A Sea of Sorrow

by Libbie Hawker

  “Till now,” Eumaeus agreed. “But I’ve seen you many times. It’s the way of princes not to see the likes of me. That’s where our king is different,” he went on. “I count Odysseus a friend.”

  Normally, Amphinomus would’ve scoffed at a claim like that but something about the man and his stories convinced him he was telling the truth. He tucked that information away for the future—certainly befriending the locals was a ruling strategy that had served Odysseus well.

  “The king’s long absence is so unfortunate for the only son of the king,” the pig farmer said, before taking a big swallow of his swill.

  “You know that Telemachus has gone in search of him?” Amphinomus asked. The boy’s sudden backbone in taking action had surprised all of the suitors.

  “Heard about that too,” Eumaeus admitted. “I’ve known the boy since he was born. A good lad, for sure. But one that will never really see the sun. Too much of his father’s shadow to step out of.” The swine-herder looked into Amphinomus’s eyes as he spoke, as though he were measuring him. “He may not be back either. And where does that leave us?”

  “The queen must choose a husband,” Amphinomus said at once.

  “And you dream to be that man,” the herder said with a smirk. But then he looked at Amphinomus’s face and paused. “You love her?”

  “She is a great and noble lady, how could I not…admire her?”

  Amphinomus was unused to being laughed at by a man covered in pig-shit. “She is all that and more,” the swine-herder said after a moment. “And I was young once too, you know.” He paused to pour more wine. “But now I’m old. Antinous…Eurymachus and all those others…” he jabbed a gnarled, dirty nailed finger at Amphinomus, “…you aren’t like them. I’ve heard tell of it and I’ve seen it with my own eyes now. No one here loves you, mind,” he said, “but no one really hates you either. Not like those others.”

  “Nice of you to say so,” Amphinomus muttered. “I had thought to make myself useful,” he said. He paused then as the older man’s beady eyes fixed on him—measuring as he himself measured. “I could use your help.”

  Eumaeus snorted. “What help does a prince need of a pig farmer?”

  “You said you were friends with Odysseus?”

  “I am…I was.”

  “Then your word must carry some weight with the farmers and workers.”

  “Go on.”

  “The farms are in a state of disrepair,” Amphinomus stated. “They are producing yes, but they could do more. They should be flourishing, but they are not.”

  “Why should men work their balls off to supply…”

  He trailed off so Amphinomus finished for him. “The likes of us at the great house. Yes. There’s not a lot of incentive. But look, this farce at the great hall won’t last forever,” Amphinomus continued. “In the meantime, I can provide some leadership—we princes are trained for all that,” he added with a grin. And this time he poured the wine. “But I can’t lead without willing hands.”

  “I said you’re not hated. But then again, some around these parts would rather stick a knife in your back while you lead from the front,” Eumaeus observed.

  And that, Amphinomus thought, was as true of his fellow suitors as it was of the Ithacans themselves. But if he was going to make a name for himself with the queen, it was worth the risk.

  Amphinomus employed a steady, measured approach. Eumaeus took him from farm to farm, small-holding to small-holding where he spoke to the men as he had spoken to the swine-herder.

  Their responses were surly, rude but, in the main, they saw the practicality in his words. And, Amphinomus fancied, they rather enjoyed that he—a prince—stripped down with them and lifted the fence posts, wielded the blacksmith’s hammer, got himself wet with the fishermen and (if he was honest, the worst part) worked on the vineyards. For such a staple drink, wine was hard work to produce.

  No one tried to kill him—he suspected largely down to the secret counsel of Eumaeus and not because of a sudden rush of goodwill. The damage done by the suitors—and indeed himself—would take time to undo. For all that, he fancied that he saw grudging respect in the eyes of some of these scarred old warriors who had turned in their spears for ploughs and fishing nets. And he was aware enough of his own youth to know respect from an older man was something that young men always craved.

