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Chapter Text

The smell of smoke, screams, clashing swords. This was what Troy had become in just one night. Blood stuck to sandal soles, and in every gaze - the readiness to kill.

From one house ran a woman clutching her daughter. An Achaean soldier chased after them. To Odysseus it seemed the Trojan girl's scream sounded particularly piercing. A child's wail, having lost its mother. The city burned, tongues of smoke rising to Selene. The gods bore witness. Watchers of innocent bloodshed. The King of Ithaca bitterly averted his eyes. Too late for regrets. The blood had already been spilled.

On the crumbling walls sat vultures, carrion birds, a pair of kites. Among this avian gathering stood out an eagle. Larger than the rest, its gaze so piercing that when Odysseus glanced fleetingly at Troy's stone walls, he froze for a second.

An Ithacan king was attacked by a Trojan. Knocking the sword from his hand, the enemy charged, knocking Odysseus down. He dodged, shielded himself, and grabbed the nearest spear. One precise thrust, and the pike protruded from the Trojan's back. The Warrior of the mind quickly surveyed his surroundings, stood, and raised his sword.

That same eagle flew past him. Something compelled Athena's warrior to follow. The bird disappeared toward Priam's palace.

The man climbed the palace steps, ascending higher. Suddenly, it felt as though Hephaestus had struck his head with a hammer. For a second, Odysseus' legs buckled, his stomach threatening to empty itself. Before his eyes flashed a vision of his ruined home - mutilated corpses, endless weeping, fire consuming Ithaca. His palace lay in ruins, just like Troy now. In the throne room lay two bodies he didn't immediately recognize as his wife and son. At the vision's center stood a bloodstained stranger.

"Ugh... Who was that?"-He clutched his head. That same eagle flew past, its golden eyes flashing. No natural bird had such eyes.

"A vision of what is to come, cannot be outrun, "-echoed a voice in his mind. The eagle perched comfortably on the stair rail.-"Can only be dealt with right here and now"

Looking at the bird, the king understood - before him stood Zeus in eagle form. When gods speak, mortals must obey. He tightened his grip on the sword. Whatever awaited him, he was ready. With each step up the tower, the King of Gods' voice grew louder, heavier.

"Tell me how,"-the mortal said firmly. Tonight, it would end. He would return to Penelope and Telemachus.

"I don't think you're ready."-Odysseus mentally bristled. He was ready, absolutely ready. Nothing would shake his resolve.

"A mission to kill someone's son.-"The king saw soldiers leading Andromache downstairs.-"A foe who won't run"

Doubt crept in. Could it be...

Odysseus stopped, watching Andromache. The woman held herself proudly, but her face showed grief for her lost husband. She glared at Odysseus with hatred, fear, and loathing. The soldiers led her away. Meanwhile, the god-king's voice grew heavier:

"Unlike anyone you have faced before"

Odysseus reached the tower chamber. Dark thoughts swirled. Zeus' words made his soul writhe in doubt.

"Say no more!"-he cried, throwing open the door. His sharp eyes sought an enemy but found none.

In the corner stood large baskets. Gripping his sword tighter, the Warrior of the mind hissed:

"I know that I'm ready."-Lifting a basket lid - empty. All baskets held nothing. But his gaze caught on a small cradle across the room, draped with cloth. His heart pounded wildly.

"I don't think you're ready."-Zeus' voice persisted. The cloth yielded easily to rough hands, revealing a peacefully sleeping boy.

"It's just an infant..."-he whispered, lifting the child.-"It's just a boy..."

The infant reluctantly opened sticky eyes and cried at the sight of the fearsome helmet. Odysseus gave a bitter smile, removed the helmet, and set it down. It reminded him of Telemachus. When he'd bid farewell to Penelope and their son, the boy had wept at that same helmet. How he longed to see Telemachus grown. Ten now? Eleven? The calmed baby studied the stranger curiously. The king's resolve crumbled by the second. Was this some cruel divine joke?

"What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?"-The Warrior of the mind held the child. The boy squirmed, disliking the hard armor, reaching instead for the soft cloak.

The eagle landed on the windowsill, studying the mortal's shifting emotions with interest.

"This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector."

The fruit of Andromache and Hector's love. Named Scamandrius by his father, Astyanax by Troy.

Odysseus collapsed, his helmet rolling away. The baby played with his finger but grew still. The king kept seeing his own son in Priam's grandson. Was this some god-sent delusion?

"Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger,"-Zeus continued.-"one fueled with rage as you're consumed by age. If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save.You can say goodbye to Penelope"-The gods repeated this last phrase, pressing the Ithacan king.

Arguing with gods over prophecies, especially Zeus, was always foolish. Unfortunately or fortunately, Odysseus was too proud, cunning, and impudent to resist.

"I could raise him as my own,"-the mortal countered. Zeus parried-"Or send him far away from home."-The gods pressed harder.-"Make sure his past is never known."

He truly didn't want to kill the child. That Trojan girl's scream echoed again. Andromache's anguish if she lost both husband and son in one night. If he died, would Anticlea weep like Andromache would for her son? He shook his head, banishing thoughts. He couldn't bear losing Penelope and Telemachus, but what would he become if he slaughtered this innocent?

The eagle remained, studying the warrior's torment. Odysseus returned the baby to the cradle and approached the bird.

"I'd rather bleed for ya,"-He knelt, bowing deeply in supplication.-"down on my knees for ya."

"He's bringing you down on your knees for ya,"-Zeus mocked, amused by the mortal's defiance.

No matter how much the King of Ithaca pleaded for mercy, Zeus remained unmoved. Before taking flight, he sternly declared:
"The blood on your hands is something you won't lose."

The oppressive aura dissipated, the electric tension in the air faded. What should he do? Astyanax still lay in the cradle. The infant no longer wished to sleep. His eyes remained stubbornly open.

Save the child's life only to see everything he loved perish by his own hand? Or kill the infant and become someone who could never look Telemachus and Penelope in the eye again? Confusion overwhelmed him. Astyanax gave a slight smile. His Telemachus used to pout like that, making everyone laugh and coo. This made Odysseus break into a nostalgic smile. He took Scamandrius in his arms again and began rocking him.

"I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine"-he whispered softly, pressing his cheek against Astyanax.-"You're as old as he was when I left for war."

They were being watched - the mortal knew this. Taking a deep breath, he took a swaddling cloth from the cradle and wrapped the boy from memory. The result was mediocre at best. The smile faded from the king's face, leaving only a serious, determined expression. He glanced out the window. Below, the voices of over six hundred men celebrating their victory could be seen and heard. A few warriors had gone to search houses for surviving Trojans, while others were busy looting.

Descending from the Ilion tower, Odysseus avoided looking at the swaddled boy. Only after leaving the palace did he realize he'd left his helmet in the room. Not far away, joyful shouts of Achaeans mixed with bitter weeping, cries of resistance, and prayers of Trojans. He walked further and further from these sounds toward the ruined city wall. Soon Helios would begin his daily journey across the sky in his chariot. The baby slept peacefully in his arms.

Each step weighed heavily on the mortal, his legs growing weaker with every stair as he ascended the wall.

"Forgive me..."-Odysseus whispered to the gods.

Now at the wall's summit, he still couldn't bring himself to look at the boy. The cloth had come undone and no longer covered the child. For some reason, he remembered his mother and father, his sister and nurse. He recalled carefree childhood days when he could play with Polites and Eurylochus without worrying about ruling. He remembered his first lessons from Athena, his attempts at courtship before winning Penelope's hand. Poor Athena. His wedding came to mind. The day Eurylochus came to him with a bride-price for Ctimene. He'd never seen such determination and awkwardness on his friend's face. The day of their wedding played before his eyes. Memories of Telemachus's birth and the joy of every Ithacan citizen made Odysseus smile and chuckle involuntarily. His gaze was drawn back to Astyanax. The baby breathed softly.

"This is the will of the gods..."-Zeus's prophetic words still raged in his mind.

"Penelope, Telemachus, mother, Ctimene, forgive me..."-Odysseus collapsed to his knees. He couldn't do it. He couldn't take an innocent child's life.

Then a risky thought occurred to him.

"Ctimene and Eurylochus live on Same... Same is close to Ithaca. If I leave Astyanax with them... It's worth the risk!"

Leaving the child at such height was dangerous, but bringing him to the Achaeans was riskier still. Everyone had seen where he went, and most had enough sense to guess whose son this was. So Odysseus swaddled the boy again and carried him like a bundle, concealed beneath his cloak. After descending, he hid Astyanax in a basket, covering him with his cloak.

After carefully checking that no one had noticed, the King of Ithaca rejoined the others. They greeted him with smiles and cheers. Some joked at his expense. Not far off sat or stood captive women guarded by soldiers. Among them he saw Andromache with Astyanax's nursemaids. She looked at him in horror and whispered a curse meant for his ears alone. Odysseus shamefully averted his gaze. The man searched for his trusted companions. Diomedes pointed him toward them.

A large crowd had already gathered around Polites, listening to his stories. Someone was looking for a lyre so he could sing. Eurylochus stood nearby, cleaning his sword and humming a tune.

"Eurylochus, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,"-Odysseus panted as he ran up.

"Ah, Captain, you're back. Wait - where's your helmet and cloak?"

"You wouldn't believe what happened. A huge eagle snatched my helmet, and my cloak got caught on a tree."

"Strange the eagle didn't take your head with the helmet,"-remarked Perimedes.

"Hilarious, Perimedes,"-the Warrior of the Mind rolled his eyes.

"Not some made-up story that can't be kept quiet,"-Elpenor walked by carrying a sack.

"Hey! Show some respect!"-Odysseus struggled to catch his breath.

"So now, if I understand correctly, you've nothing to wear? Need to borrow clothes?"-Diomedes appeared from behind.

"Eurylochus, save me from these jokers,"-Laertes' son smirked, moving closer to his friend.

"Fascinating tale. Well, since you're here, we can gather everyone and divide the spoils,"-the brother-in-law of the Ithacan king stood from his seat, suppressing laughter.-"Polites was just about to sing your favorite song."

"No, no! Eurylochus, I need your help getting my cloak from that tree! Come quickly!"-The Samean had no time to react before being dragged away amid the others' laughter.

They walked further from the Achaean campfires along the ruined Trojan houses.

"Care to explain what's going on? You seem agitated."

"Promise to keep this conversation secret,"-the Warrior of Mind searched for the familiar fabric with his eyes.-"Except from Ctimene - you can tell her."

"What's this about?"-But Eurylochus fell silent when he saw Odysseus lift his cloak from the basket and take the infant in his arms.

"Look how defenseless he is. He has no one to protect him."

"Wait... You went toward Priam's palace... Captain, whose son is this?"-the king's companion asked gravely.

"Eurylochus, calm down. Hear me out first, then you can protest,"-the king spoke softly so as not to wake the child.

"Fine. I'm listening."

"This is Hector and Andromache's son, Astyanax. I found him in the Ilion tower. Zeus appeared to me as an eagle and prophesied that if this child lives, he'll destroy Ithaca. I can't raise him as my own or send him far away, or hide his past from him."

"You're joking?! The gods commanded you to kill him, and you plan to spare his life?!"

"Just listen! Do you think it's so easy to kill an infant? He reminds me so much of Telemachus..."-Odysseus rocked the child gently.

"Alright. What's your plan?"

"You and Ctimene have no children, right?"

"Not when I left for war ten years ago,"-Eurylochus rolled his eyes, then froze and looked at his brother-in-law in alarm.-"Odysseus, no! This is Hector's son! Do you have any idea what trouble you're bringing down on us all?! What if the prophecy comes true?! Why me?"

"Don't shout, you'll make him cry,' the King of Ithaca hissed."

"Take him with you to Same. Ctimene is my little sister and likes visiting homeland, so it's not far from Ithaca. And since I won't be raising him as my own son, the prophecy's condition is broken again. You and my dear sister can tell him he's an orphan from Troy."

"Just admit you want to shift responsibility to someone else,"-Eurylochus grumbled, but took Astyanax.-"And I don't know the first thing about children. What do I tell the others? Ctimene will kill me! She'll think I fathered him with another woman!"

Odysseus only gave a bitter smile. He knew his sister's fiery temper. The sounds of celebrating Achaeans and Polites' singing reached them. The Warrior of Mind fastened his cloak to his armor.

"Let's go. When we return to Ithaca, I'll come to Same with you and explain everything to Ctimene."-With a smile, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and headed toward the crowd of cheering men.

Eurylochus stared incomprehensibly at the infant in his arms. What was he supposed to do with him now? He definitely felt Odysseus had simply shifted responsibility onto him. What if this boy grew into an avenger? What if he burned their home? What if he killed Ctimene? Yet right now he was just a baby. And to be honest, Hector's son did resemble Telemachus remarkably - though didn't all children look alike at this age?

"What should I tell Ctimene? 'Darling, I brought a souvenir from Troy'?"-Eurylochus whispered to Astyanax. He wanted to believe. Wanted to very much, but wasn't quite succeeding yet.

Approaching the campfires, the Samean received more and more questioning, irritated and curious looks. Such attention was unwelcome. He had nothing to shield the baby from prying eyes, making it doubly awkward. Passing the captives, he noticed many surprised whispers and gasps.

