them enough so they had no idea I was trying to do something like that.

And I used them for my own purpose. As  I do with everyone. So I count my crimes as great as theirs, for I got what I wanted from them in the end.

But that doesn't make their tales mine. Their truth is scared, to be locked away only belonging to them. Nothing more. Perhaps one day in Elysium we can laugh about this.

But today I remain the only one here and living. Achilles long since dead. Circe still trapped on her island. I alone can tell their tales, but I choose not to. Let others do it, poets. The truth is far too complicated to be spoken aloud. And I want to go home. I just want to go home. I want nothing more. I didn't want to be left with the burden of dead men's tales.

What was I to tell of my crew? How they died in horror? What their screams sounded of? How long it takes for blood to wash from your hands even in the turbulent ocean? How long someone can keep living even once they've been torn in two? That knowledge should not belong to me. It is too terrible. I do not want it much less to speak of it.

But perhaps I'm flattering myself. Perhaps I less pity them, than I see myself in the dead. And that I hope when the poets sing my story I'll sound far greater than I was. For I want a simple life, not a great one. The great stories are shrouded with terror and sleepless nights. And as Caylpso told me, heroes don't get happy endings.

"Where have I been?" I stare around. Dozens of eyes on me.

"Yes, the war ended years ago," the man laughs, "What could have possibly happened to you?"

"It's an odd tale," I lie, "But I'll tell it truthfully."