  Amphinomus also took it upon himself to organize the cleaning of the great hall. To his dismay, facing a phalanx of comely and clearly available female workers was more intimidating than dealing with the workmen on the island proper. These were no shrinking virgins—all of them knew that if a prince’s seed took in her belly or a prince took her to heart—she’d be made for life and would have scrubbed her last pot and swept her last floor.

  His eyes swept over them. “Where’s Melantho?” he asked of the one he knew had attached herself to Eurymachus. He guessed her to be the leader of this little band much as Eurymachus considered himself the leader of the suitors.

  “As if you need to ask,” an older woman said with a chuckle.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Eurycleia. I am the longest serving woman in these halls.”

  “She’ll tell you that Odysseus suckled at her tit,” a younger woman, dark, slim and beautiful, snorted. She reminded Amphinomus of the queen—a younger version, perhaps, but still not as fine as Penelope.

  “He did suckle at my tit, Danae!” Eurycleia snapped at her. “Him and his son too!”

  “We know, you keep telling us...” The young woman turned to him appraisingly. “I am Penelope’s handmaiden,” she said by way of introduction. “I shall report to her this most interesting assembly of women that Amphinomus the Hard-worker has called.”

  Amphinomus winced on the inside. He had wanted to impress the queen with his leadership on the island, not with rule over a bunch of cleaning women. To make matters worse, he quickly lost control of the situation: all the women started talking at once. Amphinomus could feel himself getting smaller and smaller in the room. Something had to be done. The queen was watching him through the eyes of her handmaiden.

  “Women!” he bawled, his voice bouncing around the walls of the room. To his surprise, they stilled. “That’s right,” he said, sounding in his own ears more relieved than commanding. Soldiers he told himself. Think of them as soldiers. “Now listen. I’m well aware that I’ve been a part of the problem. But as of today, I—with your help—am going to become part of the solution.”

  “Solution to what, Young Prince,” Eurycleia asked—not bothering to hide the hint of mockery in her voice.

  “This place,” he gestured to encompass the great hall, his eyes flicking to the doe-eyed handmaiden that so resembled his love. “It’s a mess. And yes, before anyone sees fit to bring it up—I know I helped cause it. But no-one has taken a firm hand here—”

  Danae put a hand on her hip and Amphinomus gulped. Did she think he was insulting her Lady?

  “The queen has been too busy managing the weaving trade that has kept Ithaca from economic ruin,” Danae pointed out in a cool tone. “She has no time to bother herself with these kinds of concerns. And her son refuses to see the need to display leadership in these domestic matters.”

  “But I see it,” Amphinomus said. “And I want this place cleaned. Floor to rafters. You,” he rounded on Eurycleia, “will oversee it. I don’t care how you distribute the work, I care only that it’s done.”

  “We have other duties, Prince,” the old woman stuck her chin out, a veritable shield-wall of obstinacy. Of course. Odysseus had suckled at her tit.

  “I’m sure you do,” he conceded. “Bring the younger ones in, then. Your daughters. Get them to work. Because this is still Penelope’s place, Eurycleia. Would you have your beautiful queen sit on a filthy dais? Rule over a dirty hall? That does Odysseus a disservice.”

  That arrow hit its mark. Eurycleia nodded and began barking orders at her women whilst Amphinomus let out a breath he did not kno
w he’d been holding.

  Danae looked him up and down, giving him a sultry close-lipped smile. “Well, I’ll have an interesting report for the queen this day,” she said.

  Amphinomus watched her glide out of the room, oddly hopeful for the first time in a long time.

  At the end of each day, he returned to the revels in the great hall—tired but satisfied, willing now to simply watch—detached—as the swaggering and laughter went on around him. And, as it always did, turn into bouts of shoving, wrestling and the inevitable one or two that threw up all over the place before stumbling off to their abodes.

