“She is doing well also, as is my son. We have decided to name him Telemachus.”
Around us, slaves began to approach and offer their congratulations. Odysseus thanked them all proudly, as ifhehad been the one to birth the babe,hisbody ripped apart,hislife almost lost.
“Shall we walk, Melantho? I find it easier to think when I am moving.”
Nodding again, I followed Odysseus as he strode from the kitchens and down the steep palace steps.
We trudged over the fields, beyond the boundary stones marking the palace grounds, and I forced myself to keep pace with Odysseus as we ascended a sharp slope. At its crest stood an olive tree, its spindly branches thrown to the sky, like a woman frozen mid rapturous dance. Beyond the tree, the hillside fell away to the restless sea. I watcheda bird swoop down toward its surface, skimming the waves before careening back up to the sky.
“I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Odysseus finally said, the sea breeze twining in his hair. “Truthfully, I am regretful I could not have been there for Penelope. I was tied up in business with the prince of Euboea, you see. I was trying to convince him that this war does not need me.”
“Did you? Convince him?” I could not help but ask.
In Sparta, I would have been struck for such a bold question, but Odysseus only sighed, turning his face to the horizon.
“Alas, it seems the Fates have me in a bind,” he murmured. “I have only longed for two things in my life: to bring fame to these shores and to raise a son in my image. It seems the gods have seen fit to answer both my prayers at once.” Odysseus’s eyes met mine. He looked tired as he smiled. “The gods have a sense of humor with these things, do they not?”
I thought of the newborn babe wriggling in Penelope’s arms, the son Odysseus had barely had a chance to know.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and was surprised to realize I meant it.
“Sorry?” He shook his head slowly. “They say this war will be the greatest ever fought. Is that not what every man dreams of? The grandeur of epic combat. The glory. Being able to carve one’s name in history.”
Something in his expression made me say, “Perhaps some men have simpler dreams.”
He nodded, a sadness creeping into his eyes once again. “Perhaps.”
We were silent for a long moment, watching the rising sun bleed out across the sea, creating a long, shimmering path of crimson toward the horizon. From the cynical edge of Odysseus’s smile, I knew the symbolism was not lost on him.
“You remember the discussion we had last harvest?” he asked quietly.
“I do.” How could I not? It was he who I feared had forgotten.
Odysseus turned to me. “Penelope recounted all that you did for her during Telemachus’s birth. Eurycleia confirmed it too.”
I raised my brows, shocked that the old maid had anything nice to say of me.
“Penelope believes she would have died without you. She believes you saved her life and the life of my son.”
“I’m not sure about that—”
Odysseus held up a hand, silencing me. “I understand it now—what Penelope has always seen in you—and I wish to honor my wife’s request. I wish to grant you your freedom, Melantho.”
It felt as though my head had detached and was floating away, the world growing small and distant beneath me. I could not speak, could barely think, barely breathe…
“But I cannot do so immediately.”
The words pierced through my hope, and I came crashing back down to reality.
“I depart for war imminently, and I do not know when I shall return. My wife will be alone here, and I know she will need a companion, someone who can support her on the difficult road ahead.” He lowered his palm to my shoulder. “I want that to be you.”
“Me?” I choked. “Why?”
“Penelope is like me. Her trust is not easily won. But you have earned it, and I know that is no small feat. I want to appoint you as Penelope’s chief handmaid, and I want you to look after her while I cannot. If you do that, then I will grant you your freedom when I return from this war. You have my word.”
My mind swam, the ground feeling unsteady beneath me.
“Do we have an agreement, Melantho?”
