Chapter Text
Penelope gently put Telemachus down on her bed. Odysseus watched her as she watched over their boy and covered her breast, pinning her chiton over her shoulder. Her smile slowly faded when she looked at Odysseus. “They’re going to come for you, you know.”
Odysseus nodded. “I know.”
She looked at him silently for a moment before continuing. “So?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled at her, but she shook her head. Lightening the mood wasn’t the way to go then. He leaned against the frame of the bed and crossed his arms, his eyes still fixated on her.
“They’re probably on their way right now. Menelaus and Agamemnon are as dumb as…”—she looked around the room, inhaling deeply—“I don’t know fucking what.”
“Penelope,” Odysseus said sternly. He looked at Telemachus, who was sleeping soundly, a tiny balled fist over his eye.
“Oh, spare me. He’s asleep and I’ve earned the right to swear today.”
Odysseus couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’ve earned it?”
“Yes,” she answered firmly. “I’ve dealt with your bullshit for so long I’ve earned the right to kill someone in fact.”
“That’s an idea.”
“Odysseus.”
He sprawled over the foot of the bed, stretching, eyes still plastered on Penelope. “I’m just joking, come on. It’d take a madman to kill the Atrides.”
“This is not the time for jokes. They want to take you away from me. From us.” She leaned in, patting the surface of their bed to give her words some impact.
Odysseus’ face fell, and he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I know, Penelope, and I really don’t know what to do.”
“Well, let’s think . You and I—now is the time for that.”
He looked up at the canopy of their bed, then raised his hands and looked at them. “I could offer them my fleet and convince them to let me stay.”
“Love the confidence, but you literally have nothing to offer them that they don’t already have. Other than yourself. They want you . They could only ever win a war if you strategize every battle for them.” She sighed and leaned against the headboard. “Besides, you’ve already sworn to give them your fleet anyway—right now, it’s not yours to offer, it’s theirs to begin with.”
“I could just disappear. My father owns the farmhouse, they wouldn’t think to look for me there.” He dropped his hands and looked her. “You wear black, look a little distraught, tell them I’m dead. The people don’t know what goes on in here anyway, they’d play along.”
“Incredibly convenient—news of a Spartan war with mandatory military service reaches Ithaca and suddenly you’re dead.” She shook her head. “Menelaus and Agamemnon were raised as my cousins, so I would know—they’ll burn the island to the ground if they have to, but they will find you. Besides, if news reaches the people that you’re dead, they’ll be lining up outside the palace doors for my hand—how do I explain then that I’m not a widow?”
Telemachus heaved a deep sigh in his sleep and Odysseus smiled. “Me too, bud.” He reached out and pulled his son’s toe, making the joint pop.
Penelope slapped his hand away firmly. “Odysseus.”
He looked at her as she softly rubbed Telemachus’ round cheek. His heart and throat clenched as his eyes filled with tears. He never loved her as much as he did once he saw all the love she held for their son. He turned away from her, looking at the bed frame instead, and sighed shakily. “No help from Athena today, huh?” he asked as he patted the olive wood.
“Athena isn’t just going to throw an idea at you, Odysseus. You have to think.”
He sat up. “I am. I swear by the Styx—”
“Alright, alright, I know you are. You’ve sworn enough oaths to last us a lifetime.” Odysseus stared at her with a blank face. She smiled, revealing her dimples for the first time in a while. “I’m just joking, come on. I’m grateful for the oath, you know that. I wouldn’t be married to you if it weren’t for that.”
“That was a bad joke.” He stood up and stretched. “I am actually trying to figure this out. If I haven’t come up with something by the time he wakes up, I’m going to go insane.” He closed his eyes and wove all his fingers into his hair. “That’s it!” He opened his eyes and spun around, gesturing to Penelope with one hand, the other still in his hair.
“What? What is it?”
“I go insane. They can’t recruit me if I’m mad. They wouldn’t want to recruit me if I’m mad. It’s not as far-fetched as dying, but it is foolproof.”
Penelope squinted, her eyes darting around his face as she considered. “If we put up a good enough show, get the staff involved… They’re not smart enough to disbelieve you.”
“Even if they were, they’re not smart enough to disprove me.” Odysseus pulled at a ribbon tied around a braid of his hair.
She nodded and ran the back of her finger across the soft spot on Telemachus’ head. “It could work.”
“It’s genius, Penelope. It will work.”
—
When the Spartan and Mycenaean ships docked in Ithaca’s small harbour, Penelope and Odysseus were more than ready. Penelope stood alone in the throne room, Telemachus at her hip, when their arrival was announced. Nobody knew where Odysseus was, not even her.
They stormed into the room without warning. Unsurprising, but Penelope still jumped when the door flung open. She sat down on the throne, unaccustomed to being alone, but trying to fill the space as much as possible. Agamemnon’s cape flailed behind him when he stopped a couple of steps away from the dais, looking around like a bull having seen red. Menelaus, on the other hand, smiled and bowed to her, ever the polite one. “Good morning, Penelope. It’s so good to see you again. I wish we could’ve come for a more joyous occasion.”