  Sighing, he turned his gaze to Penelope and found his meeting hers; the shock hit him like a thunderbolt from Zeus, the dark brown pools paralyzing him; he was frozen, the wine cup half-way to his mouth, which hung a little open in surprise. It was only a moment, but for Amphinomus it seemed to last forever. He saw no disdain in her gaze, no anger. Indeed, she gave him the slightest of smiles—something he had never seen before and his heart brimmed so full he thought it would burst from his chest.

  Then Antinous puked copiously and the moment was lost in the manly hilarity that ensued from the suitors as they hailed Eurymachus the winner in yet another drinking contest. But for the first time Amphinomus knew that it was he—and not his rival—that was the victor. For this reason, he opted to stay longer at the revels than was his habit; it was shallow of him, he knew, but he was honest enough with himself to realize that that one glance from Penelope had made him feel more of a man than he had in a long time.

  It was a rocky escarpment overlooking the sea, the breeze strong enough to be refreshing to those that looked well in need of it. Drinking would take its toll even on the strongest of bodies and in broad light of day, Amphinomus could see that his rivals were no longer the men they had been. Some were paunchy, faces bloated from too much booze and rich food—and not enough exercise. Even the mighty Antinous looked more fleshy than brawny.

  For his part, Amphinomus was pleased that, despite his farmerish look, turning his hand to working with the islanders had tightened his muscles and sweated away the fat he’d gained from the nights in the great hall. Even compared to the beautiful Eurymachus he fancied that of them all, he at least looked like a prince.

  “Why did you call us out this early?” someone grumbled to Eurymachus.

  “I have news,” he answered. “Grave news.”

  Amphinomus’s heart lurched. What could possible be grave enough to call an assembly of suitors at this hour? The worst possible thing imaginable, of course, was that the seer had been right and Odysseus had been spotted. Any chance he had with the queen would then instantly disappear.

  “Telemachus will return and return soon,” Eurymachus continued.

  Amphinomus almost laughed out loud in relief. Who cared as long as it wasn’t the king? He imagined Penelope would be delighted that her son would soon return and wondered if he could work a way to be the first to deliver that news—surely that would please her.

  Danae. He must find a way to speak with her and pass on the information.

  “Listen!” Eurymachus barked and Amphinomus was startled into paying attention.

  “The little prince went away from here to—purportedly—gather information on his father,” Eurymachus continued.

  “What other reason could there be?” Amphinomus asked, his new forthrightness among the Ithacans emboldening him around the other suitors.

  “If you were a prince with a hundred men paying suit to wear your crown…men not much older than you…what would you do?”

  Amphinomus wasn’t sure where Eurymachus was going with this, so he just stared back.

  “If I were such a man, I would seek out men and rally them to my cause,” Eurymachus said. “I would use my glorious father’s influence and collect spears. I would tell lies about my mother’s suitors and make them out to base men who sought only power…I would say anything to get them to follow me. Then I would come here well-armed and I would put paid to the designs of these suitors.”

  “And how would you do that?” this from Antinous.

  Eurymachus didn’t grace the question with a response: murder them was the all too obvious answer. They’d be butchered. “Telemachus is a problem,” he continued. “Even if he has not brought men, he will be a constant thorn in the side to whomsoever of us his mother choses. The man who wins her hand will have to have eyes in the back of his head and also one ear to the ground. The Prince of Ithaca will not rest until he takes what he believes is his rightful place.”

  Antinous snorted in derision. “Telemachus hasn’t got the balls.”

  “He had the balls to gather friends and take ship,” Eurymachus countered. “Perhaps he’s found his courage at last? If he has…”

  The men were silent then; Amphinomus watched them, watched Eurymachus, ever the schemer, as he watched Antinous. He could almost see the seed planted by Eurymachus, germinating by the expression on the big man’s face and then sprouting, full-bloom, from his mouth. “We’ll have to kill him.”

  It was neatly done: now, Eurymachus had no part in the suggestion—or at least could claim as such.

  Amphinomus saw the expressions of the others too. At first shock but then hardening in resolution. He realized that they—all of them—had been living as Olympians in this place. Shut off and removed from real events they feasted, they fucked, they drank, they puked. Not all of the suitors were bad men, but Ithaca had made them so. Like Olympians they had become capricious, callous and cruel when it suited their aims.