"Hey, is that a baby you've got?"-one warrior asked. At this question, all who hadn't yet noticed Eurylochus turned to stare.

"Yes. When helping Odysseus with his cloak, I found him in a basket,"-the king's brother-in-law averted his eyes to the ground, hearing many draw their swords.-"An orphan, apparently."

"We can't let a Trojan live. He's asleep - let's finish him. He won't feel a thing,"-a voice rasped from the right, betraying its owner's ratlike nature.

"If it were your son, would you want your enemies to kill him or let him live?"-Polites cried, putting aside his lyre.-"We all... well, most of us have children. Has greed so blinded you that you'd kill a defenseless infant?"

Polites argued fiercely with the aggressive crowd. Cheers turned to quarrels. Eurylochus could only shield the child from reaching hands, though a thought nagged him: what if he did hand over the baby?

"What's this commotion?"-Odysseus pushed through the crowd with Menelaus.

"King of Ithaca, your friends have gone mad!"-voices cried from the throng.-"They want to spare a Trojan!"

"A Trojan? Where?"-Odysseus raised an eyebrow.

Then Eurylochus carefully showed the frightened baby on the verge of tears.

"Just an infant. And you're making such a fuss over him?"-Menelaus addressed the crowd. But the people kept pressing. Menelaus sighed heavily and whispered to Odysseus.

"Alright my brothers listen closely!"-the Warrior of Mind called loudly.-"We have Trojan women captives! Let's ask if they recognize this child's parents! If his father was a hero or royal kinsman, we'll kill him! If he's a commoner's son, my friend keeps him! My sister has long wanted a child."-Murmurs spread through the crowd, turning to shouts.

"What if he's some wealthy nobleman's son?"-someone asked.

"Then his fate will be decided when we divide the spoils,"-Menelaus declared firmly.-"Whoever wins him decides."-The crowd quieted reluctantly.

Polites carefully took Astyanax and approached the captives, followed by Menelaus, Odysseus and Eurylochus, while others watched. First they came to Andromache and nurses.

"Do you know this child?"-Polites showed her the baby.

"No..."-she answered bitterly. Odysseus saw her lips silently form "Scamandrius." She neither bowed her head nor looked away, but her eyes held immeasurable grief and sorrow. The nurses likewise shook their heads.

"Loyal wives, do you know this infant? Who his father was?"-Polites asked gently.

"No, no... Not at all..."-they whispered.

"If he's not Trojan, how came he here?"-Odysseus asked.

"Wait!"-a woman cried.-"Let me see closer. Oh, this is my sister's son! His father was a simple craftsman. An ordinary family. Oh, my sister..."-She burst into tears. Polites turned triumphantly.

"You've all heard. The child stays with Eurylochus,"-Menelaus raised a hand for silence.-"Now only he and the gods will decide the boy's fate."

Polites handed the infant to his friend and led them back to campfires and tents. Despite hostile stares, victory celebrations continued. Soldiers sang, reveling in war's end.

Eurylochus stood apart. Doubt weighed on him like an unbearable burden. He couldn't look at the child without fear and irritation. However small this infant, who knew what consequences sparing him might bring? Resentment crept into his heart. Odysseus had simply shifted responsibility. Yet truth be told, the king looked just as pensive and troubled.

At noon, the Achaeans loaded final supplies and set sail. In Eurylochus' arms lay the unfamiliar weight of Astyanax. What now? Ruined Troy faded behind them. An owl - Odysseus' companion - flew overhead. What fate awaited them? Could they outmaneuver prophecy?"

Chapter Text

Having sailed far enough from the ruins of Troy, the sailors realized one unpleasant truth: without milk, the infant wouldn’t stop crying.

"Eurylochus, this is your child - why am I the one stuck with him?"-one of the warriors grumbled.

"Because if I get distracted, we’ll all sink. His wailing is your problem until I’m done. Or would you rather explain to the captain why we ran aground? I need to chart a new course. Give me a few more minutes - I’ll check with the captain."-Eurylochus headed toward the stern where Odysseus stood.

Odysseus sat at the stern, an awkwardly unfolded map resting on his knees. Eurylochus cleared his throat and crouched beside his friend.

"Captain, we’ve got trouble."

"I know. He’s screaming loud enough to shake the deck."

"That’s just the start. Our supplies are running low. The brat’s single-handedly drained most of the watered-down goat cheese from the ships. We need to reroute."

"Then we head for Tenedos,"-the captain said, scanning the map.-"We’ll restock there and buy a few goats."-Another ear-splitting wail echoed across the ship.-"Think he’ll ever shut up?"

"No idea. Perimedes tried to give him soaked bread, but he won't eat it. Elpenor tried to pour water down his throat, but the boy kicked the cup."-Eurylochus pinched the bridge of his nose. The infant’s cries had become background noise.-"Captain, when we near Tenedos, should I arm the men? And where would we even stable goats? There’s no space."

"I got. We hold course for Tenedos. No weapons - we won’t attack. We’ll trick them. As for the goats… we’ll improvise."-Odysseus rose and strode toward the bow.

The sweep oars stared after him, baffled. Deceive the Tenedians? How?

"But how? We’re on the penteconter. Even hiding our shields won’t fool them. Our accents will give us away."-The first mate caught up, but Odysseus just grinned, clapped his shoulder, and said:

"Trust me, Eurylochus. It’ll work. We’ll manage."

Eurylochus wanted to trust him. After all, their captain had never failed them, steering them through every ordeal. This new scheme was nothing compared to past trials, especially compared to Troy. He prayed Odysseus’ luck would hold.

Eurylochus passed the warrior holding the infant without a glance. The sailor was still struggling to calm the boy.

"Keep him away from the oars, otherwise the wave will wash away - the captain will throw us overboard,"-he tossed over his shoulder.

"And this is why I mentioned having five sons already…"-the man muttered. Astyanax kept wailing.

"Hold on a little longer. We’re sailing to Tenedos,"-Eurylochus said, climbing the rope ladder to the next ship.

The second ship’s deck was quieter compared to the chaos of the flagship. The rowers sang songs every now and then, wanting to diversify the same type of work. There was almost no food left in the leather bags. Eurylochus informed the helmsman of the change of route, ordering the rest of the ships to signal to stick to the main ship, and reluctantly trudged to the rope ladder.

"Damn whelp,"-he thought. Just remembering the cries made his jaw clench. His hand drifted to his sword - an old habit of seeking solace in cold steel.

He knew the moment he stepped onto the main deck, the warrior would ceremoniously hand him the child. Not ideal. Not that Eurylochus disliked children. Children were gifts from Hera. He’d have loved a child with Ctimene, but the Queen of Gods hadn’t blessed them. Yet how was he to treat this child? The son of their enemy, a Trojan whose homeland they’d burned, a future avenger. Couldn’t Odysseus have given Astyanax to someone else? Polites would’ve been perfect: he lives on Ithaca, adored children - no risk of raising a vengeful heir. But Eurylochus? Too cautious, too guarded, too rough to mold a boy into anything but a weapon. Was it just his marriage to Ithaca’s princess that sealed his fate?

Eurylochus took a deep breath as he climbed onto the ramp. The steering oar must not be left unattended for long periods. Climbing up the swinging rope ladder took so much time, there was no time for philosophical reflections. As he expected, the warrior who was madly swinging the child immediately ran up to him. Surprisingly, Astyanakt was no longer crying.

"Take your brat. Finally got him to shut up. I fed him recently.. I’m needed at the oar."- The man shoved the infant into Eurylochus’ arms and left.

The baby stared up curiously, tiny hands reaching for Eurylochus’ face. His expression flickered with unease, as if tears were imminent. The first mate rolled his eyes. Couldn’t this future avenger last an hour without squalling? The sweep oarsman was not going to listen to the whims of children, he had other tasks more important than this little boy. The sweep oar has been left unattended for too long. Odysseus was still poring over the map.

"Here. Sit."-They climbed to a raised platform in the stern of the ship, which was specially designed to observe the sea. Eurylochus slightly adjusted his sleeping bag and sat Astyanakt down next to him. The baby struggled to sit up, resting his hand on the sturdy planks of the penticonter.

Wide-eyed, the infant studied the fifty exhausted rowers. When Scamandrius turned toward Odysseus, the baby gurgled happily, stretching his arms out. The captain glanced up at the sound, then smiled and reached back. The King of Ithaca rose, crossing the deck with uncharacteristic gentleness. The closer he got, the louder Astyanax babbled. Then Odysseus lifted him, and the boy immediately grabbed his beard.

Eurylochus didn’t know what to feel. Gripping the steering oar, he watched his king play with the enemy’s heir. Maybe Astyanax reminded Odysseus of Telemachus. Maybe this was how he channeled fatherly love he couldn’t give his own son. Or maybe the boy saw Hector in Odysseus - they bore a faint resemblance. A scared child, surrounded by strangers, clinging to anyone who felt familiar, who evoked home.

"Perfect time for games,"-Eurylochus muttered. The captain didn’t hear.

"Eurylochus, look at him!"-Odysseus laughed as tiny fingers yanked his beard again.

So. This was his child now. His son. However much Eurylochus dreaded the boy’s future vengeance, he had to raise him as his own. Orders. The Samean has long understood that if you want to survive in a war, follow orders without question. Of course, the war is over, but traveling by water is no less dangerous. The steering oarsman sighed heavily. He is obliged to raise this little boy as his own child in love and care. But how do he do that if he's never had children? The deputy captain looked at Odysseus playing with Astynax, at how he caught him in time or stopped the games, at how gently he stroked him. Watching Odysseus - the way he cradled Astyanax, the gentle corrections, the soft strokes Eurylochus wondered: If the gods had given him and Ctimene a child, would he treat Hector’s son differently?

A strip of land snapped him from his thoughts.

"Captain, land ahead!"-he shouted.

"Eurylochus, to the right!"-Odysseus jumped up, hugging Astynax to him. The helmsman pulled the oar towards him, and with a dull creak, the oar reluctantly pulled to the left. The penteconter smoothly turned the port side to the wind.

Odysseus peered into the distance, then ran his eyes along the sides, turned to the 11 ships following them. The child in the captain's arms was also enthusiastically examining the pentaconters.

"Find the Cretan banners and emblems!"-the strategist barked. The men immediately began to fuss, looking for the banner and emblems of Crete. The deputy captain didn't even know they had such a thing.

"Captain, we’ve had Cretan banners this whole time?"

"And more. Prepared for contingencies."-he handed Astynax to a friend, and he went to the best swimmer on the ship. The swimmer listened to the captain and jumped into the water.

The Trojan in Eurylochus’ arms watched the chaos with fascination. Steering one-handed was clumsy. The sweep oarsman glanced back - the swimmer had reached the next ship, where ropes hauled him aboard.

"Eurylochus, gear up. You’re coming with us,"-Odysseus called. Behind the captain, there were young men looking at each other, and Polites shifting from one foot to the other. Eurylochus furrowed his brows. All four of them did not understand what their brilliant strategist-captain had come up with.

Just as he moved to hand off Hector’s heir - Astyanax whined at yet another transfer - Odysseus stopped him.

"No, the boy comes. We’ll claim we’re Cretan sailors off course, begging supplies. The shoals force us to anchor offshore. The fleet stays here."

"Fine. But why bring the child?"

"Sympathy. He’ll sway their hearts. A widowed father struggling with an infant - good cover, no?"

Eurylochus bit back a retort. Astyanax frowned, as if agreeing it was a terrible idea

"But we don’t even sound Cretan!"-a youth protested.-No accent can hide it.

"Then talk less,"-Odysseus quipped. Odysseus was still witty. That's a good sign. But still, this did nothing to calm the grumbling among the crew. The deputy captain saw one of the young men hide a small dagger in his tunic.

"Enough. You heard the captain. Move!"-The first mate’s command cut through the grumbling. Perhaps his words will have a better effect on these men. By this time, the swimmer had returned. His body was rubbed with a cloak until he stopped shivering from the cold.

Landing in the shallows was far from pleasant. Eurylochus shielded the baby’s head with his hands and leapt into the water. It came up to his chest. The little Trojan was not pleased with this encounter. Polites stood neck-deep, seawater threatening to splash into Odysseus’s mouth. The boy, on the verge of tears at the sight of Odysseus in the water, suddenly burst into laughter. Polites laughed too, followed by the two other lads. Eurylochus rolled his eyes and trudged toward the shore. Suddenly, he plunged into the water with his head for a few seconds, managing only to lift Astynax above the water in time.

"How’s the water?"-Polites asked.

"Salty. Move faster."-A faint smile flickered across the helmsman’s face.

On the shore, armed men awaited them. After a masterful performance by Polites and Odysseus, the Tenedians graciously escorted them to the market. The narrow streets seemed endless. Five soggy men and a baby radiated harmlessness. Astyanax had quieted, though he occasionally whimpered and coughed. Polites patted the nervous boy soothingly, though his own dagger was hidden beneath his tunic. He wanted no bloodshed. Against the Tenedians, five men stood no chance.

"Are you sure you don't want to have lunch with us?"-One of the men accompanying them asked.

"Exactly. We are only here to buy provisions."-Odysseus did not have time to answer, as Eurylochus shook his head in the affirmative.

