AH! HE WAS A magnificent creature, all muscle and strength from the shoulders down but with the wide forehead and clear gray eyes of a philosopher. A white beard hung from his chin. And around us, blowing and stamping in a circle, stood the great archers themselves, the sons of Centauros—half man, half horse, tall as temple doors and just as broad.
“Gentlemen, Lords of Achaea, do please forgive our coarse manners,” said Chiron, bowing to us and striking the ground with one hoof. “We have been at war for many ages with the Harpies who dwell across the river. My friends here have their hands quite full as it is, and precious little time for civilities. Please, though, follow me. I will do what I can to make you welcome.”
He led us back through the camp until we arrived at his tent. It was taller than the others, and its once bright fabric had been scrubbed to a dull gray. The inside was warm, though sparsely furnished, its only decoration a depressingly brown rug. A wide, low table stood in the center; wooden shelves lined the walls floor to ceiling; but the most noticeable feature of Chiron’s residence was the extraordinary clutter. Piled on the shelves and scattered everywhere about the tent were scraps of parchment, quills, bones, feathers, bowls and cups, bits of broken crockery, oddly colored rocks, tools, pelts, strips of leather, and various types of cloth, but above all, a great abundance of empty glass vials. The room fairly sparkled with glass.
There was, however, one oasis of order amid all that chaos, and it immediately caught my eye: the far left corner of the table—an area no wider or longer than a child’s tunic—had been cleared of all debris, and in its center lay a leather case, just about the length and width of a quiver and with a leather strap running end to end. It was cylindrical and meticulously worked with bright ribbons and beads. I was intrigued. Surely it held something valuable.
“Please,” said the Centaur, “do make yourselves at home.”
Diomedes and I looked about for somewhere to sit, but aside from the table and a small pile of mangy-looking pelts, there was nothing resembling furniture and no available space on the floor. Thus we remained awkwardly standing.
Chiron noticed and smiled self-consciously. “In another age, I would have kept a stool or two for visitors such as you but I haven’t had a human guest in several thousand years. For that matter, I haven’t any food or wine to offer either. A poor host I make these days, and all the more regrettable as Nessos tells me you are of noble blood—the houses of Tydeus and Laertes, though I can see for myself that he speaks the truth. Your parents’ blood is not lost in you.”
He took a few steps toward me, glass crunching underfoot. “You must be Odysseus,” he said, and nodded approvingly, scratching his beard with an arrow. “I knew your father. I can see his likeness in your hands and feet. You have the same glancing eyes and a fair shock of hair just like the old man himself . . . Which would make you Diomedes, though I could tell as much from the set of your shoulders. You stand just like your father, head thrown back like you’d just sacked seven cities. Tell me, though, what brings you here, forsaking the light of the upper realms to see this joyless kingdom of death? And where exactly are you going? And how did you get this far? And where, above all, did you acquire that magnificent bow?” He looked down at us with his arms folded and smiled.
“Thank you, Lord Chiron,” I said, somewhat flustered by this avalanche of questions and compliments. Was he trying to put me off, or was he really this friendly? My first instinct was to invent some lying tale and save the truth for later, but it was clear enough that Chiron was a shrewd observer, and if he knew my family, he’d be expecting lies. Still, I didn’t want to tell him too much. “I thank you for your gracious welcome and pray that you will send us on our way with equal grace. As you have so astutely inferred, I am indeed Odysseus, the Son of Laertes. And yes, this is Diomedes, Raider of Thebes. We have come, after many trials, to cross the river Phlegethon and enter the lower rings of the Underworld. By the will of the gods have we come thus far, and by their gracious intercession do we hope to travel farther still. As for where we are going and how we came to this place, I am afraid I must keep that to myself. Our journey has been fraught with peril, and if we have learned nothing else in this joyless kingdom of death, it is that we must give our confidences carefully.”
Diomedes huffed.
Chiron looked genuinely disappointed. He stood for a moment in silence, then smiled a little and spoke. “I understand, good Lord Odysseus. Hades is not a place for making friends. Nor is it a place for long chats.” He sighed. “And to tell the truth, for me that is the worst of it. Forget the river of boiling blood and the Harpies . . . it is the boredom I find most difficult. Pholos and the others are nice chaps, but they haven’t much in the way of brains.”
I did feel sorry for him. I knew from experience that there was nothing so wretched as loneliness. I looked at Diomedes. He shrugged and shook his head. The old Centaur had welcomed us as guests, after all. And our families knew him. Moreover, I had a deep and urgent sense that whatever was in that leather case, it was sure to be of some real use to me. If I could earn Chiron’s trust, he might let down his guard long enough for me to sneak a look inside.
“Oh, why not?” said Diomedes, reading my thoughts. “What do we have to lose? We’re in Hades.”
So I told Chiron pretty much everything. While Diomedes stood by quietly studying his feet, I laid out the entire account of our journey through Hell, starting with my death and bringing him all the way up to the present. Who knows how long I talked? Chiron took such obvious pleasure in every detail, it was hard to deny him anything. What’s more, I made a point of wandering about the tent as I spoke, circling ever closer to the mysterious leather case. Once I’d taken stock of everything in the room, I brought my story to an end.
“Theos meos!” said the old Centaur. He switched his tail and stamped the ground with one hoof. I almost felt I had done the right thing. “Truth. All of it. I can see it in your face. But one thing troubles me.” He looked from me to Diomedes and back. “This is not the Odysseus I learned about from the songs. I was told you were a liar and a thief. Were the bards so mistaken?”
