The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Penelope stood beneath the thatched canopy of the lookout post on top of Mount Neriton and gazed at the ocean of cloud that had covered the world. In the distance the mountainous peaks of the mainland pierced the layered vapour like the spines of an ancient monster, while at the furthest edge of creation the chariot of the sun had burst free of the haze and was riding up into the pale skies. Before long, its fierce heat would drive away the low-lying fog and leave land and sea naked before its gaze. For now, though, the air remained damp and chill and the breeze on the mountain top found its way into Penelope’s mist-soaked clothing, forcing her to pull her cloak tighter about herself.

She had come here to be alone and think over the news of the evening before. Whenever she felt her emotions threatening to expose her inner weaknesses, she would climb the steep flanks of Mount Neriton and dismiss the elderly lookout; and when she had conquered herself and could once more put on the calm, controlled mask of a queen, she would go back down to the palace to face whatever her duties required of her that day, whether they be as simple as buying food in the marketplace or as daunting as facing Eupeithes in the Kerosia. This morning, though, the lookout must have seen the thick fog and decided to wait before climbing up to his post, and his absence made the place seem lonelier than ever. It was as if every living soul had been taken from the world and she was the only person left.

She walked to the edge of the flat, grassy space where the lookout post was sited. Far below her, through the white, churning vapours, she could hear the waves of the Ionian Sea crashing against the rocky skirts of Ithaca, carrying on the war that had been fought since the beginning of time. She looked down at what was visible of the stony slope before it was swallowed by the fog, and tried to picture the invisible cliffs below and the green sea as it frothed about the tumble of jagged boulders. Ten more years would pass, the Pythoness had confirmed, before Ithaca’s king would find his way home. Mentor, Antinous and the twenty warriors who had sailed with them to Mount Parnassus had returned the evening before, repeating the priestess’s cryptic verses and the interpretation given by her attendant. Mentor had announced the oracle before the Kerosia, while Antinous had sulked in his seat and looks of shocked dismay settled on the faces of Eupeithes, Oenops and Polyctor. Penelope had felt an initial burst of relief, as if tight bonds had suddenly been released from about her chest, but what small joy she felt was brief. Eupeithes’s rise to power had been cut short, and though he remained dangerous Penelope knew he would rather sit out the ten years than risk civil war against the royal guard – who were firmly loyal to their king and queen – and the people of Ithaca. But if she had gained time, what, ultimately, did that matter if the oracle was true? What did anything matter if another ten years had to pass before Odysseus came home again?

She wedged the toe of her sandal beneath a small rock and flicked it into the milky haze below. Her whole body seemed to ache with desire for her husband. She wanted nothing more than for him to return and lift the weight of the kingdom from her slender shoulders, and then to take her to their bed and make love to her. Ten years had been almost insufferable without his touch; ten more would be impossible. Her breathing became suddenly thicker and she laid a hand on her chest, trying to calm the panic that was taking hold of her. Odysseus had said a man could overcome his fate, she reminded herself, and she had to have faith in him for that. That would be the hope that carried her through – that and Telemachus. For even if the Pythoness’s vision came true, Penelope was still the mother of Odysseus’s son. For his sake she would carry on as Ithaca’s implacable queen, fighting for the kingdom that one day he would inherit – unless, of course, Odysseus never returned and she was forced to honour her agreement with Eupeithes. Then she would have to choose a new husband to become king ahead of Telemachus.

She hated herself for taking such a risk, but knew it had been the only way to placate Eupeithes’s ambitions. Now his insistence on a new king had been checked and he was in no position to stir up rebellion. Their agreement had also allowed Penelope to send a messenger to Sparta, telling Halitherses to bring Telemachus back home as her son was no longer under serious threat. All the same, after the Kerosia she had confronted the fat merchant beneath the portico of the great hall and told him that if anything did happen to Telemachus, she would hold him responsible. What was more, Odysseus would too when he eventually returned. Something in Eupeithes’s expression had made her think he did not believe Odysseus would return, but he said nothing and Penelope knew he had understood her message.