Astyanax pressed against his reluctant guardian’s damp body. The man rocked him awkwardly, the motion unfamiliar. His own calloused hands, cradling the child, felt alien. For some reason, he wanted to touch his lips to the top of the boy's head. The Trojan's head was hot. He had been exposed to the sun for too long.

"You’re burning up,"-Eurylochus whispered, stroking the child’s face. A sword-callused palm brushed across the kid's face. The Trojan's skin turned red, and he squeezed his eyes shut, acting up. There was a certain slowness in his movements. The Samean immediately realized that it was a bad thing.

"If you die, Odysseus will wring my neck."-panic flashed through his thoughts.

"We’ve got a problem."-He tugged Odysseus’s tunic.

"What?"

"The boy’s overheated."-He gestured to Astyanax, whispering. How he missed Ctimene’s wisdom just then. Missed her.

"What’s wrong?"-an older Tenedian asked.

"Our little one’s gotten too much sun. Could you direct us to help?"-Odysseus spoke carefully, side-eyeing Eurylochus.

"Come to my home. You’ll be honored guests. My wife will tend to the child."

A silent exchange passed between Eurylochus and Odysseus. The king of Ithaca nodded; the first mate bid his friends farewell with a glance and followed the Tenedian.

The man’s wife was kind. She gently and carefully took Astynax away, hurrying to get cold water. Eurylochus himself did not notice how he blew up behind the woman, controlling the process. He can't let this child die. He's responsible for it with his head. He stood in the doorway and clenched his fists. Odysseus believed in him, thought he could handle it, but he let him down. He let his friend down. He couldn't cope with the simple task of raising the boy as his own. He was just brushing the boy off, just because he was a Trojan, the son of their enemy. But is this little creature responsible for his father's actions? His uncle? Ctimene has always said that infant do not bear the burden of responsibility for the affairs of their ancestors. What kind of warrior is he now? What kind of friend is he now? What would his dear wife think? Now it's his son, he can't let him die.

"You’re a brave and kind-hearted warrior,"-the Tenedian woman murmured, bathing Astyanax.-"Few men would raise their enemy’s child. What’s his name?"

"He’s... mine now. My son. I haven’t named him yet."-Shame burned his throat. His first instinct was to say he was merely fulfilling duty. Shame, too, that this merciful woman hadn’t exposed him as Achaean - instead praising him as a devoted guardian, a role he’d rejected. He gritted his teeth.

"Don’t fear. I won’t tell the others,"-she whispered, still tender.-"I don’t know who you are, or this child, but somewhere deep, you wish him well."

"Could you... teach me to care for him?"- аnd why did he say that? Perhaps the panicked fear of disappointing Odysseus played into his hands, perhaps anxiety about the opinion of Ctimene, or perhaps his heart.

"Of course. Come here."

The veil hid the face of the Greek's wife. She guided him softly, gently, and carefully. The two of them didn't even notice her husband approaching them. He watched this with a smile and chuckles, sat down on a chair next to them, leaning his head against the wall, and soon fell asleep to the melodious voice of his wife.

Eurylochus never thought his thick, calloused fingers could be so gentle with something so fragile. His hands trembled as he tipped water to the Trojan’s lips. He couldn’t suppress a smile. If Ctimene could see him now. She’d be proud. He prayed silently to Artemis. Astyanax slept at last, his skin cool again, breathing steady.

"Now he needs rest and shade."

"But our ship has no constant shade-" His voice came louder than intended. The woman’s husband stirred.

"I’ll handle that,"-the man rumbled.-"I weave baskets. Quickly."

Eurylochus startled at the formidable voice, but the woman didn’t flinch, turning to her native voice.

"Thank you. I don’t know how to repay your kindness, but our ship awaits.".-The sweep oarsman couldn't believe his ears. These people knew perfectly well who he was, but they continued to give him immense kindness.

"I weave not only deftly, but also quickly. True, the basket will be small, but your son will be sheltered from the rays of Helios in it."- the man got up and went to his workplace. The Achaean understood this by the pile of reed and willow twigs.

Sitting next to his adopted son, Eurylochus did not stop praying. It seemed that he had already said the third prayer to Demeter, the fifth to Apollo, the second to Hera and the sixth to Artemis. The basketmaker's wife was quietly sweeping the house. A peaceful atmosphere.

The symphony of soothing sounds was interrupted by Samean:

"Why don't you tell the others that we are Achaeans?

The woman raised her head, her veil slipping slightly. Her husband paused his work to give Eurylochus a questioning look. Astyanax continued sleeping peacefully. Eurylochus immediately regretted asking. The couple exchanged glances, heaved a deep sigh, and began sharing their tragedy.

"We had children,"-the woman started, her weary eyes filling with tears.-"Three brave sons and one beautiful daughter. When the war began, Priam's army conscripted them by force. Our son-in-law volunteered. We comforted ourselves with thoughts of them returning home wealthy or at least covered in glory."-tears appeared in her tired eyes. Instead, the Greek continued the story.

"Our sons died,"-the man continued where his wife left off, the reeds cracking under his skilled hands. Eurylochus was certain Hephaestus himself had blessed this craftsman.-"Their deaths brought nothing but weeping and longing to our home. Our son-in-law fell the following spring, leaving our daughter a widow with two children. While our children fought bravely, Paris wasn't there to protect them. He hid like a coward."

"We mourned for so long,"-the woman resumed, her shoulders trembling as tears streamed down her face.-"But eventually we understood one fundamental truth: hatred only breeds more hatred. This child... he reminds me of our grandsons when they were this small."-She gently stroked the sleeping boy's head.

Eurylochus bit his lip. He might have killed one of this couple's children himself, or perhaps their son-in-law. How many such sons had he slain? How many had they lost? Meeting their eyes filled him with shame. These strangers had shown him boundless kindness - the woman teaching him child care, her husband now weaving a basket without payment. He couldn't replace what they'd lost, but hidden in the folds of his tunic were several golden coins from Troy.

As the basket took shape, Eurylochus listened intently to their stories about their children. He laughed, smiled, frowned and grieved with them. Their memories reminded him of his own childhood - playing with Odysseus and Polites, helping his father, watching Odysseus pine for Penelope, falling in love with Ctimene.

"The basket is ready,"-the man announced, patting his woven creation - a small lidded carrier with straps, perfectly sized for the Trojan boy.

Eurylochus stood speechless, opening and closing his mouth in silent gratitude. All that remained was to place Astyanax inside. Holding his breath, he lifted the sleeping child. The boy began to stir as Eurylochus carefully settled him into the basket and secured the sun-shielding lid. He desperately wanted to repay this couple, but beyond the gold coins, he had nothing to offer. His blacksmithing skills were useless in their tidy, peaceful home. Then his thigh brushed against his knife.

"I am deeply grateful for your kindness. Please accept these gifts,"-he said, producing both the coins and a finely crafted hunting knife he'd forged himself.

The Greek couple smiled as they accepted his offerings, escorted him to the door, and pointed the way to the marketplace. Their parting blessing followed him: "May Hermes protect you, warrior, and your son."

Eurylochus walked carefully, the basket with its sleeping occupant strapped to his back. When he finally spotted familiar figures at the market, Polites was the first to notice him.

"There you are! Where have you been?"-Polites exclaimed, arms wide for an embrace.
"And where's the child?"-one of the younger crew members asked.
"I met an extraordinarily kind couple,"-Eurylochus explained after extricating himself from Polites' hug.-"The husband wove this carrier, and his wife taught me how to care for the boy."-He gestured to the basket on his back.

"Well, we've got all we needed,"-Odysseus said, slapping his sides.-"Just the goats and their feed left to buy."-He glanced around meaningfully.-"We should hurry. The Tenedians aren't as friendly as they pretend."

After some expert haggling - one of the younger crew members proved surprisingly skilled - they acquired five goats and five sacks of grain. The Achaeans made their way back to shore in good spirits, the animals following obediently. The youths led the way carrying grain sacks; Polites managed two goats while balancing another sack; Odysseus bore two sacks across his shoulders; and Eurylochus guided the remaining goats.

"It's remarkable,"-Odysseus remarked as he fell into step with his second-in-command.-"How quickly you've adapted to fatherhood."

"Not adapted exactly. More... got used it,"-Eurylochus corrected, checking on Astyanax through the basket's weave.-"I'll be responsible for raising him for years to come. Though... the thought of him growing up to destroy Ithaca doesn't haunt me as much now. I keep imagining Ctimene's reaction when she learns about this Trojan - Hector's son, whose prophesied vengeance came from Zeus himself."

"Let's hope my dear sister doesn't react too strongly,"-Odysseus chuckled as a goat nudged his legs.-"And thank you, brother. For going along with my schemes. For everything."

"Where else would I go? Where you lead, Polites and I follow. Without you, my life would be unbearably dull - I'd probably be in Hades' realm by now out of sheer boredom."

"Don't tempt fate,"-Polites interjected, suddenly beside them. His expression made it clear he'd overheard everything.

"You two go ahead to the ship,"-he told the younger crewmen before turning back with a dangerous smile.-"Now then, my dear friends - whose son is he really?"

Odysseus maintained his composure.

"A Trojan craftsman's boy. Didn't you help identify him among the Trojan women?"

Eurylochus' darting eyes betrayed them.

"Don't lie."-Polites cut in sharply.-"I heard everything. Confess properly."

"Polites, take it easy."-The tallest of the three held out his hands in a soothing gesture. Seeing the optimist's gaze, Eurylochus fell silent, turning an apologetic glance at Odysseus.

Reluctantly, Odysseus explained about the prophecy and his plan to circumvent it. During the story, Polites' face changed many expressions. There was an awkward silence.

"Let me understand,"-he hissed.-"Despite Zeus' own prophecy that this Trojan would slaughter all Ithaca, you didn't kill him - you gave him to Eurylochus? Did someone hit you too hard during the battle, or have you truly lost your mind?"

"My mind is perfectly sound,"-Odysseus retorted, crossing his arms.-"Prophecies are like tides. I simply found a way to redirect the flow."

"You idiot! Has Athena gone blind to whom she mentors? What if the gods don't like this game? Have you thought about Ithaca? Have you thought about Same? Have you thought about Ctimene? And finally, about Eurylochus? First of all, you're putting him in harm's way!"

"Polites, calm down. I weighed every factor before deciding."-The helmsman took the box off his shoulders and set it aside from the friendly exchange.

"You weighed it, sure. You... A devoted watchdog with nothing but desires to save and cater to public opinion, to follow orders, to live by the duty you've invented for yourself!"-Polites suddenly pulled Eurylochus closer.

"And what about you? Pretending to be a saintly, cheerful optimist, as if you didn't slaughter people left and right for ten years. Do you think no one notices how genuinely you rejoice at other people's failures?"-before the man from Same could finish speaking, he received a slap in the face.

"Either keep your opinion to yourself or I'll stuff it where even Helios' rays can't reach!"-then he landed a punch on Odysseus.

Quarrels were rare among their friendship. They had grown accustomed to each other too quickly, which was why they worked so well together.

"Why me?"-asked the king of Ithaca, rubbing the spot where he'd been

Polites, still seething with anger, grabbed a sack of grain and forcefully threw it onto the sand. The goats bleated испуганно.

"Are you still asking?! If you weren't my king, I'd have dealt with you differently!"

The animals backed away, sensing the growing tension. Odysseus exhaled, shaking his head. It seemed that all three were heated up.

"You're right, Polites. I didn't think about Ithaca, didn't think about Ctimene, didn't think about Same and didn't think about Eurylochus. But I thought about Telemachus."

Polites turned to Odysseus, giving him a chance to continue before expressing his own opinion on how things should have been done.

"I looked at the infant in the cradle back in the Trojan tower, and I remembered my Telemachus. I wish whoever wanted to kill him because of some prophecy would have spared his life and given him a chance to live it in peace."

"Congratulations, now you've brought trouble upon your kingdom, your family, and your friend."

"What do you suggest we do? Kill him right now?"-Odysseus pointed his finger at the basket where the baby began to whimper.

"You should have done that in Troy!"-Polites stepped forward, his fists clenched.

"Enough"-Eurylochus said sternly, stepping between them.-"We're on the shore of a foreign island, where we're being watched constantly, and you're about to fight like boys in the market square."-He measured both friends with a glance, urging them to calm down, and then walked towards the awakened Trojan. The animals quickly followed him.

"Polites, you're right. Odysseus, you're an idiot. I told you back in Troy that this was a bad idea. However, Polites, it's an order. I must raise him as my own son, without revealing the full truth to him. Now is not the time or place to figure out who's right and who's wrong."

Still angry, Polites got ahead of Eurylochus, opening the wicker box first. He pulled out the whimpering, squirming Astyanax and slowly rocked him. The captain and his deputy exchanged glances.

"What? He's innocent, unlike you prideful fools! And he certainly isn't to blame for all the grown-up, arrogant idiots around him."

Within minutes, the group was moving again. Loading the goats onto the penteconter proved challenging - they ended up rigging slings to hoist each animal aboard. The goats were distributed among the twelve ships, with one designated as Astyanax's nursemaid.

