A feverish laugh crawled up my throat. How Ilongedto tell Odysseus I’d sooner take my own life than bring one into this world.
“Thank you, master,” I said instead.
He smiled, then turned to retrieve his carving blade. “You may go now.”
Head bowed, I rose quickly to my feet.
“And, Melantho? Please do find a way to prove yourself to me.” Odysseus’s voice caught me as I reached the door. “For I would be loath to disappoint my wife.”
21
News of war came the following summer.
Word spread quickly through the palace, which was hardly surprising. If there was one thing slaves had in common, it was a love of gossip. Secrets were our trade, and we were experts at unearthing them. Our eyes and ears were everywhere after all.
“Did you hear?” one of the kitchen girls whispered as we hauled jars of olive oil up the steep palace steps. I did not know her name. I had never bothered to ask. “Princess Helen got herself stolen by some foreign prince!”
I gave a vague nod. I had no interest in conversation. I had no interest in anything at all beyond my duties. Since my interaction with Odysseus in the autumn, I had focused on keeping my head down and working myself to the bone. I could stomach playing the dutiful, obedient slave if it gave me my freedom.
But there had been no word from the prince.
“Paris of Troy, they call him,” the girl continued eagerly. “They’re sayin’ Paris stole Helen from right under Menelaus’s nose! Imagine that: hosting some Trojan in your own home and he runs off with your wife! Foreigners got no respect for our customs.”
For some reason, everyone seemed more fixated on the disrespect to Menelaus than on Helen, who had been abducted by a stranger.
“Menelaus and his brother are declaring war on Troy! They’vegot all of Greece to join them! Can you believe that?”
A man raising arms because his ego was bruised? Of course I could believe it. But I only shrugged as we ascended yet another flight of stairs.
The kitchens were set halfway up the palace hill. I think this was intended to be helpful, keeping an equal distance between the ground level where we received food deliveries and the hilltop where our masters dwelled. In reality, it just turned every trip into a headache-inducing trek.
I was sweating by the time we reached the kitchens and silently cursing whoever had thought it a good idea to build a palace into a bloody hillside.
“Did you see him? The prince of Euboea?” one of the cooks asked as he bustled over, plucking the jars from our aching arms. “He’s come to force Master Odysseus to join the war.”
“Nah, we saw nothin’,” the girl beside me answered. “But he’s wastin’ his time, that’s for sure. That prince won’t convince Odysseus to fight.”
“He doesn’t have to convince him.”
A few heads turned in our direction, surprised to hear my voice. I think several of them believed I couldn’t even speak Greek.
“What d’you mean?” The girl eyed me curiously.
“Odysseus swore an oath to protect Helen’s marriage,” I said. “He has to fight.”
“How doyouknow that?”
“Because I was there when he swore it.”
She gaped at me incredulously.
“Odysseus isn’t a man of war,” the cook insisted. “He won’t fight.”
“Then he will be going against his oath, and the gods will punish him.”
There was a collective gasp as someone hissed at me, “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“I’m just stating facts,” I shot back. “If Odysseus refuses to fight,then he’s not only a coward but a liar. Although I can’t say I would be all that surprised. He reeks of both.”
