A voice sounded in my heart: ‘Theoclymenus!’
The fugitive who Telemachus had offered to protect, a man who had the gift, like Calchas before him. What was hidden to others was clear to him; the future was present. But I didn’t want to know anything more than I already knew. I trained my gaze on the hall again, on what was going on there.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that at first I barely heard the voice that was screeching something at me. A foot planted in my back caused me to turn. The man who had kicked me was fat, with light, watery eyes. The rolls on his stomach swelled and rippled with every move he made. His arms were as thickset and pink as the haunches of a pig, his hair greasy and yellow.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here, you revolting beggar?’ he cawed. ‘Don’t you know that I’m the only one here who can ask for alms? Any leftovers belong to me! Get out of here now before I lose my temper.’
I don’t know why I remember this episode so well, maybe because of all the things that ever happened to me, nothing was so humiliating or shameful. I, the king of Ithaca and the surrounding islands, destroyer of the greatest city in the world, I who had measured myself against the mightiest champions under the walls of Troy and at the head of my army . . . I accepted to fight a buffoon, a blood-sucking parasite.
I thought it was necessary. I thought that before I could rise out of the utter abjection that I had embraced, I had to touch bottom. I had to make a spectacle of my wretchedness. Only then would the arrogant suitors be convinced that I was nothing to them, certainly not the son of Laertes who, having destroyed sacred Troy, had returned after all these long years. They had to feel sure of themselves, so numerous and well armed, sure that no one would dare stand against them.
At first I tried to beseech my adversary to forgo a quarrel. We were companions in misfortune, after all, and there was surely enough to go around for both of us. But my sorry appearance must have made him cocky and sure that he would get the better of me. The suitors had noticed and they began goading me into taking him on, obviously looking forward to a lively little diversion. They’d begun to come out into the courtyard, one by one, to urge us on. They promised a prize to the winner: a nice chunk of goat-blood sausage already roasting on the embers. They didn’t realize that the mud they were throwing was landing on themselves and their families.
I saw clearly how a glorious race had degenerated in just three generations: the Argonauts had journeyed to the ends of the sea and to the rocky walls of the remotest mountains, to extreme limits for mortal men. I and my men had destroyed and plundered the greatest and most powerful city of the world. Our sons had conquered only the stores and the kitchens of an undefended house where they ate and drank themselves silly, taking advantage of an empty throne, of a woman and a boy. I could also see how these were the consequences of the war: these spoiled young men had never learned respect or humility, for they had grown up without their fathers. But then I thought that my own son had grown up without a father but he was judicious and courageous, and had remained devoted to a memory whose face and voice he could not recall. I couldn’t feel sorry for the rest of them. After all, they had plotted and attempted to kill him. Each one of them sought to rest on my bed, the one I’d built in the arms of an olive tree, next to my blameless wife. To make love to her. They had to die.
For now all they wanted was a little fun watching two poor unfortunates shoving each other around. Instead, I made sure they didn’t enjoy what they saw. I took off my rags and fought bare-chested against my fat, flaccid adversary. I slaughtered him. I broke his jaw with my first punch and made him spit out his teeth; the second one smashed his nose. He was bleeding like a stuck pig. I grabbed him by the foot and dragged him out of the courtyard, propped him up against the boundary wall and gave him a cane to ward off stray dogs or pigs. I put my rags on again and returned to my place at the threshold, my back to the door jamb. The princes’ jeering had been cut short. They wandered back into the hall. I’d ruined their fun.
I was waiting for the sun to set. Waiting for them to sate themselves on wine and food and to leave. I saw Telemachus arguing with them more than once. My boy knew that I was watching and listening and he wanted to prove to his father what he was worth.
The shouting and swearing of my violent guests went on and on, inflamed by the wine. The midday meal became dinner. No one was paying me any mind any more, but nothing of what they did escaped me. I saw the looks and the lascivious caresses they exchanged with the maidservants. There was one in particular, who Antinous shamelessly called Mélantho, referring, I was sure, to the dark flower between her legs. She was the object of his ardent desire.
I saw which girls responded with laughs, kisses and immodest gestures and those who obstinately turned away, loyal to their queen and to their master.
I chose one of these, and addressed her with humility: ‘Pardon me, dear. It would be a great privilege for me to gaze upon the queen. Her fame is widespread through every nation, and if tomorrow I find myself in another house on the continent I would like to give praise where it is due. I hear she is wise and beautiful and . . . faithful. Does she never come down into the hall? Has she nothing to say to these insolent princes?’
She looked at me curiously, with a note of doubt. Perhaps she’d seen me laying into the beggar who’d been insulting me and dragging him out of the courtyard half-dead. Perhaps she had a question for me. But she abruptly turned instead and pointed to the stair that descended from the women’s quarters. She said: ‘Take a look, then. There is the queen of Ithaca!’
My heart jumped in my chest; it was beating so hard I thought it would suffocate me. There was my bride descending the steps. Her bearing was proud, and she was beautiful, dressed in a gown the colour of ripe wheat that hugged her waist and her full breasts. It seemed that time had not passed for her. But as she entered the hall and drew closer, I could see that the light she’d always had in her eyes, the light that had once illuminated my life, was dimmed by a veil of sadness.