  But they were not Olympians. And Olympus would judge them—all of them—for the act of calculated murder. More than that, the death of her only son would destroy Penelope. He couldn’t allow that to happen—the thought of her in pain, mourning the son that she loved…no, he must intervene.

  “Kill Telemachus?” he spoke, his voice strident and clear. “Brilliant. That’s really brilliant, Antinous.”

  “Are you mocking me?” The big man balled his fists.

  Amphinomus sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I am. But it’s really not my mockery you…or any of you…would have to worry about.”

  “My, my,” Eurymachus drawled. “The hayseed speaks. Indulge us.”

  “Murder the boy? His mother will hear of it. His people will hear of it.”

  “Not if we’re quiet,” Eurymachus waved that away.

  “These islanders aren’t blind or stupid, Eurymachus. They’ll find out. And then do you think Penelope would choose any one of us? Any man that had the blood of her son on her hands?”

  “I think you care too much about the opinion of that old whore,” Antinous snarled. “Fuck her. She’s a woman—weak and stupid. I think the killing of her bastard son will break her. She’ll be begging one of us to let her suck his cock after that. She’ll be isolated—alone. Vulnerable. She’ll be fucking desperate for one of us to save her. The strongest, probably,” he added, glaring about lest anyone dare to challenge the view that he himself was such a one.

  “Even if that were so,” Amphinomus said, “I don’t think the gods would take kindly to such an action…”

  “The gods,” Eurymachus scoffed. “Much interest they have in this island and its old queen, I’m sure. Much interest they have in us for that matter. They spent all their interest on our fathers and those men that fought in Agamemnon’s War. The gods pay us no mind.”

  Amphinomus stared at him, holding his gaze. “Is that a wager you’re willing to place, Eurymachus? Because I sense hubris in all of this and the gods love to punish a man for that above all things. The gods are watching us even now, letting us believe their eyes are not upon us. Do you dare tempt them? I will have no part of it,” he added. “Not me. I won’t do it. I’ll bloody my hands in a fair fight or in a raid on my enemies, but I won’t stab a man in the back. Not even to gain a kingdom.”

  “Then you’re endearingly naïve,” Eurymachus said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “N
o. I just don’t want the Furies on my back. All of us are still guest-friends, I remind you—enjoying the hospitality of the great house. If you would risk the wrath of Zeus Xenios, the protector of hospitality, for a little island,” he shrugged expansively, “then be my guest.”

  With that he turned and left. He was surprised and pleased to note that most of the suitors followed him down the rocky encampment. With every small victory, every moment of leadership, Amphinomus believed, he was forging himself into a man worthy of Penelope.

  After long days of mending fences or helping farmers remove stones from fertile soil, Amphinomus had little patience with the nightly debauchery in Penelope’s great hall, though he regularly showed up in case the queen made an appearance. On that night, she had not, so he left. As he made his way back to his house, he wondered how long things could continue in this manner. Was it all a sham? Would Penelope ever choose? He was beginning to doubt it. He took a circuitous route home, walking in the moonlight, hoping that Artemis would provide him some solace…

  “Prince Amphinomus!”

  A harsh female whisper made him nearly jump out of his skin and he whirled, squinting into the darkness. “Who’s there?” he whispered back, unsure why he was whispering.

  “Danae. I have a message for you.” The queen’s handmaiden materialized out of the dark. She looked him up and down, blatant in her appraisal. “One from the queen.”

  “The queen!” Amphinomus’s heart thudded in his chest anew. “What message?”

  Her eyes, so much like Penelope’s, were unreadable. “I don’t know. I was told to watch you and bring you for a meeting. Follow me.”

  She turned away without further comment and he followed her through the darkness his mind whirling with a single unanswered question: why had she summoned him? He could not dare to hope that she favored him, but that mad part of every man urged him to believe it was true…