Chapter 5
“Where are you going?”
It was the day after our trip to the river, and I was trundling alone through the palace hallways when the voice caught me.
Turning, I found Clytemnestra standing behind me like a goddess just descended from Olympus.
I quickly bowed, and the princess of Sparta smiled, though there was no warmth to the sharp cut of her lips.
An animal pelt was slung across her shoulders, the dark, bulky fur making her appear even broader.
She cocked her head to the side, toned arms folded as she observed the gown I wore: the one Penelope had made for me.
I studied her too. She was pretty despite her best efforts not to be—her blond hair was scraped back, dirt and bruises mingling across her skin, nose sharply crooked from one too many fights.
Her brows were thick, emphasizing the striking color of her eyes—deep brown, threaded with ribbons of gold.
“I asked you a question, slave.”
Ignoring the knot in my throat, I replied, “I’m going to get breakfast for Penelope and me.”
It was the truth, but for some reason, it tasted like a lie beneath Clytemnestra’s glare.
“My mother wants to see you,” she said.
“The…the queen? Why?”
Her smile widened. “Come with me, and you will find out, slave.”
Dread sat like a coiled snake in the pit of my stomach.
I tried to ignore it as I followed Clytemnestra through the halls. She strode with a cool confidence, her legs eating up the distance with ease. I had to scurry to keep up with her, afraid of how she might react if I fell behind.
The passageway eventually opened out into a lofty room.
The space here was simple, the only furniture an ornate wooden chair and a richly woven rug set a few feet before it.
The walls were bright with color, depicting men on horseback, spears aloft as they chased a giant gray wolf.
The scene progressed across all four walls; on the farthest and final one, the wolf had been caught, a spear protruding from its chest, blood spurting in violent splashes of crimson.
I shivered beside Clytemnestra.
“Kneel,” she said flatly. I moved to lower myself onto the rug, but she grabbed my shoulder. “Not there.”
She motioned to the stone floor, and I obeyed, the rough surface biting into my knees.
“Eyes on the ground.”
I did as I was told, fear and confusion curdling inside me.
What could the queen want from me?
Was I in trouble?
Where was Penelope?
Footsteps sounded a moment later; smooth and unhurried, they whispered into the room like an evening breeze. I fought the urge to look up, focusing instead on the pale stone floor, memorizing each scuff.
Be brave.
“Is this the girl?” a voice came, soft yet strong.
“Yes, Mother,” Clytemnestra replied from behind me.
“Good.” A pause. “Fetch my niece.”
More feet sounded, and I felt a droplet of sweat skate from my temple down my nose. I watched it splash onto the floor as I repeated Clytemnestra’s command, falling into rhythm with my thrumming heartbeat—Eyes on the ground. Eyes on the ground. Eyes on the ground.
“There you are.” That voice spoke again. “Would you like to explain to us why we are here, Penelope?”
Penelope. My gaze snapped up, colliding with hers instantly. I felt an immediate rush of relief at the sight of her, but then I noticed how pale she looked, her mouth pressed into a small, thin line.
“Penelope?” the voice prompted again, and I glanced at the woman standing before me. Leda, wife of Tyndareus and queen of Sparta.
She was as beautiful as all the rumors claimed her to be, dark hair unbound, skin bronzed, body full and strong.
Her face was plump, nymphlike features seeming out of place on a woman who carried herself like a warrior.
She reminded me of the roses in the palace garden—a beauty that could make you bleed.
“I do not know, aunt,” Penelope finally replied.
“No?” Leda looked displeased. “What if I told you it was to do with your little trip yesterday?”
Something in Penelope’s face shifted, but she replied without missing a beat, “Around the palace grounds? Oh yes, I wanted Melantho to show me the flowers. Her father is the royal gardener here.”
I was surprised by how easily the lie rolled off her tongue. She did not even hesitate.
Leda’s smile was cold. “I see, And what of your trip to the river?”
Penelope drew in a breath, but before she could reply, Clytemnestra cut in, “I saw you, cousin.”
Penelope’s eyes flickered between the queen and the princess, nostrils flaring.
“It was my idea,” she said. “The heat was making me feel unwell, so we went to cool off. Is that such a crime?”
“You know your father does not permit you to leave the palace grounds,” Leda cautioned. Her eyes then slipped over to me, quietly assessing. “It seems so unlike you to wander off, Penelope. I wonder what possessed you.”