I looked down at my worn, ragged clothing, the greasy bag slung on my shoulder, my dusty feet and dry, cracked hands and I was deeply ashamed. Tears sprang to my eyes. It was certainly not how I wanted to appear to my wife after such a long time, but this was what my goddess had decided and this was how it had to be. At least I had the sun at my back, so she wouldn’t be able to make out my features. I must have looked like nothing more than a dark heap of smelly rags.
The commotion in the room ceased entirely when she appeared, as if a goddess had descended from the sky and suddenly entered the hall. A hush fell over the room, and everyone’s eyes were on her. My queen spoke then, in a full, melodious voice. It was the same voice she’d had as a girl and it touched my heart and made me tremble.
‘Proud suitors, imperious princes! You’ve long occupied this house, taking advantage of a woman alone and a youth who doesn’t have the power to oust you. You know well that if Odysseus, glorious king of this island, were to suddenly appear on that threshold . . .’
A shiver ran down my spine. The queen had unwittingly revealed a truth she couldn’t know. I admired the fire in her gaze.
‘. . . I believe that your arrogance would instantly be replaced with fear and dismay. And this means that you are violating all our laws and our traditions. It’s not enough for you to consume the chattels of a man who is absent and cannot defend himself, you have gone so far as to insult the guest that Telemachus himself has brought to this house. Nothing has escaped me; none of your insults, your blows.
‘You have no right! You should be ashamed of your behaviour! Since when has it become customary to devour the wealth of the bride you hope to win over, instead of offering her gifts?’
She was still trying to gain time for herself; she didn’t want to give in to their demands. She wanted to shame them into changing their ways. Antinous did not respond. On the contrary, he took the queen’s admonishment as a sign that she had had a change of heart and might entertain th
e idea of marrying again. Each of the men hastily sent a herald to his house to fetch gifts for the queen. But when they returned, Penelope had retired once again to her rooms.
The handmaids began to prepare supper. I turned towards the hearth, adding wood to the flames and turning the spits. It was a way to earn my keep but also to overhear what my wife’s suitors were saying. There was nothing they said or did that slipped my attention. I watched Antinous’ hands stealing under Mélantho’s gown, up her thighs, seeking her black flower. The slut! She might have sensed me watching her, for she turned and rudely snapped at me: ‘Piss off, you filthy beggar! The princes don’t need you, they have us and their own pages as well. Go back to your corner and don’t come near us again. You stink like a pig!’
Eurymachus, second in standing only to Antinous, saw his opportunity. ‘Don’t you see?’ he cried out. ‘He managed to beat up some poor sod out in the courtyard and now it’s gone to his head. He thinks he’s some kind of athlete, or maybe even a hero, the sort that wins battles. What you are, instead,’ he continued, turning to me, ‘is a good-for-nothing old man! It’s an easy life lolling here by the fire and filling your stomach with the scraps of meat you steal, isn’t it? If you wanted to work, you’d be out in the fields cutting hay or harvesting the wheat, or at least taking the sheep to pasture, now that’s not a hard job, is it? That’s all we needed here, this louse . . . Telemachus is always complaining as it is that there are too many mouths to feed in the palace! Let’s start by throwing out this dirt ball.’
Following his example, more of his fellow suitors started insulting me, poking and pushing at me.
How little had Penelope’s words counted! I continued to suffer offence. I bit my lip so as not to lash out and repeated to myself: ‘Resist, heart of mine! The time has not yet come . . .’
And thus I managed to endure their taunts the whole evening. Every now and then my gaze would meet Phemius’ and I could see a glimmer of torturous doubt in the poet’s eyes. Then he would lower his head again as if absorbed in thought, unmoving and hunched over, waiting for someone to bid him to sing. But no one did. They were all too busy eating and making fun of me. I could feel Telemachus suffering in silence, but he would not leave the hall, wouldn’t leave me alone. I had to signal for him to go – it was better that way.
Antinous finally proposed the last libation before going to bed and the others all followed his counsel. As if he were the master of the house, he had the stewards pour a cup of red wine for each of the princes. They drank to the gods, and then left, picking up the weapons they’d left outside leaning against the wall. They headed off down the road that led to the city. Phemius was the last to go. He was a permanent guest at the palace, as he had been in my time, and the entrance to his room was off the main courtyard. I was sitting on a stool next to the door and he had to pass directly in front of me to go out. He held his lyre in one hand and a night lamp in the other. He stopped before me for a moment and lifted the lamp to get a better look at me. Strange that he should do so now, when I’d been in the hall all day.
He said: ‘I see everything, I hear everything and I forget nothing.’
‘I believe it,’ I replied, altering the natural tone of my voice so he wouldn’t recognize it, ‘you’re a poet.’
He walked away and I watched as his lamp crossed the courtyard. I could still hear the voices of the princes as they trailed off across the countryside. When I could hear nothing I went back in.
Silence reigned over my house.
