Page 30 of Elysium
PENELOPE WRUNG HER SKIRTS IN HER HANDS as she waited for her trunks to be unloaded from the boat. It had been decades since she had set foot on Spartan soil, and her anxiety was about to boil over.
It was odd to look upon the city that raised her. It did not feel like home. This palace felt like all the circumstances that she had grown out of, all the expectations that were removed from her shoulders the minute they stole that boat.
For a moment, she would have given anything to be back in the safety that Ithaca offered, back in her home.
“Do you want to know what was going through my mind as I listened to your suitors grumble and complain, right before I… stepped in?” His voice was steady, a wash of calm covering her as he stepped beside her. He gingerly placed his hand between her shoulder blades, steadying her.
It was moments like these where she wondered how she had survived as long as she did. She couldn’t walk into the home she was raised in. She was frozen in place, but with just a few words, the sound of his voice, and she remembered who she was.
She was better by his side.
When she didn’t respond, he continued, “They spoke of you like you were this goddess, this all-consuming woman whose coquettish nature and enticing interactions kept these aristocratic children champing at the bit.”
Her face flushed as she worried her bottom lip. As the suitors had gotten bolder, she had to as well.
“They spoke of you,” he repeated, “like you were theirs.” His voice was low, venomous, the memory curling like smoke around them both.
“They sat there, Penelope, drunk on my wine, fat on my pigs, boasting about the softness of your voice, the sweetness of your smiles - braying like beasts over which of them you favored most.”
His fist clenched at his side, the rising sun lighting a sparkle in his eyes. She struggled to meet his gaze, to look anywhere but at her wringing hands.
“Antinous,” he spat the name like a curse, “laughed the loudest. He swore he had you figured out… that you liked the chase, that you wanted to be won. That every time you graced them with a glance, you were weighing them, savoring the power you held over them.”
He inhaled sharply, his breath a slow tempered thing. “Eurymachus agreed. Called you coy, said you ‘led them in circles like a siren on the rocks.’ That you knew exactly what you were doing.”
He let the silence stretch, long and taut. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he laughed. “And gods help me, wife - sitting there, listening to those fools, I almost pitied them.”
Penelope stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. “Pity?” She asked, finally finding her voice amid his memories.
Odysseus leaned in, voice low, reverent, grin still stretching across his lips.
“Because I knew. I knew the woman I married. The woman who wove lies into her loom and made them beg for every thread. The woman who wrapped them around her finger, who kept them grasping, reaching - never knowing they were walking straight into their deaths.”
His thumb brushed her cheek, featherlight. “You lured them in. You played their game better than they ever could, and you did it for damn years . I pitied them because they never even knew they were caught in your web.”
“I played it too well, Odysseus,” Penelope finally responded, disgust dripping in her every word. “He believed it, believed I wanted him. Acted on it.”
“No, wife.” He disagreed almost immediately. “Their shortcomings are not yours to carry. They chose their actions.” He paused, drawing in a slow breath. “And truly… unfortunately… I believe that they would have made those choices whether you had engaged. ”
“That changes very little… I am dragged down by it, Odysseus. It suffocates me.” Her voice barely carried over the crashing waves.
Odysseus stilled. “What does?”
“Shame.” Her breath was unsteady, her hands curling into fists at her side.
“I let them think it, Odysseus. I let them believe I could be charmed, that I was persuadable .” She let out a bitter laugh.
“I smiled at them. I let them kiss my hands, bring me gifts. I let them believe I was softening to them, because it kept them from forcing my hand before I was ready. Because it kept Telemachus safe.”
She lifted her head then, meeting his eyes for the first time.
The storm in his gaze was unreadable, but she pressed forward.
“I told myself it was a game, that I was weaving a different kind of shroud. But some nights, when the torches burned low, and I was alone, I could still feel their eyes on me. I hated myself for it.”
As her gaze stayed locked on his, something else flashed across her face. “You want to know the most vile fact of it all?”
Odysseus gave a slight jerk of his head, waiting for her to continue.
“It wasn’t even me they wanted. I could have been anybody.” His fingers twitched at his side, anxious to soothe. “They wanted to be Odyssean . First, your queen. Then, your kingdom.”
Her breath caught. She pressed a hand to her chest. “A great war hero, a brilliant mind, a benevolent leader.” Tears burned at her eyes as she held him in her sights. “And his wife crumbled under it all.”
A long silence stretched between them. Odysseus reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, reverent.
“Do you think me guiltless?” he asked.
She frowned, caught off guard by the question. “I-”
“Every lie I told, every tale I spun, every man I led to ruin with my tricks - it was always for you. For Ithaca. And yet, the blood is still on my hands.” He lifted their joined hands, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
“You did what you had to do, Penelope. Just as I did. Just as we always have.”
She swallowed hard, searching his face.
“You outwitted them. You kept our son safe, our home standing. You kept yourself alive.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb skimming the place where tears threatened to fall. “And I would rather see you here, guilt and all, then beneath the ground with honor.”
Her breath caught. I would rather see you here. Alive. Even if it meant shouldering guilt. Even if it meant the cost of those twenty years would never fully leave them.
“My strength, my cunning, my handsome charm,” He teased, savoring the scoff he had pulled from her, the gentle uptick of her smile.
“None of that makes me Odyssean, my wife. I am Odysseus because you are Penelope.” His eyes shone in the light of the setting sun, the sincerity in his gaze punctuating his every word. “It is only you.”
“Heart, you have gotten me off on a tangent.” He said, grinning softly down at her. The silence that hung between them was thick, but with each day, with each remembrance of the past, Penelope could feel it. They were finding the man and woman they once were.
“You do so love to talk.” She responded, blinking away her unshed tears. She turned her head, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of his palm.
“The point that I strayed so far from, queen, is that you held off sons of kings, warriors and princes with just your words.” He held her in his gaze like a man looking upon the gods. “You can handle a derelict king and his wife.”
“I-”
“And even if you believe you cannot, I am here. I am by your side. We do this together, my queen,” he stepped back, offering her his arm, “or not at all.”
She hesitated for only a breath before slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, a gentle smile hidden on her lips. Only for him. “Then let’s be on our way, husband. Sparta awaits.”