“I understand you will have to inform my father, and I will accept his punishment,” Penelope replied, following Leda’s gaze. “Melantho is not at fault.”
“I quite disagree. Tell me, slave, did you lead Penelope astray? Were you plotting to escape?” Leda pressed.
I glanced at Penelope, who gave a small shake of her head.
“Look at me when I am speaking to you, girl.”
“No, Your Majesty.” My words fell so fragile at her feet.
Leda sighed as if I had answered incorrectly. “You are acting as Penelope’s handmaid, yes? Although I am told you are treated more as a companion than a slave. Tell me, Melantho, how do you serve my niece?”
Penelope cut in, “Melantho is very—”
“I am asking the slave,” Leda said.
I hesitated, struggling to find my voice amid the cloud of unease inside me. “I…I’m not sure what you mean, my queen.”
“No?” Leda clicked her tongue. “Let me try an easier question then. What have you and Penelope been doing all summer?”
I glanced at Penelope again, unsure how to answer. “We’ve…been talking.”
“Talking,” Leda repeated slowly.
“And playing games.”
I saw Penelope wince at my words. Beside her, Clytemnestra snorted.
“She also made me this gown and…um…”
I trailed off and stared at the floor again, not knowing where else to look, what else to do.
“And have you enjoyed your summer with Penelope?” Leda asked softly.
I nodded.
“Why is that? Speak up.”
“Because she’s my friend.”
“Oh. Oh dear.” Leda tutted. “It seems you have not done your job at all, niece. You have not trained this girl to be a handmaid. You have trained her to be a problem. As soon as the slaves start seeing us as their equals, they start causing mischief. Like breaking palace rules and sneaking away for a little swim.”
“She is not my friend.” Penelope’s words cut through my chest like a blade.
“I should hope not,” Leda replied. “But it seems the slave does not think as much. You have confused the poor thing. Look at her. She’s about to cry.”
I blinked furiously, forcing the tears away.
“Give me more time, aunt. I can train her—”
“You have had enough time, Penelope. An entire summer you have squandered.” When Penelope opened her mouth to argue, Leda held up a hand, silencing her.
“Let me put this plainly. Every slave beneath our roof contributes to this household. Take away their duties and what are they? Just another mouth to feed, another body to clothe. Every day you spent talking and playing, this slave became a burden, not an asset. That is because of you, Penelope. Do you understand? Do you see the waste you have created?”
“I apologize.” Penelope matched her aunt’s even tone. “I am sure my father could reimburse whatever financial value you feel has been lost—”
“Reimburse.” Leda laughed.
I had no idea what the word meant or why it was amusing to her.
“You speak so intelligently, Penelope, but your naivety gives you away. I do not want reimbursement, child. I wish for something far more…valuable.” She paused, a smile creeping across her face.
I did not like the look of it. “One day, you will become a wife, and you will be expected to run a household of your own. As such, you must learn how to handle your slaves properly and, most importantly, how to handle their punishment. Your mother should have taught you such things already, but perhaps she neglected these duties in her declining state. So now it is up to me.”
“I am grateful for the opportunity to learn from your wise counsel, Aunt Leda. As you say, this was my failure and mine alone. Melantho need not be here,” Penelope insisted. “I let her believe we were friends. It is my fault she is confused—”
“I’m not confused,” I snapped at her, but still Penelope refused to look at me.
Leda smirked. “Do you see what insolence you have cultivated? I agree, it is a pity the girl must suffer for your folly, but this is the way of it. Clytemnestra, the whip, please.”
Penelope’s face fell, and the sight twisted something in me.
“No,” she breathed.
“You made this mistake. Now it is your duty to correct it,” Leda said.
Clytemnestra approached Penelope, holding a long, dark rope. She then pressed the cord into Penelope’s hands, and I watched it hang there like a limp, dead snake. I had seen the boys in the stable use something similar on the horses, slapping it against their rumps to make them run faster.
Penelope’s hands gripped the cord. “I cannot—”
“You must,” Leda interrupted. “Clytemnestra, what do Spartans say of lessons?”
“A lesson cannot be learned without pain.”
Leda smiled at her daughter before turning back to Penelope. “I shall be lenient because she is only young. Tell me, how old are you, girl?”
