It was the thing down in the hold.
It moved again. This time he could not deny the truth. The old goddess had shifted like a serpent in a pouch and the vessel had moved like something alive. The men had felt it, too.
From various places in the ship, they came and assembled in a loose group before him. There were six of them in all, the best of his army. Each one was a hardened warrior, a scarred veteran of a dozen battles who had been hand selected for his personal guard. It was unnerving to see them frightened.
The tattooed one spoke first. He was the unofficial captain of the guard. "It calls for you. But I will go in your place."
"No," he answered, bluntly. "Let the boy bring my sword."
From behind, he heard a sudden clatter and the sound of bare feet slapping on the weathered planks. The boy, a bastard of one of his cousins, came running up with two javelins and his sword wrapped in a piece of sheep skin. He was clumsy, but a good boy, brave and not given to whining and complaining.
Archonidias took his sword when the boy had unwrapped it and spoke solemnly to his men. "Should ill befall me, I charge you to deliver our captive to the tyrant, Minos, and thereby win the release of my family."
Without dissension or discussion, they voiced their agreement and swore that they would bring the first and last of the gods in captivity to Minos. Archonidias turned and buckled on the sword belt as he walked towards the stern of the tireme.
Of course, the men were lying. Before his death blood was curdled of planks of the hold, the men would heave the thing overboard and sail for some country as far from Minos as they could reach. At the hatchway that opened on the steps down into the hold, Archonidias bent to undo the heavy bolt across it. As he did so, he felt a quick tug on his kilt.
It was the boy. With a grim look on his grimy little face, he offered a stone lamp with a burning puddle of oil. It would be treacherously dark down in the hold. He took it gratefully.
"Be careful," the boy told him.
"Victory does not favor those who are careful, little clansman," replied Archonidias. His words were for the educational benefit of the boy. In reality, he intended to be very careful, indeed. It would go badly for the boy if he perished in the hold. One of the men, the archer named Polodesius, made no secret of his desire for the boy. For an instant, Archonidias considered that he might first kill the archer before going down into the hold, but the ship suddenly moved again. He hastened to throw open the hatch and then hurried down the steps with a javelin in one hand and the burning lamp in the other.
It was like stepping deeper and deeper into a pool of chilled water. When he reached the bottom of the steps, Archonidias shifted the grip on his javelin.
Inside his mind, he could hear the Earthmother chuckle. It forced him to wonder why she had allowed him to remove her from the temple in the first place. Cautiously, he felt his way through the darkness until he stood over the cradle. The Mother of Earth was no larger than a sickly infant. Unlike an infant, though, she was as wrinkled as a sun dried olive. She spoke inside his mind again and it made him shudder to be violated so.
"I love you, Archonidias. As the sword is the instrument of your will, you are the instrument of mine. Return now to the deck and slay all who live."
"No," said Archonidias. "I will slay no one. I will deliver you to the tyrant and he will exult in his domination over you."
"He will not relinquish your property, or your wife. While you do his foolish errands, he has made her his whore. Your sons clean the slop from his plates and the fops of the court have knowledge of them."
"Yet, I will deliver you to Minos. And all men will acknowledge that I, Archonidias, have done what no man before me has done. I sailed beyond the Pillars of Hercules to the Smoking Islands and assailed them with fire and sword. I put to death all who opposed me. I looted and burned your temple and raped your high priestess. And more, I captured you, the Mother of Earth, the first and last of the gods, and locked you in the hold of my ship."
Again, the goddess, chuckled. "Are you such a fool as to think that you have captured me, when it is I who have captured you? I deliver myself unto Minos and it is I who will exult in my domination of him. As for your beloved wife, even now, she has her head up his robe, slurping like a suckling pig on his unresponding cock. Go above now and slay all the blasphemers and I will allow your vengeance to fall unchecked on Minos. And his new harlot."
In the darkness, he could not see the monster, but with a sudden flash of rage to light the way, he thought to cast his javelin. But the ancient goddess laughed again and his courage faded like a drunkard's resolve.
The men were waiting when he climbed out of the hold. One of the men, a man of Colchis named Alyattes, reached down to help and, as Archonidias emerged, the man whispered in his ear. "Something is wrong, my lord."
Archonidias looked quickly around. He saw nothing unusual but the unfamiliar look of fear on faces that had seldom worn that expression. "What is it?" he asked.
