Leverage and Livestock
Armed with a groundbreaking idea, I paid a visit to Ithaca's resident bard.
Or perhaps, to be more precise, the court bard of Ithaca's royal palace.
I had very good reasons for seeking him out over anyone else.
"Phemius, you've traveled abroad more than anyone else I know, right?"
"Hm?"
Phemius, who had been strumming his lyre while jotting something down, looked up at me with an inquisitive glance. When I simply stood there and met his gaze in silence, he gave a slow nod.
"I suppose... that's true enough."
"And you're the cleverest guy around."
"Mmh... probably?"
If we were talking about the sharpest mind on Ithaca, Odysseus would eventually hold that crown without question, but that was still years away. At this precise moment, no one on the island could outwit Phemius.
"Not to mention you're thoroughly greedy, you love chasing women, and you have an uncanny nose for the scent of success..."
"Hold on, hold on! Polites, did you drop by just to shower me with insults?"
Phemius gaped at me as if I had lost my mind.
"I wondered what sort of nonsense you'd spout today, but what's gotten into you now?"
"It's nothing bad. I just wanted to hear your thoughts on an idea I had."
"Is that how someone asking for a favor introduces the subject? With a string of curses...?"
Grumbling under his breath, Phemius set his lyre aside. For all his complaining, though, his posture shifted into one of open curiosity.
"Fine, out with it. What is it?"
"I was thinking about a way to use cattle when pressing olive oil and wine."
"...Out of nowhere?"
"It just crossed my mind while trailing Philoetius and herding cows. Anyway, here's how it works."
I picked up a stray stick from the ground and began sketching in the dirt. Despite his initial bewilderment, Phemius leaned forward, watching my strokes with genuine focus. That open-mindedness was precisely why I had come to him instead of anyone else.
I drew two diagrams: one showing the contraption from above, and the other from the side.
"You tether an ox to the far end of a long timber beam. When the beast walks, provided the center pivot is anchored, it'll trace a circle, right?"
"Right."
"At the same time, you anchor ropes right about here. Beneath the long beam, you pile the leftover pomace—the solids left after the first pressing of the olives—into a circular heap."
"Uh-huh?"
"Then, if you encase the outer rim of the pomace with slabs of bronze or sturdy wood and wind the ropes connected to the sweeping beam tightly around it... what happens?"
"..."
"The ox will exert immense tension on those ropes, squeezing that olive pomace with force far beyond anything human muscle could manage. Don't you think?"
Having finished the sketch, I tossed out the bait guaranteed to hook him.
"If we do that, we can extract far more olive oil than normal. Naturally, the grade will be lower, but even so..."
"...Even low-grade oil has plenty of uses."
It was just like petroleum. Depending on the level of refining, impurities might linger, or you might be left with crude sludge like asphalt. Yet humanity had ultimately discovered a purpose for every fraction of the barrel. In the exact same way, even inferior olive oil had endless practical applications.
"And it doesn't have to stop at olive pulp. You could use it to press grape mash or all sorts of other things."
Dreaming up every commercial application wasn't my responsibility anyway. That was a job for Phemius and the other clever merchants.
"What's more, while you can use it as a press, you could also mount a rounded block of timber or a carved stone wheel along the middle of the beam so it rolls in a track. That way, you could crush grains and fruit with minimal effort."
The moment I pitched the concept of a rotary millstone, the look in Phemius's eyes changed completely. It went far beyond mere intrigue.
A good sign.
Resting his chin in his hand, his gaze glued to my crude drawings in the dirt, Phemius finally spoke.
"This... I think I could present this directly to the King."
Bingo.
That was practically a guarantee that my idea was feasible and that the returns would be handsome. Phemius's nose for profit was second to none, after all.
The very man blessed with that golden snout turned to me with an eyebrow raised.
"Polites, why come to me with this?"
"Because you're the wisest man I know. And I figured you could see this built far better than a kid like me could."
"You..."
Phemius's expression softened into one of visible emotion. Constantly battered by the whims of nobles and commoners demanding songs and verse, he seemed utterly starved for genuine praise.
For the sake of his touched heart, I kept my true motivation—so I can dump all the hard work on you—safely buried in my chest.
"That's why I want you to build it in my stead. People will take it far more seriously coming from you than from a child."
Phemius nodded solemnly.
"The King will likely approve without hesitation. It requires few materials to begin with, and the core resource is waste that would otherwise be thrown away."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"I will secure His Majesty's blessing and consult the craftsmen at once."
"I leave it in your capable hands."
