Chapter Text
Agamemnon ripped the tender goose meat apart and let a section fall into his mouth. “You have no idea how fucking tired I am of this bullshit,” he said, mouth full. Menelaus sat on the other side of the long table, balancing his chair on the two hindlegs. He picked at his teeth, as bored as his brother, but not as angry. Agamemnon swallowed. “We’ve wasted a month here already and I don’t have time for this kind of humiliation.”
“Well, if he’s mad, there’s not much we can do.”
“Fuck’s sake, Menelaus, he’s not actually mad. You know that.”
“There’s still not much we can do.”
Agamemnon tapped his finger pads against the table and looked around. The room was large, but plain, furnished only in earthen tones. The table where Menelaus and Agamemnon were sitting—and had been sitting for the past month—lined the middle of the room, leading to a single statue of Zeus in the back. Either side of the table was large enough to hold rows of beds, but there were only two large ones, one on each side, placed for the Atrides. There were no colours as Agamemnon had grown accustomed to from Sparta, and no gold like he’d learnt from Mycenae. “There has to be something we can do. He can’t actually be acting like this every single day,” he said.
Menelaus dropped the chair on all four legs and leaned in. “Have you tried speaking with any of the slavegirls?” he asked. “If he’s only putting up an act for us, they must’ve seen something.”
He jutted his chin forward in denial. “No point.” Agamemnon hadn’t only talked with slavegirls—he’d threatened them, slept with them, blackmailed them. If they knew anything, they would’ve told him. He put more of the goose meat in his mouth.
“This is a waste of time,” Menelaus said and crossed his arms on the table, leaning against them. He looked up at his brother through the strands of hair that fell on his face.
“You think I don’t know that?”
Menelaus slammed his palm against the table and stood up suddenly, running his hand through his hair. “A month , Agamemnon,” he hissed. “Do you know what that whoreson could’ve done to Helen in a month? We could’ve ransacked the entire city by now.”
“Not without Odysseus. You wouldn’t even be married if it weren’t for Odysseus.”
“Yeah well. Odysseus is mad”—Menelaus stuck out a finger when Agamemnon opened his mouth to interrupt, signalling to him he wasn’t finished— “and even if he weren’t, you can’t force him onto the ship.”
“And what if I do?” Agamemnon pushed his plate away and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I will drag him on by the ears if I have to.”
“Then you’ll have a madman to deal with. He won’t drop the act until you send him back home, throw him off the boat, or kill yourself.” Menelaus counted the points off on his fingers. “He’s kept it up for a month already; he’ll do it for decades if he has to.”
Agamemnon stood up and slammed his chair into place. He hated that Menelaus was right. Odysseus was even more persevering than he was smart. He looked around the guesthouse, searching for ideas. Agamemnon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You can’t care about Helen a little less by any chance?” he joked. He knew better than anyone that this wasn’t about her.
But Menelaus’ eyes lit up. “We have to catch him faltering on the act,” he said.
“Forget it.”
“We can engineer a situation that requires him to have a clear mind.”
Agamemnon squared his shoulders and squinted at him. “You have something in mind already.”
“Penelope,” he simply said. “He would sacrifice himself if it meant saving her. Threaten her once, Odysseus hears, he jumps to protect her the way only a sane person could.”
Agamemnon shook his head. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to threaten Penelope, to threaten his host. “Even Castor and Pollux were nothing against Penelope, Menelaus. She’s smart enough to defend herself.”
Menelaus sighed and turned around, pacing the room. He stopped suddenly and turned back. “Telemachus then. He’s defenceless. Penelope can defend herself, but she won’t risk bargaining when her son’s life is on the line.”
Agamemnon’s heart skipped a beat. Almost instinctively, he shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” Menelaus said. “Fuck you. I’ll do it myself.” Agamemnon watched as he stormed out of the guesthouse, drawing his sword.
—
Odysseus closed his eyes under the blindfold. He couldn’t see anything anyway; he might as well give his eyes some rest. He leaned his head against the wall of the palace courtyard and scratched the scar on his calf, which was irritated by the itchy rags he’d borrowed from the palace’s swineherd.
A flock of geese ran past the shady spot Odysseus had chosen to sit, making their presence well known with loud clucking. Some merchant’s bell rang outside. Quiet whimpering approached, followed by Argos’ wet nose on Odysseus’ leg. He’d noticed that his master couldn’t see him and had resorted to small gestures like these to alert him that he was there. Odysseus held up his hand and Argos rubbed his head against it before lowering it into his lap as Odysseus scratched behind his ear.
