Chapter 24
Odysseus found me the next morning.
I had been horribly groggy as I helped prepare breakfast, my entire body protesting its lack of sleep. When I saw the prince of Ithaca approach me in the kitchens, I wondered if I was still dreaming.
“Hello, Melantho,” he said. He wore his familiar grin, but it seemed thinner today, as if he were struggling to muster his usual warmth. “I hope you are well?”
I gave a vague nod. “Penelope?”
“She is doing well also, as is my son. We have decided to name him Telemachus.”
Around us, slaves began to approach and offer their congratulations. Odysseus thanked them all proudly, as if he had been the one to birth the babe, his body ripped apart, his life almost lost.
“Shall we walk, Melantho? I find it easier to think when I am moving.”
Nodding again, I followed Odysseus as he strode from the kitchens and down the steep palace steps.
We trudged over the fields, beyond the boundary stones marking the palace grounds, and I forced myself to keep pace with Odysseus as we ascended a sharp slope.
At its crest stood an olive tree, its spindly branches thrown to the sky, like a woman frozen mid rapturous dance.
Beyond the tree, the hillside fell away to the restless sea.
I watched a bird swoop down toward its surface, skimming the waves before careening back up to the sky.
“I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Odysseus finally said, the sea breeze twining in his hair. “Truthfully, I am regretful I could not have been there for Penelope. I was tied up in business with the prince of Euboea, you see. I was trying to convince him that this war does not need me.”
“Did you? Convince him?” I could not help but ask.
In Sparta, I would have been struck for such a bold question, but Odysseus only sighed, turning his face to the horizon.
“Alas, it seems the Fates have me in a bind,” he murmured.
“I have only longed for two things in my life: to bring fame to these shores and to raise a son in my image. It seems the gods have seen fit to answer both my prayers at once.” Odysseus’s eyes met mine.
He looked tired as he smiled. “The gods have a sense of humor with these things, do they not?”
I thought of the newborn babe wriggling in Penelope’s arms, the son Odysseus had barely had a chance to know.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and was surprised to realize I meant it.
“Sorry?” He shook his head slowly. “They say this war will be the greatest ever fought. Is that not what every man dreams of? The grandeur of epic combat. The glory. Being able to carve one’s name in history.”
Something in his expression made me say, “Perhaps some men have simpler dreams.”
He nodded, a sadness creeping into his eyes once again. “Perhaps.”
We were silent for a long moment, watching the rising sun bleed out across the sea, creating a long, shimmering path of crimson toward the horizon. From the cynical edge of Odysseus’s smile, I knew the symbolism was not lost on him.
“You remember the discussion we had last harvest?” he asked quietly.
“I do.” How could I not? It was he who I feared had forgotten.
Odysseus turned to me. “Penelope recounted all that you did for her during Telemachus’s birth. Eurycleia confirmed it too.”
I raised my brows, shocked that the old maid had anything nice to say of me.
“Penelope believes she would have died without you. She believes you saved her life and the life of my son.”
“I’m not sure about that—”
Odysseus held up a hand, silencing me. “I understand it now—what Penelope has always seen in you—and I wish to honor my wife’s request. I wish to grant you your freedom, Melantho.”
It felt as though my head had detached and was floating away, the world growing small and distant beneath me. I could not speak, could barely think, barely breathe…
“But I cannot do so immediately.”
The words pierced through my hope, and I came crashing back down to reality.
“I depart for war imminently, and I do not know when I shall return. My wife will be alone here, and I know she will need a companion, someone who can support her on the difficult road ahead.” He lowered his palm to my shoulder. “I want that to be you.”
“Me?” I choked. “Why?”
“Penelope is like me. Her trust is not easily won. But you have earned it, and I know that is no small feat. I want to appoint you as Penelope’s chief handmaid, and I want you to look after her while I cannot.
If you do that, then I will grant you your freedom when I return from this war. You have my word.”
My mind swam, the ground feeling unsteady beneath me.
“Do we have an agreement, Melantho?”
“Yes.” I gulped down the word, tasting the dizzying edges of freedom within it.
“I want you to say it.”
I held the prince of Ithaca’s gaze. “You have my word.”
“Good. You should know I take such a thing very seriously.” His grip tightened just a fraction. “You do not want to disappoint me, Melantho.”
“I will not.”
***
Three days later, Odysseus set sail.
All of Ithaca was summoned to watch the prince and his army depart.
I sat on the harbor wall, heels scuffing against stone as the crowds churned before me, everyone eager to catch a glimpse of their beloved prince. On the water, Odysseus’s fleet bobbed proudly, the owl of Athena painted in bold colors on its sides to honor the Goddess of War and Wisdom.
The men looked uncomfortable in their armor, clunking awkwardly as they boarded their ships.
Ithaca was not a military kingdom, so Odysseus had had to scrape together every last eligible man the island had to offer to create his “army.” It seemed an oversight, to leave the island so defenseless.
But the war would be over quickly, so everyone kept saying.
Agamemnon had rallied all of Greece to his cause. The Trojans would not stand a chance.
Odysseus was last to board, soaking in the adoration of his audience.
It was a peculiar crowd, made up of wives and daughters and slaves and men too old or too young to voyage with him.
But their love for their prince was undeniable, their cries lifting as Odysseus embraced his father.
