A Sea of Sorrow Read online

  Eumaeus blinked and looked at Telemachus. “Me? I cannot! I must tend to your father’s pigs. I do not hunt—and I most certainly cannot risk anyone hunting near my herd. I’ve had to get two additional guard dogs to keep hungry villagers from poaching them as it is.”

  Telemachus scowled. “Well, then who will take me hunting? I want to hunt a great boar like my father!” he said stabbing with a pretend javelin.

  The pig herder opened his mouth and then closed it. He cleared his throat. “I will remind your grandfather of his duties in this regard,” he said, with a tinge of sadness.

  The prince frowned. He had no illusions about that. His grandfather never came around anymore.

  “Telemachus,” yelled Eurycleia, the prince’s nurse. “Time for your bath.”

  The prince stepped behind the pig herder. “Quick, hide me.”

  But it was too late. He’d been seen.

  “Come!” she yelled, her thin, high voice making both boy and dog chuff in irritation. “Your mother is having guests tonight and she wants you to look princely.”

  Guests? Maybe they had news of father?

  And then another shattering thought: What if it was father himself?

  Would he know him? He’d been a newborn when Odysseus left for Troy and all Telemachus had of him were descriptions—of a barrel chest and a strong back, of a booming voice filled with laughter, of twinkling eyes and a mischievous grin.

  He ran toward the palace as fast as Argos had chased the piglet and disappeared inside the palace—hoping, hoping, hoping.

  “Why won’t you tell me who is visiting us, Mother?” Telemachus asked in the great hall.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “It’s father, isn’t it?” he cried.

  His mother’s face paled and she put a hand to the base of her neck. “Oh. No, son. I’m sorry. It is not your father. We’ve talked about this. It’s likely he’s been lost at sea.”

  “I don’t think so, Mother. I think he’s just fighting and raiding his way through all the lands between Troy and us to bring home even more riches!”

  A small wrinkle appeared between his mother’s brows.

  Telemachus ignored his mother’s pessimism. He could hardly wait for the day his father came triumphantly home with all the best men of Ithaca. Every day, he ran to the top of the palace lookout, scanning the horizon for his ships. Others had stopped looking months ago. His mother had forbidden him from going to the lookout points on the cliffs for “safety” reasons. Some people were accusing his father of making off with all the Trojan gold for himself. And they were angry. She was afraid they would take their anger out on him.

  But they would never hurt him. He was their prince! Besides, he knew his father was coming home any day now. Deep in his bones, he knew.

  In the great hall, Odysseus’s son looked up at his father’s bow and scanned the shields on the wall. When father is back, I will ask for that one, he thought, staring at the oblong shield painted with the face of an open-mouthed gorgon. And he will show me how to crash through someone else’s shield. And how to throw a javelin farther than anyone else. And how to string a bow like his and then shoot someone right between the eyes. And how to—

  “Welcome, honored guests,” his mother called.

  Telemachus’s mouth dropped open as two boys around his age, wearing his cast-off clothing, entered the hall. The boys’ eyes were wide as they gawped at the high-timbered room.

  “Who are they?” Telemachus whispered to his mother.

  “They are friend-guests who will be staying a while,” she whispered back, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at him, as if she were offering him a special dish on a golden platter.

  Friend-guests! His heart pounded. And they were staying? He would show them his father’s weapons first. No, no. His collection of carved soldiers first. Then the weapons!

  Agathon and Kyron nodded at him when introduced. They seemed nervous.

  “Now tell me,” his mother said as she bade them sit at the table. “Who put you up to starting a fire?”

  Telemachus whipped his head around to his mother. Fire?

  “The other boys,” Agathon said.

  “There are a lot of them,” Kyron added.

  His mother frowned. “There are bands of them?”

  Telemachus tried to make sense of the conversation. But then a servant came in with platters of food and his mother handed each boy a plate she herself filled, selecting the largest joints of oxen, fat still sizzling around the charred edges, along with the most succulent bits of pork belly.