Penelope suppressed a smile. She really did miss him, but the wife of a madman did not smile. “It’s great to see you too. I was devastated to hear what happened. I hope Helen is alright.”
Menelaus smiled forcefully, but Agamemnon intervened before his brother could reply. “Those were enough pleasantries,” he said bluntly. “Why isn’t Odysseus here to greet us?”
Don’t bring up the madness immediately , Odysseus had said. “Nobody has managed to get a hold of him,” she responded instead.
“Is he travelling somewhere?” Menelaus asked.
“No, Odysseus has—”
Telemachus put a small hand on her mouth, turning her head to face him. “Dada?” She thanked Athena that he was not old enough to form sentences—he would’ve given them away in a heartbeat.
She kissed his soft palm and he moved his hand to her cheek, allowing her to speak. “Yes, dada.” She stopped smiling and looked back to the Atrides. “Odysseus has been a little all over the place lately.”
Menelaus was fixated on Telemachus. Penelope wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. He stepped forward with outstretched hands. “May I?”
“Of course.” She handed Telemachus to him once he was close enough. Telemachus stared at her, eyes wide in confusion, but she nodded reassuringly. Menelaus was someone she trusted. To a certain extent at least.
“He looks so much like him.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Telemachus pulled a face and his chest rose and fell quickly—a warning sign that tears were imminent. “And here we go.”
Menelaus understood immediately. Laughing softly, he handed Telemachus back to Penelope, and the child dug his face into her chest and grabbed her tunic tightly. She’d purposefully worn something simple, something that looked like it had been thrown together in a haste.
“Menelaus, come down,” Agamemnon said. “Penelope, let’s not drag this out. You know why we’re here. Odysseus swore an oath, now is the time to enact it.”
Penelope’s heart skipped a beat. Now was the time. She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “That’s up to you, but … I don’t know how to put this lightly, but he’s gone mad.”
“What?” Menelaus frowned. Agamemnon squinted.
She stood up. “See for yourself. I’m sure we’ll find him around somewhere.” They followed her outside, always staying a few steps behind, whispering in hushed voices. She handed Telemachus to Eurycleia as she passed them. She was familiar enough that he didn’t complain. The maid looked between the Atrides as she took the infant and nodded meaningfully to her mistress—unlike the other maids, Odysseus had entrusted her with his plan. The ignorance of the others ensured no one would ruin everything and made the scheme all the more believable.
As soon as they stepped into the courtyard, she noticed Odysseus. He was hard to miss, dressed in rags, rolling in the sand. She sighed. “That’s our Odysseus.”
She had gotten used to seeing him like this, but one look at the brothers proved it was as shocking as they had planned. Menelaus was gaping while Agamemnon had clenched his jaw. “What happened to him?” the former asked.
“He got very sick, a bad fever.” She hugged herself. “The fever stopped, the hallucinations didn’t.”
“What’s with the blindfold?” Agamemnon asked. He didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his voice.
Penelope scoffed. “If you think this is mad, you should see him without the blindfold. He’s very sensitive to light and it makes him go insane.” In reality, Penelope had suggested he wear a blindfold to hide his eyes, always aware. He couldn’t fake mad eyes, so covering them was their best bet.
“Right. Of course.” Agamemnon nodded. “A month ago, you said? You didn’t think to tell your cousins that your husband has gone insane? Why have Helen and Clytemnestra not heard anything—or do I have to speak with Clytemnestra about keeping secrets from me?”
“No, Clytemnestra doesn’t know,” Penelope responded quickly, squinting at him. It was a miracle that he’d only driven Clytemnestra to madness and not further. She inhaled deeply, taking her time with the answer. This was not a question she had prepared for. “This is a private matter between husband and wife.” She looked meaningfully at Menelaus. “Not something that you share with all of Greece.” Agamemnon nodded slowly. Even if Menelaus didn’t understand what she was insinuating, his brother did—and it only meant he was more insistent on proving her wrong.
Odysseus screeched, probably in response to the awkward situation he could tell his wife was in. She kneeled next to him and slowly put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. “It’s Penelope, it’s your wife.” Sitting up, he gently grasped her upper arm and squeezed it reassuringly but inconspicuously. She inhaled deeply. “Do you remember Menelaus and Agamemnon?” she asked. “Atreus’ sons.”
“My brother?” he wheezed. Penelope’s heart broke. He hadn’t drank water in multiple days. His lips were chapped and peeling off.
She shook her head. “You don’t have a brother.” She hugged him and brought his head to her chest, hiding his face. He pressed a kiss on her bosom out of the Atrides’ sight. She turned to them and stood up slowly, gently lowering Odysseus to the ground. “You must be exhausted,” she said. “Allow me to show you to the guesthouse.”