“We will do what all women are known to do,” Penelope said, taking a slow sip of her wine. “We will gossip.”
Actoris coughed out a surprised laugh. “Gossip?”
“Exactly.” The corners of Penelope’s mouth twitched upward. “We will spin tales of Odysseus’s greatness, stories of his exploits over the past seven summers. We will breathe life into his legend so that even the mere possibility of Odysseus’s return will frighten the suitors from these halls.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” Actoris pressed.
Before Penelope could reply, the door was flung open, and Eurycleia entered, trailed by Telemachus.
“Those men are vile, uncivilized animals,” Eurycleia spat as she hobbled over to the hearth, reaching her knotted fingers toward its warmth. “They drink like animals too. They are demanding more wine.More!They are already running our stock dry. What would you have us do, my queen?”
Penelope did not lift her eyes from the fire as she replied, “Give them what they ask for.”
“But—”
“We must keep our guests satiated.”
“They insult us with their gluttony. It is a show of disrespect,” Telemachus cried, his angular frame tight with rage.
Penelope looked to her son. “What would you have me do?”
“They are only here because they want Father’s title. Once that opportunity is gone, they will leave. Announcemeas king. I will banish them all when I sit upon the throne.”
Penelope shook her head once. “No.”
“Mother—”
“Please, if you would give us a moment,” she said to the room.
I caught her eye as the others left, my unspoken question rippling between us. Penelope gave a slight nod in answer.Stay.
Once we were alone, Telemachus strode toward his mother, everystep full of tightly wound purpose.
“Why, Mother? Why will you not announce me as king?”
“Because you are not ready,” Penelope replied.
These words, so brutally simple, were a slap in Telemachus’s face, and for a moment, he could only stare at his mother, trying to mask their sting.
“I am seventeen,” he said through clenched teeth. “Younger men died on the fields of Troy for their kingdoms.”
“Is that what you wish? To die for Ithaca?”
“I wish to fight for it.”
I had never heard such passion in Telemachus’s voice before, and I felt a sudden swell of pride.
“I will fight for my father’s throne. For my birthright. For this land that I love. I would fight foryou.”
“With which army?” Penelope challenged. “You have no swords sworn under your name, no men who will fight for your honor. You say you wish to fight, but there will be no battle, Telemachus. There would be only slaughter.”
Color rushed to the prince’s cheeks, and I watched as that shame quickly heated into anger.
“I am the only son of great-hearted Odysseus, Sacker of Cities. His blood runs in my veins. It is mybirthrightto sit on Ithaca’s throne.”
“Do you think these men care for such titles?” Penelope’s voice remained steady. “To them, you are an obstacle, Telemachus, nothing more. They will cut you down the moment I announce you as king.”
“What if Ithaca’s council supported me?”
