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mountains above us.
    I can hear the man before I see him. He is singing loudly, as if to give himself courage to walk alone at night. He rounds the turn with his spear pointing straight ahead in case an attacker is poised to strike, as they often do at this spot. But still I wait in the shadows. Then, when he raises his spear again to use it as a staff, I jump from the shadows and clamp my jaws around it, wresting it from his grasp.
    â€œYou!” he screams, kicking at me with his lame foot. But I am quick and feel not the blow. With his spear in my mouth, I run down the path and then turn into the thick wood where he cannot follow.
    â€œCousin!” I call. “He is yours!”
    Then I leave the man to his fate and the mountain wolf.
    And thus do I avenge Titus.

CHAPTER XII
My master meets fair Circe
    A s I stand watch over a herd of sheep, a mountain sparrow, gray chested and with a black crown, alights on the sheep paddock and calls to me.
    â€œBe you Argos, the Boar Slayer?” he asks me.
    â€œI am he, little one. But please, draw closer. Your voice is small, and my ears are not as sharp as they once were.”
    Hearing this, the sparrow hops down from the paddock and perches on a fence rail, but he says nothing.
    Perhaps he is resting, I think. Truly, though, I had never seen a sparrow remain so still, for it is their manner to remain in motion, alighting here and there, never stopping for more than a moment. Nor is a sparrow easy to converse with, for they seem to forget what was said a moment before.
    â€œGentle sparrow, you have found me, the Boar Slayer. Why did you seek me out?”
    Hearing my voice, the sparrow lifts his tiny head, as if trying to recall his purpose.
    â€œWhy am I here? Why? Oh, yes, I remember. I was sent to find you.”
    â€œSent by whom, agile one? Who sent you? Did my master, Odysseus, send you?” I allow myself to think this for a precious moment.
    â€œNo, it wasn’t your master, Aptos—I mean . . . Argos. Your name is Argos, is it not?”
    â€œIt is. But who sent you then, little one? Try to remember.”
    I wait patiently while he thinks.
    â€œHermes,” he says finally. “Yes, that’s who it was. Swift Hermes asked me to send this message to you.”
    Hermes, son of Zeus, has a message for me? Truly, the gods are good. “What message, little flyer? What did the god say?”
    The mountain sparrow hopped to another rail.
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œTry, Insect Catcher. You must remember. You must or you will anger a god.”
    The sparrow hops to another rail and turns his head, as if in deep thought. Suddenly, although it is a cloudy day, I notice aray of sunlight shining on his head, bathing him in gold.
    â€œOh, yes,” he says. “I remember now.”
    I knew then that the golden light was Hermes himself. Hermes, who moves easily between the realms of the gods and those of men, was speaking through the sparrow. And so I sit next to him to hear his story.
    The sparrow was from Aiaia, where lives the beautiful Circe of the golden tresses, who talks to mortals though she is the daughter of Helios, who lights the day, and her mother is Perse, who is the daughter of Ocean. The mountain sparrow had seen my master and his men arrive there, on her island, despondent and full of woe.
    For two days my master and his men mourned their fellow sailors who had been lost to the Laestrygonians, but at dawn on the third day, my master took up his spear and his sword and set out to explore the island, to learn of its inhabitants, and to seek the way home to Ithaka. High on a cliff he saw smoke from the halls of a great building, and so he turned back, hurrying to his men to give them hope. Along the way, the gods took pity on my master and sent a great stag with towering antlers on his path, and my master slew the beast and carried it down to the ship.
    â€œDear friends,” he announced, “sorry as we