  That was not right. “Mother!” Telemachus said. “I usually get the best portions! Why are you giving it to them?!”

  “Because they are our noble guests,” the queen said matter-of-factly. “And in this way, we honor the gods.”

  “But I’m the prince,” he insisted. “I should get the best portions.”

  His mother’s brow knitted again as she turned to him, her voice low. “No, son. Honored guests do. I understand that we haven’t had many visitors but you must know the gods demand this of us.”

  He watched the boys devour their meals as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Telemachus picked at his portion, fighting the sense that he’d been cheated.

  “Since neither of you have homes to go back to,” his mother said when the boys leaned back from their plates, mouths and hands shiny with grease. “How would you like to stay in the palace as companions to the prince of Ithaca?”

  Companions to the prince of Ithaca. He loved how that sounded!

  The boys exchanged a wide-eyed look and then nodded vigorously.

  Telemachus felt a grin splitting his face.

  “Good,” the queen said. “You will stay here as my son’s noble companions, but only under two conditions. You must swear allegiance to our house, and to serve and protect your prince.”

  Again, the boys nodded enthusiastically. Telemachus’s grin grew even wider. They were there to serve and protect him!

  “And, you will tell me all of the details—and all of the people involved—in plans for overthrowing this house.”

  Telemachus didn’t pay any attention to that. His only concern was what games they should play first. Finally, boys his age!

  “Do you want to see my collection of leather balls?” he asked, standing. He had all sizes, stuffed with uncarded wool and scraps of cloth collected from the weaving women.

  Both Kyron and Agathon nodded. Telemachus signaled for them to follow him.

  “Let’s play snatch-ball!” cried Agathon as he stood.

  “Fine. But I get the ball first because I’m the prince!” Telemachus announced.

  Out of habit he turned to his mother. She was frowning. “Telemachus,” she whispered. “Do not lord your title like that, you must earn their respect—”

  But he had no time to listen to her lectures. It was time to play!

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  * * *

  A few weeks later, the queen received word that a Spartan warship was docked in the royal harbor. Her heart sang. Finally—finally.

  She launched into action. Penelope and Danae sent palace workers out into public spaces to discuss the matter.

  “What does it mean,” her cooks asked in the herb stalls of the agora, “that a warship has docked in our port? A Spartan one!”

  “Are we under attack?” The butcher cried in response.

  As the local fishermen cleaned their catches, servants scuttled from boat to boat, whispering that they’d seen huge armed men in the warship that had suddenly appeared in the royal harbor.

  “How will we defend ourselves?” the fishermen asked. “We have no warriors or weapons!”

  The two boys Penelope had ensconced in her palace had shared a surprising number of names of individuals and families who had plotted to either storm the palace with spears or poison her and Telemachus. So the queen made sure those families heard the scariest rumors about “enormous Spartan warriors
cleaning their very sharp weapons on a giant warship”.

  In the meantime, she’d quietly filled her house with loyal guards—old warriors who’d served Odysseus’s father—dressed as grounds-workers and servants. When everything was in place, she called for an assembly.

  Frightened people hungered for leadership. So Penelope was not surprised when Ithacans swarmed into the palace, heeding her call. Their voices drifted upstairs to her private chambers as she readied herself.

  “It’s a good plan,” Danae, said. “Now, stop pacing and let me finish preparing you.”

  “I must look queenly,” Penelope said.

  “You cannot look otherwise,” Danae soothed.

  The queen smiled, lacing her hands tightly together as her favorite lady twisted her hair and pinned on her diadem. “I appreciate you saying so,” she murmured as Danae fussed over her. But she doubted it.

  For all her life, Penelope had bemoaned the fact that—unlike the majestic, knee-weakening beauty of her cousin Helen—her physical form took the shape of a wide-eyed, small-boned, not-especially-memorable-nymph. On the inside, she roiled with a core of molten bronze, but on the outside she appeared as soft and vulnerable as a hare’s tail.