The goats proved to be quite the handful. The makeshift pen was taking forever to build - the stubborn animals kept jumping over the boards, disrupting the construction of their unusual home. Eventually, they settled for tying the goats with short ropes to one of the stern beams.

To everyone's surprise, the nursemaid goat took to Astyanax immediately. She stood patiently while being milked, let the boy ride on her back, and kept a watchful eye on him. But this brought another problem - the little Trojan now refused all food except goat's milk and watered-down goat cheese.

"Come on, goat's milk brat, open up," Eurylochus pleaded desperately from his position near the steering oar, trying to feed his adopted son some soaked bread. The boy just shook his head stubbornly while attempting to stand.

The steering oarsman smiled with relief when the child finally tasted the bread. The ship rocked on the waves and the child's face was distorted with pain. The ship rocked again, and the boy's body reached out to his foster father. The waves rocked the penticonter again and the little Trojan vomited right onto the deck. Crying ensued.

"There's only one problem with you,"-the first mate muttered as he picked up the child. The vomit needed cleaning, the boy needed soothing - but the more the ship rocked, the harder the Trojan cried.

Eurylochus tried everything the Tenedos woman had taught him, to no avail. The pitching waves only made things worse. As the storm intensified, the helmsman realized he'd soon need to focus entirely on the steering oar and the captain's commands. With every sailor at their posts, his only option was to tuck the small Trojan back into his basket.

"Stay put and don't move,"-Eurylochus ordered sternly, securing the lid. The thought of later cleaning stomach acid from the woven container turned his stomach.

In the storm's chaos, Eurylochus completely forgot about the Trojan. Only when the waves calmed near midnight did he remember. The exhausted rowers collapsed into sleep immediately; Odysseus stayed awake just long enough to confirm their safety; but Eurylochus, as helmsman, couldn't sleep at all. As a helmsman, you can only sleep occasionally, hoping blindly that you haven't lost your way. The infant's crying had become background noise a long time ago, so it took him a while to remember about the baby.

The storm had passed, but the night remained impenetrably dark. Eurylochus, bone-weary, straightened with difficulty after hours at the steering oar. Suddenly, a thought struck him like lightning: "Astyanax!" He rushed to the basket where he'd left the boy. When he lifted the lid, horror gripped him.

In the dim light, he could barely make out the small form inside - pale, drenched in sweat, completely motionless. He snatched up the child in panic. How could he have forgotten his own son? The Tenedos woman hadn't taught him what to do in such situations. His hands trembled violently as he dropped to his knees, pressing an ear to the boy's chest. A heartbeat - faint and slow, but there. Alive. Astyanax was alive. This realization made his whole body shake harder. Life was slipping from this fragile body, and he didn't know how to stop it. He should call for help, but words failed him. He could barely breathe as his frantic eyes searched for salvation.

A bleat from the nearby goat startled him into action. Before conscious thought caught up, his body moved on instinct - laying the boy on his bedroll, finding a relatively clean scrap of torn tunic to wipe the tiny body (his motions still too rough), then locating a small vase (where had that come from?) to collect milk from the goat. He couldn't remember which amphora held fresh water, but he needed to dilute the milk - the boy wouldn't drink it otherwise.

"Come on, drink up, goatling,"-he whispered, his own voice unfamiliar in its tremor. When the Trojan's lips parted for small sips, Eurylochus's breath hitched. He couldn't believe he'd nearly sent this tiny life to Hades with his own hands.

Eurylochus stared unblinking at the pale little face, desperate for any sign of improvement. When the boy coughed weakly, the helmsman finally exhaled. The Trojan drank slowly, in tiny gulps. The Samean pressed Astyanax closer, but it was too soon for relief - the small body remained limp, breathing uneven. Around them, exhausted rowers slept; Odysseus twitched in fitful dreams by the stern. Wake them for his mistake? No. This was his fault, his responsibility to fix.

Running his hands over the boy's torso, Eurylochus realized with fresh panic - he was freezing. The shock had blinded him to this earlier. He didn't have anything warm. He wasn't wearing a raincoat. It always seemed that this piece of cloth would interfere with the control of the penticonter and in battle. Someone put a hand on his shoulder from behind. It was Polit. Not so sleepy.

"What happened?"-his friend whispered, settling beside him. Eurylochus confessed his negligence, expecting disappointment, but Polites simply hugged him, patting his back.

"Let's warm him between us,"-Polites suggested. Eurylochus nodded, heart aching that even after nearly killing a child, Polites's expression hadn't changed toward him.

They sat on Eurylochus's bedroll, pressing close, shielding Astyanax from the wind with their bodies.

"You're not to blame,"-Polites murmured, reading his thoughts.

"Not to blame? I forgot him like a sack of provisions!"

"You're new at this. And doing better than most fathers I've known."-Eurylochus snorted but didn't argue. Remembering some warriors he knew, he felt a pang of sympathy for their children.

Astyanax shifted weakly, tiny fingers clutching Eurylochus's tunic.

"See? He's holding onto you,"-Polites smiled.-"That means he trusts you."

"You're still angry?"-Eurylochus avoided his gaze, suddenly aware of his hand resting on the small Trojan's chest, feeling the heartbeat.

"Of course. But prouder still."

"Proud? Polites, I nearly killed my own son!"-The words came out harsher than intended. Why couldn't Polites just scold him, express disappointment like a normal person?-"Why are you smiling? You should be furious with me!"

"Your own son. You called him your son. Remember what Odysseus once said? In our friendship, he's the heart, I'm the soul, and you're the brain. Well, our brain just grew a heart!"-Polites burst into laughter, hugging him tighter. The infectious sound pulled a chuckle from Eurylochus too, waking Astyanax.

Eurylochus stood up carefully, handing the child to his friend. It was time to check the course. A soft melody rang out.

"This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,"-sang Polites, gently rubbing the boy's limbs.-"Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart."

Eurylochus smiled. Polites's singing always calmed him. As his friend rocked the boy back to sleep, the helmsman returned to navigation. Little was visible tonight - just Selene and the stars guiding their way.

"You still haven't named him,"-Polites noted, cuddling the Trojan.-"Can't keep calling him 'little goat,' 'boy,' 'Trojan,' or 'Hector's spawn.'"

"Polites! What if someone hears?"

"Who? Everyone's exhausted after the storm."

A name... He did need to name his adopted son. But what? His gaze fell on Astyanax's nursemaid goat. The boy cried constantly without her milk, would eat nothing else now. And the gods had clearly marked his fate. Eurylochus looked up at the constellations and whispered:

"Galaktion."

"Ah, for the stars? Wonderful. Galaktion it is."

"Yes... for the stars,"-Eurylochus agreed, not wanting to explain the milk-related meaning.

Eurylochus returned to his sleeping bag. Polites handed him the baby and went to his oar to sleep.

"Galaktion, please don't kill us when you grow up."-the Samean said hopefully, putting his adopted son to his chest.

When Eurylochus awoke, the child was gone. Jolting up, he checked the basket - only for Odysseus to appear with the boy.

"Lose something?"

"You startled me,"-the helmsman grumbled, reclaiming his son.

"You two looked so peaceful sleeping, no one wanted to disturb you. But little goat here wanted to greet the dawn with you."

"I named him Galaktion."

"'Milky one'?"

"Don't tell Polites. He thinks it's for the stars."-Odysseus laughed.

After that day, things were different on the penteconter. The sailors who had recently grumbled at the sight of the little Trojan began to play with him, sincerely rejoiced at his attempts to get up and sit on his own, and cut out toys for him. Eurylochus did not always have time to keep an eye on his restless son. The nurse goat was rushing to the baby. She didn't like many rowers, so she actively bleated when she saw one of them taking her "kid" in his arms. Polites kept trying to teach Galaktion how to walk.

A month later, the moment they'd all awaited arrived.

"I keep imagining Ctimene's reaction,"-Eurylochus admitted, sharing his portion with Elpenor.

"What can she do? She'll have to accept it,"-Elpenor shrugged.

"You don't know her. Wise, but fiery."

"My dear sister hasn't changed,"-Odysseus smirked.

Meanwhile, Galaktion crawled along the narrow deck, curiously watching the weary rowers.

"Little goat, where are you off to?"-Perimedes laughed, scooping him up near the prow. The Trojan burst into tears, making Perimedes fluster while Elpenor grinned.

"Galaktion, father's here,"-Eurylochus soothed, approaching.

"Look, the ground!"-One of the sailors shouted.

Odysseus ran to the bow of the ship and broke into a smile. A cry of "Ithaca!" echoed through the penteconter. The cry of the approaching homeland was heard from the other eleven ships.

"I can just see Ctimene's face,"-Odysseus told his two friends.

"Oh, what a sight! Imagine her slapping him for bringing home Troy's heir!"

"Thanks for that. Keep it down,"-Eurylochus grumbled, though anxiety already churned within him. What if she rejected the boy? Galaktion babbled, mimicking the crew.

"Home soon, my little goat,"-the helmsman told his son, returning to the steering oar.

Ithaca drew nearer. Soon he'd reach Same and see his beloved wife. The thought alone made him smile. Wait for me just a little longer, Ctimene. Suddenly, gasps sounded behind him. Turning, he saw a massive eagle with golden eyes - Zeus. Eurylochus dropped to his knees, shielding Galaktion as the god spread his wings approvingly before vanishing.

"Let's hope for the best,"-Odysseus said beside him, as Ithaca's shores grew ever closer.

Chapter Text

The eagle appeared on the third day after Troy's fall. No one else saw it but him. Eurylochus could have sworn he saw a gigantic eagle in the sky! Enormous, with long brown feathers and powerful wings. Its gaze was so commanding. But there was one strange thing about it. Golden eyes. Birds don't have those. For some reason, he was the only one who ever saw it. The bird would take flight the moment Odysseus turned his head, or vanish behind clouds when Polites looked up. At first, they believed him. Then, the closer the eagle supposedly flew, the less certain they became. They said the heat was getting to him, for surely a bird couldn't follow them for so long.

"Eagles are birds of Zeus,"-Odysseus had grunted one day before turning over and falling asleep. He hadn't believed Eurylochus's claim that the bird had landed on the deck of their penteconter.

After a while, the eagle began flying near the wet-nurse with Astyanax. During the division of the spoils, Odysseus had decided to give him one of the Trojan women to feed Astyanax with her milk. The Trojan woman was petite, with dark hair once braided in a neat coiffure that revealed a broad forehead, and with sharp facial features. Scars were healing on her cheek and arm. To his misfortune, Eurylochus was now responsible for her as well. He hadn't even bothered to ask her name. First, they'd forced the boy on him, and now he had to answer for this woman, too. At least she remained perpetually silent and communicated with gestures. Was she mute? More likely, she just didn't understand Greek. She occasionally walked around the ship, rocked Astyanax, and never looked at the sailors. The Trojan was beautiful despite her sharp features, like a sculptor's creation. But Eurylochus did not look at her. He was too busy dreaming of his reunion with Ctimene. Of sailing to Same, rushing to his home, opening the doors, locking eyes with his beloved as she threw her arms around his neck. His dear Ctimene...

"How is he supposed to live with us now?"-The thought always flashed through his mind the moment he took Astyanax into his arms. How does one raise the one who will someday destroy his home? How does one raise an avenger?

Holding the Trojan boy was unpleasant. Eurylochus couldn't shake the vision of an inevitable future. He wanted to throw these thoughts out of his head, but they pushed through, relentless, despite his every attempt to think of something else.

The days stretched on slowly. The slave woman kept to herself like a ghost among the living, and only Astyanax could draw a flicker of life from her. The child reached for her, sensing a protector in this woman, and she, despite her apparent indifference, cared for him with tenderness. Eurylochus had no desire to shatter this fragile idyll.

The sailors exchanged glances but remained silent. The silent Trojan woman kept to the ship's prow, ignoring all warnings to stay away. Deep down, Eurylochus hoped that one day a wave would simply wash her and the infant overboard. He disliked the extra responsibility. He was already accountable for six hundred men, his wife's brother, and a slightly mad optimist. On the main penteconter alone, there were fifty-six men under his direct supervision, and keeping track of the others across the fleet was even harder. Each one required a watchful eye: morale needed boosting, provisions required checking, and their well-being had to be monitored.

As Odysseus's first mate, his authority on the ship was absolute, though not always unquestionably accepted by the entire crew. The relationship between Eurylochus and the men was strained. On one hand, he was forced to maintain order and discipline; on the other, he constantly faced the sailors' discontent and grumbling. This was especially true regarding the silent Trojan woman and the child.

As much as the Trojans grated on his nerves, he couldn't abandon them, so he had to keep an eye on them too. Now he was responsible for them, however voluntarily-forced that responsibility was.

On one particularly sweltering day, Eurylochus brought her a waterskin. She looked at him with a fearless, dismissive gaze and accepted the vessel of water. She needed rest, too. With great reluctance, Eurylochus took Astyanax from her. The child himself evoked no negative feelings in him, but the fear of the future destruction he might bring did its work. He tried to keep his face impassive, afraid someone might notice his fear and contempt. Panic consumed his mind whenever he imagined someone discerning his true emotions, the rumor spreading through the ships, the increasingly frequent questions about why he had chosen to adopt a Trojan infant, the sailors learning the truth and raising their swords against him and Odysseus.

