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During the war, Odysseus was the best strategist, the most cunning and intelligent of the Achaean kings. He was always telling the story of how he met his wife, Penelope, and showering her with compliments: how beautiful, kind, and intelligent she was; whether she was short or tall—he was already confused, but he spoke with such enthusiasm that no one dared argue. The soldiers also remembered him as an extremely strange man. Although, frankly, what could be stranger than all of the above?
One of his pranks was particularly etched in their memory.
"I haven't slept properly for two days because of this damned war," muttered an Achaean soldier from Argos to his comrade from Sparta.
"It's simply unbearable! Always on guard for these Trojan barbarians!" agreed Menelaus's soldier.
"Do you need help?" King Odysseus himself mischievously intervened in the conversation around the campfire. Both soldiers choked on their food so much they almost choked.
"Cough... no... cough-cough... our king, we are absolutely not asking you to do this!!" they waved their hands. They both knew perfectly well: the short king of Ithaca was an odd man. Either because he ascended to the throne too early, or because he was personally mentored by the goddess Athena.
"Oh, come on," the crazy strategist waved his hand. "I'm not too lazy, I'll be happy to help."
He sat down on a log lying by the fire, his mismatched eyes flashing—one blue, the other brown—and unceremoniously laid the tired Argive soldier's head on his lap.
The poor guy tensed even more. And then Odysseus sang softly, almost tenderly:
"Hello, hello, hello, I rock my child...
Sleep in the dark grave, my home will be that.
Everyone sleeps so quietly, so quietly, and knows no evil.
They see no prophetic dreams, those promised to die..."
The blood drained from the faces of those sitting nearby. Especially from the face of the unfortunate man whose head lay in the mad king's lap.
"Oh... I'm suddenly sleepy," the Argive muttered in a trembling voice, and quickly rose. "Well, my king... allow me to take my leave."
He staggered toward his tent.
Odysseus's eyes lit up. He slowly turned his head to the second soldier.
The latter choked, instantly jumped to his feet, and barked:
"LET ME TAKE YOUR LEAVE!!" And he ran off as fast as he could, as if death itself were chasing him.
Odysseus watched the fleeing Spartan, shrugged, and thought he was simply desperate to sleep.
A familiar laugh
rang out behind him. Odysseus turned joyfully.
"Diomedes! My friend!" the short king waved. "What are you doing here?"
"Just a minute," the tall king of Argos replied, sitting down in the vacant seat. "I came to dine and saw a short man I knew scaring the poor soldiers."
"Hmm... I don't know," Odysseus said thoughtfully, shrugging again. "I never saw anything like that."
Diomedes snorted.
"I'm talking about you, Odysseus. You should stop scaring the poor soldiers. Otherwise, they'll die of heart attacks faster than they would from Trojan spears." Odysseus just shrugged again.