"The sail," said the tattooed one. "No sooner had you gone below than a great and wild wind ripped it away."
"And look at the waves," cried the archer, Polodesius.
One look into the man's crazed eyes told Archonidias that the man was half mad. He turned his gaze to the waves.
It was if the trappings of time had come undone. The waves were rushing past the boat in a blur, making it seem as if the boat were speeding backwards. It was madness. He felt his sanity straining against the bonds of reality like a war dog on a leash. Wildly, he looked about for the other ships of his great fleet.
"Gone," said Alyattes. "They shot away from us like stones from a sling and then disappeared like dreams in the light of dawn. We're alone."
"It is the doing of the demon in the hold," said the old man of Lydia. "If we are to save our lives, we must go now and lay hands upon it, bring it up and cast it into the sea."
"No," said Archonidias. "I will deliver the Mother of Earth to Knossos." And he looked in their faces and saw that had he not had his sword in hand, they would have killed him then and there. He said to them, "Perhaps this evil will soon fade. Open the cask of meat and a pithoi of wine and we will wait it out."
The promise of wine appeased them. For the moment.
When they had gone to break open the wine jar, Archonidias summoned the boy to his side. "What will happen when the men are drunk on wine?" he asked him.
"First they will sing and dance. Then they will tell outrageous lies. Then they will wrestle and after that they will puke and fall asleep."
"And what will you do, my little clansman?"
"I will gather up their weapons and cast them over the side and into the sea."
"You are a crafty boy. If you somehow fail to perish in this misadventure, you are sure to do well in your life."
From the bow of the boat, one of the men cried out. Then, the rest could be heard shouting like angry gulls, fighting for a scrap of food. As calmly as he could, Archonidias approached them. He found them gathered around the cask that held their precious supply of salted fish and dried meat. Long before he saw the source of his crew's anger, he smelled it. A stench so rotten and powerful that he almost gagged.
"Look," cried the tattooed one. "It is impossible. I myself took food from this very cask this morning. Now look at it!"
What had once been food was now blackened, rotten muck, floating in a maggot infested porridge. The stench was enough to drive a bear from its cave. Grimly, the men opened the other casks and found each one brimming with decay and putrefaction.
And still, the air was still and suffocating and the waves continued to race past the ship. They examined the wine jars and found them full of vinegar.
"If we throw the bitch goddess overboard, the curse will reverse itself," claimed the archer, Polodesius.
"No," said Archonidias.
The men grumbled and hands moved closer to swords. The grumbles turned to curses.
Sword in hand, Archonidias backed away from them. As he did so, he heard a sound behind him and he knew in a panic filled instant that one of them had gotten behind him and that he was done. He flipped the hilt in his hand and prepared for a backwards, blind thrust of the sword.
"It's me, clansman. I have your javelins!"
Quickly, as one of the men rushed him, Archonidias reached back and let the boy slam the shaft of a javelin into his waiting hand. With a step forward, he thrust the short spear deeply under the rib cage of Alyattes, the fighter from Colchis. Alyattes lurched back with such force that the javelin was torn from Archonidias' bloody hand as the dying man fell backwards into the other assailants.
He yelled for the boy to run. "Run and hide!"
Fearing to turn his back, Archonidias trotted backwards. He knew where he was going. There was only one hiding place where the mutineers would fear to follow.
"How many did you slay for me?"
"One for certain," said Archonidias. "And I did sever the arm of a man as I entered the hold. I do not think that one will last long."
"You are the instrument of my hatred, Archonidias. Go and slay them all for violating my temple and I will let you and the boy live to serve me."
"No," he said. "I know my men well. In a few minutes they will come to their senses and send the tattooed man to the hatchway of the hold to tell me that their time of madness has passed and that I may go safely above."
"You'll need this."
Archonidias heard a soft thump of something small hitting close to his foot. It was a small cowhide pouch with a few grains of a granular powder inside.
"It is ambrosia. A grain or two in the wine and food will restore it. I give it to you because of my love for you."
He did not notice himself picking it up. There was just the vague, dreamlike thought that an enchantment might go a long ways towards appeasing the mutineers when they came to beat on the hatchway and call him back to the deck. And in the instant that he had the thought, he heard the tattoed captain of the guard calling him from the deck above.
"The wine is good," said the tattooed one later. "It used to be vinegar, but now it tastes wonderful. I have never tasted better. I have never been so wonderfully drunk. But hunger is sucking my asshole into my stomach."
