Note from the authoress: I thought of this story while listening to an incredible radio drama of Homer's Odyssey by the BBC.
The sea and Poseidon play a vital part in all of Odysseus's wanderings, and so I thought it would be fun to explore the hero's struggles from this unusual perspective.
My thanks to Thyme In Her Eyes, and Snapegirlkmf, whose amazing stories Song of The Sea, and Ariadne inspired this piece.
You can find links to their tales on my profile.
Feedback is always welcome.
Thanks for reading.
He first heard her voice on the night of his birth.
Scarcely two hours had passed since the midwife handed Anticleia her firstborn, before Laertes gently took the child from her arms.
A smile briefly lit the new mother's drawn features, for she knew where her husband was going and approved of what he was about to do.
Like many on Ithaca, he worshiped the sea and her lord, and so he carried him down to the shore, and Odysseus saw for the first time the force of nature which would govern his destiny.
Laertes watched proudly as his little son's eyes fastened on the splendor of a moonlit sea, never suspecting that this awesome force of nature would play a crucial role in his child's destiny.
In the following years he would often come with his wife and son down to the shore. With pride he would watch as little Odysseus played in the surf with his friends and sit enthralled as his mother told him tales of the sea and those who made a living by her generosity, or roused her to dark fury which cost them their lives. .
And the sea watched this mortal child as he played without fear in her waves, and learned to swim and fish for the bounty she freely gave to all.
As he grew older, Odysseus's interests strayed from bard's tales, to the thrill of the hunt and training in the arts of war. But he never forgot the haunting voice of the sea.
It was on Ithaca's shore he proposed to gentle Penelope, and when their little son was born father and mother continued Laertes' tradition.
The ocean saw all this, and rejoiced that at last a mortal was born with a love of water in such abundance.
And she determined to watch over this Greek warrior, to use every power at her command to give him strength and sustenance.
Odysseus did not know it then, but he had just earned the respect and admiration of the ocean, and in time his courage and valor would win her immortal heart.
She reluctantly bore him to Troy and glory, knowing that he was destined to find the key to that great city's destruction
And on the nights where Laertes' son paced the shore, alternately raging then seeking a way to break the strength of Ilium's resistance, she was there to speak encouragement and peace to his soul.
She watched over those ten mortal years, as countless warriors were slaughtered in the name of power, greed, and according to the implacable will of destiny.
When the Greek kings met in counsel, determined to find a way to breach mighty Ilium's walls, she watched as her warrior's clever mind devised a cunning plan for victory.
Her voice sang a song of mourning for all the innocent of Troy who were slaughtered, and the citizens destined for a life of servitude and hardship.
But there was little she could do, except bear silent witness to their grief and pain.
Grim joy filled her soul as she heard the command from Olympus's lord, to take to her depths some who had killed needlessly, or broken sacred laws set down by the gods.
She claimed each one gladly, making sure that their deaths were long and hard. For like other forces of nature her justice was a thing to be feared and respected, and many Greeks learned that truth as she silenced their cries for mercy forever and claimed each of them as drowned corpse.
The Trojans she took swiftly, whispering to their souls that her way was better than what destiny had planned.
With relief she bore Odysseus's ships away from the site of so much death, never suspecting the torments that awaited her beloved.
Through many dangers she was always there to bear him away, though a part of her sorrowed at the loss of so many of his friends and companions. Yes, some brought their own deaths about through arrogance, or thoughtlessness, but others simply had the misfortune to walk unknowingly into the path of destruction.
Circe knew from the moment Odysseus set foot on her island. She could never claim this warrior known for his cunning and skill in battle, the one Hermes had prophisied would be the first to remain untouched by her magic. Even she a goddess could not hold one whose soul was given into the keeping of others.
So she reveled in the desperate and wild passion Ithaca's king lavished upon her. They understood and delighted in power. For her, it was in the crafting of spells and snares to entrap and seduce the unsuspecting wanderer. Nothing could give Circe such pleasure as this achievement.
For the Greek warrior it was words of cunning, trickery or deception which challenged and reawakened his joy of life.
If fate had destined Odysseus for this wild goddess of the sea, they would have been a truly frightening pair. Power, ruthless and untamable, combined with a passion as fathomless as the waves which crashed upon her shore was Circe's fiery nature. This coupled with the gifts of intelligence and cunning which the son of Laertes possessed would have been a union even the gods would not wish to sanction.
For many months Odysseus remained with the beautiful sorceress, until once again he yielded to the entreaties of his friends and the voice of the sea calling him home.
She carried him as far as she was able to the entrance to the underworld, knowing that great sorrow awaited him the moment he would offer sacrifices to the shades of the dead.
Every whispered word of comfort she spoke to her chosen mortal went unheard, for though he instinctively understood her ancient tongue he had not the will to listen and comprehend her song.
Bitter guilt tormented her when she learned of his friend's sacrilege in killing and eating the sacred cattle of the sun. For in an attempt to calm Odysseus's fears, she had let the music of water and wind lull him to sleep, while nearby his friend's feasted on cursed meat.
Zeus's order had come to her moments after the ship set sail for destruction. She could not ignore the command of heaven's king, and exalted in the opportunity to finally claim the Greek warrior for her own.
In all honesty she welcomed the thunderer's command, for it gave her the chance to vent the frustration of years watching helpless to intervene directly until this moment.
