The silence was suffocating.
The men sat huddled together, chewing slowly, as if the act of eating might delay whatever fate the giant had in store. The Cyclops still loomed nearby, tearing into a hunk of raw meat with disturbing ease, his single eye never leaving the strangers in his cave.
Odysseus kept his movements slow and deliberate. He was watching, thinking. Planning.
Then, an idea struck him—a memory from their supplies. A skin of wine, rich and sweet, gifted by a grateful priest of Apollo after a past victory. It had survived every storm, every trial, hidden deep within the ship's hold. Before they left the boat yesterday, Odysseus had taken it—just in case.
Now, "just in case" had arrived.
He pulled the wineskin from his pack and rose carefully, drawing the Cyclops' eye. The men flinched at his movement, but Odysseus lifted a hand to calm them. He approached slowly, arms raised in peace.
"A gift," he said, his voice calm and clear. "For your hospitality."
The Cyclops snorted. "You dare offer me something so small?"
Odysseus forced a smile. "It is small, yes. But mighty. A drink not fit for most men, but one I thought worthy of your strength."
Curiosity sparked in the creature's eye. He reached forward, massive fingers snatching the wineskin from Odysseus like a child grabbing a toy. He lifted it to his mouth and drank.
At first, nothing. Then, a long, satisfied growl escaped the beast's throat.
"Mmm. This… this is good," the Cyclops rumbled, a little surprised. He took another deep swig, greedily now. "What do they call you, little man?"
Odysseus paused only a moment. "No one," he said with a slight bow. "Just… No one."
The Cyclops laughed, a terrible, echoing sound that bounced off the cave walls. "Well, No one, you make fine wine. I may eat you last."
Odysseus bowed his head again. "That is all I ask."
The creature drained the wineskin and dropped it to the ground. His eyelid drooped slightly. The wine was already working its magic. Odysseus turned back to his men, locking eyes with them one by one. The time would come soon. The giant was growing sluggish.
But for now, they played the waiting game.
And Odysseus watched, every nerve taut, every breath measured. The plan was taking shape—one quiet moment
at a time.
End of Chapter 7