"Put some ambrosia in the meat cask," urged Polodesius.
"Yes, put some in the cask of meat," they all implored him.
Initially, the results were disappointing. The horrible appearance of the rotten food did not change. Only the stench seemed somewhat different. It was still enough to gag a man, but there was a subtle warmth to it. The archer dipped his hand into the cask and pulled out a putrid, slimy piece of rotting meat. Tentatively, he nibbled off a small corner that he chewed and swallowed. A cloud filmed over the drunken sheen of his eyes and for an instant, Archonidias thought the man would fall dead to the deck.
But, no, the archer suddenly smiled and with a great show of gusto, tore off half the chunk of decayed meat with his next bite. Something like pus dripped from the corner of his smacking lips. "It's good," he said. "It's wonderful."
They feasted. Archonidias and the boy were the last to partake. Archonidias knew that he would never have sampled the dripping, mushy flesh if he hadn't been so drunk on the wine. Even so, the first bite made him glad that he did. It had the texture of a woodland mushroom. The flavor was unique. It taunted his palate, defied him to take another bite. At first, it was tart, yet somehow delicate. As he chewed, though, the taste seemed to change into something rich and fruity before it deepened into a strong, almost fishy flavor. Before he knew what he was doing, he licked a maggot off of his portion. It was warm and smoky and salted just right. The next bite was completely different. Like aged cheese dipped in honey. He couldn't stop chewing the flavor out of it and he couldn't stop himself from swallowing so he could explore the tantalizing possibilities of the next bite.
All of them, even the boy, ate until they puked over the side. Then they ate again, snarling at one another like crazed animals until the cask was empty and they fell in a stupor to the deck of the time frozen ship.
He awakened to hunger, not knowing or caring how long he had slept. At first, he was able to keep it out of his mind, but within an hour, he knew that he must eat or throw himself overboard and end it. Archonidias looked into the eyes of his four remaining warriors and saw the mirror of his own suffering. And it was then that he knew the truth.
If one eats ambrosia, one becomes ambrosia.
It was the archer, Polodesius, who spoke first. "Your young kinsman, the boy, is at the prow of the ship trying to catch a fish. Call him to you on some pretext and I will take him painlessly from behind."
"And I will make a small fire in the brazier," said the tattooed one.
Archonidias thought of succulent strips of meat roasting over the fire and the thought overwhelmed like drunken lust. He had to spit drool onto the deck before calling out to the boy. "Kinsman, bring my sword."
When he heard the slap of bare feet against the planks, Archonidias stood on shaking legs. The boy trotted up to him, unaware of the men's intentions and holding the bronze sword out for Archonidias to take. As he approached, the archer slipped silently behind the unsuspecting boy with his bowstring formed into a killing loop between his two filthy hands.
Archonidias steeled himself for the horror to come and took the sword from the boy, hilt first. He ended it quickly.
When the loop had fallen around the slender neck of the boy, and the archer's hands were bound by his own evil intentions, Archonidias swung his sword in a whistling arc and split his head from his crown to his lip. Death came so swiftly that the archer did not even cry out.
As he writhed in a puddle of spreading blood, the remaining men gathered around him. The boy squirmed out of the bowstring, then calmly took the sword and cleaned it on the kilt of Polodesius.
"I'll make a fire," said the tattooed man.
The archer tasted good. The ambrosia had impregnated his flesh and, if anything, mellowed it to a flavor that was even superior to the rotten meat of the cask. It had imparted him with a warm taste, not unlike spiced, lightly salted pork. He didn't last long.
Even though they tried their mightiest, they were unable to conserve and by mid-afternoon of the following day, the three men and the boy fell into another frenzy of eating and puking until even the flesh was gnawed from the skull and the brain separated into chunks and devoured. It tasted like chicken gizzard, only spongy rather than tough and chewy.
Once more, Archonidias fell into a stupefied slumber. When he woke up, the tattooed one offered him a forearm and a hand, but not to arise from the deck, but to eat for breakfast.
"I killed the old Lydian man in his sleep," said the tattooed one. "It was my intention to cook him into a stew, not unlike the ones my mother once prepared. But I couldn't wait. Even raw, he tastes better than the archer and I did not think the flavor of any meat could exceed that exquisite taste."
"And yet, even though we eat like starving dogs, we still hunger."