“No,” I answered, “the bards spoke truth. I think, however, that I have changed.”
Diomedes snorted. I glared at him. Chiron coughed.
“However the case,” I concluded, “that ends our story. Or middles it, rather, seeing as we’re only halfway to where we want to be.”
“Oh, more than halfway,” said Chiron. Then he stopped suddenly and closed his eyes. I thought perhaps he had hurt himself. The whole time I’d been talking, he had been working that arrow deeper and deeper into his beard. By now, it was in so far, I felt sure it would take him the rest of the day to pull it out again. “I have an idea,” he said at last, tugging on the arrow. “Wait here. I shall return shortly.”
Chiron trotted over to the entrance of the tent, lifted the flap, and was gone—just the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I made straight for the table and picked up the leather case.
“Odysseus! What are you doing?” hissed Diomedes.
“Keep an eye on the door,” I said. One end of the cylinder was stitched shut, the other fastened in place by four ribbons. A swift tug on each, and it was open.
“Hurry, will you?” Diomedes was holding the tent flap open with a finger and had his eye to the opening. “He said he’d be right back.”
“Shut up,” I said. “There’s something valuable in here, and I want it.” I lifted the lid and looked inside. Empty. My heart sank. I ran my hand along the interior. It was lined with parchment—no, not lined. I turned the container upside down and shook. A scroll fell out onto the table.
“What is it?” whispered Diomedes.
“What does it look like?” I unrolled it a little, and my heart jumped into my throat. A map—a map of the Underworld! This was something we needed.
“Put it back! Here he comes!”
I rolled it up tightly and shoved it into my quiver.
“Quickly!” whispered Diomedes.
I fumbled with the ribbons.
“He’s here!”
I threw the case back on the table and leapt across the room, turned toward one of the shelves, and picked up some bit of broken glass to examine. Diomedes remained by the door looking stupid. Chiron nearly knocked him down as he entered the tent.
“Good news!” he said, trotting over to the table. “I have spoken with the brethren. The council is considering your case. If you are lucky, they may allow you to pass. In the meantime, there is something I should like you to see.” He reached for the leather case.
I cringed. “No need, Lord Chiron. Diomedes and I would just as soon be on our way.”
“Oh, but you will want to see this,” he answered, pulling on the ribbons.
“No thank you,” I said. “We really must be going. Our situation is urgent.” I walked quickly toward the door.
“Stop!”
I froze.
“You must wait here for the council’s decision,” he said, holding the case half-open in his hand. “You will not want to rush them. This is a serious business, allowing someone to cross into the lower realms, and it is only my word that has kept you alive thus far. Step outside the tent without me by your side, and they’ll shoot you dead without thinking twice.”
Diomedes looked at me and shook his head.
“But in any case,” said Chiron, returning his attention to the ribbons, “you will surely want to see what I have here. Come, now.”
Reluctantly, Diomedes and I trudged over to the table.
By now, Chiron had the case open and was looking inside with a worried frown. “Funny. I could have sworn . . .” He held it upside down and shook it.
“Really,” I said, “it’s quite unnecessary. In fact, we’d just as soon not see it—whatever it is.”
Chiron reached his hand in the case and felt around, held it up to his eye, shook it again. “But I know I . . .” Chiron stopped himself, set the case on the table, and closed his eyes. “May I have my map back?” He held out his hand.
“Excuse me? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Just give it back.”
I swallowed, grimaced, reached into my quiver, and handed him the scroll.
“Thank you.” Chiron shook his head. Then he looked over at me and smiled. “Odysseus. Wily Odysseus. Man of Twists and Turns.” He laughed. “Have you seen it already? Well, let us have a look anyway.” He spread it out on the table and placed a shard of pottery on each corner. “This,” said Chiron with evident pride in his work, “is my map of Hades. Well, you can call it Hades. It’s more like Tartaros.”
“Excuse me, Lord Chiron,” I interrupted, “but aren’t you angry?”
Chiron looked up from his map. “Angry? With you? Why?”
“I stole from you.”
“You did.”
“And that doesn’t anger you?”
“At first it did,” he said musingly, “but then I thought, ‘Is one angry at the wolf for hunting sheep? Angry at the fly for biting or the crow for eating grain?’ ”
I looked at him, baffled.
“You are a thief, Odysseus. Dishonesty is part of your nature. If I were angry, that anger should turn against myself for leaving something so valuable unguarded in your presence.”
“But . . . I stole from you.”
Chiron laughed again and put his hand on my shoulder. “The horse runs, the wolf hunts, the dog barks, Odysseus lies and steals. I would be a fool to resent you for being what you are.” He tousled my hair as if I were a child. “Worry not. You are what you are. Now back to the map.” He leaned over the table and smoothed the parchment flat with both hands.
Somehow his clemency was more troubling to me than any rebuke. I’d been called a thief and a liar before. It had been a point of pride for me. Yet hearing Chiron say it with such candor made me ashamed of myself. Why was that? I remembered something Homer had told me back in Limbo: “You will be a greater hero when you learn to distinguish your lies from your self.” But here was Chiron, cheerfully insisting that my lies were simply part of my nature.
I couldn’t dwell on it. I turned my attention to the map.