Danae whipped her head toward her, her sorrow turning into fury in an instant. “Whose do you think? Amphinomus’s! He was running toward us—toward me—to save me. He looked directly into my eyes and told me to run. He was a good man and now he’s gone!”
Penelope’s eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. After a moment, understanding dawned. “You…you were in love with him,” the queen whispered.
Danae nodded, sobbing.
“But…” was that why she pleaded his case to her? Why she worked so hard to convince her of his goodness? The question slipped out before she could stop herself. “But then why did you urge me so strongly to select him as husband if you wanted him?”
Danae made a strangled noise in her throat. “Oh, Penelope. You were never going to marry any one of them,” she said. “Everyone knew it but you. But by convincing you to consider him, I made a case for his suitability.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For me,” she sobbed. “His suitability for me. Did you think I never yearned for what had been denied to you—a husband, a family, a kind, caring man?”
The queen swallowed, at a loss for how to respond.
“He fancied himself in love with you, but it was me he wanted,” she continued. “Me he had.”
Penelope knew to tread carefully here. “What was it you hoped would happen?”
Danae stared up at the moon, her eyes shining silver with tears. “That you would stand up and proclaim the truth—that you would never marry anyone else, that you would continue ruling Ithaca and ruling her well, and that you would finally send all the young princes packing, as was your right. Then I would ask you to give me to the only one of them worthy of being called prince. A good, kind, hardworking man.”
“Ah, I see. If I’d known I would—”
But Danae was not finished. “I will never, ever forgive Telemachus,” she cried, tears of rage clogging her throat. “To attack him from the back like that, when he was only trying to save us! Even as boys, Amphinomus was the only one to ever try to help him. But Telemachus never saw it. And he paid him with a coward’s spear in the back.”
The anger seemed to drain out of her. Her shoulders slumped. “Poor, sweet Amphinomus,” she said, her voice cracking.
Penelope smoothed Danae’s hair in a motherly gesture. The young woman turned to her like a child and Penelope drew her in, making soft murmuring noises as she gently rocked her.
Eventually, the weeping stopped. In the silence Danae said, “There’s a chance I could be carrying his child.”
Penelope blinked, surprised. “Oh.”
“I went to him,” she explained. “I let him think it was you. But I figured it wouldn’t matter in the end. He would have come to love me over time. I’m sure of it.”
“Absolutely,” Penelope agreed, trying to understand the implications of her lady’s actions. As well as her hopes and dreams. How had she not known what her beloved handmaiden wanted? Dreamed of?
She tucked Danae’s head under her chin as she held her. An idea struck her. “As queen of Ithaca, I proclaim you officially married to Amphinomus, son of Nisos of Megara,” she said.
Danae disentangled herself from her queen, her eyes wide and confused.
“It was a secret marriage, you see,” Penelope continued. “One that had already been consummated. And since you may be carrying his child, I will send you to his father’s house where you will be treated as a beloved and respected widow and cared for all your days.”
Danae blinked. “You…you want me gone?”
“No, no, my darling friend. But it is clear that this place has been forever poisoned for you. You will never be able to look upon my son without anger and grief—nor my husband for that matter. Eventually, you will never be able to look upon my face either—”
Danae opened her mouth to protest, but Penelope held up a hand. “And if you are with child,” she continued, “his family deserves to know and should help you take care of the child. Not to mention that your son will be raised as a prince in the home of your beloved.”
Fear, doubt, hope, grief, love—emotions appeared and disappeared from Danae’s face like clouds chasing each other on a windy day. “You would do this for me?”
“Of course,” Penelope said. “You have served me well. You deserve a chance to be happy. And who knows, you may yet love again and fulfill the dreams of home and family you’ve secretly cherished.”
Goddess, she hoped Danae really was with child. Amphinomus had been such a good man. What had Danae liked to call him? Amphinomus the Hardworker. Amphinomus the Earnest. The idea that his essence might yet live was like a soft melody of hope breaking through the cacophony of violence still ringing throughout her house.
“But what about you?” Danae asked. “You will also be haunted by the bloodshed in your hall. Not to mention war as outraged families seek retribution.”
Penelope released a slow, tired breath. “Further bloodshed will be contained, according to my husband…” she paused, the last word feeling and sounding strange in her mouth. “You saw how he rallied all the old islanders to his side.”
Besides, who was left to avenge these poor, lost boys anyway? Their aged parents? Families in far away lands who sent their younger sons away to be rid of them? There would be terrible grieving. Yes. And rage. But she did not doubt that somehow, some way, Odysseus would turn all of his people and allies back to him. Wasn’t that the special gift of “wily Odysseus?”
Hadn’t he already, despite her best efforts to resist, succeeded in winning her over too?
“And,” she added finally, “according to Telemachus, the king of Sparta will send spears to defend Odysseus if he asks for it.”
Danae chuckled sadly. “So, your Spartan ruse comes to pass in reality. Life. The gods. Who can make sense of any of this?”
“True. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Penelope murmured. It had been years since she and Danae had tricked her people into handing over their sons for safekeeping by implying that she could call upon her Spartan father to send a force of arms to keep the peace. And she had kept the peace and the boys safe. Even when they grew into men and their insufferable antics disgusted her. But how could she feel anything but motherly toward them after all this time? And now they were all gone. And so many of her innocent ladies too. Washed away in an ocean of blood.
As if caught by the same wave of grief, the two women, so alike in build and looks they could be sisters, wept for the loss of so many.
Eventually, exhausted by their sorrow, they rose to return to their own chambers.
Beside her marriage bed once again, the queen sighed and looked up. As the sky lightened ever so slightly, she spotted a small shape in the tree she hadn’t noticed before.
Her fingers brushed the slippery roundness of a ripening olive. Amazing. Her husband had hacked at this living thing so long ago—had shaped it, and molded it and twisted it into something useful to him—yet it still lived, still brought forth new life.