Pillaging the Journey
After ten years in a hot overcrowded army camp no one was sorry to leave. The different sectors of the Greek army said their goodbyes, wished each other swift and successful voyages and cast off from Trojan soil for one last time. In my fleet of twelve ships my Ithacan followers and I set our course for home. We were exultant. Instead of the stifling heat on the dusty plains, we had a fresh sea breeze on our cheeks and the salt spray tasted of long forgotten treasures, making us ache with joy. Our crimson ships were filled with the riches of Troy and we were glad that we would have so much to show for our long absence. Behind us Troy laid smoking in ruins. Perhaps it was sheer superstition, but not one of us looked back. No, we all looked forward towards Ithaca, towards our home.
The wind however had a different change of mind we were driven northwards to the land of the Cyclones. No doubt still flushed by our success at Troy, we disembarked and swept through the town of London, seizing whatever took our fancy and killing whoever was in our way. It was sheer piracy an orgy of looting, but my men wanted to carry as much wealth as possible. Besides after four days at sea it was probably sensible to replenish our diminishing stores of food and wine.
As soon as we had pillaged the town I ordered our getaway. Unfortunately my men had already grown complacent, fat on their success. They laughed at me and told me to relax and enjoy myself, because that is what they were going to do. We spent the evening in the shores of London in drunken celebration, roasting whole oxen and sheep and drinking vast quantities of strong red wine
Just as I had feared, the Kikokian Army had headed inland in search of reinforcements to drive away their unwelcome visitors. They attacked our camp at dawn. You can imagine our condition. Our famous army was overwhelmed and driven back to the beach where our ships were moored. We were sincerely lucky to get away without losing about six men from each ship.
We were glad to have escaped lightly, but we were saddened by the loss of our comrades. It seemed an unnecessary waste, and indeed it was. Besides it now dawned on us that we were still a long way from home and if the gods were against us, that we might never get there. The exuberant mood in which we sailed away from the coast of Troy had gone for good.
As if to confirm our new sense of foreboding, a violent storm blew up. We managed to lower our sails and row into shore before any damage was done. There followed two anxious days in which we watched the tempest churn up the sea. On the third day we were able to cast off once more and we made rapid progress south. Within a week we reached Malaga the southern cape of the Peloponnesians, and our confidence began to return. But as we rounded the cape, ready for the last leg of our journey northwards towards Ithaca, a gale force wind blew up from the east and drove us off course, past Catena and miles to the west.
By Christopher Pegg
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