Chapter 60
The king of Ithaca was dressed in nothing but the blood of his enemies.
He paced before us, indifferent to the corpses strewn at his feet, heavy steps fueled by an agitated energy.
I did not pity the suitors; they had deserved to die. Yet as Eumaeus marched us toward Odysseus, it brought a chill to my bones seeing all those bodies littered throughout the banquet hall, piled in hideous mounds of twisted flesh.
“Master, I have the traitors here,” Eumaeus called out.
Odysseus raised a halting hand, turning instead to where Telemachus approached him. My heart lifted to see the prince, alive and unharmed. He was handing Odysseus a robe, his emotions sealed tightly behind a blank stare.
“What did you just say to me?” Odysseus growled as he dressed.
“I said we’ll take our payment now.”
I recognized the voice behind the mask, the soft roughness that toyed with every syllable. The pirate was lounging against a table, fingering one of the twelve axe heads.
“Payment?” Odysseus bit out.
“We helped with your little rat problem, didn’t we?” the pirate drawled, motioning to the bodies around him.
“I did not ask for nor need your help,” Odysseus retorted, the tendons in his neck bulging. “You cannot invade my palace and expect payment for such a crime. You are fortunate I am letting you leave here with your lives.”
I held a breath tight in my lungs, panic rising on a tide of nausea.
If they exposed Penelope now…
“We expect our payment, one way or another,” the pirate said, lazily wiping his bloodied blade on the body of a suitor. He then nodded to the pile of Penelope’s gifts. “That’ll do nicely.”
“That belongs to my wife,” Odysseus said.
“I don’t think she’ll mind,” the pirate chuckled. “Come on now. Let’s not make this difficult. I’m sure you don’t want to die before you’re reunited with your lovely little wife. She’s been waiting so very long to see you.”
Odysseus stiffened, dignity and self-preservation waging war across his crimson-stained face.
He eyed the pirates surrounding him, all still armed.
These men were nothing like the pampered suitors, spoiled nobles who were better at wielding a wine cup than a blade.
No, these were trained killers, men to whom death was an old friend.
And this was not a battle the king of Ithaca could win.
I felt my heart jump into my mouth, pulsing wildly against my tongue as we awaited Odysseus’s reply. Slowly, the king of Ithaca turned to look at his son, his scowl fading into a sigh.
“Make it quick,” he muttered to the pirate.
“It’ll be as if we were never here.”
Odysseus glowered at the man, hands flexing at his sides. “You were never here. You never stepped foot in my palace. Your ship never tainted Ithaca’s waters. Understood?”
I could hear the smile in the pirate’s voice as he echoed, “Understood.”
While he sauntered away, Odysseus turned and pointed at my brother.
“Bring him here.”
Eumaeus obediently dragged Melanthius to Odysseus’s feet, forcing him down onto his knees. Odysseus surveyed my brother for a long moment, the whites of his eyes stark against all that blood.
“I remember you,” he said, the words soft with something almost like nostalgia. “The goatherd who came from Sparta.”
My brother said nothing. Beyond him, the pirates were hauling their treasure away, indifferent to the rest of us.
Odysseus continued his pacing, but when his foot struck a corpse, he froze.
He stared down at the mangled body before him with a horrified sort of fascination, and I noticed his hands had begun trembling.
He balled them quickly into fists, turning away as he snapped at my brother, “I need time to think what to do with you.”
“Just kill me like the rest of them,” Melanthius whispered to the ground.
No. I stepped forward, but Eumaeus blocked my path.
“He has brought this upon himself,” he murmured to me, almost apologetically. “This is the will of the gods, Melantho. You must let it be.”
“Fuck your gods,” I snarled.
“You wish to die like them?” Odysseus asked Melanthius, motioning to the corpses stacked around us.
“You do not deserve their death. They were vile creatures, yes, but they were not indebted to me. They saw an opportunity and they took it, abused it. For that, I took their lives. But you, slave—I took you into my home, into my family. I gave you shelter and food. I gave you good, honest work. I treated you with respect, and this…this is how you repay me? You conspire with my enemies beneath my own roof?”
