“We are not serfs or landless men!” he proclaimed, trying as best he could to put the tone of unthinking authority in his voice. “Even the least of us has great stocks of bronze and even wrought iron! We are on a holy quest, sent by magic by the gods themselves.”
Speaking the language was pure murder. By the look on Odysseus’ face, so was his accent. Or maybe it was the ridiculous suggestion that they were worth what the Greeks would consider a fortune.
Odysseus leaned back. The initial look of skepticism on his face was replaced by something Jerry took to be veiled interest. “A quest, is it? Any profit in it? Good looting?”
The mythographer reminded himself that, however romanticized “wily Odysseus” might have become in Homer’s account, the ancient Achaean’s reputation for cunning must have had some basis in fact. It wouldn’t do to underestimate the man, even if he did have terrible halitosis and bear a closer resemblance to a Bronze Age gangster than a mythical hero.
Jerry tried to look wily himself. “No, no, none at all. Purely for the honor of the gods.”
“Ah. Well, we could hardly refuse nobly born adventurers a bite or two,” said Odysseus blandly.
* * *
The mutton they were determinedly chewing did not come under the heading of “tender.” At this stage, Jerry didn’t care. He was so ravenous he spared only a moment envying the cutlery advantage possessed by Liz and the paratroopers. She had a Swiss army knife. Cruz and McKenna had both nearly had fits to discover rust on their own knives. Still, it gave them something better than fingers to tear at the tough meat.
The Greeks were using their weapons for the same purpose. Seeing the casual ease with which Odysseus and his men handled the murderous-looking blades, Jerry reined in his hunger long enough to issue a low-voiced warning to the others.
“Go easy on the wine. Remember that this is the guy who got the Cyclops drunk and then put out his eye. He’s half convinced we’re rich and on a quest for some vast treasure with lots of loot. And for heaven’s sake, Sergeant, Corporal, don’t let on that you have lots of metal. You’re carrying the equivalent of a million dollars in the company of a group of men who would murder you for a dime. At the moment they’re not trying to kill us. Let’s keep it that way. And pour a little of your wine on the flames as a libation. We’re supposed to be religious types.”
“I’m Episcopalian,” protested Salinas.
“Somehow, Lieutenant, I knew that,” Jerry said dryly. “High church, I imagine.”
Sergeant Cruz stared at Salinas. From his appearance, Salinas had as much Mexican ancestry as Cruz did. Then, shaking his head, Cruz muttered: “I’m Catholic. More or less. And I got no problem with it at all.” He leaned forward and splashed a dollop of wine onto the fire. “The stuff tastes like crap anyway.”
Liz shook her head. “You Americans are strange. I think the wine’s really not bad. Rather like a thin soetes from the Klein Karoo.”
* * *
Liz swirled what was left in her cup around for a moment. Odysseus, playing the role of expansive host to the hilt, had provided all of them with the capacious objects. Very capacious, she realized.
Then, leaning over, she poured it over the fire. “My own libation. And Jerry’s right—Ody’s being clever again.”
Immediately, Odysseus arose and came over to Liz. A moment later, he was gabbling away at her. His tone of voice combined oiliness with insistence.
“He says it is disrespectful to the gods not to chug it,” translated Jerry. “He also says he’ll wager you have never tasted such mellow wine as the nymph, Circe, gave them. Bit sweet for my tastes, personally.”
“He’s obviously never tasted Domaine Danica ’98 Zinfandel,” Liz snorted. “But then maybe his tastes don’t run to dry red.”
She eyed Odysseus skeptically. Then asked abruptly: “What’s he prepared to wager, d’you think?”
Jerry shrugged. “This is a bit out of my field. I worked on Assyro-Babylonian and Phoenician mythology. I only learned Greek because so much of the source material was in that language. Of course all the mythologies are intertwined, so you pick up a fair amount along the way. In Athens, if I recall correctly, they used to play for the favors of women. A game of tossing wine at a bowl.”
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