King Laertes gripped Odysseus tightly, unwilling to let go.
Beside them, Penelope held Telemachus in her arms. She looked calm as ever, yet I sensed her unease.
I could not pinpoint exactly what gave it away; I could just feel it with a cold, prickling certainty.
Odysseus planted a firm kiss on Penelope’s lips, and the crowd roared.
He whispered something to her—a promise, perhaps?
Then the prince of Ithaca kissed his son’s head, and I saw the flash of sadness pass between man and wife as they gazed upon their child, both aware that he might never know his father.
In that moment, an eagle soared overhead and let out a mighty cry: a sign from Zeus himself. The crowd gasped and cheered as Odysseus raised his fist in triumph.
In a flurry of activity, the men set sail. I cupped my hands around my eyes, watching the ships glide toward the horizon, dozens of bows slicing their path through the sun-gilded waves, heading to glory and bloodshed.
When I turned back to the harbor, I noticed Penelope was gone.
Instinct drove me as I hurried back to the palace, urgent feet carrying me up the many, many stairs, down the long, winding halls, and finally to Penelope’s door. But when I lifted my hand to knock, I found myself hesitating.
Would Penelope even want to see me? We had not spoken since Telemachus’s birth, and there was still so much uncertainty between us, so much left unsaid.
I realized then that the door was slightly ajar.
Inching it open, I saw Penelope standing on her balcony with her back to me.
From there, she had a perfect view of the glittering sea.
Odysseus’s ships were dark smudges in the distance now, like a splatter of paint on the horizon.
In the cot beside the hearth, Telemachus snoozed quietly.
She did not turn as I approached, but she always seemed to sense my presence, as I did hers.
I came and stood beside her, and as we silently watched Odysseus sail away, it struck me how truly alone Penelope was. Taken from her family, her home, and now abandoned by her husband in a land she barely knew.
Who did she have left?
I tried to think of something to say, something comforting or perhaps even a joke to ease the tension clenched around her body.
But then I thought of all the times grief had visited me and how its hideous face was not one that could be chased away with something as useless as words.
So I chose to remain quiet, hoping Penelope might find some comfort in me sharing the weight of her silence.
“Odysseus told me of a prophecy,” she murmured after a time. “It said if he joins the war, he will not return to this land until his son is grown.”
I tried to swallow the disappointment at how painfully far away my freedom felt in that moment.
“But the prophecy said he will return,” I said. “Can you not take comfort in that?”
What would I have given to know my mother might one day come back to me? To have someone offer me that tendril of hope to cling to in my darkest moments?
I wanted to say as much, to make Penelope feel grateful for this gift I would have traded my soul for.
But when she turned to look at me, I felt my jealousy wither.
There was such grief in her eyes, and I felt my own reflected within it.
They were different breeds of grief, of course.
Hers was new and raw, cut from fear for the future, not love for the past, while mine was a dulled, shapeless mass that had sunk to my core and taken root.
Yet for all their differences, I still felt a connection woven through our pain, threading itself across that void between us.
“Thank you for being here,” she whispered.
Penelope then turned and headed back inside. She picked up Telemachus, cradling him to her chest as she wandered through her chamber, draped in hazy shadows and fresh sorrow. She reminded me of a solitary ship, gliding over a midnight ocean, her destination hopelessly unknown.
“It suits you, you know,” I said, leaning against the balcony archway. “Motherhood. You’re a natural.”
Penelope smiled faintly. “Can I tell you a secret?”
I straightened. “Of course.”
“The thought of doing it alone terrifies me.”
Slowly, I walked toward her. “You won’t be alone.”
She glanced over at me, a ray of hope dancing in her eyes, like sunlight piercing through a storm.
“I’ll be here,” I continued. “If…if you would like that, I mean. If you would want me as your handmaid… I would understand if you wouldn’t—”
Her smile was soft, almost sad. “Is that what you want, Melantho?”
I felt Odysseus’s heavy hand on my shoulder as he dangled my freedom before me.
“Yes.”
She swallowed. “Even…after everything?”
The question left a space for other, unspoken ones to arise, flanked by wounded memories. The lashes on my back…Callias’s screams…Melitta’s sobs…and my own hateful words ringing in my ears: This is all your fault.
I hate you.
If only I had hated Penelope. It would have been far easier. Hate was a simple emotion—ugly and clean. I knew the shape of it well. But I could no longer fit her into that mold, nor could I fasten blame to her as easily as I once had.
No, I didn’t hate her. I didn’t know what I felt for her.
She was the princess who had abandoned me after I had been lashed within an inch of my life.
The princess who had set guards upon me, stealing my chance of freedom, and who had watched silently as my friends were maimed.
The same princess whose family had sold my mother like an animal.
And yet she was also the girl who was my first true friend.
The girl who had saved me from Agamemnon’s wrath and Tyndareus’s punishment.
The girl who had nearly shattered my heart when I’d thought I would lose her to the Underworld.
The girl who had been fighting for my freedom, fighting for me, even when I had continually pushed her away.
There was too much between us, too many threads from the past binding us together while simultaneously pulling us apart. Perhaps I would never be able to let Penelope go, but neither could I let her in, not fully.
Yet I knew one truth for certain—Penelope was my path to freedom.
So I nodded and said to the future queen of Ithaca, “Yes. Even after everything.”