Discord's Apple

16

Sinon had thought Prometheus would open an enchanted doorway, and they would step through to the land of Ithaca in an instant. But he didn’t. They took a boat.

As Sinon stepped onto the shore of the island of Ithaca, he wrapped the edge of his cloak over his shoulder against the chill autumn breeze coming off the water.

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?” the man—man?—beside him asked.

“I set sail with Odysseus. Ten years before the fall of Troy.” That was how he marked time now. Before the fall of Troy, and after.

“Has it changed much?”

“I don’t know.”

It hadn’t changed, at least at first glance. Time played tricks, and he was a young man again, waiting to go to war. He expected to recognize faces in the village. He thought he did, almost. But he looked again, and saw that there were more houses, in different places. The fishing huts he had expected to see farther up the beach were gone. A stone wall separated the beach from the town. That hadn’t been there before. Many people worked and traveled on the path leading from the dock, all of them strangers. The island had prospered. And why not, when Odysseus had led them all these years?

“Are you coming?”

He shouldn’t. What would he say when he got there? “Yes.”

He still knew the way to Odysseus’s manor. He led Prometheus there.

It, too, seemed the same: a stucco wall surrounded the house, but the wooden gate stood wide open, welcoming visitors. Chickens scratched in the dirt, children played with dogs, women worked in the yard spinning wool and hanging wash to dry. Odysseus had lands with tenants, servants and wealth. He was as much a king as Agamemnon had ever been, though unlike Agamemnon, Odysseus had never cared for crowns or displays of power.

Sinon stood at the gate for a long time, hugging himself under his cloak. Prometheus waited for him, and Sinon was about to give in to his second thoughts and turn around, when a boy almost grown, fifteen or sixteen years old, came around the corner and leaned on the wall. He had dark shoulder-length hair and a proud tilt to his chin.

“Sirs, are you needing shelter?”

I know that face, Sinon thought. He glanced away to hide his look of wonder.

Prometheus had to speak for them. “I was told in the village that this house is famous for its hospitality.”

The boy beamed, his smile lighting his face. “It is! That is, if the guests are polite. This is the house of Odysseus, my grandfather. Have you heard of Odysseus?”

“Of course I have. His tales are famous from one end of the Mediterranean to the other.”

“I’ll go get my father. Come in!” The boy stepped between them, took them by their elbows, and pulled them into the yard. Then he ran off behind the house.

“Friendly lad,” Prometheus said with a grin.

Sinon studied the house and its yard, the work going on, every face that eyed him curiously and gave him a smile. This was the life he might have had. A wife and children. A farm. Laughter.

He couldn’t go back.

A moment later, the boy returned, running ahead of a slim man of middle age. He had gray in his dark hair and beard, but his expression was bright, his body strong, and his long stride almost kept up with the boy’s enthusiasm.

“Father, here are the strangers!” the boy said proudly, as if he had found treasure.

The older man smiled and came forward. “Give me your arms, strangers, and rest with us awhile. I am Telemachus. This is my youngest son, Polymedes.”

Prometheus offered his hand, and the men gripped each other’s wrists. Telemachus repeated the gesture with Sinon.

Sinon said, “Son of Odysseus. I am honored to meet you.” He had his father’s eyes. Gods, Odysseus must be so proud of him.“I am—Call me Phaetus.”

“And I am Inachus,” said Prometheus.

“Welcome. Come in and take rest.”

The boy Polymedes ran ahead, and Sinon asked, “How many children do you have?”

“Ten, may the gods help me.” He laughed.

Telemachus guided them inside and brought food and drink while they sat at a table near the hearth. The household gathered for the evening meal, and everyone treated them as honored guests. Prometheus sat at Telemachus’s right hand, Sinon sat beside Prometheus, and they listened to the stories of the day: of cats that caught mice, of a child learning to walk, of a fisherman’s son courting a daughter of the household.

Sinon knew what he looked like—a strapping warrior of perhaps thirty years of age, a little worn by travel, but at his prime. Certainly not old enough to have seen Troy fall. Telemachus would think himself a good twenty or thirty years older. Sinon tried to remember that, and when his host asked questions about where he came from and what he did with himself, he tried to make appropriate answers—answers that weren’t lies and yet hid the truth. I’ve worked as a sailor. We fought off pirates once. Prometheus spoke little, watching the proceedings with a pleased smile.

Before the meal was served, Polymedes and a maiden a year or two older than he entered, between them guiding an ancient man stooped with age, his hair thinned to wisps. Before thinking, Sinon stood, leaning on the table to steady himself. He had prepared himself for this sight. Nonetheless, he wasn’t ready for it.

Telemachus leaned over to whisper to Prometheus and Sinon.

“The storytellers call him Many-Minded. I must warn you: Age has taken most of those minds from him. My mother’s death last year nearly destroyed him. But I still honor him as head of this household. At least in spirit.” He moved to take his son’s place by the old man’s side and helped guide him to the head of the table.

Odysseus, his skin gray and loose on his bones, swatted them away. “Leave me, leave me. I’m not crippled, curse the lot of you.” His voice cracked, and he kept shaking his head. His eyes were clouded.

Sinon thought he might weep.

The girl said, “Grandfather, remember your manners. We have guests this evening.”

“Curse them, too!”

She looked quickly at Sinon and Prometheus. “He doesn’t mean it, sirs. Please don’t mind him.”

“I know,” Sinon said gently.

They ate. Sinon stole glances at the old man. Halfway through the meal, Sinon caught him staring back. Their gazes met, and Sinon almost dropped his knife.

He’s pretending, Sinon thought. He knows.

