Chapter 42 #2
“Of Odysseus? Nah, not since his army was spotted on that witch’s island. That’s the last anyone heard anyway.” He tore off another mouthful of bread. “Penelope probably knows more. I heard she’s been sending scouts after him. But she keeps to herself these days, shut away in the palace.”
It hurt even just hearing her name spoken aloud, but I kept my expression blank as I watched the goats idly snuffling around us.
“My guess is Odysseus is already dead and his useless army are stuck without a leader to get them home,” Melanthius continued. “And I bet you Penelope knows. She just isn’t telling anyone.”
“Why do you think someone would do that? Keep a death a secret?”
I sensed Melanthius tensing, not quite meeting my eye. “There’s lots of reasons, I guess.”
“And what was yours?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mama?” I hadn’t dared voice this question before for fear of it shattering the fragile bond we had only just rebuilt. But it had hung over me for so long now, I knew I had to ask Melanthius eventually.
I watched his expression shift, shock melding into shame.
“How long have you known?” he murmured.
“Dolios told me, just before the war ended.”
He glanced away. “I shouldn’t’ve… I didn’t mean to…”
“I just want to know why,” I said as gently as I could.
“You were so lost back then, Mel,” he whispered to the ground.
“I thought it’d break you completely if you knew.
I told myself I was protecting you, that you’d never find out anyway, so what was the harm?
” He gave me a grim smile. “It was a dumb thought. I know that now. I was just young and stupid and scared of losing my sister. But I should’ve told you. ”
“Yes, you should’ve.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at him for a long moment, thinking of all the lies I would have told to keep him from breaking.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said. “But I do understand. I might even have done the same.”
Melanthius nodded, letting out a slow sigh, one I sensed he had been holding for a long, long while.
“Can I ask you something?”
His directness unnerved me, but still I nodded.
“Why don’t you go back? To the palace? To Penelope?”
I tensed under the question, the same one that had haunted me night after night. Some days, the temptation to return to Penelope was unbearable. But in those feverish, fragile moments, I would remind myself of all that was at stake.
“All of Greece has been watching Penelope,” I said carefully. “They are afraid now, of queens ruling without a king at their side.”
“Because of what her cousin did?”
I nodded. “They’re waiting to tear Penelope down like they did Clytemnestra.”
“Clytemnestra killed her husband,” Melanthius pointed out. “She got what was coming to her.”
“She was avenging her daughter, the one Agamemnon slaughtered,” I countered sharply. “He got what was coming to him.”
But blood was only deemed “justice” when it coated the hands of men. On a woman’s skin, it was labeled something far uglier, far more dangerous.
Melanthius frowned at me, shaking his head. “I don’t understand what this has to do with you being here.”
Everything, I wanted to scream.
While Odysseus remained missing, Greece’s eyes were set on Ithaca, watching, waiting, wondering if its queen would prove as traitorous as her cousin.
If Penelope stepped a toe out of line, if she did anything to bring her loyalty into question, to make people believe Clytemnestra’s traitorous blood flowed through her veins, then it wouldn’t just be Penelope’s queenly title in danger but her life too.
I could never risk that happening, not for something as selfish as my own desire.
So I would continue to keep my distance, to keep Penelope safe.
“It’s better for me here,” I finally said. I could feel the skeptical edge of Melanthius’s gaze as he watched me. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged, turning his attention away to the distant tree line. “It’s just…I know about what you did. All those slaves you took in. All those people you helped. I just wonder why you would’ve left all that behind.”
I tensed, an old defensiveness flaring up inside me. “Are you going to say I only care for myself again?”
I regretted the question immediately, hot shame pooling inside me as I watched Melanthius’s face fall. He stared at the ground for a long moment before replying.
“I said a lot of things back then,” he whispered. “Things that weren’t true.”
We sat in silence, the memory of that day weighing heavily between us.
“I used to watch you sometimes, you know,” he continued softly as he began shredding the bread between his fingers.
“You and the other handmaids. I’d watch you with them, and I saw how…
how happy you looked. I’d never seen you look like that before.
You looked at peace, I guess. It used to make me angry.
That’s an awful thing to admit, isn’t it?
” He flicked a glance at me, then looked away again.
“But after a while, I began to look forward to those times I would see you, catching a glimpse of your smile or hearing your laugh. I wouldn’t say it made me happy, but it made me feel… something.”
A knot formed in my throat as I stared at my brother, seeing that familiar pain shift across his face like old scars catching in the light.
“What I’m trying to say is…you don’t seem happy like that anymore,” he murmured. “This place, this life—I don’t think it’s what you really want.”
“Sometimes it isn’t about what we want but what we need.”
Melanthius continued tearing the bread into tiny pieces, his thoughts loud in the following stillness.
“You deserve it, you know? To be happy. Sometimes I think you don’t believe that. Maybe…maybe I made you not believe it.” His voice caught, but he swallowed and forged ahead. “Sometimes I think you try and ruin it for yourself. Like when you turned down Eumaeus.”
“It would never have worked with Eumaeus.”
“I don’t understand why. He’s a good man.”
“You don’t have to understand it,” I said stiffly.
Melanthius emptied the shredded remnants of his bread onto the grass, and together we watched the breeze toy playfully with the crumbs.
“You deserve to be happy, too, you know?” I finally said.
Melanthius attempted a smile, though the edges wobbled. “I’m not sure I know how anymore, Mel.”
His words shivered through me, brushing over an old, faded memory.
“You first have to allow yourself to be happy,” I repeated Hippodamia’s words from so long ago.
Melanthius nodded again, though I could sense the skepticism weighing inside him. I took his hand in mine.
“We can work on it. Together,” I suggested.
His smile steadied as he met my gaze. “I’d like that.”