  As if reading her mind, Danae said, “Use that to your advantage. They will not be expecting this deviousness from you.”

  Penelope laughed. “Right. Trickery is my husband’s area of expertise, is it not?”

  Goddess, if only he’d made it home, she wouldn’t have to do any of this.

  Danae nodded and gave the queen the once-over. “You are ready. And the hall is almost full.”

  The palace was indeed packed. She hadn’t seen her hall this crowded since the days of feasting with her husband when she was still a new bride.

  She took a breath before allowing herself to be seen, remembering the first time Odysseus had introduced her to his people in that very hall. He had held her hand and kissed her before everyone—which she’d found both shocking and thrilling.

  “This is the woman of my heart,” he’d announced. “Soon she will be the heart of Ithaca too.”

  The room had erupted in cheers. How dazzled she’d been by her husband’s charm and unpredictability! How robbed she’d felt when he left her so soon after their son’s birth to fight in Troy.

  Never, in all her imaginings, could she have predicted that she would have to face his people without him. To rule without him. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

  Be the queen he thought you could be.

  Her husband’s high-timbered hall buzzed with nobles from wooded Zacynthus, the isles of Dulichium, the hamlets of Same, and the Ithacan mainland. But unlike the days of old, this time the hall did not ring with the lusty laughs of warriors in their prime, but with the hissing whispers of the old, tired, and afraid.

  Penelope’s heart pounded as she stepped up on the platform. Her mouth felt as dry as carded wool. The room began to quiet as everyone turned their faces to her.

  “Noble families of Ithaca,” she called, her voice weak and cracking. She swallowed and tried again. “Welcome guests of—”

  “Who sent the Spartan ship?” someone yelled.

  “Yes, what does it mean?”

  “Are we under attack?”

  Penelope put her hands up. “Friends, please recall that I am a daughter of Sparta. I am cousin to Sparta’s queen, Helen, and daughter of royal Icarius, who rules in Sparta while King Menelaus and the queen conclude their trading missions.”

  Whispers flashed around the room.

  Good. She wanted them to remember her connections to the most powerful kingdom in the region.

  “The ship has arrived because I beseeched my father for shipments of grain, oxen, oil, and wine—”

  “Why is it a warship then?”

  “We saw armed soldiers!”

  “What is happening?”

  Penelope put her hands up again. “Hunger and sickness have hit many of us proud Ithacans hard. I will distribute the food stores that I hope will strengthen your families during the coming months…”

  Some of the comments turned to whispers of relief.

  “But,” Penelope said, raising her voice over it. “In exchange, I have a request.”

  A demand.

  Playing on her reputation for mildness, she put on her most loving and imploring expression. “I know it has been difficult during the seasons of drought and sickness after losing a generation of our best men. Let me help you. Send me your fatherless boys. Send to me also the grieving brothers of our lost heroes. I will nourish them from our own larders. I will educate them and bestow honors upon them as they grow, companions to the true prince of Ithaca. It is the least I can do in light of the losses we have all suffered.”

  A great murmur of surprise swelled and echoed in the hall, but Penelope soldiered on. “Let the burden of feeding, clothing and educating Ithaca’s suffering children fall unto my shoulders.”

  About half of the families looked hopeful and even pleased—as if they welcomed the idea of high honors for their sons, not to mention having fewer mouths to feed. But others grumbled, scowling.

  That’s when Penelope signaled Danae, who disappeared into the backrooms. Penelope continued arguing her case: how it was only “fair” that she share her stores with the sons and siblings of Ithaca’s heroes, how it was the least she could do given the privations that they all had to endure—

  The crowd gasped as someone entered the room behind her. The hall fell silent, exaggerating the sound of a man’s heavy footsteps as well as the familiar but long-absent sound of a warrior ready for battle—the creaking of leather bindings, the metallic jangle of a sword against bronze fittings.

