After escaping the Cyclops Polyphemus, Odysseus and his companions sailed through dangerous seas, until they reached the island of Aeolus, the keeper of the winds.

Aeolus was kind. He gave Odysseus an extraordinary gift: a leather bag containing all the winds of the world — all but the west wind, which blew the ships straight toward Ithaca.

"Do not open the bag," Aeolus warned. "Let only the west wind do its work."

For nine days, they sailed in a straight line for home. They came so close to Ithaca that they could see the smoke of the hearth fires rising in the distance. And Odysseus, worn out from holding the helm alone, finally fell asleep.

But his companions grew curious and suspicious. They whispered among themselves that the bag must be full of gold and silver, and that Odysseus did not want to share the treasure.

While he slept, they opened the bag.

All the winds escaped at once. Furious storms fell upon the ships and drove them backward, farther and farther from Ithaca. Odysseus woke to see his island vanishing on the horizon. His heart broke. They had been a few hours from home, and now they were lost again.

The storm carried them to the land of the Laestrygonians, a race of man-eating giants. It was worse than the Cyclops, for here there were hundreds of them.

The Laestrygonians attacked the fleet from the tops of the cliffs, hurling enormous rocks that crushed the ships like toys. Eleven of the twelve ships went down, and hundreds of companions were lost in the waters. Only Odysseus's own ship escaped.

Now there remained one ship and about forty-five men. It was a disaster from which no one knew if they could recover.

Shaken and grieving, they sailed on until they came to a mysterious island called Aeaea. At its center stood a palace of stone, with smoke rising from the chimney.

Odysseus divided the men into two groups: one under his command, the other under his friend Eurylochus. They drew lots, and it fell to Eurylochus's group to explore. He set off toward the palace with twenty-two men.

There they found something strange: wolves and lions roamed loose in the courtyard. But they attacked no one. They were as tame as house dogs.

From inside the palace came a woman's voice, singing a beautiful melody. The door opened, and there stood Circe — a sorceress of dazzling beauty, with golden hair and eyes that gleamed with power.

"Welcome, travelers," she said sweetly. "You look weary. Come in, eat, drink."

She served food and wine, and the men, famished, ate without suspicion. Only Eurylochus, cautious, stayed outside, watching through a crack.

When they had finished eating, Circe smiled in a different way. She took up her magic wand and touched each man, one by one.

And the men turned into pigs.

The men now had the bodies of pigs, but their minds were still human. They grunted in despair, tried to speak, and only squeals came out. Circe shut them in a sty, pleased with the newest animals in her collection. The wolves and lions of the courtyard, after all, were travelers she had transformed.

Eurylochus saw it all and ran back, breathless.

"Odysseus, she is a sorceress. She has turned them all into pigs."

Odysseus took up his sword.

"Then I am going to get them back."

"It is madness to go alone," said Eurylochus.

"They are my men. I do not abandon them."

On the way to the palace, the god Hermes appeared to Odysseus.

"Circe will transform you too, if you go like this, empty-handed. Take this."

Hermes handed him a magic flower called moly, with black roots and petals white as milk.

"This plant will protect you from her magic. When the spell fails, draw your sword and advance. Circe will be so astonished that she will do whatever you ask. Make her swear by the gods to do you no harm."

Odysseus thanked him and went on.

At the palace, Circe received him with her usual sweetness, offered food and wine, and Odysseus accepted, the flower hidden against his chest. When he finished, the sorceress touched him with her wand.

"Become a pig," she commanded.

Nothing happened. Odysseus remained a man, protected by the moly. Circe stepped back, astonished, and he drew his sword and advanced.

"I am Odysseus of Ithaca. Give me back my men."

Circe fell to her knees.

"So it is you. Hermes told me, once, that Odysseus would come to this island and defeat my magic."

"Swear by the gods that you will do me no harm," Odysseus demanded.

Circe swore by the river Styx, the most sacred oath there is. Then she waved her wand over the sty, and the pigs became men again — stronger and younger, even, than before.

"Stay with me," Circe asked. "You and your men. Rest, eat, get your strength back."

Odysseus hesitated, but his men were exhausted and wounded within. He agreed to stay a month. Only, one month became two, and three, and four... and a whole year passed on Circe's island.

It was the companions who one day drew him aside.

"Captain, we must go. Have you forgotten Ithaca? And Penelope?"

Odysseus woke as if from a long dream. They were right. Circe, who had fallen in love with him, was saddened, but she helped them prepare and warned him of the dangers to come.

"First, you will pass the Sirens, creatures who sing so beautifully that sailors throw themselves into the sea to reach them, and die. Then you will cross a strait guarded by Scylla and Charybdis: Scylla is a monster with six heads, who snatches men from the decks; Charybdis is a whirlpool that swallows ships whole. Choose your course with great care."

Odysseus and his men set sail, and soon they sighted the island of the Sirens.

Remembering Circe's warning, Odysseus had an idea. He wanted to hear the famous song — but without dying for it.

"Stop your ears with wax," he ordered the men. "I want to hear it. Tie me to the mast, and no matter how I beg, do not untie me."

The men molded warm wax into their ears and bound Odysseus firmly to the mast.

As the ship drew near, the song of the Sirens began.

It was the most beautiful music Odysseus had ever heard. It promised knowledge, wisdom, all the secrets of the world. The Sirens sang his name, claimed to know everything about Troy and about his future, and called him closer.

Odysseus strained against the ropes and begged to be released. Tears ran down his face; the longing to go was almost unbearable. But the men, hearing nothing, only rowed faster, obeying the old order.

At last the island fell behind them, and the song died away in the distance. Odysseus came back to himself, trembling and grateful. No other man had heard the song of the Sirens and lived.

But the next trial was worse. They came to the strait of Scylla and Charybdis.

On one side, Charybdis, the giant whirlpool that three times a day sucked down the whole sea and spat it back up. Any ship caught there would be destroyed with all aboard. On the other side, high on the cliff, the cave of Scylla, the monster with six long necks, each ending in a head with three rows of teeth.

The strait was too narrow to avoid them both. Odysseus remembered Circe's words: Charybdis took the whole ship; Scylla took six men. It was a terrible sum to work out — but better to lose six than to lose everyone.

Odysseus did not tell his men about Scylla, so that panic would not freeze them. He only ordered them to row close under the cliff, away from the center, where Charybdis roared, sucking and spewing the sea.

Then, from the shadows high above, Scylla struck. Six heads came down like serpents, and each seized a man. Odysseus saw his companions lifted into the air, still stretching out their hands to him, calling his name. And there was nothing he could do.

Scylla carried them to her cave. Their cries echoed for a moment, and then came silence and the sound of the waves. It was the most painful sight Odysseus witnessed on the whole voyage.

The survivors rowed with all their strength and escaped the strait.

Odysseus was silent for a long time. It was he who had chosen the course, knowing the price. The men tried to comfort him, saying that without him they would all have died. But he would never forget those faces, those outstretched hands.

The journey was claiming a heavier price with every league. They had left Troy with twelve ships and hundreds of men; now one ship remained, with a little more than thirty. And Ithaca was still far away — and the hardest trials were still to come.