Eurylochus held Astyanax tighter, feeling a fine tremor run through his arms. The child, warm and helpless, buried his nose in Eurylochus's shoulder, completely unaware of the storms raging in the soul of the man who held him.

"I am not adopting him,"-Eurylochus repeated mentally.-"I am merely following an order. Nothing more."

He lived by orders. He lived by duty. And now his duty was to raise this future avenger as his own. Let the Gods drive him mad, let the fear grow stronger, let his hands tremble - he would carry out the order. He would not disappoint Odysseus.

"Hey, why so gloomy?"-came Polites' cheerful voice from behind. He held out a hardtack biscuit to him. Apparently, he'd saved it from their short break. This cheerful Ithacan should have eaten his entire ration; he needed strength for rowing.

"Not gloomy, just focused,"-Eurylochus grumbled, but he took the rusk. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the rowers slumping more than the others.

"You're always focused, that's why you're so tense. Relax for a minute. I'm sure Odysseus can handle your duties for five minutes."-His friend's words sent an unpleasant pang through his heart.

"Polites, you don't understand. I'm not tense."-Eurylochus awkwardly looked away from Astyanax. A lie.

"You are. It's written all over your face."-Polites gently touched the furrow between the first mate's brows. The coxswain stopped himself from taking a step back.

"Why did you give me your hardtrack? You need it more. If you don't have the strength to row later, I won't take your shift."

"I learned from you. You're always giving your portion to someone else, as if you're afraid our provisions will magically disappear."-The Ithacan took off his own cloak and draped it over the Trojan woman, who had finally managed to fall asleep.

"You're always focused, my friend,"-Polites continued, sitting down beside him. "You probably even plan the watch schedules in your sleep. You scowl and won't even let yourself sleep lying down. Don't your back and neck ache?"

"Just a lot on my mind,"-he replied curtly, breaking off a piece of the rusk for Astyanax. The baby reached for the food, and Eurylochus involuntarily smiled, though the smile was strained. The baby did not like the hardtack.

"Yeah, there's plenty on your mind,"-Polites agreed.

"Do what you must,"-the first mate replied, trying to sound calm.

"But do you yourself believe in this plan? Raising a Trojan whelp?"-Polites asked unexpectedly, lowering his voice.-"You know, you really surprised me back then, when you came to camp with an infant."

Eurylochus froze. The question caught him off guard. He wasn't ready to discuss his doubts, even with a friend. He wasn't allowed to reveal the truth to him. Odysseus had ordered silence, permitting him to tell only his wife the fate of the future avenger.

"Whether I believe or not isn't important,"-Eurylochus said, turning away from Polites with the baby in his arms.-"I just felt... drawn to the boy then. I couldn't leave him there."

At that moment, as if hearing their conversation, the eagle appeared above the ship. Its golden eyes flashed in the sunlight, and Eurylochus felt a chill run down his spine. Horror dawned in his eyes. The King of the Gods was toying with him. For some reason, he hunched his body over Astyanax, afraid those talons would snatch the small body. The captain's deputy's eyes followed the divine bird. Polites followed his gaze.

"Your eagle again,"-he smirked.-"Maybe you really are going mad from the sun?"

Eurylochus didn't answer. He knew Polites couldn't see the bird, but at that moment he was absolutely certain - the eagle was real, and its appearance was no coincidence. Zeus himself was sending him visions. Or had he simply cursed everyone else so they couldn't see it? Eurylochus stared relentlessly at the bird, feeling his palms grow damp and his breath quicken. Astyanax stirred in his arms, reaching toward the sky as if trying to catch a sunbeam.

"Do you see it?"-Eurylochus couldn't help asking, nodding toward the bird. He didn't know who he was asking - Polites or Astyanax.

Polites looked up, squinting in the sun:

"I only see clouds and a couple of gulls. Where's the eagle?"-But the bird was already gone, and the captain's deputy let out a sigh that was either resentment or relief. On one hand, he was rid of the eagle for at least a few hours; on the other, no one believed him.

Polites returned to his place, and Eurylochus wanted to take the spot of the exhausted rower, but the child occupied his hands. There was no one to give the boy to: Odysseus had taken his place at the steering oar, the Trojan woman was asleep, the warriors were rowing intently, occasionally breaking into song, and he didn't want to hand the infant to the weary sailor—who knew what he might pass on to the child, or he might fall asleep himself and forget he was holding him. So he had to return to the stern with the little Trojan.

Eurylochus had no idea what to do with infants; he had no experience with them. The baby himself stared up at him with surprised eyes. The coxswain couldn't imagine this fragile, thin little body growing strong and tall.

Eurylochus sat on the stern, holding the sleeping Astyanax to his chest. The sunset painted the waves on the horizon while a storm of conflicting emotions raged in his heart.

"What will you become when you grow up?"-he mentally asked the little prince, studying his delicate features. Eurylochus's fingers involuntarily tightened as he pictured this boy as a grown warrior, leading new hordes of surviving Trojans against Ithaca. Visions flashed in his mind: his ancestral home in flames, endless screams, Ithaca crumbling like Troy, Ctimene's cries... He shook himself sharply, banishing the horrific images. The King of the Gods was trying to break him. He wouldn't succeed. Not now.

"No, he's just a child,"-Eurylochus tried to convince himself, but the voice of reason was drowning in fear. He wanted to do something, anything, to distract himself, but his hands were occupied by the very future he feared. He truly considered waking the silent wet-nurse, but something held him back. Perhaps it was pity. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his mind, he had decided this was an excellent way to show Odysseus he was learning to be a father. Odysseus reminded him somewhat of Ctimene, though, given that his wife was the younger sister of the King of Ithaca, it was probably Ctimene who resembled Odysseus.

Oh, his dear Ctimene. His heart ached for her, for their peaceful family life, for his father's house. Sometimes, before sleep, he would imagine her embrace, her graceful hands, her whisper, her voice - a voice that no longer reached his ears. Over the years of war, he had forgotten the sound of her voice; only fragments of memory hinted at its melody. It terrified him that he had forgotten what his beloved wife looked like. He wasn't like Odysseus, who constantly prattled on about Penelope; he wasn't like Polites, who gladly indulged in reminiscence; he wasn't like any of the other seasoned warriors in the army who recalled their battles, families, or friends with bitter laughter. His love was a quiet thing. For a woman like Ctimene, it never felt like enough. He had always felt awkward and ashamed to speak of his feelings for her. It always seemed absurd, unsuited to the image he projected and the path he had chosen.

Astyanax stirred in his arms. Eurylochus snapped back to the present. He scanned his surroundings with a practiced eye. All was in order: no one was bothering the Trojan slave woman; she slept peacefully. Odysseus still stood firm at the steering oar. Polites and the other rowers were humming melodies from their homelands.

"Ctimene will surely love you,"-escaped his lips in a barely audible whisper. He said it with a tone that suggested he was trying to convince himself.-"You are just a baby... and you will grow into just a man..."

Eurylochus sat on the stern, holding the Trojan infant to his chest, and watched the sunset sea. His words hung in the air - a strange incantation, a mixture of hope and despair.

"You are just a baby, and you will grow into just a man..."-he repeated, and at that moment, Astyanax grasped his finger with his tiny hand. The grip was surprisingly strong for such a fragile creature. An image of Hector flashed in his mind - the tall silhouette that had so easily felled hordes of Achaeans.

Somewhere deep down, Eurylochus understood the naivety of his words. This child would never be a "simple man." The blood of Priam and Hecuba, of Hector and Andromache, flowed in his veins. The memory of Troy's fall would forever remain in his heart. But was fate truly predetermined? Eurylochus remembered how Odysseus loved to say that a man forges his own destiny, and the gods merely watch. He glanced at the sleeping Trojan woman. In the rays of the setting sun, her exhausted face seemed almost beautiful. Who was she? A former servant? A city dweller? Perhaps a relative of the fallen royal house?

Astyanax stirred and began to cry. Eurylochus awkwardly tried to soothe him, rocking him in his arms.

"Shhh... it's alright,"-he muttered, feeling foolish. He hunched over the tiny son of his enemy.

Suddenly, the Trojan woman awoke and was instantly at his side, reaching for the child. She adjusted the fibula that had slipped from her shoulder. Her once-elegant chiton was now worn and torn in places. He handed Astyanax to her, and at that moment, an eagle flew over the ship with a loud cry. Eurylochus had to restrain himself from following it with his gaze. They might think him mad if he kept talking about this bird and the curse of the gods. But the golden-eyed eagle flew precisely within his line of sight. Its gaze pierced through him; it seemed all the fears and anxieties of the Samean were visible and known to all. Every cry made his heart skip a beat.

"Stay here,"-Eurylochus ordered the wet-nurse sternly. She stared into the distance, lost in her thoughts.

Sighing, Eurylochus trudged over to the barely breathing rower. The man eagerly staggered toward the shade of the mast. The shadow was small, but for the exhausted rower, it was salvation. Eurylochus bent down, placing his palm on the man's forehead - his skin was burning, his breath ragged, with neither sweat nor tears. The young warrior tried to moisten his lips to keep them from burning. Dehydrated, too.

"The sun's cooked you, fool,"-he grumbled, but there was no anger in his voice, only weary concern. The first mate took out his own waterskin and handed it to him. He wanted to scold the rough lad for playing the hero and neglecting rest.

"Lie here,"-he finally said. The rower nodded, but distrust flickered in his eyes. They all knew: on a small penteconter, there were no spare hands. If you couldn't row or relieve someone at the oars, you were a burden. The youth began greedily drinking from the foreign waterskin, choking several times.

Eurylochus scanned the others: some rubbed their calloused hands, others stealthily massaged their lower backs, but no one complained aloud. They knew - no one was better or worse off; all suffered equally. Neither the first mate nor the captain stood aside; they, too, were sleep-deprived and underfed. Odysseus himself seemed never to know fatigue. He stood at the steering oar, straight and unshakable, as if carved from oak. The sun scorched his tanned skin, the wind tousled his tangled hair, but his gaze remained clear, his hands steady on the oar. Polites and a few other warriors occasionally glanced at the captain, checking on him. For a second, the thought crossed the mind of the Samean that Odysseus might be sleeping standing up with his eyes open, just to avoid crushing their already fragile morale.

Time stretched on, both endless and fleeting. After hours of monotonous work, his back stiffened, and his shoulders refused to straighten. His fingers went numb, aching as he flexed them.

"Eurylochus!"-Odysseus shouted from the stern.

"Captain?"-the first mate turned.

"Relieve me."-Eurylochus winced as he straightened up. He took his place at the steering oar, having first listened to the course instructions, as Odysseus went to sleep.

Unnoticed, sunset gave way to night. Selena wheeled across the sky in her chariot drawn by bulls. All the sailors slept peacefully. Occasionally, one would wake from a restless dream, glance around, and then fall asleep again. Eurylochus woke once more from a short nap. He strained to check the stars. They were already off course and had lost several days.

Suddenly, the penteconter lurched. Eurylochus nearly fell, managing at the last moment to grab onto the wooden steering oar. Right there on the gunwale, near the sleeping warriors, sat a colossal eagle with golden eyes. The bird imperiously spread its vast wings. Then it soared dominantly into the sky, circling like a vulture over a mortal, before landing on the ship's prow. It landed right beside the Trojan woman and the infant. It was surprising she wasn't asleep at this hour. The first mate strode toward the bird as if in a trance.

He was near Zeus in the guise of an eagle when he heard an unfamiliar melody. The whispered, foreign words resembled a witch's incantation. The alien song was alluring. Turning toward the source of the sound, Eurylochus saw the Trojan woman, peacefully singing a lullaby to Astyanax.

"Hey, are you singing him a Trojan lullaby?"-Eurylochus moved closer to the captive. She raised her gaze to him and stopped singing, pulling the infant tighter. Her eyes were clouded yet clear.

"Yes,"-she whispered hesitantly. Her look made it clear - she was self-conscious about the sound of her own voice in a foreign tongue.

"You know Greek?"

"A little."-Eurylochus froze, as if struck by lightning. This quiet voice, hoarse from long silence, sounding in the night, seemed unreal to him. Those simple words overturned everything he thought he knew about the silent Trojan woman. How many weeks had she pretended not to understand their language? How much time had she spent watching, listening, memorizing?

The eagle on the prow ruffled its feathers, its golden eyes flashing in the moonlight. It seemed the very bird of Zeus had been waiting for this moment. It smirked, satisfied. The Samean tried to ignore the divine avian and not glance its way.

"Why were you silent all this time?"-Eurylochus asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. His fingers involuntarily clenched into fists. He prayed mentally that everyone was asleep and would not hear their conversation for anything.

The Trojan woman averted her gaze, her fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of the swaddling cloth wrapped around Astyanax. She took a long time choosing her words, remembering how they sounded in the foreign language.

"I was afraid,"-she whispered, looking at him with contempt. Then her eyes swept over the sleepers. The man felt a gust of wind; the ship rocked again.-"Your men... look at me like beasts."

A chill ran down Eurylochus's spine. He looked around - the eagle was gone, as if it had never been. Only the three of them remained: him, the Trojan woman, and the child - the heir of fallen Troy.

