Bag of Winds

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Episode #3:  The Bag of Winds

 

 

We reached the Aeolian island next, the home of Aeolus,

Hippotas' son, beloved by the gods who never die—

a great floating island it was, and round it all

huge ramparts rise of indestructible bronze

and sheer rock cliffs shoot up from sea to sky.

 

The king had sired twelve children within his halls,

six daughters and six sons in the lusty prime of youth,

so he gave his daughters as wives to his six sons.

Seated beside their dear father and doting mother,

with delicacies aplenty spread before them,

they feast on forever ... All day long

the halls breathe the savor of roasted meats

and echo round to the low moan of blowing pipes,

and all night long, each one by his faithful mate,

they sleep under soft-piled rugs on corded bedsteads.

 

To this city of theirs we came, their splendid palace,

and Aeolus hosted me one entire month, he pressed me for news

of Troy and the Argive ships and how we sailed for home,

and I told him the whole long story, first to last.

And then, when 1 begged him to send me on my way,

he denied me nothing, he went about my passage.

He gave me a sack, the skin of a full-grown ox,

binding inside the winds that howl from every quarter,

for Zeus had made that king the master of all the winds,

with power to calm them down or rouse them as he pleased.

Aeolus stowed the sack inside my holds, lashed so fast

with a burnished silver cord

not even a slight puff could slip past that knot.

Yet he set the West Wind free to blow us on our way

and waft our squadron home. But his plan was bound to fail,

yes, our own reckless folly swept us on to ruin . . .

 

Nine whole days we sailed, nine nights, nonstop.

On the tenth our own land hove into sight at last—

we were so close we could see men tending fires.

But now an enticing sleep came on me, bone-weary

from working the vessel's sheet myself, no letup,

never trusting the ropes to any other mate,

the faster to journey back to native land.

But the crews began to mutter among themselves,

sure I was hauling troves of gold and silver home,

the gifts of open-hearted Aeolus, Hippotas' son.

 

‘The old story!' One man glanced at another, grumbling.

 

'Look at our captain's luck—so loved by the world,

so prized at every landfall, every port of call.'

 

'Heaps of lovely plunder he hauls home from Troy,

while we who went through slogging just as hard,

we go home empty-handed.'

 

'Now this Aeolus loads him down with treasure.

Favoritism, friend to friend!'

 

'Hurry, let's see what loot is in that sack,

how much gold and silver. Break it open—now!

 

A fatal plan, but it won my shipmates over.

They loosed the sack and all the winds burst out

and a sudden squall struck and swept us back to sea,

wailing, in tears, far from our own native land.

And I woke up with a start, my spirit churning—

should I leap over the side and drown at once or

grit my teeth and bear it, stay among the living?

I bore it all, held firm, hiding my face,

clinging tight to the decks

while heavy squalls blasted our squadron back  

again to Aeolus' island, shipmates groaning hard.

 

We disembarked on the coast, drew water there

and crewmen snatched a meal by the swift ships.

Once we'd had our fill of food and drink

I took a shipmate along with me, a herald too,

and approached King Aeolus' famous halls and here

we found him feasting beside his wife and many children.

Reaching the doorposts at the threshold, down we sat

but our hosts, amazed to see us, only shouted questions:

'Back again, Odysseus—why? Some blustering god attacked you?        

Surely we launched you well, we sped you on your way

to your own land and house, or any place you pleased.'

 

So they taunted, and I replied in deep despair,

'A mutinous crew undid me—that and a cruel sleep.

Set it to rights, my friends. You have the power!'

 

So I pleaded—gentle, humble appeals—
but our hosts turned silent, hushed . . .
and the father broke forth with an ultimatum:
'Away from my island—fast—most cursed man alive!
It's a crime to host a man or speed him on his way
when the blessed deathless gods despise him so.
Crawling back like this—

it proves the immortals hate you! Out—get out!'

 

Groan as I did, his curses drove me from his halls

and from there we pulled away with heavy hearts,

with the crews' spirit broken under the oars' labor,

thanks to our own folly ... no favoring wind in sight.