She was sorry to take the last of her warrior's friends, but they had knowingly broken the law and were therefore hers now to punish according to great Zeus's will.
When his ship was lost, and he alone remained alive, the sea did not relinquish her hold. She drew him close, down into her depths, reluctant to surrender his body to any embrace save her own.
Even her lord Poseidon did not know of her secret desire to possess this warrior, to mark him as hers forever and love him as a mortal could never be loved.
The sea lord might think he commanded her, that he alone could stir her depths and arouse her to fury. But he was wrong. For she had existed long before he ever had been conceived, and not even the force of an immortal's will could ever tame her wild soul
Even those on Olympus had remarked on Poseidon's anger, marveled at the strength of his passionate rages and stubborn determination to keep the fires of vengeance alive.
They could not know that a deeper truth lay beneath the earth shakers wroth, that it was the ocean herself who kindled again and again fresh rage and resentment whenever it began to cool.
In every wave was her frustration and longing to take and possess, to claim this cunning warrior as hers.
Calypso sought to hold him back with the promise of immortality, tempting him with glimpses of her divine glory and welcoming him into her bed where she gave him the gift of her passion.
But all her efforts were in vain. For the sea still called to him with the promise of a passion beyond anything this goddess could offer.
He would sit for hours as she spoke in a voice gentle and soothing as the waves she commanded to accompany her seductive words of promise.
She longed to welcome him to her bed beneath the waves, where countless treasures rested and many a corpse had become food for her creatures.
Only too well did she know of his deep affection for gentle Penelope, and the care he had taken when building the palace for his bride.
He had crafted the marriage bed with great care, made it into the cornerstone of his palace a symbol of his constancy and love for his queen. Of all mortals, only Penelope knew the secret of that bed and its making, and that knowledge was what would finally convince her that Odysseus had indeed returned when he had taken his revenge on the suitors.
Willingly he had accepted Circe's invitation to come to her bed, never suspecting that another wild goddess, indeed the very ocean herself longed to make him a similar offer.
It was his cleverness, and adventurous spirit that the sea admired. So often she wished that she might show him the wonders of her kingdom beneath the waves, take him as her consort and gift him with untold strength and endless days.
But that fate was not for him, though she had fought with all she possessed to keep him when he had set sail on the craft he had fashioned, and divine voice had blessed his voyage with ancient words of power.
Many bards would claim that it was the sea lord who stirred the depths when he dragged Odysseus from his craft and let him know the terror of drowning. In the halls of kings was related the defiant words of Laertes' son, daring the ruler of the oceans to do his worst and give him a death worthy of a hero.
They could not know that beneath those declarations were wilder darker thoughts, urges that perhaps even Odysseus himself did not recognize or comprehend.
She alone heard this silent language, words too deep for any mortal tongue to express, which spoke of a great longing more potent than that of a man desperate for water in the desert.
Even when she overcame him, let her waves enfold and crush him in her embrace, still he fought, driven by the need for the gentle queen who had claimed the other half of his soul.
At Athena's command she angrily released her hold, and cast him ashore on the island of Phaeacia.
There at last he received true Xenia, and a royal audience who were eager to hear of his adventures and offer him whatever he required for his voyage.
She bore him home at last, knowing that the implacable force of destiny had ordained that he rule his kingdom for a while.
With joy she watched as the sailors swiftly unloaded the treasure their king had generously given to her warrior, and carefully lifted him from their boat and laid him upon his native shore.
Everything within her had rebelled at Poseidon's spiteful order to drown the men who had acted out of kindness and upon their ruler's orders. So she made their deaths quick, and their passage across the Styx effortless.
Hades heeded the Styx's voice, and so she sought its aid in asking that the Phaeacian sailors be granted places in Elysium.
Penelope knew, in that way only a devoted lover and companion could know, that his heart had long ago been given to the ocean. She accepted that knowledge with grace and dignity, earning the respect and admiration of the ocean a thousand times over.
The sea returned her kindness whenever Ithaca's queen paced the shore, or left her chamber's window open at night.
She carried back Odysseus's words of love and longing, whispered every thought he had for his gentle queen in the ancient tongue of water. But Penelope never understood, only those born with a love of the sea could comprehend fragments of that language, one formed of restless waves, of the music of wind, storm and the wild melody of the depths.
Still she persisted, knowing that Ithaca's queen would ultimately look to her for the return of Odysseus.
His was a divided soul. Half belonged to his faithful gentle Penelope, the other to a mistress of beauty, storm and depths beyond even his formidable intellect to comprehend.
Even after death her voice would follow him, to the realm of Hades where the sacred Styx flowed. For all rivers led to her depths. Her words would be woven with even his eternal destiny, for of all the women who had known the Greek hero she alone had claimed him at birth, watched over his life and never abandoned him in his darkest hour.
Of all the mortals she had ever encountered, he alone had reveled in her fiercest storms, gloried in her serenity and given his soul into her keeping. And she would hold it forever; consider it a treasure far superior to all the forgotten riches she concealed out of mischief and a desire to see mortals go questing for wealth and acclaim.
Occasionally she also gave up some of her mysteries, so that men and gods alike would once again respect her as a being too vast for comprehension.
Of all things in creation she was the most skilled in keeping secrets, and her passion for a Greek hero was one she guarded and would continue to cling to in the deepest part of herself for all time.