"Yes, leave it to me, Polites! I shall honor this trust you've placed in me with—!"
I gave a perfunctory wave over my shoulder as Phemius began reciting some grand, poetic oath into the wind.
Alright. That was one brilliant idea offloaded with zero personal responsibility.
With that settled, I wiped the ox-powered apparatus from my mind for the time being.
"Polites! Let's go hunt rabbits again today!"
Odysseus came bursting in with his usual monstrous proposal to commit rabbit genocide. Having nothing better to do anyway, I was about to grab my bow and join in the slaughter when I caught sight of what he was carrying and froze.
"...With Ctimene?"
"Yeah!"
Ctimene, for the record, was Odysseus's younger sister. She was all of two years old, right at the age where toddlers scamper about without a care in the world.
I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
"Are you telling me you want to show your baby sister rabbits getting butchered...?"
"Huh? Well... yeah, why not?"
He actually agreed without missing a beat.
"It's too dangerous. Absolutely not."
"Ooboo-boo."
"See? Ctimene says she's fine with it!"
"She's just babbling! How does that mean she's fine?!"
Anticipating my fierce resistance, however, Odysseus brought in reinforcements.
Woof!
"Argos is coming along too! He said he'll protect her!"
Bringing a baby and a puppy to a hunting ground? What an unbelievable party composition. Even the remaining two members barely qualified as children themselves.
"More importantly, why are you holding Ctimene? Where are your mother and the handmaidens?"
That was the biggest mystery of all. Leaving two-year-old Ctimene in the reckless hands of Odysseus was sheer madness! The dependable Odysseus was the grown warrior in his twenties who would fight in the Trojan War. The little brat standing before me hadn't even reached ten, and he had the impulse control of a runaway cart.
"She looked bored out of her mind inside the palace, so I smuggled her out!"
This crazy little bastard.
I was about to smack him upside the head, snatch Ctimene away, and return her to the frantically searching maidens. But the second I lifted her into my arms, she beamed up at me with an innocent giggle.
"Heheh. Po... Poritesseu."
"It's Polites, not Poritesseu."
"Politesseu."
"Just drop the extra hiss and you've got it. Keep practicing."
"Heheh."
Evidently, Ctimene was thoroughly enjoying her little runaway adventure. Two boys, a toddler, and a pup that hadn't even grown into a proper hound yet. The bright future of Ithaca had assembled in one place.
Drawing upon my past-life experience of bouncing my niece on my knee, I expertly hoisted Ctimene against my hip and glared at Odysseus.
"We still have to ask for permission. Everyone's going to panic once they realize she's missing."
"Aw, but..."
"If she says yes, we'll take her. Not a moment before."
In my mind, the odds of Queen Anticlea granting permission were practically zero. And why would she? Ctimene was barely two.
"You may take her."
"...Excuse me?"
What did she just say?
I stared in disbelief at Anticlea, who was overseeing administrative affairs alongside her handmaidens. Why on earth was she agreeing to this?
"...B-But Queen Anticlea, Ctimene is only two... ow, she's only two years old!" I protested, trying to talk around Ctimene's tiny hands as she squished my cheeks.
Anticlea offered a warm, serene smile.
"It is about time for her daily stroll anyway, so it works out well. Besides... Odysseus isn't going alone. You are accompanying him, aren't you, Polites?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Then that settles it. You are far more reliable than my troublemaking son."
"Uh..."
"And Ctimene is quite fond of you. Surely it's not that you dislike her company?"
At that, I glanced down at Ctimene. She looked right back at me and gave a radiant, toothy grin.
"...I will make sure we stay in the safest areas possible."
In the end, I raised the white flag.
A collective sigh of profound relief swept through the chamber, visible on the faces of Anticlea and every handmaiden present. It seemed my solitary sacrifice had liberated half a dozen women from the trials of toddler duty. Even if Ctimene was exceptionally bright for her age, wrangling a two-year-old was a different beast entirely.
When I carried Ctimene back outside, Odysseus practically burst with excitement.
"She said yes?!"
"She did. But we're being extra careful today. Understand?"
"Of course! Obviously! Alright, Argos, you ready?!"
Woof! Woof!!
Watching the two reckless troublemakers dart around in sheer jubilation, I adjusted my grip on Ctimene and headed toward the hills.
Ah.
I never should have brought Ctimene along.
No, scratch that—I shouldn't have stepped foot out here to hunt at all today.
I stood frozen, drowning in bitter regret as I watched an unnatural, grotesque beast of an ox lumbering straight toward us from across the clearing.