“As you know,” she began, her voice ringing clearly through the banquet hall, “I have struggled for many summers to choose who among you is worthy of being my husband. As it has proven an impossible decision for me to make alone, I have decided to leave this matter in the hands of the Fates and hold a competition.”
Curious murmurs rippled through the room. I forced myself to keep a neutral expression as Penelope set her plan in motion, though anxiety had found its way into my veins now, making my blood sing a shrill note in my ears.
“The rules will be simple,” Penelope continued. “Perhaps a few of you may have already discerned your objective.”
She motioned to the twelve axe heads in the center of the room. They had been removed from their handles, the blades buried in a long wooden table in a neat line of twelve so the butt of each axe head was pointed up to the ceiling. In the center of every one was an ornamental hole, each lined up perfectly with the others. At the end of the long line stood a wooden target.
“All you must do is fire a single arrow through these twelve axe heads into the target,” Penelope said. “I think it seems a fitting contest given today is the festival of Apollo, and this is a game my late husband was very fond of. My only condition is that you must use Odysseus’s beloved weapon, in respect of his memory.”
She held aloft a long, slender bow, and across the room, I saw Odysseus’s eyes gleam. What the suitors did not know was that this bow was notoriously difficult to string, such was its design. Odysseushad once claimed only he himself could manage it.
Penelope placed the bow down as she declared, “Whoever is victorious first shall win my hand in marriage.”
Excitement electrified the air. In the far corner, I saw Telemachus whisper something to Eumaeus. Beside them, Odysseus had finally torn his focus away from his bow to stare at Penelope, a small smile gracing his lips.
“Good luck and may bright Apollo shine upon you,” Penelope said before turning to her son. “Now, the prince and I shall retire while the competition takes place.”
“I am staying, Mother,” Telemachus said instantly.
“Telemachus—”
“Someone needs to adjudicate to ensure no foul play occurs,” he continued. “But you must depart to your quarters. I shall fetch you when the matter is concluded.”
Penelope held her son’s gaze. She had told him that morning of the contest, claiming it was just another stalling tactic, nothing but a ploy to keep the suitors distracted. Telemachus had believed her and agreed not to interfere. His compliance had seemed too easy, but Penelope knew why. He had been plotting with his father, concocting a plan he did not realize Penelope had all but placed into their laps.
All the suitors locked in one room with a weapon only Odysseus could wield…
Did they believe it was the Fates that had engineered this opportunity? Was that truly more believable than the idea of a woman having a hand in their machinations?
Though Penelope had been expecting Telemachus’s refusal, she could not hide the flicker of pain in her eyes as she stared at her son. She had known Telemachus would want to fight by his father’s side. This was the moment he had been dreaming of his entire life, and he would never forgive Penelope, never forgivehimself, if he were deprived of it.
Penelope nodded, her trembling hands closing into fists.
“Very well,” she said. “I shall take my leave.”
I swore I could see her heart splintering as she turned and swept from the hall. The handmaids followed in her wake, and I trailed a step behind, throwing a final glance over my shoulder. Odysseus was still prowling in the corner of the room, smirking as the suitors squabbled over his bow. Beside him, Telemachus was absently picking at the skin around his nail beds. He looked so young in that moment, lost in the shadow of his father.
Please.I sent a silent prayer to any god who might listen.Please watch over him.
Then I turned and left, locking the doors behind me, knowing that when I next stepped foot in that hall, the fate of Ithaca would be sealed.
***
We raced back to Penelope’s quarters.
It would not be long before the pirates descended on the palace. Penelope had made her instructions clear, but those men were lawless killers. None of us wanted to run the risk of crossing their path, for who knew if they would keep to their word once bloodlust gripped them? It was a risk Penelope had accepted, but that had been before she knew her son and husband would be shut inside with those murderous men.
At least the palace hallways were empty. The slaves would all be at the market now, enjoying the festival celebrations. I had made sure Melanthius and Dolios were among them, safe and utterly clueless as to the bloodshed about to be unleashed within these walls.
“Do you think Telemachus will be all right?” Actoris whispered, a rare note of fear sounding in her voice.
I nodded with a certainty I did not truly feel. “The pirates were instructed to only harm the suitors.”
“And he will have Odysseus at his side,” Hippodamia said with a touch of awe I found irritating.
“We will pray to the gods,” Eurynome added.
“I wish I could see it,” Skaris muttered. “I wish I could watch those vultures bleed.”
