“Greek wine is piss,” she huffed.
I stifled a laugh as Penelope turned to Eurynome. “So you said you hail from Corinth?”
“Yes, my lady. I served my master there for many, many summers,” Eurynome said.
“What happened?” Penelope asked, shaking her head as Hippodamia offered her a cup.
“He died, taken by a sudden illness.”
I did not miss the dip of emotion in Eurynome’s voice.
“He left me to his son in his will, wanted to make sure I was cared for, but…” She paused, her thin fingers lacing together in her lap. “His son no longer saw a place for me in the household.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Penelope said, her eyes lit with genuine sympathy. “Forgive me for prying, Eurynome, but is that a Maeonianaccent I hear?”
“Oh…” Eurynome’s cheeks grew flushed. “I apologize, mistress. I hadn’t realized it was still so obvious.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Penelope insisted. “There were many slaves in my father’s household who hailed from Maeonia. I hear it is a beautiful place.”
“It is. The most beautiful,” Eurynome said softly, eyes heavy. “Though I have not been there since I was a girl. Since I was…”
She trailed off, seeming to remember herself. Yet we all knew the tale she was about to tell; it was one so many slaves shared—a child snatched from their homeland, shipped to foreign lands by greedy slavers, then sold off to the highest bidder.
At that moment, Telemachus began squealing in Autonoë’s arms. She brought him to Penelope, who shushed him with soft bouncing movements. Beside me, I noted the way Eurynome’s face transformed as she gazed at mother and son.
“A baby,” she whispered. “A true gift from the gods.”
Penelope smiled at that. “Would you like to hold him?”
Eurynome stared down at her dirty hands and ruined clothes, then shook her head. But Penelope rose anyway and offered the whimpering Telemachus with an encouraging nod. Eurynome took him with the quiet confidence of someone who had held countless babes in her arms. She rocked him gently, and Telemachus fell almost instantly asleep.
“He never settles that quickly. It seems you have a gift, Eurynome,” I said, and her eyes shone as they met mine.
Penelope then turned to the Thracian sprawled in her chair. “And what of you, Thratta? What is your story?”
“My story is mine,” she said. There was an edge to her voice, one that warned us not to pry further.
Sensing this, Penelope nodded and retreated from the topic. “Well, I warmly welcome you both to Ithaca and to the House of Laertes.”
“Are we really to be your handmaids, princess?” Eurynome asked.
“If you would like that?” Penelope said.
Thratta shrugged, but Eurynome’s throat bobbed as she whispered, “It would be an honor. An honor I never thought I would earn at this stage in my life. Thank you.”
Penelope’s eyes slipped to mine as she replied, “It is not I who deserves your thanks.”
***
“You’re still awake?”
I was sitting on the rug by the hearth when I heard Penelope approach.
She had just bathed, her skin scrubbed and glowing, unbound hair still damp, hanging in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore just a simple gown with no adornments, and her feet were bare as she padded toward me.
“I thought you had retired with the others,” I said.
“I cannot sleep,” she admitted.