“I only—”
“I did not give you permission to speak!” Odysseus roared, spittle flying from his lips, veins throbbing at his temples. “This is my house. This is my home.”
Melanthius let his head hang.
“And you.” Odysseus turned his blistering glare to me. “Did you think I had forgotten our deal? I warned you of the consequences.”
“Please.” Melanthius threw himself forward, clutching Odysseus’s ankles.
“Punish me. I’m guilty. I helped the suitors.
I brought them the weapons to kill your son.
It’s true. But my sister is innocent. She tried to stop me.
I swear it on the river Styx. Do what you must with me, but please let her go. I beg you.”
“It’s true, Father.” Telemachus stepped forward, voice loud yet trembling. “Melantho is a good woman. I can attest to that. She is innocent.”
“Innocent,” Odysseus spat, his glare still fixed on me. “Tell me, was it your innocence that had you whispering secrets to the suitors while you spread your legs for them? Oh yes, Eurycleia has informed me about your liaisons.”
I felt the rage sear through me. That old, evil witch…
“It’s not true, Father!” Telemachus protested. “Melantho would never ally herself with their kind. Tell him, Melantho. Tell him it isn’t true.”
“It’s not,” I insisted.
“So you never shared Eurymachus’s bed?” Odysseus pressed. “You never told him of my wife’s ploys?”
“Father, she would never.”
Odysseus turned to his son. “Have you ever known Eurycleia to lie?”
Telemachus hesitated, meeting my gaze. “But you wouldn’t…would you?”
“I…I didn’t mean… It was…” My voice was brittle, breaking into useless shards that lodged in my throat.
Telemachus looked as if I had struck him. “Melantho?”
“I was protecting you,” I tried. “Please, let me explain—”
“Do you see the lies she spins? You saw her yourself, bringing weapons to arm the suitors against us. She is as guilty as they are.”
The prince’s lips trembled, then hardened into a firm line as he met his father’s gaze. “What will you do with her?”
“I will decide her fate in due course,” Odysseus said. “But first, we must purge these halls of this bloodshed before the gods take offense. Eumaeus, take the goatherd away, and keep watch over him.”
Eumaeus bowed low. “Yes, master.”
“Telemachus, find Eurycleia,” Odysseus ordered. “Tell her to bring me the rest of the queen’s handmaids.”
***
My hands were blistered and raw from scrubbing away all evidence of Odysseus’s massacre.
Around me, my friends worked in fearful silence. When Eurycleia led them into the hall, I had seen the horror carve open their faces as they beheld the gruesome scene.
“Clean,” Odysseus had instructed us.
So we cleaned.
As others came in to drag the bodies away, we got down on our hands and knees and scrubbed at the gory mess and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, all while Odysseus prowled around us.
Time lost all meaning. We could have been cleaning for hours or days, yet the blood never seemed to lessen. It was everywhere—on my clothes, my skin. I swore I could even taste it: that thick, metallic tang…
“What happened?” Hippodamia breathed beside me. “We were so worried about you.”
I met her gaze and felt her fear spark against mine. I couldn’t think what to say to her, how to explain.
My attention drifted to the others. Autonoe was choking on the stench of death while Actoris stole worried glances at Skaris. Her wound had been bound, but it was clearly still troubling her. Even poor Eurynome had been forced to work on her knees, her movements painfully stiff.
Autonoe tossed another bucket of water across the floor. The king of Ithaca halted midstride and stared at the bloodied river pooling around his feet. I swore I saw him shiver.
“Melantho?” Hippodamia brushed my arm.
“Where is Penelope?” I asked.
“Eurycleia locked her in her rooms. She said it was under the king’s instruction.
He wanted this mess cleared before she sees it.
” Hippodamia fell silent as Odysseus stalked past. Once he was a safe distance away, she continued, “Penelope nearly lost her mind when you did not return. If she hadn’t been distracted with tending to Skaris’s leg, she would’ve come after you. ”
Come back to me. Her voice ached in my mind—a torturous plea.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t be.” Hippodamia reached for my hand, a hesitant smile lifting her lips. “It’s done. It’s over now.”
My gaze snapped back to Odysseus, to those menacing, restless strides.
“It’s not over,” I whispered. “Not yet.”