"It is the ambrosia. Only the gods can eat it and survive. The gods do not know hunger. Let us bring that monstrosity out of the hold and throw it overboard."
"The goddess will be delivered to Minos of Knossos."
"Or, better yet, let us bring this goddess up out of the hold and eat her."
The words were spoken in bitter jest. Mortal men could not dine on a deity. And besides, they had the old man to eat for now. He was surprisingly unstringy and tender.
But by afternoon of the next day, he was gone, puked over the side for the most part. Archonidias and the tattooed one stared at one another for long hours until they could restrain themselves no longer. Without a word, they both drew their swords and lunged at one another. The fight to the death went on much longer than it should have, but both men were so sluggish from the feasting, and so distracted by their ravenous hunger, that crippling blows became nicks and mortal thrusts resulted in minor cuts. Even so, they were both bleeding like beaten plow horses when the tattooed one finally slipped on a puddle of crimson slime and stumbled forward to where Archonidias managed to get the point of his sword under his chin.
The life of the tattooed one gurgled from his lips and escaped into the air in a slow popping of bloody bubbles. Archonidias fell to the deck, too exhausted to even crawl over to his kill and sate his insatiable hunger. He lapped at some blood, quite possibly his own, from a rough plank of the deck while the boy cut some succulent strips of flesh from a tattooed backside.
They ate. The magic of the ambrosia had increased a twelve fold and the raw human flesh they chewed was so flavorful that there was no other delight to compare it with. It was a storm in their slavering mouths, an orgasm of the tongue. They ate without stopping for almost two days.
Not long after the last morsels of sustenance had been gnawed from the bones of the tattooed one, the boy brought the bronze sword to Archonidias. "I have sharpened it," he said. "Let my end come swiftly. I had thought to jump over the side, but if I am to be food, then better I feed my master than an unappreciative fish."
"No," said Archonidias. "Perhaps the evil in the hold has been satisfied. Perhaps she will now lift this evil curse she has shackled to our wretched lives."
Down in the hold, the cargo was the underworld. The darkness had an intensity to it. It seemed to press against his eyeballs as if it was trying to invade his skull. "Your will has come to pass," he told the Earthmother. "All have been slain."
"And all were devoured."
"All were eaten." The shameful truth was as bitter on his tongue as the ambrosia laced flesh had been sweet.
"I have not eaten," said the goddess."Slay the boy and bring him to me."
"Never," said Archonidias. "First I will fall on my own sword."
"Then fall upon your sword, Archonidias. I grant you leave."
"That will not be necessary," said Archonidias. "Even though the ship drifts, we can be no more than a few days from shore. I swear I shall defeat the hunger that consumes me and deliver you in chains to the tyrant of Knossos."
In less than two hours, it became apparent that in spite of his boasting, the hunger would defeat him. Twice, he almost killed the boy. And once, he almost propped the sword to where he could make a good run at it. But Archonidias was as crafty as he was brave. Even as he contemplated his death, he was able to scheme.
"Tie me to the mast," he ordered the boy. "Lash my hands tightly behind me so I can not escape my bonds. And in this way we will both survive until the ship reaches the shore. And we will yet deliver the monster in the hold to Minos for his pleasure."
"Very well," said the boy. He was a good boy and he did as he was told and lashed his master to the mast.
"No matter how terrible the hunger becomes, no matter what I say, or how I rave and swear and threaten you, do not untie me," said Archonidias. "No matter how I plead and scream, you must not release me."
"I won't," said the boy. He picked up the sword from the deck where Archonidias had left it.
Archonidias could not help but notice that the boy was slavering like a mad dog. And his eyes were wild and glassy. It occurred to Archonidias that the events of the last few days had tested his own sanity. How could a mere boy avoid falling over the brink of madness? He struggled helplessly against his lashes.
As the boy sawed a bloody steak from Archonidias's thigh, Archonidias heard the Earthmother laughing inside his head above the din of his own full throated scream. The blood of his life gushed out as he inhaled to scream again, but instead of a death shriek, he heard himself shamelessly begging the boy.
"Please," he begged. "Please don't eat it all! A few bites for me!"
Bio:George is a baby boomer living in Sacramento, California, where he works as a Sears repair technician and attends a local vocational college. In his time he has been a ranch hand, a cook, a laborer, a carny, a sawmill and factory and cannery worker, an upholsterer, a union organizer and business agent, a salesman and a machinist.
E-mail: gkmow@msn.com
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