The ship's food stores were incredibly low. Among the piles of goods stolen from Hector were many casks of strong wine, standing balanced in their amphorae, several crates of various kinds of good, mostly gold and silver works, looted from temples and estates around Troy.
There were only a few crates, though, of food, just like Eurylochus had described. Odysseus raided those though and found a ration of bread, and an amphora lid that had somehow lost its pot.
Taking these and a waterskin, he made his way to his cabin.
Many of the men had hammocks, just squares of canvas hung from the upper deck in the gaps between rower's benches, but in the stern end of the ship was a small room, which was reserved for Odysseus as king and captain. When the ship was built, he'd claimed not to want it, but they insisted, and it was fully fitted with a small desk and a bed, built into the walls of the ship.
There was evidence of Polites' rummaging in his things. His chest of personal belongings was open, and the clothing inside was rumpled. A box lay open on the desk, revealing a crown of beaten bronze laurel leaves rested on top of the other pieces. He'd forgotten that Penelope had sent him with those.
"In case you find a way to make Paris and Hector see sense," she'd said. "You'll want to look your best at the negotiations."
Asterion wailed again, and Odysseus came to the present. He put the bread on the pot lid, and moistened it with water until he had a sort of.. grainy paste. Using his fingers, he directed as much of it into the child's mouth.
Asterion protested, crying and shaking his head, but Odysseus had dealt with enough nights with Telemachus as a fussy infant, and enough wounded men after a battle, that he managed to restrain the child enough to get him to eat.
Eventually, most of the paste ended up inside the boy, and he was asleep once again. Odysseus cleaned himself up, and sank onto his bed, rocking Asterion gently. He hummed Penelope's favorite lullaby, and found himself drifting off to sleep.
He dreamed that he was home, standing at the foot of the steps of his palace. Penelope stood at the top, alone, wearing a veil over her hair as if in mourning. She looked older, more run-down. He ran up the steps toward her and she drew back. She didn't recognize him.
"Penelope..." he began, but a man stepped up behind her. He was tall and handsome, his hair was long and dark, and he glared down at Odysseus like he had stepped in something foul.
"Twenty years is a long time to have to wait for a king," the man said, taking Penelope by the shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. She wouldn't look at either of them, but endured the kiss stoically.
"Get your hands off her—" Odysseus reached for a weapon, but he had none.
"Look at you now," the man continued as if he hadn't heard. "Just a—"
"Nobody," A soft voice called out, and he woke to see Cassandra's grey eyes, close to his. She'd been shaking his shoulders.
"Cassandra?" Odysseus sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?"
"We should not stop here,"
"Stop? Stop where?"
"I see land ahead!" Polites' voice called from up on deck. "An island in the distance."