Chapter 56 #2
“Telemachus just returned from Sparta. Before he left, I asked him to look for Melitta and for your child.”
My brother glanced away with a wince, as if he could not bear to hear my words. I pressed on anyway.
“He found them, Melanthius. Melitta still works at the palace, and so does your daughter.”
His eyes widened, though the rest of him seemed to shrink, as if this realization had him collapsing in on himself, unable to bear the weight of it.
“A daughter,” he breathed, something small and fragile flickering in his voice.
I nodded, throat burning as I said, “Yes. You have a little girl, Melanthius, and you can go to her. You can be with your family—”
“As a slave,” he interrupted.
“As a father,” I corrected. “Please, Melanthius. Consider what Penelope is offering. Consider what this could mean for you.”
He lowered his gaze, staring at the ground with such intensity I thought he might scorch a hole through the very earth between us.
“I will not meet my child as a failure,” he whispered.
“Melanthius—”
“Eurymachus will make me a free man,” he continued, firmer now.
He lifted his face to mine, a cold determination setting his features.
“If I help him get the throne, he’ll give me my freedom and let me take my winnings.
Then I’ll go to Sparta, and I’ll buy my daughter’s freedom.
I’ll return as the father she deserves, as a savior, not a slave. ”
I shook my head, those sharp talons of desperation sinking into me. “How can you believe a word Eurymachus says? He is—”
“What?” Melanthius pushed off his pillar, swallowing the space between us in one firm stride. “Our master? Our superior? Entitled and rich? All the same things Penelope is, and still, you trust her. But you think me the fool for trusting Eurymachus.”
“It’s different and you know it is,” I snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest.
To my surprise, Melanthius reached out and grabbed my hands, clutching them firmly between his.
“Melantho, listen to me. Please. This is it. Our path to freedom. To my child.” His voice was low and frayed, but his eyes were clearer than I had seen them in years, lit with that desperate, feverish hope he still clung to.
“If you care for me at all, then you’ll help me put Eurymachus on that throne.
That’s the only way we can be free. Don’t you see?
Penelope is a woman. She can’t ever free you. Eurymachus can.”
I winced, crushed beneath the weight of Melanthius’s misguided faith.
“If Eurymachus sits upon that throne, he will kill Telemachus,” I whispered. “I cannot let that happen.”
Melanthius let go of me, stepping backward. “You would choose her child over mine? Over your own flesh and blood?”
“It’s not like that. Listen to me: Eurymachus is a monster. You cannot trust him.” I reached for his hands again, gripping them tightly. “If you wish to return free, then wait until Telemachus is king, let him grant you your freedom once he is able—”
“Telemachus will never sit upon that throne, Melantho,” he warned darkly. “Everyone in Ithaca knows that.”
“Then take Penelope’s offer. Please, I’m begging you. Go to Sparta. Be with your family—”
“I will be with my family. Once Eurymachus is king and I’m a free man.”
“Melanthius—”
“And if you are any sister of mine, you’ll help me make that happen.”
We stared at each other for an agonizingly long moment. I did not know what to say. I did not know how to make him understand. All I could do was watch as that spark in his eyes faded away, like those last, pulsing embers dwindling to irrevocable ash.
“Does the queen know her slaves stand around gossiping like old fishwives?” A voice splintered the silence between us.
I flinched as Melanthius ripped his hands free from mine. Turning, I saw the strange beggar perched on a stone bench, watching us beneath a vacant frown.
“What did you just say?” my brother snarled.
“Melanthius, don’t—”
He shoved past me and marched toward the man. “You think you can speak to me like that?”
“How else should I speak to you?” the beggar asked without bothering to rise. “You are a slave, are you not?”
“And what’re you? A stray dog begging for scraps.”
The beggar only smiled at that.
“What?” Melanthius goaded. “Lost your tongue now, have you?”
“I simply do not see the point in talking to a breed such as yours,” the beggar said, flicking his eyes over my brother. “A disloyal slave is like a cup without a bottom. Utterly useless to all.”
Melanthius jabbed his fist toward the man’s face, but the beggar simply batted him away as if he were swatting a fly. Melanthius tried again, and this time the beggar caught his wrist, snapping it at an unnatural angle.
“Stop!” I cried, rushing forward. “Stop, you’re hurting him!”
The beggar released Melanthius with a slight shrug.
“Melanthius, wait,” I called, but my brother was already striding away, cradling his wrist to his chest, cheeks burning with outrage and humiliation.
A part of me wanted to run after him, but what use would that have been? What would I even have said? We stood on opposite sides of the battleground, bloodshed looming on the horizon. I could not reach Melanthius now.
I only prayed he might see sense once all this was over.
“I apologize for my brother’s behavior,” I said to the beggar. Only he did not appear to be listening, his attention caught by one of the hunting dogs slumped at his feet. He was scratching the old mutt’s ears with a surprising degree of fondness.
For a moment, I simply watched him, welcoming this quiet moment as I tried to block out thoughts of tomorrow, of what these halls might look like crawling with bloodthirsty killers…
“There you are.” Eumaeus’s breathless voice caught me by surprise.
Though it had been ten summers since I had rejected his marriage offer, Eumaeus still did everything in his power to avoid me. Now, as he sidled up to the beggar, his eyes brushed over mine.
“Melantho,” he said stiffly.
“Eumaeus, who is in charge of this dog?” the beggar demanded. “What is the reason for his poor state?”
“I am not sure. But I can find out of course,” Eumaeus said. He then turned to me, awkwardness hardening his voice. “Do you know why this creature is not cared for?”
I glanced between the two men. “He is cared for just as the other dogs are. He is simply old.”
The dog then shuffled off to the shady cover of the colonnade, settling down for a nap on the cool stone floor. The beggar watched him go, the grooves in his forehead deepening.
“The hound of Odysseus left to rot! Who dares treat Argos with so little respect?”
The name struck inside me, shifting dust from long-faded memories. I saw a small blur of dark muscle pounding over the fields. That same creature resting his head in my lap with soft, trusting eyes.
Argos likes you.
“How do you know that name?” I asked.
The beggar seemed to ignore me, too distracted by his rising temper.
“Someone must be punished for this negligence,” he told Eumaeus.
“I will see to it.”
I glared at Eumaeus, wondering why he was treating this cantankerous old man with such deference. Who was he to demand punishment beneath this roof?
“The dog is perfectly well. He is merely sleeping,” I said. “And nobody will be punished, for no wrongdoing has occurred.”
The beggar’s focus cut back to me, and there was something deeply unsettling about those eyes, a strange detachment to them, as if his thoughts had been loosened, left to swirl wildly in his skull.
“Remember your place, girl,” he warned darkly.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, my own rage rising to greet his.
“Melantho, do not,” Eumaeus whispered.
“What? I am to simply let this stranger intimidate me, is that it? What is he doing here anyway? Is Penelope’s home not leeched upon enough? Must we have another mouth to suck this palace dry?”
“Do not act like you care for your queen’s interest,” the beggar scoffed. “We know where your loyalties lie, girl. You and the other tramps that parade as handmaids.”
“You know nothing—”
“Perhaps it is best you return to the suitors, Melantho,” Eumaeus interjected. “We know it is their company you prefer after all.”
He glared at me with such unbridled disgust, and I knew, I knew, Eurycleia must have told him what she had seen that morning, just as she had told Autonoe.
I balled my trembling hands into fists. “Whatever you think you know, Eumaeus—”
“I do not need to hear more of your lies—”
“Enough! Let us not waste our breath on this one,” the beggar interjected. He then turned to walk away, muttering beneath his breath, “The Fates will see fit to punish her in time.”