"I won't let them touch you,"-the man stated firmly.

"I don't believe men, who just talk, but not act,"-she said haltingly, the complicated words a struggle.

Suddenly, Eurylochus realized he needed to ask the slave her name.

"What...what is your name?"-the coxswain said slowly and clearly. The Trojan woman frowned;she disliked being spoken to like a child.

"Iris,"-she said in her native tongue. It took the first mate a minute to understand - his foster son's wet-nurse shared the name of the Goddess of the Rainbow.

"I am Eurylochus."

"Of course, I know.How can I not know name my sir?"-Iris retorted in broken Greek.

"Don't be insolent with me,woman,"-Eurylochus said sternly. Her contemptuous gaze irritated him, especially from someone now on the level of a slave.

She fell silent. Gently, she stroked the face of the sleeping infant. A few minutes later, as Eurylochus was about to return to the steering oar, the wet nurse asked:

"Why you don't kill him? He is son Prince Hector. Usually warriors kill someone, who can kill them in the future."-Speaking the foreign language was difficult for her.

"That is none of your concern.Just make sure he doesn't cry."

"Why are you afraid him? I watching how you look at him. So fair, so hate, but you take him on arms, try to take care at him. Everyone sees it. I hear it."-Part of her words were lost to the noise of the waves. She looked at him piercingly with her clouded eyes.

"Silence, woman,"-he hissed. She spoke the truth, but he knew it without her.-"I am not afraid of some infant."

"You not afraid him. You are afraid his future."

"Enough.Watch your tongue before I cut it out. Don't stand at the prow. Follow me."

She obediently followed him, head held high. Eurylochus took his place at the steering oar, and Iris sat in a secluded spot. They were silent for a long time, digesting what had been said.

"Sing it again,"-the first mate spoke up.

"What?"

"The song you were singing. It's calming."-The woman looked at him questioningly but quietly began to sing the lullaby.

Now the woman's voice sounded louder and more confident. Like a timid hare, she kept falling silent at the slightest rustle. Despite the frequent interruptions, Eurylochus found he liked the melody. The words in a foreign tongue caressed his ears, resonating deep within his heart. Listening to Iris's singing, he eventually fell asleep.

His sleep was restless. Eurylochus dreamed of golden eyes that reflected the eyes of Ctimene, from which endless tears flowed. She asked him how he dared bring an enemy's offspring into their home. The dream ended with the princess of Ithaca fleeing her husband's house, pursued by a warrior.

"Ctimene,"-the Samean's eyes flew open as he whispered his wife's name. No, he was on the ship. Odysseus stood at the steering oar. Some of the rowers were already awake and attending to their duties. Iris and Astyanax slept peacefully.

"Eurylochus, are you alright?"-Odysseus's voice pulled him from his stupor.-"I see your sleep was troubled."

Eurylochus nodded, still immersed in the memory of the anxious dream. At that moment, muted sounds rose from the deck - the sailors had begun their morning prayers to the gods. Their voices merged into a discordant yet sincere chorus, filling the air with words of gratitude and pleas for protection. Eurylochus listened to the prayer songs, feeling his soul gradually calm. He joined their singing as he stood up. His back was stiff from sleeping in a seated position on the hard surface, his neck aching unpleasantly.

The first mate signaled to the captain that he would relieve him at the steering oar. The rowers, heads bowed, continued working the oars, their movements growing more measured and coordinated. His hands found the oar by habit. The usual daily routine. Not a single bird in the sky - land was not likely to be seen soon. The fresh sea breeze chilled his skin. Laughter sounded from the side. Odysseus and Polites sat with their arms around each other, chatting animatedly. Fragments of their conversation reached Eurylochus.

"Hey, remember when we were children..."-The noise of the waves cut off the conversation.-"I remember!You then..."

The first mate turned away, trying to ignore their talk. The words still reached his ears like stones. Of course, Eurylochus was not an Ithacan, unlike Odysseus and Polites. He had only visited them occasionally when his father brought him to Ithaca. For as long as the Samean could remember, Odysseus and Polites had been inseparable. During meals, when the whole crew ate together, everyone stayed in a group, but if you looked closely, each man had someone he felt more at ease with. In such moments, Eurylochus felt lonely and out of place. He missed his wife. He missed her touch, her laughter, her lectures. He missed Ctimene so much. His right hand involuntarily reached for his wedding ring but found nothing. Right. He'd lost the ring in one of the raids. With a heavy sigh, Eurylochus turned his face to the sea.

After the day's usual routine, the sun set below the horizon. The deputy captain remained on watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Iris. Astyanax, tightly swaddled in a blanket, slept on Polites's cloak.

"What do you want?"-The phrase came out harsher than Eurylochus had intended.

"I wanted to thank you for letting me to sing for him,"-Iris said, grimacing as she stepped over a rower who had stretched his leg across the passageway and fallen asleep.

"Don't mention it.All infants deserve to hear lullabies in their native tongue... Even Trojans."

They looked at each other, unsure of what else to say.

"Are you married?"-Iris asked, wanting to break the awkward silence.

"Ah...yes... Did the ring mark give it away?"-Her nod was the answer. For some reason, talking about his own family felt unfamiliar.

"And where is the ring?"-The woman leaned against the gunwale of the penteconter, turning her face to the winds.

"Lost it in battle.Don't even remember when. I'll forge a new one when I return."-Iris arched an eyebrow. She didn't understand.

"I'm a blacksmith,"-Eurylochus stated clearly. Iris still looked puzzled. Slapping his face in frustration, the first mate pantomimed hammer blows on an anvil.

"I want too.Tried, but... bad,"-the woman mumbled excitedly.

Now it was Eurylochus's turn to look puzzled. This fragile woman had tried to wield a hammer? Her wrists were barely thicker than an elaia.

"You tried to become a blacksmith?"

"Black...smith?"

What followed was a brief Greek lesson and a game of charades. Initially, the man from Same genuinely tried to teach the slave woman new phrases in her unfamiliar language, but it soon devolved into quiet laughter and mangled words. Eurylochus completely forgot about his watch.

Suddenly, the heir of Troy began to cry. The woman immediately hurried to him, trying to soothe him. The watchman followed her cautiously. The Trojan woman, after examining the child, frowned. In her native tongue, she fretted, carrying the child behind the amphorae. Eurylochus was about to protest when he saw Iris tilt an amphora and pour water into a small bowl, but he closed his mouth as soon as she grabbed a dry cloth from a beam. The wet-nurse took some seaweed that lay on the ship's deck. The man decided not to watch further. A few minutes later, she approached him. The warrior's heart ached at the sight. The sweet, smiling infant sat in the woman's arms, her tired eyes looking at the boy with care. And this child would be their doom...

"Did you have children?"-burst from his mouth.

"Ah,no. I never had children."

"Then where did your milk come from?"

"Em... What are you think he crying first several days? I don't had the milk for him. But soon it...appeared."-The woman quickly searched for words in broken Greek.

She peered carefully at the sleepers, as if checking to see if anyone had caught them. After a pause, she cautiously asked him:

"Do you love your wife?"

"Very much.I love her madly."-In his heart, the words sounded much more sincere than they came out. They sounded dry and false.

"Are you ashamed of that?"

"A little.I don't know how to show love like Odysseus does."-It took the wet-nurse a few seconds to grasp the meaning of what was said.

They fell silent for a few minutes. Together, they gazed into the water. He didn't understand why he wanted to tell this slave about his family, and she didn't understand why this Achaean warrior wasn't sending her away. The boy had fallen asleep in the woman's arms. The rowers snored, shattering the night's silence.

"How... How often he talk about his wife?"-the Trojan woman asked hesitantly.

"Constantly.I've never seen a man love his wife so much. It's as if he's afraid we'll forget her name."

Iris smiled. She handed him the sleeping infant, but Eurylochus, as if scalded, pulled his hands to his chest.

"You're afraid of him..."-she said humbly, turning away. Eurylochus almost wished it were that simple.

A seagull with golden eyes was sitting on a sturdy tree right behind the prisoner. Zeus. Again. The watchman decided to simply ignore the divine sign.

"Go to sleep.Now,"-Eurylochus said sternly. Iris was indignant.

"Is this how you always react when you hear an unpleasant truth?"

"Silence,woman."

Nevertheless, the woman proudly strode to her usual spot on the stern. Meanwhile, Eurylochus woke the young man who would relieve him on watch.

At night, Eurylochus was still tormented by restless dreams. In each one, an adult Astyanax drenched the soil of his homeland in the blood of those dear to the Samean. And in every dream, there were golden-eyed birds. He looked with fear at the birds that occasionally flew over the ships. He felt the sideways glances from those around him when he froze yet again at the sight of a seagull.

"Oh... Your wife... What is she like?"-Iris asked, watching as Astyanax clumsily crawled across the wood boards.

"Imagine Odysseus,but as a woman, only with softer features."

Conversations with the slave woman were his only solace from the nightly nightmares. Both of them had been unable to sleep for the last few days. The woman had turned out to be a pleasant conversationalist.

"No,I meant her character,"-the wet nurse said, her speech growing more confident with constant practice.

"She...She... She is like the wind from the sea,"-Eurylochus blurted out unexpectedly. He immediately grew embarrassed, but Iris looked at him with genuine interest, and he continued, though he knew she wouldn't understand half of it. Perhaps that was the beauty of talking to her?-"Sharp when she needs to be, but gentle. Always knows what to say. Patient when I'm forging in the workshop for days on end. And..."-He hesitated, admitting his awkwardness,-"...she laughs when I try to dance at festivals."

"Maybe...you still know how talk about love."

"Be quiet,woman."

"Will you always be shutting me up?"

They glared at each other, fierce and proud, until they burst into laughter. Trying to hold back their laughter was difficult, and their bodies shook with the effort. Suddenly, someone nearby stirred, waking up. They froze. The little Trojan was displeased that his chance to crawl on the damp planks had been taken away. After a minute of silence, a louder snore than before was heard. The baby was released to explore the stern.

"I was a priestess,"-Iris said in her native tongue. Eurylochus made a face of incomprehension. The woman merely laughed indulgently, pantomiming the process of serving.

"To whom?"

"Artemis."

Eurylochus sat at the steering oar, while Iris stayed further away, near the amphorae. Odysseus slept much farther to the right of his assistant. Astyanax watched the fifty sleeping men with genuine interest. The boy crawled over to his adoptive father. The first mate, despite the visions of the future that assaulted his mind at the infant's touch, sat him on his knees. The priestess said nothing, merely watching them with a smile. Eurylochus thought he saw a flicker of hope in those clouded yet clear eyes. And so they sat for a while longer in a cozy, quiet atmosphere, in each other's company.

But the moment Eurylochus closed his eyes, a chill shot through his body. The same nightmare, but growing bloodier with each passing day. Every night, he saw an adult Astyanax killing Ctimene. He tried to ignore these nightmares, but the vision of a seagull pecking at Odysseus's corpse right on the ship was impossible to shake. The first mate shooed the bird away, tried to comprehend whose body it really was, when the captain grabbed his hands and shook him. But Eurylochus didn't see the King of Ithaca before him; he saw the prince of fallen Troy, Hector, rise from the kingdom of Hades.. And behind the dead man's back, a golden eagle spread its wings.

"Hey, can you hear me?"-Odysseus's voice cut through. Eurylochus felt his body grow heavier, his head throbbing, his legs weakening.

"Yes...Yes, I hear you... And I see."

"Good.Now tell me, what was that just now?"-the warrior of Athena pulled his friend down, seating him on the planks.

"A seagull."

"A seagull?"-Odysseus felt Eurylochus's face and neck. Frowning, he shouted for water. At the cry, the man cursed by Zeus shuddered; the sound of screeching echoed in his ears.

One of the sailors promptly arrived with a bowl of water. Only after taking a sip did Eurylochus realize how dry his throat was. He greedily drank the rest.

"Good,feeling better now? Tell me what happened."

"The seagull...It was pecking at your corpse. When I shooed it away, I saw Hector..."-Grabbing his head, the coxswain squeezed his eyes shut.-"Captain... Ody, please, speak to Athena. Zeus... He's driving me mad!"

Odysseus was silent for a long time. It pained him to see one of his friends losing his mind. And he was to blame. If he hadn't hesitated and had killed Astyanax immediately...

"The sun has gotten to your head,"-Odysseus shook him sharply.-"Hector is dead. Achilles killed him."

"But I—"

"You saw nothing!"-the captain punched the oar.-"No one returns from the kingdom of Hades. No one!"

Eurylochus wanted to argue, but then a cry sounded above the mast. Everyone looked up. A seagull sat on the spar. An ordinary, grey one... but when it turned its head, Eurylochus saw its divine mark.

"It's here!"-He lunged forward, but Odysseus caught him by the chiton.

"Look!"-Eurylochus broke free, pointing at the bird.

The sailors froze. The seagull calmly preened its feathers. Perfectly ordinary.

"By the gods..."-Polites whispered.

"He's lost his mind,"someone muttered in the crowd.

Whispers spread through the ship: "The sun has fried his brains...", "Zeus has cursed him with madness...", "He's dangerous..." Eurylochus clutched his head.The voices merged into the roar of troubled waters. No one believed him. Everyone thought him a madman. No one would help him.