It took me a moment to realize the queen was addressing me.
“N-nine…my queen.”
“Nine lashes then.” She directed this to Penelope. “That is more than fair.”
Understanding began to creep over me, an icy, clawing shadow.
She cannot mean…
Penelope shook her head. “No.”
Irritation sharpened Leda’s voice. “Let me make this simpler for you, Penelope. Either you carry out the punishment, or Clytemnestra will. And I assure you, Clytemnestra will be far less gentle.”
“Punish me instead.” Penelope held out the whip. “I am the one who deserves the lashes. Not her.”
“Is it not obvious? This is your punishment, Penelope. The balance must be restored. This girl must understand you are her superior.”
Penelope’s face was tight as a fist. Her eyes finally returned to mine, and the keenness of her fear made the panic in my belly surge upward, coating the back of my tongue.
Penelope looked as if she were about to say something, but then Leda motioned with her hands.
A moment later, two guards appeared, thick fingers digging into my arms, making me yelp.
“What are you doing?” Penelope demanded.
The guards dragged me forward, while two more carried in a large wooden table.
Deep grooves marred its surface, accompanied by dark red stains.
I cried out as those rough hands pushed me down, forcing my arms out in front of me so my chest was now flush against the table.
The wood bit against my cheek as a strangling panic spread through my body like wildfire.
I thought I heard Penelope speak, but I could not make out her words over the roaring in my ears.
My fear was a living, writhing thing trying to burst out of my skin. I was drowning in it. Choking on it. I could not breathe. I could not think, save for the single question: Am I going to die?
I began to thrash violently, trying to tear myself away from the table, but it was no use; the guards held me in an iron grip. I began to pant like a dog.
Footsteps sounded behind me, and the next thing I felt were hands at the hem of my gown, pulling hard. I let out a cry as it ripped, cold air slipping across my bare back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I gulped out useless pleas, tears streaming. “I won’t do it again. I promise. Please. Please don’t.”
I felt a warmth trickling down my legs, just as Clytemnestra muttered, “Gods above. She’s pissed herself.”
That’s when I began to cry for my mother.
“Please, stop this!” Penelope shouted.
“Just get on with it,” Leda instructed.
I lifted my head just enough to glance over my shoulder. Penelope was standing behind me, the whip in her hands, horror filling her eyes as she watched me sprawled out before her.
“I cannot,” she whispered thinly. “I will not.”
I felt a flicker of relief before I saw Clytemnestra shove Penelope aside, grabbing the whip.
No.
A hand slammed my head down, the impact juddering through my skull.
I heard the crack a moment before I felt it.
Liquid fire seared my back. I had never known pain like it. It was unbearable, carving open my skin, making my entire body spasm. I screamed, my cries for my mother strangled into a howl of agony. Before I could even catch my breath, the whip came again. It felt as if it were eating my flesh.
A darkness crept in around me, but I blinked it away, terrified of sinking into it. When my eyes focused, I saw Penelope standing in front of me, held there by another guard.
“It will be over soon, Melantho,” she was telling me, though the words sounded watery in my head, like hot broth dripping from my ears.
When the third and fourth lashes came, I felt the world grow distant; the only thing keeping me tethered to it was the pain devouring my back with tongues and teeth of fire. But even that could not stop oblivion from beckoning, and I tumbled down into an endless darkness.
Consciousness found me again as I was being peeled off the table. There was blood everywhere. So much blood. I stared at it, barely able to comprehend it was my own.
“Well done,” a voice said. Clytemnestra, I thought. “You took your punishment well.”
“Take her back to the slave quarters. She is a handmaid no more. Make sure someone tends to the wounds.”
“Yes, my queen.”
A hand pushed me forward, and I stumbled, my legs giving out beneath me.
“Gently,” Leda snapped. “If she can’t walk, just carry her.”
Large arms slipped around my waist, and I felt the floor disappear.
The guard then draped me over his shoulder, ensuring no part of him was touching my back.
I hung limply, barely able to lift my gaze.
Across the room, Penelope was staring at me, gray eyes wide and glassy.
She was utterly motionless, save for the slight trembling of her fists where she gripped her gown.
I held her gaze for a long moment, waiting for her to speak, to reach out for me, to comfort me, to do something. Anything.
But Penelope just lowered her eyes as they carried me away.