They sailed without event for several hours, and Odysseus found himself nearly nodding off again. It was a warm day, and the weather was peaceful, with a steady western breeze. Eurylochus ordered the rowers to relax, and they shipped the oars, allowing the sails to take up the work.
After a while, Asterion began to cry, and Odysseus went through the feeding routine once again, and there was an incident with the diaper that was the child's only clothing. Odysseus made the choice without telling her, and sacrificed Cassandra's old chiton to the cause, creating a neat set of linen cloths for Asterion's use.
For the most part though, the child was content to be held in Odysseus's lap as he sat in the captain's seat at the rear of the ship. Many of the other crewmembers lounged along the rower's benches or dealt with small repairs and maintenance to armor and weapons and rope. Just small things that allowed the ship to function at its best.
Polites finished his weaving, and showed Cassandra, who quickly returned the original headband for the new one, which matched her tunic. Odysseus didn't hear their words as they spoke, but he saw Cassandra blush, and smiled to himself. Polites was the kind of man who never let anyone feel unwelcome.
As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the wind died. The banner hanging from the top of the mast fluttered once, then the air hung still.
The fleet slowed to a crawl, and Eurylochus opened his mouth to call for the oarsmen to return to their places, when Odysseus stopped him with a hand on his arm.
Odysseus' eyes were still on Cassandra, who had frozen in place, her expression vague, then terrified.
"We have to turn back," he whispered, then shouted, "We have to turn back!!"
To the west, clouds formed out of the clear blue sky, deep grey thunderheads a mile high. As Odysseus watched, they parted and billowed, forming the torso and head of a familiar being.
"Where is the child?" a voice, not like thunder but of thunder boomed across the sea. "Who speaks for Scamandrius, for Astyanax, son of Hector? Who protects the enemy of your king?"
Odysseus, still cradling the child in his arms, stepped forward, as much toward the clouds as he could as the ship began to bank once again, rowers paddling furiously to turn the ship away from the oncoming storm—god—whichever.
"Astyanax is no more!" Odysseus cried out, not lying per se. "I hold the child Asterion, who I claim as my own son."
The figure in the clouds, as large as the sky itself, looked down on the ship. Odysseus tried his best to clear his mind, not to pray, not even to think, as he waited to see if Zeus would buy his bluff. Had the god been looking when Odysseus wrapped that stone in the child's blanket? Had he noticed when he had absconded with the child and with Cassandra? Had he seen them leaving Hector's palace?
Dangerous questions. 'Think of something else,' Odysseus commanded himself. 'Think of Penelope.' But in his fear, he could not bring up the image of her face.
"Captain, what do we do?" Eurylochus called out.
"Full speed ahead, away from the storm! We run!"
Instead of ordering the sails to be furled, Odysseus called for more to be let out, to catch the wind that was blowing from the storm behind them.
The oarsmen pulled on all speed as the waves climbed higher, the fear on their faces clear. Odysseus did his best to reassure them, this was no battle, and they had survived far worse.
Odysseus handed Asterion to Cassandra and ordered them both to hide below deck.
They fled before the storm, trying to retreat back to land, any land at all, and a safe harbor.
But no ship can outrun the winds.