Polites cautiously circled him and whispered something to Odysseus. The captain frowned deeper but nodded. Of course, the King of Ithaca listened to his best friend, not his first mate. Had Odysseus ever truly listened to him? Had he ever heeded his words without "buts" or "ifs"?

"You need to rest. You haven't slept for days. Go to the shade,"-the captain declared. It was an order.-"Even the other ships are whispering about your madness."

"Why don't you believe me?"-whispered the man cursed by Zeus, his voice thick with bitterness. The unspoken question hung on his lips:"Why won't you even pretend to believe me?"

"If you cause trouble, we'll tie you to the mast. Your only task now is to eat, sleep, and stay quiet until you feel better."

Polites carefully helped him to the shade of the sail. The rowers watched his every move. His imagination played tricks with the sail's shadow, painting it with various gruesome outcomes and deaths. Eurylochus heard the voices of the Gods, heard the whispers of the warriors, felt their stares. Everyone looked at him with pity.

That night, Eurylochus felt something on his leg. His hand found no sword beside him. Fluttering his eyes open, he saw the little Trojan. Iris was watching them.

"You... Did you really see birds with divine eyes?"-she asked quietly, sitting down next to him.

"Yes.Did you see them?"-he asked, hope flickering in his voice.

"No,but I believe you."

Eurylochus looked at the priestess in surprise. She hadn't seen the birds, just like the others, but she believed him. In that moment, the man cursed by Zeus realized Iris had become more to him than just a captive. She was the only person on this ship who believed him. At this realization, his lips stretched into a weary smile. The wet-nurse answered with a smile of her own.

Taking Astyanax into his arms, Eurylochus flinched as he heard a rich, velvety voice. It repeated the same phrase: "Kill him." Zeus was demanding the death of the Trojan heir. Eurylochus froze, clutching the child. Astyanax, sensing the tension, began to squirm restlessly. Iris reached for him, but the first mate recoiled.

"No,"-he whispered, looking into the infant's innocent eyes.-"I can't... I can't do it."

Zeus's voice grew more insistent, filling his mind. "Kill him. Kill. And it will all be over." Iris cautiously approached, her voice soft:

"Eurylochus, what's wrong with you? Are you hear something?"

He didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the child's face. Suddenly, Eurylochus felt a surge of rage - rage at the gods, at fate, at himself. He clenched his hands, nearly hurting the baby.

"Give him to me,"-Iris asked quietly, reaching out.-"Please."

Eurylochus hesitated. The orders of Zeus grew louder in his head. He looked at Iris - the only one who understood him, who believed him. And in that moment, he made a decision.

"I must,"-he whispered, handing the child to the priestess.-"Forgive me."

Iris pressed Astyanax to her chest, her eyes filling with tears. She knew - what she had feared most was about to begin. What would change all of them forever.

"Forgive me,"-he whispered, looking at Iris.-"Forgive me for everything."

But he couldn't bring himself to reach for the dagger. His hands trembled. He simply couldn't allow himself to kill the one he had grown attached to, in front of the only person who understood him on this mad voyage. The first mate fell to his knees. The captive shielded the boy with her slender arms. Fear and pity mingled in her eyes. The slave woman rose, approached him, shook her head, and hurried back to her spot on the stern.

In the morning, a veil seemed to hang before his eyes. Everything was a blur of vague memories. No wine had ever given him such a hangover or headache. He was jolted from this trance by a cry: "Land!" By the time the sun was at its zenith, all twelve ships had moored at a deserted island. It was too small for a settlement.

Most of the men hurried to stretch their legs on solid ground. Few remained on the ship. That voice sounded in Eurylochus's head again: "Kill him now. This is your only chance. It will all stop the moment he stops breathing."

As if moving through molasses, he trudged toward Iris. He had decided. He would kill the boy. The priestess, seeing his clouded mind, refused to give up her prince. She shielded the child from him, but he was stronger. Grabbing her shoulder, Eurylochus turned Iris around and took the child. The stunned woman opened her mouth, unsure whether to curse, burst into tears, or rush after him. As she took a step forward, the helmsman whispered something to a comrade who blocked her path.

"Come, you'll help,"-a one-eyed, bearded man grunted.

Eurylochus took a dagger from a barrel; his hands shook. Everyone watched him in silence. Even the dagger's owner said nothing. No one tried to stop him. His heavy steps left prints in the sand. Astyanax watched him curiously, stretching his tiny fingers toward his chin. He walked farther and farther from the fleet, from human voices. A divine bird followed him; Eurylochus knew it. Mocking him. The gods were always laughing at them, mere mortals.

He didn't know how long he walked with the infant, but eventually, they reached a shore. Could he have reached the opposite side of the island? Silence. No footprints in the sand. No animals, no people.

"What am I doing..."-He had tried not to look at Astyanax the whole way, but now he had to. The once content, sleepy baby now watched him warily, ready to wail. He was scared. Eurylochus was scared too. How many innocent children had he killed? He'd done it hundreds of times, so why was it so hard to raise the dagger now?

His stomach clenched, his body froze. He couldn't tell if he was breathing fast and deep or if his chest had locked. His legs buckled. He wanted to empty his stomach of its contents. For some reason, he wanted to hug the tiny Trojan, to hold him close. The enemy's offspring had become someone dear to him in such a short time. Eurylochus had already dreamed of raising him with Ctimene, of giving him a new name.

"How can I kill you? How can I look the others in the eye after this? How will I speak to Ctimene and Iris after murdering you? How can I call myself dutiful after this?"-The first mate fell to his knees. Reflexively, he shielded Astyanax with his hands.

The island's shore was littered with large stones. With trembling hands, he laid the infant on one. He just wanted it all to end. A weapon - whether sword, dagger, or axe - had never slipped from his grasp, but now everything was different. The foreign knife fell from his hand.

For a moment, Eurylochus remembered Andromache's gaze. The widow had looked at her son with hope in her eyes. She had prayed for him to live a good life. And what was Eurylochus doing now? Trying to destroy that life. Robbing him of his second chance at a glorious earthly existence. If he gave in now, like Odysseus had then, he would go mad. He desperately didn't want to lose his mind completely. Odysseus... How could he? How could he burden him with this? What had the King of Ithaca hoped for, handing the infant to him? That Eurylochus, a cautious man, would instantly love this baby and raise him well? More and more questions swirled in the cursed man's mind, questions he had no answers for. Why hadn't he protested more and longer then? Maybe it would have made Odysseus reconsider. Why had he meekly accepted the child? Because he was a warrior? Because duty was his life, and obeying orders was his eternal obligation? How disappointed would his friend be when he learned what he had done? Resentment boiled within him. Resentment toward Odysseus. Toward the Gods. Toward Polites. Toward Menelaus. Toward Andromache. Toward the Trojan woman who had lied. From this resentment bloomed anger, disappointment, envy, sorrow, and longing. Right now, he wanted to take his own life rather than that of the innocent, crying child. This boy was guilty of nothing. The bitterest part was that Eurylochus had already imagined himself as his father. Imagined him taking his first steps, leaning on him. Astyanax, who hadn't even been given a new name, could have crawled away, hidden, but he kept wailing, lying meekly on the stone. Images flashed through his mind: a disappointed Odysseus looking at him with contempt, a hateful Iris, the Gods acting in their own self-interest. To hell with them. Each of them had contributed to his decision, and it would be hypocritical for them to condemn and hate him now.

Eurylochus clenched his fists. He wanted to comfort the boy, but he knew that if he touched the heir of Troy for just a moment, he would never be able to kill him.

On the other hand - how many such infants had he killed? Had he even killed them at all? Eurylochus didn't remember and didn't want to remember. How many strangers' sons had died by his hand? Each such treacherous thought destroyed his ability to raise the dagger over the boy's head. But he couldn't surrender. He couldn't. Not right now.

"Forgive me,"-Eurylochus whispered, rising from his knees. Distractedly, he felt for the fallen dagger nearby. Sand gritted under his nails.

Astyanax had wriggled free of his swaddling cloth, stretching it across the stone. The mortal placed the foreign blade beside him. Eurylochus allowed himself one action - a kiss - before tightly wrapping him in the already dirty fabric. A tender, loving kiss on the forehead. With that one light touch of his lips, he wanted to convey all the love the boy's parents - adoptive or birth - could not and would never give him. With the dagger's hilt, heavy with the weight of his conscience, he traced his own cheek. He needed to return to reality, to pull back from shattered hopes. The knife's blade glinted in the sun. Astyanax fell silent. He wished the little Trojan weren't looking at him with those round, fearful eyes. It would be better if he were asleep.

"Forgive me..."-whispered Eurylochus. Somewhere deep down, he hoped something would stop him now. That he, like Odysseus, would defy Zeus. But he didn't.

With one swift, jerky motion - his hand still trembled - Eurylochus plunged the dagger into his foster son's heart. The infant barely arched, emitting a final gasp-cry, and didn't have time to close his eyes before his soul passed into Hades' kingdom. Rivulets of blood swiftly spread across the lifeless little body. The already torn swaddling cloth soaked up the innocent burgundy fluid. The child-killer recoiled. He threw the knife far away onto the sand. The cursed man fell to his knees before the tiny corpse. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Forgive me..."-he whispered to Polites, who had pointlessly protected and secretly comforted the boy.

"Forgive me..."-to Ctimene, who could have been a loving mother to Astyanax.

"Forgive me,please..."-to Iris, who had lost the hope in her eyes forever.

"Forgive me,please..."-to Odysseus, whose order he had disobeyed.

"Forgive me,I beg..."-Hector, who had lost everything, would not hear his words.

"Forgive me,I beg..."-Andromache, who had lost everything, would not hear his words.

Under other circumstances, Eurylochus might have apologized to the Gods as well, but now he felt only disgust for them. His mind was free of the delusion. The veil was lifted from his eyes the moment the boy drew his last breath. Nothing more. A simple transaction between a god and a mortal. Of course, Zeus had seen hundreds like him in his time. What was he worth? What was Astyanax worth? A pittance. If this was how the King of the Gods reasoned, why worship them? To feed their egos so they might not even glance their way? Nonsense! But somewhere deep down, Eurylochus hoped the very earth would split open now, that the sky would fall. Anything to punish him. Anything, just to preserve his faith in higher beings.

But it didn't happen. The earth remained as it was, the sky stayed in its place. He was left alone with the corpse of his foster son. Silence. Only the rustle of leaves swaying in the wind and the noise of the tidal waves. For a moment, the thought of drowning himself crossed his mind. But he couldn't. Astyanax's body had to be buried. Only he could do it.

His legs, weak and numb, struggled to take a step. With a clear head, he trudged toward a place clear of trees and shrubs where the sand gave way to earth. He found one not far away. But with what would he dig the grave? He had nothing for it, and all strength seemed to have left his hands. So Eurylochus wandered off again. On the shore nearby lay a broken, rotten branch. With this, the child-killer intended to dig a small grave. He had almost no strength left, nor any feeling. The trembling had long ceased, his head was empty. The hole ended up very shallow. With his last ounce of strength, he scurried for stones. He didn't understand how he could carry these boulders. Seagulls began to flock toward the lifeless body of the Trojan.

Eurylochus immediately rushed to shoo them away. Fortunately, the birds hadn't yet touched the body; even the eyes remained intact. The man numbly picked up the corpse. Before laying the Trojan's small body in the makeshift grave, Eurylochus closed his eyes. Gently placing Astyanax in the damp, cold earth, the man laid coins from his pouch over the eyes. A small pouch of coins always hung from his belt. He covered part of the body with earth, the rest with stones. He recited prayers from memory. Though he no longer believed in the Gods, he wanted to bury the innocent with dignity. Eurylochus sat by his son's grave until late evening. All tears had long been cried, his head was empty. As he left, he saw the bloodied, torn swaddling cloth lying on that very stone. He took it with him.

With great difficulty, he emerged onto the shore where the entire fleet was gathered. Odysseus stood surrounded by men, pointing somewhere with his hand.

"Eurylochus, there you are! We were about to go looking for you. Where have you been?"-Odysseus turned at the sound of his friend's heavy footsteps. Before him stood a broken man, head bowed. He still held the swaddling cloth as if the infant were still in it, but the baby was nowhere to be seen. The bloodstains on the fabric and the tear tracks on the Samean's cheeks spoke for themselves.

"Oh... Eurylochus, my friend..."-Polites whispered beside him.

The men around them were repairing the ship. Iris looked down at him from the gunwale of one of the penteconters with contempt. She turned her head away in disgust. But Eurylochus knew she was holding back sobs. None of them deserved to see her tears. Most likely, she would mourn her prince in utter darkness.

Odysseus, taking the swaddling cloth, looked into his eyes. They held only emptiness. Eternal weariness was written in his gaze. The Ithacan wanted to sympathize, to hug him, to comfort him, but he couldn't. He knew he was to blame for this himself. He had hesitated, he hadn't foreseen, he hadn't noticed, he hadn't protected, he hadn't stayed by his side. But as king and captain, Odysseus was obliged to punish him. Sometimes his own insight frightened him. Having spent so much time with Eurylochus, the strategist knew he wanted to bear some form of punishment.