At the end of the meal, the two grandchildren guided him away. When they passed by Sinon, the old man fell. Everyone in the room jumped. Sinon reached to catch him, but Odysseus stopped his own fall by grabbing Sinon’s arm. His knobbed, arthritic hands dug into his skin.

Odysseus stared hard at him. Sinon wanted to hug the old man tight enough to break bones. But his grandchildren righted him quickly and led him out of the hall.

“Are you all right?” Prometheus whispered, his brow lined with concern.

Sinon nodded. “I’m just a bit shaken. Being here again, seeing him again, is so strange.”

“You’ll never get used to your friends growing old without you.”

Telemachus touched Sinon’s shoulder. “Let me show you your rooms.”

At the end of the hall, Prometheus stopped them and spoke in a low voice. “Telemachus, I would speak with you privately, if you’re willing. I need help, and I think you’re the man for it.”

And so Prometheus would charge Telemachus with guarding the treasures of the gods, would enchant this family, this household, and they could never have the peace Odysseus had earned for them. Would Prometheus give Telemachus the chance to refuse? Would Telemachus refuse? Sinon doubted it.

Prometheus turned to follow Telemachus down the passage, to the room where they would have their conversation.

In the middle of the night, Sinon went searching for Odysseus. He had marked which part of the house he’d been taken to. He listened at the doorways of bedchambers and entered the one where he heard no snoring.

Odysseus’s bed was empty, the coverlet pushed aside. The old man sat by the window, leaning on a cane, looking out at the moonlit ocean.

Sinon cleared his throat. Odysseus didn’t react, so Sinon said, “Will His Lordship indulge a visitor so late?”

Odysseus looked at him sideways and shook his head. “I know now that I am truly mad, because I see a ghost. A ghost has come into my house. I see the ghosts of all my dead warriors behind your face, Sinon.”

Sinon entered the room and leaned on the wall by the window. What could he tell this man? What insanity had brought him here, to see his hero in such a state? I had to tell him. Explain what had happened to him, why he hadn’t sailed home from Troy.

He hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone good-bye.

“You’re pretending, aren’t you? You’re not as senile as you’re letting on. It’s your way of letting go, of letting them take over the running of the household without feeling your authority hanging over them.”

Odysseus snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m mad. Demented. Everyone says it. So should you.”

That was a message. Don’t tell them my secret. Don’t say it aloud, even in private. Don’t even think it.

“I defer to your wisdom, old friend.”

“Your face,” the old man said. “It’s just like it was. Oh—” His eyes widened, a new realization overcoming him. “It isn’t you. You—you’re Athena in disguise. My lady, you’ve made yourself look like Sinon—why? What message do you have for me?”

“I’m not—Odysseus, my lord, I really am—” He looked away, tears pricking his eyes. He should not have come. He should not have disturbed an old man with ghosts.

He straightened. He tried to make his gaze and manner as imperious as Athena’s. “Rest easy, my friend. I only wished to look upon you and see that you are well.”

“I am well. But tired. Very tired, and haunted by too many ghosts.”

Sinon squeezed the old man’s shoulder, then returned to his room, where he lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling.

The next morning, Telemachus’s mood seemed subdued. Or Sinon may only have imagined that it was. His family acted no differently, as they would have if anything had been wrong. Prometheus was the same, but he no longer carried his leather satchel. So Telemachus had accepted the task of guarding the artifacts. Sinon wondered what the immortal had told him to convince him to say yes. Perhaps the man felt some sort of overwhelming sense of duty.

The family breakfasted. Odysseus didn’t join them. After, Telemachus saw them off at the gate of the manor. He offered them a few days’ provisions. They accepted, as befitted the laws of hospitality. When Sinon blessed Telemachus and his house, he did so without calling on the gods, so the words would be true. Outside Olympus, no one had noticed the destruction of the gods. And what did that say?

Prometheus commented on this, as they walked the road to the village. “You didn’t name any gods to bless him.”

“Of course not.”

“It sounded strange, don’t you think?”

He hadn’t called upon the gods in a long time. It didn’t sound strange at all. He shook his head.

“What will you do now?” Prometheus asked.

Before coming here, Sinon had thought he might settle down, farm, find a wife, as he’d been destined to do at his birth. But he couldn’t do that now.

He could see the ocean from here. “Maybe I can hire onto a boat. See if I remember how to sail. Travel to the ends of the earth. How does that sound?”

“It sounds marvelous,” Prometheus said. “I commend that plan.”

Which, surprisingly, made Sinon feel a little better. “What will you do?”

“I think I’ll travel as well.” He didn’t look across the water, though, but up, neck craned back, squinting into the sun. “To the sky, the stars. There are other worlds than this one. I’d like to see them.”

He would go to live among the constellations, the myths and legends preserved in the night sky. A fitting end to his story. In the coming nights, Sinon would look for a new collection of stars.

“Will you ever return?”

“I doubt it. I don’t think humankind needs my help anymore. Or wants it, really.”

They reached a fork in the road, one branch leading to the village and the other leading to the hills, where shepherds took their sheep and goats to graze. Prometheus offered his hand, and Sinon gripped his wrist, as if they were two friends on the road, and nothing more.

“I leave you here. Live well, Sinon of Ithaca,” Prometheus said, then departed along the path that led to the hills.

Sinon watched him for a moment, thought of running after him, to beg him to take him along—there’s nothing left on earth for me now. But Prometheus’s departure seemed much like a dismissal. If the immortal had wanted a companion, he would have offered to take Sinon along.

Sinon went to the village and the ocean, hired onto a ship setting sail for Egypt, and left Ithaca forever.