The person I sought out with my groundbreaking idea was Ithaca’s bard.
More precisely, the bard of the Ithacan court.
There was a reason I had come to him.
"Phemius, you’ve traveled abroad more than anyone I know, right?"
"Hm?"
Phemius, who had been plucking his lyre while writing something down, gave me a puzzled look.
When I simply stared at him without another word, he nodded.
"Probably... yes?"
"And you’re the most cunning, too."
"Um... probably?"
If one were to name the cleverest person in Ithaca, it would undoubtedly be Odysseus—but that was a story for the future.
At this point in time, no one in Ithaca could outwit Phemius.
"And you’re greedy for money, love chasing after women, and have an especially sharp nose for the scent of success..."
"Wait, wait. Polites. Did you come all the way here just to insult me?"
Phemius looked at me as though I were ridiculous.
"I wondered what nonsense you were going to spout today, but what is this now?"
"It’s just that there’s something I wanted to get your opinion on."
"Is insulting someone how a person asking for a favor opens a conversation...?"
Grumbling, Phemius set his lyre aside.
Despite his complaints, he was preparing to hear me out.
"So what is it?"
"I was thinking of a way to use oxen when making olive oil and wine."
"...Out of nowhere?"
"It came to me while I was herding cattle with Philoetius. Anyway, this is how it works."
I picked up a stick lying nearby and began drawing in the dirt.
Though he had initially been bewildered, Phemius studied my drawing seriously.
That was precisely why I had come to him rather than someone else.
I drew two diagrams.
One showed a large device from above, and the other from the side.
"You tie an ox to the end of a long wooden beam. If you fix the center in place, then as the ox moves, it will go around and around, right?"
"Right."
"Then you tie a rope around here. Beneath the long beam, you pile up the pulp left over after pressing olives in a circle."
"Hm?"
"Then you surround the outside of the pulp with pieces of bronze or wood, and wrap the rope tied to the long beam tightly around it—what happens?"
"..."
"The ox will pull the rope with greater force, so wouldn’t it squeeze the olive pulp harder than a person ever could?"
Once I had finished drawing, I offered the point most likely to tempt him.
"That way, we could get more olive oil than we normally press. Its quality would be lower, of course. But even that..."
"...would have plenty of uses."
It was like petroleum.
Depending on how much it was refined, it could contain more impurities—or leave behind nothing but residue, like asphalt.
But in the end, humanity had found ways to use every part of petroleum.
Likewise, even lower-quality olive oil would have many uses if one looked for them.
"And instead of using it only to squeeze olive pulp, we could use it on grape pomace or other things as well."
It was not my job to think up all its applications.
That was for Phemius and other clever people to do.
"And it could be used for pressing, but if you fitted a rounded piece of wood or stone around the middle of this beam and made it roll, you could crush grain, fruit, and other things with very little effort."
When I even added the idea of a millstone, Phemius’s eyes changed.
It was more than simple interest.
A good sign.
Phemius completely set aside his lyre, propped his chin on a hand, and stared intently at my drawings before opening his mouth.
"This... may be worth bringing directly to the king."
Oh.
That was practically a guarantee that my idea could be implemented properly and would bring clear profit.
Phemius truly had an exceptional nose for money.
And that money-sniffing Phemius asked me,
"Polites, why did you specifically come to me?"
"Because you’re the wisest person I know. And I thought you might be able to make this in my place, since I’m still a child."
"You..."
Phemius looked touched by my words.
After being pushed around every day by others demanding songs and poems, he seemed starved for praise.
For the sake of the moved Phemius, I buried my true thought—so I could dump the work on him—in my heart.
"So I’d like you to make this for me. People will trust it more if they hear you made it rather than a child."
Phemius answered seriously.
"The king will probably agree without much hesitation. It does not require many materials, and the most important material is the leftover pulp that would otherwise be thrown away."
"That’s a relief."
"I’ll... seek the king’s permission and discuss it with the craftsmen."
"Then I’ll leave it to you."
"Yes, leave it to me, Polites! I shall surely repay that faith—!"