19
THE LAMPS DANGLING FROM THE columns and pillars were lit, and the opaque, reddish light they cast danced on the weapons hanging on the walls. They were all still there: the spears, shields, helmets, greaves, in precisely the same place I’d left them, although their gleam had long been dimmed by dust and smoke. My fingers brushed the wooden swords that Damastes had wielded when he was teaching me the art of combat . . . Every object, every scratch on the wall, every beam on the ceiling reminded me of the past I had never forgotten. Now, in that silence and that solitude, the pieces seemed to come alive, hailing from a remote place in my heart, recalling the nights and days, months and years of a time that had been happy for me. I hadn’t noticed them before, assaulted by the uproar, the jeers, the insults and the bullying. Now the memories surged over me like the waves of a troubled sea.
I suddenly saw Telemachus appear at the end of the great hall, now deserted. Some maidservants came through another door with buckets and sponges, and began to clean up and to gather the leftovers. Mélantho was with them but she merely watched the others as they worked, smug in her position of privilege. She noticed me of course and began to insult me again: ‘What? Still here, you leech? What are you still doing in the palace at this time of night? Weren’t you listening when I told you to get lost?’
I swelled with rage and stared back at her. ‘You wouldn’t treat me with such impudence if your master were here. Beware! Things may change, and much sooner than you think!’ For a moment she seemed flustered by my words. She gave me a startled look, as if an unsettling thought had just crossed her mind. How could there still be someone, after twenty years, who so confidently spoke of the king who had surely died in some distant land? Could that beggar really know something?
She left in a huff and the other servants presently left the hall as well. Perhaps they knew that the queen would soon be descending from her room to meet with the wandering guest to whom her son had given permission to ask for alms from the tables of the princes. Telemachus drew close. ‘Father,’ he whispered, ‘my mother the queen is about to come downstairs. Mai has given instructions to put the seat she favours for receiving guests near the hearth. It’s the best one in the house, inset with silver and ivory.’
‘This will be the most difficult test for me,’ I replied. ‘But listen, you must do as I say. Tonight, take down all the weapons hanging from the walls of the hall and close them up in the armoury. Nothing must remain.’
‘But don’t you think that will arouse the princes’ suspicions? They’ve always been accustomed to seeing them where they are.’
‘You’ll say you had to turn them over to the armourer for inspection and a cleaning. They’ve all turned black from the smoke of the hearth. Do you own a suit of armour?’
‘I do, Father. Of course I do, it’s in the armoury. King Laertes your father gave it to me for my twentieth birthday. I’ll do as you ask.’
‘This will be your first blood, won’t it, pai?’
He bowed his head: ‘Yes.’
‘You’ll get used to it, as I did in my time. It’s a sad necessity. This is what distinguishes a king from a murderer: he kills only when all the other paths have been precluded. Here comes your mother. I must go to her.’
Penelope had taken her seat and had put her feet up on a stool inset with the same precious decorations. I got a knot in my throat at the sight of her and my heart started beating faster with every step I took. Would I be able to take this? Would I be able to hold back my tears, would the expression on my face betray me?
I was close to her now, but I stopped at the line of shadow, where the reflection of the flames from the hearth gave way to the darkness of night. Her voice rang out in the dark. A girl’s voice. If I had closed my eyes, I would have seen her in an olive garden gathering flowers in faraway Sparta. What I wanted to say was: ‘Sing, sing for me, my love, like when we were young!’ But instead I had to remain completely impassive, hiding my feelings and my desires.
‘Come closer, foreign guest. You are welcome here.’ Now she spoke as a queen, accustomed to being obeyed.
‘I thank you, wanaxa, but I’m in no condition to introduce myself to your presence. I’m dirty and tattered.’
‘I don’t judge a man by his clothing,’ she replied. ‘I know well that every mortal is subject to the whims of destiny. Come closer. I want to talk to you.’
‘I beg of you, my queen, I am ashamed of the way I look and I would not feel at ease in f
ront of such radiant beauty.’
Penelope sighed and bent her head: ‘My face has not been radiant for a long time, foreign guest. Too many tears have poured from these eyes.’
For me her beauty was unchanged. The veil of melancholy made it even more intense and heartbreaking. I watched as the light from the fire caressed her cheeks and shone in her black, black eyes.
I wanted to tell her that from the moment I’d left Ithaca I had always thought of her intensely every time I saw the moon rising from the sea, because I was certain that she would be doing the same thing, at the same time, and that our souls would touch. But I had to hide my thoughts and my face. ‘I know the reason for your tears, my queen. Your fame is well known in every land. You suffer because your husband, the glorious son of Laertes, has never returned from the war, but I can tell you that your troubles are ending. Odysseus will return, and soon. If he’s not already here.’
Penelope scrutinized my face in the darkness. ‘What are you saying, foreign guest? You don’t even know my Odysseus. Are you one of the scores of wayfarers who hope to earn my hospitality by telling me lies?’
‘No. I’m telling you the truth. I have seen Odysseus. If I saw him again I would recognize him.’
‘You’ve seen him, or so you say. How did you recognize him?’ Her eyes sought mine in the darkness.
‘I know him because I first saw him in Crete as he was going to war. The wind had swept him off his course as he was doubling Cape Malea.’