  “Queen of Ithaca, Daughter of Icarius, Princess of Sparta,” the man boomed as he’d been instructed. “We have just received word that the remainder of the Spartan fleet is rounding the bay. My men will soon be here to help keep the peace.”

  Gasps and murmurs flared hot and loud, like an over-oiled torch.

  “I thought you said this was no invasion,” someone yelled.

  “We’re under attack?”

  “You lied to us! What should we do?”

  She put one hand up to the people, the other to her neck in surprise as she turned to the warrior. “Excuse me, captain?”

  “As commanded, a fleet of Spartan warriors is on its way to hold the peace in your palace.”

  The courtyard erupted with another great swell of agitated shouts and calls.

  “But I did not ask for warriors,” Penelope announced loudly. “I called for shipments of grain and oxen to feed my people!”

  “Which are being unloaded as we speak,” the warrior explained in an ever louder voice amidst the growing cries.

  The man cut a fine figure, Penelope noted with satisfaction, as he towered above her wearing his best oiled-leather cuirass, his hand on the hilt of an embossed sword, and his face dark except for shining eyes staring out of a gleaming bronze helmet. “The fleet to keep the peace and protect the palace, as I said, will soon arrive.”

  Some of the old men began to shout. Liar! More bad luck! The House of Odysseus is cursed!

  “This is an outrage,” Penelope shouted over them at the Spartan commander. “Family or not, I will not stand to have any outside Achaean army land on our shores! Have your men row out to meet the fleet and tell them to turn around. Immediately!”

  Some clapped and shouted their agreement, but the worried whispers continued.

  “But Queen Penelope,” the man cried. “They are prepared to fight. Are you telling me you do not need your blood’s men here to keep the peace? Your royal family instructed—”

  “I am the ruler here,” she thundered in her angriest, most authoritative voice. Turning to the crowd, she added, “And I say we do not need outside warriors. My people would never dare to anger the gods by attacking their own royal house!”

  She said the last part staring into the eyes of the older men and angry wives of the
houses behind the threats. Few met her gaze. There were some shuffling feet. Some old former warriors drifted to her side, scowling furiously at the Spartan, as if they were fully armed and ready to throw themselves at him in defense of their queen.

  She smiled at each of them, oddly touched. Penelope faced the Spartan officer with shoulders back and chin up, “I will not allow any outside army to disembark on our shores, no matter our blood connection. Have your men finish unloading the food stores then set out at once to turn your fleet back. They are not needed nor welcome here!”

  The man almost overplayed it, Penelope thought. He turned to go, then turned back, feigning great confusion.

  “Go,” thundered Penelope. “I command it!”

  The gleaming warrior snapped his heels together and bent low to the queen. “As you wish, Queen of Ithaca, Daughter of Sparta, Beloved of the Gods,” he said and marched out of the courtyard, out of the palace, and toward the docks.

  The crowd cheered and whooped at his retreating form. Even those who had been muttering and scowling were now grinning and clapping each other’s backs.

  “We will feast tonight on the grain, wine and roast meat sent as a gift to me by my royal family in Sparta,” Penelope announced to even more shouts of glee. “And you will leave in my care your fatherless sons and daughters to earn great honors in this ancient house of royalty.”

  Almost all the families roared their approval. Penelope beamed beatifically at them.

  “Hail, the mild queen who cares for her people!”

  “Tonight, we feast like we did in the old days,” an old timer yelled and the people cheered.

  Penelope released a shaky breath, exchanging a glance with Danae, who mouthed, “You did it.”

  Her trick had worked.

  There never had been a Spartan war fleet, of course. The man dressed like a mighty Spartan warrior was a friend of her father’s. She had requested shipments of food—all of which had arrived in the one Spartan boat—and Penelope had used the opportunity to remind her people from whence she came.

  And who had her back.

  Ithacans would not dare revolt after knowing that she could command—and be obeyed—by a powerful officer of the mightiest army in the land. Or so she hoped.