Prisoners of the Cyclops
Night draped the cave in darkness, broken only by the dim glow of embers smoldering in the hearth. The stench of blood and smoke lingered, heavy as the stone sealing the entrance. Polyphemus slept, his monstrous form sprawled among his flock, his breath rising and falling like distant thunder.
Odysseus’ men trembled in the shadows, their faces hollow with fear. But Odysseus’ mind was sharp, honed by desperation. Brute strength had trapped them here—only cunning would set them free.
“We cannot kill him,” Odysseus whispered, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation. “Even dead, his strength would doom us. The boulder cannot be moved by our hands alone.”
The challenge was clear: to escape the beast’s lair without slaying him—or be devoured, one by one.
Wine, Lies, and a Name Forgotten
At dawn, Polyphemus awoke with hunger burning in his belly. Two more men were seized, crushed, and devoured as the others watched in silent horror. But Odysseus stepped forward, masking terror with false bravado.
“Cyclops,” he said, “before you feast again, accept a gift. A drink worthy of a god’s son.”
He offered strong, dark wine—rich, potent, stolen from the treasures of Troy. Polyphemus drank greedily, the sweet fire dulling his senses. His savage grin softened into a drunken stupor.
“Ah, sweet nectar,” the Cyclops slurred. “Tell me your name, little man, so I may grant you a gift in return.”
Odysseus’ lips curled into a faint smile. “My name is Nobody,” he replied, voice smooth as the wine itself.
Polyphemus roared with laughter, his great eye gleaming. “Then I shall eat Nobody last, as a gift for your kindness!”
Soon, the giant collapsed into a drunken sleep, his breath ragged and thick with the stench of wine.
The Blinding and the Flight
Seizing the moment, Odysseus and his men heated a sharpened stake in the embers until it glowed red-hot, the fire’s reflection dancing in their determined eyes. With silent precision, they drove the burning wood into the Cyclops’ lone eye, twisting as Polyphemus awoke with a scream that shook the very walls.
The cave erupted with chaos. The blinded beast thrashed wildly, groping for his attackers, but found only empty air. His cries echoed across the island, drawing other Cyclopes who called from afar, “Polyphemus, who has harmed you?”
“Nobody!” he roared in agony. “Nobody is killing me!”
Hearing this, the others dismissed his cries, leaving him to his torment.
But Odysseus’ plan was not yet complete. As dawn crept over the horizon, they clung to the bellies of Polyphemus’ sheep, hidden beneath thick wool as the blind giant unknowingly released them with his flock.
Once aboard their ship, Odysseus’ pride overcame his caution. He called back across the water, his voice sharp with triumph:
“It was not Nobody who blinded you, Cyclops. It was Odysseus, son of Laertes, king of Ithaca!”
Polyphemus roared with rage, hurling boulders blindly toward the sound of the voice. Then, with bloodied hands raised to the sky, he cursed Odysseus, calling upon his father, Poseidon:
“Hear me, Earth-Shaker! Curse him! Let him never reach his home—or if fate demands it, let him come late, broken, and alone.”
The curse settled like a shadow over the sea.