"You killed the infant. You killed your own son,"-Odysseus declared. There were too many people around them.-"You must be punished for this. I could exile you,"-each word came with difficulty, as if his access to oxygen were slowly being cut off,-"but I know the King of Gods clouded your mind, all our minds. Therefore... Bring the whip."

Polites's eyes widened in surprise beside him. He knew why Odysseus had chosen this punishment. Quick, painful, and would leave lasting marks—exactly what Eurylochus wanted. The Ithacan didn't know how to feel about his friend now. But he knew one thing for certain: he pitied him. Polites felt sympathy for him.

The whip was brought. Heavy and long. Eurylochus knelt before Odysseus and looked him in the eye. For the strategist, this was a personal punishment. Polites turned away. With each lash, Eurylochus tried to memorize the pain. But his body seemed to have stopped feeling it. There was only cold and burning. He looked at each person standing nearby. They hadn't stopped him because they too feared the Trojan. Despised the infant. Perhaps some had wanted to be rid of him themselves. But among the crowd, he also saw sympathetic, pitying glances. All of them had become repulsive to him in an instant.

When the flogging ended, everyone continued to watch him, studying his reaction for a few minutes. Surely checking if he was still in his right mind. Then, a couple of men finally helped him up and to wash.

After that, the days resumed their course. Except now, Eurylochus was not allowed near the steering oar. It was as if he had become just another rower. He no longer prayed with the others or shared his portion. He had become a shadow of his former self. He remembered each day with painful clarity. The scars from the whip ached for a long time.

Iris avoided him. Her silent glances were worse than any curse. Her face remained unchanged—no furrowed brows, no wrinkled nose, no reproach in her eyes. And this terrified Eurylochus. Had everyone abandoned him? But no, Ctimene remained... but what guarantee was there that she wouldn't sail back to her native island? It seemed he wouldn't survive his wife's angry gaze. She was his last salvation, one he didn't deserve. And little Astyanax continued to haunt his dreams, but now dead. Time and again, he either killed him or abandoned him. In none of these dreams did the Trojan survive.

Polites approached him from behind. He remained the only one who still placed a hand on his shoulder or drew him into conversations. But changes had touched him too. He was silent, and sadness lingered in his eyes. This was his way of offering support under the gaze of a crowd of prideful men.

That island had long vanished beyond the horizon. A dark night. How many times had Selene been a witness to others' confessions? Yet she continued to wheel across the sky, silent about others' secrets. Iris prayed to Artemis. Eurylochus watched her stealthily. His soul was tormented: should he approach her or not? Approach and be rejected, or forever lose the chance to restore what had been between them? She was his slave, but the man didn't want to call her that. To him, she was a friend.

With a heavy sigh, he felt in the folds of his chiton for a soaked piece of hardtack that refused to go down his throat. He sat beside her after her prayer.

"Here,"-Eurylochus offered her the hardtack.

"Thank you."

And they fell silent. The woman quietly ate the dried bread, while he stared at the deck.

In a dry, emotionless voice, he said:

"Forgive me..."

And the two of them fell silent again. Neither could close their eyes, both gazing into the distance. Finally, Iris spoke:

"Me too..."-she said quietly, trying to recall the right word. Failing, she pantomimed fiercely stabbing someone with an invisible dagger.

"During the war,yes?"

"No."-She shook her head. Taking a bite of the dried bread, she continued,-"I... took what not be mine secretly and didn't return it."

"Steal?"-A nod was her answer.

"I always wanted to steal. Don't know why. The gods..."-She tried to gesture something with her hands. Resigned, she exhaled, pulling her knees to her chest, and whispered a word in her native tongue.

"Tempted?Lured?"-the Achaean tried to grasp the word's essence.-"Offered what couldn't be had?"

"Yes.The gods tempted me, and I couldn't..."

Suddenly, her lips moved rapidly; only sounds reached Eurylochus's ears. It seemed she was counting.

"Five years ago, a man... a warrior caught me stealing. I was scared and... took-"-Iris pointed to an arrowhead - he hadn't noticed it on her neck before-"and..."-She stammered, searching for the right words.

Eurylochus listened in silence. He could have judged her, but he didn't. None of them were saints. Six sunsets ago, he had killed an innocent infant, fearing gods he now despised. And they had eternally tempted her, and she couldn't resist.

"Where did you get the arrowhead?"-Eurylochus pointed to her neck because the priestess had already hidden it under her chiton.

"Arrow...head? No, this is my neck."

"No.The arrowhead."-He didn't want to reach under her chiton. It violated all decency. And he felt no such desire for her.-"On your neck."

"Ah,"-she said, puzzled.-"Mine... Not yet a husband, but in the future."

"Fiancé?"

"Yes. Fiancé..."-Iris again mimed drawing a bowstring.-"But he died at the war's beginning."

Their voices sounded so detached, as if they weren't living people but merely their shells. In Eurylochus's mind, the entire chain of Iris's fate unfolded. After her fiancé death, she had become a priestess. Not long before their departure, he had heard a warrior tell another how he'd seen a priestess who had fled the temple, trying to save children. Eurylochus was tangled in his feelings. Did he feel regret or compassion, sorrow or longing? Or was all this merely a way to mask the emptiness he truly felt?

The days stretched on, the horizon unchanging. The apostate didn't know how religious each of the men in this fleet truly was. Though, to be fair, their captain himself often froze for a few seconds, conversing with Athena. But in the end, the Samean had grown thoroughly weary of it. Prayers and hymns echoed from everywhere. They made small sacrifices to the Gods on every island. He continued to pretend he still believed in the pantheon, but he knew perfectly well he was a terrible liar.

"Who are you praying to?"-Eurylochus asked, catching the priestess at her prayers. She prayed exclusively at night. She remained silent.

"Why do you pray to those who allowed your home to be destroyed?Why pray to those who didn't protect your prince?"-he asked with deep incomprehension. For a second, fury flashed in her eyes. Her straight nose twitched, her upper lip trembled, briefly baring her teeth.

"They are just the observers ,"-she whispered. Iris wasn't trying to justify them. Or perhaps she simply couldn't.-"What did you want them to do?"

Eurylochus gritted his teeth. Indeed, what had he wanted them to do?

"One of them could have appeared to me and convinced me not to stab him,to leave him there in the woods, and then saved him,"-the first mate rattled off without thinking. Only after speaking did he realize Iris might not have understood him.

She studied him for a long time, as if trying to transmit her thoughts to him. And Eurylochus truly began to ponder. Was he waiting for mercy from beings who didn't know it? Had he been so selfish in his thoughts and desires that he demanded others debase themselves before him? Thoughts once again flooded his head. He couldn't bear it. Not again.

"Stop thinking about it,"-said Iris. Their communication would never be the same again. There would be no more joy from mangling words, no more watching the tiny creature, no more dreams. He had destroyed it all himself. He had taken it all away from himself and others. Had he killed the infant? He had killed himself!

That night had crossed out everything; after it, tomorrow would never truly come again: not for him, not for Iris, not for Astyanax.

Eurylochus lost sleep. He was tormented by endless nightmares, leaving an indelible sensation of the innocent infant's blood on his soul, his tongue, and his hands. The rest of the time, he was pursued by thoughts from which there was no escape, no hiding.

Odysseus saw his friend's suffering. He could no longer bear it. At sunset, when most of the men were nodding off to sleep, Odysseus sat beside him and offered a waterskin. Eurylochus refused.

"You're brother for me,"-Odysseus whispered, pulling his sister's husband to his chest.

"I destroyed everything myself,"-Eurylochus began. Odysseus simply listened.-"Why did you give him to me?Why? Because I'm not from Ithaca? Because I'm married to your sister? Why, Ody?"

"You were the first one I thought of..."

Eurylochus pushed Odysseus away and sprang to his feet. His empty eyes ignited with the flame of anger. Though his hands trembled and his chest heaved rapidly, he looked resolute.

"Oh,is that so? I was the first one you thought of? Because you knew I'd always obey all your orders?!"-His voice was full of rage. The first mate grabbed the captain by the chiton.-"This is all your fault! He died because of you! You're to blame! It was your task to kill him! The gods prophesied it to you! You're a coward! His blood is on your hands! If it weren't for you!"

With each shout, Eurylochus hunched over more. The trembling in his hands became more pronounced. His words drew increasing attention from others. Hearing the whispers, he immediately released his brother-in-law. Odysseus just looked at him silently. He calmly listened to every accusation and understood it was justified.

"Yes, you're right. It's my fault. I was cowardly. I saw my Telemachus in his eyes and... I couldn't. And then I thought you... were stronger. That you could handle what I couldn't. I thought you were losing your mind and ignored it. I am so sorry this happened to you."

Eurylochus collapsed wearily onto the deck, clutching his head. His friend's words - could he even call him that? - seemed like a lie. A beautiful falsehood and nothing more.

"Ody,you're not the one to talk about sympathy and failure. You're the gods' favorite; everything comes easily to you. You're the best strategist I've ever seen. Polites is cheerful, an optimist, a peacemaker, able to lift everyone's spirits. And me? I feel worthless because of this... I only know how to swing a big sword. I proved that by killing him."

"Maybe you're right that I'm one of the gods' favorites, but these fruits weren't just given to me. I earned them myself."-Odysseus took Eurylochus's face in his hands. He studied this face. A face without desires or aspirations.-"I tried to avoid the war, but I was forced to take six hundred men with me. I'm not even sure I'll bring them all home."

Before Eurylochus stood not the King of Ithaca, not the wise warrior of Athena, but a simple mortal bearing a heavy burden.

"And Polites is forced to hide all his fears from people.People need light, understand? Without light, they start to fear each other and bare their teeth."-The Samean watched as his cheerful friend joked again among the sailors.-"He has to try hard not to be seen as a simpleton."

"I've always envied your friendship with Polites. You listen to him, so what am I to you then? First mate, but I'm no mate at all..."

"Not saying that ,Eury, not saying that..."-whispered the King of Ithaca, covering his friend with his own cloak.-"You're my brother, my friend, my reason. You don't let me get lost in the clouds, and your caution is crucial. And I ask your forgiveness for all that happened. I don't hope for forgiveness. I don't deserve it."

"You know I can't stay angry at you?"-Eurylochus exhaled, accepting the offered care.-"And you forgive me too..."

"Let's just sleep,"-Odysseus said, resting his head on his shoulder. And so they fell asleep in an embrace, each regretting their actions.

Their sleep was heavy and restless, full of bloody shadows and unspoken words. But when the first rays of the morning sun fell on the deck, they awoke still shoulder to shoulder. There was no sudden shame, no withdrawal. There was only a silent understanding that the crack between them would remain forever, but they had learned to step over it, to ignore it.

The nightmares continued to torment Eurylochus. Blood flooded his consciousness. The endless, heart-wrenching cries of Astyanax echoed from everywhere. Guilt for every misstep pursued him. He tried to avoid them, to immerse himself in work, but it was no use. He hoped to exhaust himself so thoroughly that he would fall into a dead sleep. It didn't happen. And then, when seeing dead bodies around him became unbearable, when losing loved ones over and over again while still feeling something became impossible, Eurylochus gave up on sleep. He did everything to stay awake. But several days without sleep and working under the scorching sun would take their toll on anyone.

Eurylochus forgot everything. His home, the garden, the seashore. Ctimene sat in the gazebo. The waves roared in the background. Was he home? Right. He had returned to Same a month ago. All his crimes and sins illuminated him. Shame washed over him. He wanted to beg for forgiveness. But from whom? Ctimene... Beloved Ctimene would listen, would pity him... No, he didn't deserve pity. He didn't.

Ctimene raised her head. Her frowning expression softened into tenderness. She was ready to hear his confession. And he walked toward her. Walked and walked. His weakened legs carried him to his faithful wife. Eurylochus imagined telling her everything, bowing his head at her knees, but not resting it upon them. No, he wouldn't dare. He couldn't tell if he was smiling or disappointed with himself. His mouth opened in an incomprehensible grimace. His breathing quickened. Tears welled in his eyes. There, a concerned Ctimene stood right before him, fiddling with her braid, ready to listen to his stories. Her eyes held an inexplicable longing for him. But why was she longing? He was right here, in front of her! Just as Eurylochus was about to fall to his knees before her, he felt ill. His head spun. His heart stuttered from the sudden change in position. His body slammed against the wooden planks of the penteconter's boards.

Polites stared at him with wide eyes, gasping silently for air. Odysseus was either enraged or terrified. A stunned Iris stood at a distance. The rest of the crew watched in astonished silence. Some jumped from their seats, some opened their mouths, some frowned and turned away...

"Eurylochus, what was that?!"-Odysseus exclaimed, lifting his head.-"You almost stepped overboard! What if we hadn't caught you in time?"

"Odysseus,quieter. He doesn't understand himself,"-Polites tried to calm his friend.

Iris was immediately at his side with a small cup of water. She helped Eurylochus drink. He slowly came to, but he didn't feel better. He wanted to be on his home island. He wanted to be rid of all the hallucinations and nightmares. But he couldn't, not while people scurried around him, looking at him with concern.

And somewhere nearby, waves crashed unfriendly against the rocks. That day, no one was shattered upon them.