I gave a casual wave in response to Phemius, who was rambling poetically in the distance.
Okay, one more irresponsible pleasure taken care of.
With that, I pushed the idea of an ox-powered device out of my mind for a while.
*
"Polites! Let’s go hunt rabbits again today!"
Odysseus made his usual horrifying proposal for a rabbit massacre.
I had nothing else to do, so I was about to pick up my bow and join in the slaughter when I noticed what he was carrying and froze.
"...You’re bringing Ctimene?"
"Yep!"
Ctimene, for the record, was Odysseus’s younger sister.
She was two years old, just at the age when children began moving about energetically.
Unable to hide my disbelief, I asked,
"Are you saying you want to show your little sister rabbits being killed...?"
"Huh? Um... yes?"
He actually admitted it.
"It’s too dangerous. No."
"Buh-buh."
"Ctimene says she’s fine!"
She only babbled. What are you talking about?
But knowing that I would absolutely object, Odysseus had brought reinforcements.
Woof!
"Argos says he’ll come along and protect Ctimene!"
You’re taking a baby and a puppy to the hunting grounds?
What an inventive combination.
And the remaining two were also young enough to be called children.
"But what about your mother and the maids? Why are you the one with Ctimene?"
That was what puzzled me most.
They had left barely-two-year-old Ctimene in the hands of dangerous Odysseus!
The reliable Odysseus was the Odysseus in his twenties who joined the Trojan War.
Odysseus the not-even-ten-year-old brat was not reliable.
"She looked too cooped up in the palace, so I brought her out!"
This lunatic.
I immediately flicked him on the forehead and tried to take Ctimene from him so I could return her to the maids who must be desperately searching for her.
But the moment she settled into my arms, Ctimene giggled.
"Hehe, Po... Politesh."
"It’s Polites, not Politesh."
"Politesh."
"Just fix that last sound. Keep working at it."
"Hehe."
It seemed Ctimene rather liked her current escape from home.
Two little brats, one even littler brat, and a hunting dog that had not yet reached adulthood—no, a hunting puppy.
Ithaca’s bright future had assembled.
Using the skills I had honed bouncing my niece and nephew on my knee in my past life, I expertly held Ctimene and spoke to Odysseus.
"Even so, we need permission. Everyone will worry when they find out Ctimene is gone."
"But..."
"If we get permission, we’ll take her with us."
In any case, I thought there was almost zero chance his mother, Anticleia, would allow it.
After all, Ctimene was only two years old.
.
.
.
"Go ahead."
"What?"
What did that mean?
I stared at Anticleia in bewilderment as she handled palace affairs together with the maids.
W-Why was she allowing this?
"...But Ctimene is two... ah, she’s only two years old?"
I protested to Anticleia, keeping Ctimene—who was kneading my face with her hands—behind me.
Anticleia looked at me and said,
"It is about time she started taking walks, so it will be fine. And... Odysseus will not be the only one going hunting. You’ll be going too, won’t you, Polites?"
"That’s right."
"Then it is fine. You are more dependable than my troublemaking son."
"Uh..."
"And Ctimene is very fond of you as well. It is not that you dislike Ctimene, is it?"
At that, I looked at Ctimene.
Ctimene looked back at me and beamed.
"...Then I’ll make sure we hunt as safely as possible."
In the end, I raised the white flag.
At once, Anticleia and the nearby maids all looked visibly relieved.
Apparently, my sacrifice had freed several people from their suffering.
‘Ctimene may be clever, but raising a child is a different matter.’
When I came outside carrying Ctimene, Odysseus broke into a radiant smile.
"You got permission?!"
"Yes. But we’ll be extra careful today."
"Of course! Naturally! All right, Argos! Are you ready?!"
Woof! Woof!!
Watching Odysseus and Argos, those two bundles of chaos, race around excitedly, I headed for the hunting grounds with Ctimene.
.
.
.
Ah.
I never should have brought Ctimene along.
No, we should not have gone hunting at all today.
I regretted it as I stared at the monstrous bull with its alien appearance, approaching us from far away.
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