Odysseus frowned as Agamemnon shouted Menelaus’ name. He was going somewhere and Agamemnon was following him, but there was no way to tell what they were doing. Odysseus started laughing hysterically, making big movements so that they could see, no matter how far they were. Agamemnon’s loud voice was no indicator for their distance from him. Argos stood up and barked, sensing danger. Odysseus pitied him for having to see his master in this state, for considering him a threat, but it was necessary. Agamemnon’s voice faded away. Odysseus laughed a little longer before falling silent himself.
For the majority of the time the Atrides had been here, Odysseus had been sowing the fields and planting salt instead of seeds. It had done the job in convincing them that he’s mad but it had gotten tiring.
He leaned against the wall again, but Argos’ barking did not stop. Odysseus spoke with him, attempted to calm him down, but there was no point. He gently bit Odysseus’ wrist and dragged him up. Odysseus squatted next to him and ruffled his fur, but he only grew more aggressive, barking and growling—Odysseus stood straight and looked around. Not that he could see anything, he just wanted to reassure the dog.
A loud, melodic whistle reached Odysseus’ ears. A warrior’s whistle. Odysseus recognized it from the hunting trips he’d do with the Dioscuri and Helen’s suitors. And the Atrides. “Hey, Odysseus,” Menelaus shouted. “Listen up!”
Odysseus’ heart skipped a beat. There was a determination in his voice that meant nothing good. Odysseus breathed in deeply. The voice came from up above. From somewhere like a tower.
Penelope’s tower .
Odysseus ripped the blindfold off his eyes and looked up. It took him a moment to adjust to the direct, blinding light of the sun, but it was clear that Menelaus had stuck his head out of the window. He chuckled loudly when Odysseus stared right at him, eyes wide. “That’s more like it.” The wind carried his voice down. “Come on up so we can talk.”
Without second thought, Odysseus sprinted to the arsenal. He picked his bow and a single arrow—he didn’t need anymore—, stringing it as he ran through the palace and up the stairs. The door to Odysseus and Penelope’s chamber, the only room in the tower, was wide open. Penelope was on her knees by the door, far enough away from Menelaus that Odysseus felt calm for a moment. But Menelaus stood on the other side of the room, between the bed and the window—right beside the crib. He’d taken Telemachus out, carrying him carefully, the way only a father could, but he had a dagger held close to his chubby throat. Understandably, Telemachus was wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow him.
Odysseus aimed the arrow at Menelaus steadily. “Put him down and step away from the crib before I put a fucking arrow through that hollow head of yours,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He stepped forward and grabbed Penelope by the arm, pulling her up.
“Odysseus, go away,” she whispered, a shiver in her voice. “I can handle this on my own.”
“Too late now,” he responded, pressing a kiss to her eyelid. Once she was standing, he turned back to Menelaus. “Step away.”
Menelaus smiled. “Look how insane you can be, even without acting.”
“I’m not repeating myself again.” Odysseus’ eyes followed Menelaus’ hand as he removed the dagger from Telemachus’ throat and brought it up to his mouth, placing the blade between his teeth.
He put Telemachus down and wiped his tears with one hand as he put the dagger in the belt sheath with the other. “Wasn’t that hard, was it now, Odysseus?”
Odysseus lowered the bow, but left it strung. He didn’t respond.
“Did you manage to think of any new excuses in the meantime or have you decided to fulfil your oath?”
“No, I’m done. A month of fun is good enough.” Penelope looked at him, even paler than she had been before.
Menelaus leaned over and planted a kiss on Telemachus’ forehead. “That was great, Odysseus,” he said, approaching him. He patted him on the shoulder as he left the room. “I can’t even be angry at you, it was so genius.”
“Where is Agamemnon?” Odysseus asked, turning around. Menelaus was already on his way down the stairs. Penelope quickly approached the crib and picked up Telemachus, still crying.
“Waiting for you at the docks.”
Odysseus clenched his jaw and turned to Penelope. He dropped the bow and arrow, joined her and wrapped his arms around them, cradling them.
“Odysseus—”
Shaking his head, he bent over to kiss Telemachus’ eye. “Don’t, Penelope. There’s nothing we can do now.”
“I know, Odysseus, just…” She inhaled shakily. He looked up to her and kissed her cheek. “Come back to us,” she breathed.