Ithaca
“Oof!” I hit the ground, curling into a fetal position before rocking back and forth. Argon, first mate of the ship carrying us to Ithaca, had clearly engineered the moment. One second, I was standing at the rail, staring at the bustling docks. The next, I was flapping my hands in a desperate bid for survival. Considering the distance from the deck to the pier, I was mildly surprised the drop only cost me my wind.
“Thank you, Argon. We owe our lives to your crew’s tenacity and skill.” I looked up to see my cousin, Pelos, shaking hands with my assailant.
“It was a pleasure having you. The Lady Cassandra too.” The slender young woman next to Pelos gave the slightest of nods. “If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am, you’re not as ba-”
“I do mind, Argon.” She straightened to full height, lifting her chin to somehow stare down her nose while still staring up at him. They locked eyes for several tense seconds before a smile cracked her veneer, and they laughed. “Please thank the crew for me as well.”
Argon’s mirth faded as his eyes landed on me. Maintaining eye contact, he spit sideways. “Let me know if you need a ride back. The Kyrenia be docked for a week.” He looked back to Cassy. “Half price if it’s just you two.”
Cassy and Pelos finished their farewells and walked down the ramp, pausing where I fought for breath.
“Well,” said Pelos, “at least you avoided another facial scar. I’d say you’re making progress.”
He was referring to our voyage to Troy, nearly a year prior, during which I might have provoked a soldier to assault me by suggesting Poseidon might not exist. In that light, just being pitched overboard did, in fact, seem like progress. Especially since I’d been pitched overboard at the end of that trip too. I squinted up at Pelos and gasped my reply.
“What?” He leaned down.
“I said, I can see up your skirt.”
“Bah.” He spun to leave, his beloved scholarly robe twirling, but I heard giggles emanating from Cassy, who offered me a hand up.
“I trust you know better than to look up mine?”
I nodded, accepting her help and struggling to my feet. Even in a world where I didn’t understand anybody, Cassy was an odd duck. A former Trojan princess, her father had gifted her to the invading army’s leader, Agamemnon, as part of a peace deal. Slight of frame, with an undeniable natural beauty, she garbed herself, neck to heel, in black. She colored her long hair a lighter shade of black (which I didn’t even know was a thing until I met her), as well as the skin around her eyes. She carried a cloth umbrella to keep the sun from her, leading to preternaturally pasty skin.
Despite her ghoulish appearance, she was both sympathetic and strong enough to help me up. Not that I weighed much. Aunt Reeta, who’d raised me from a baby, kept telling me I’d ‘fill out’ as I became a man. Entering my twentieth summer, I was skeptical.
We caught up to Pelos as he weaved his way to the dockmaster’s shack and shouted for directions to the palace. A crusty old man pointed up the hill without looking away from a ship trying to dock, and apparently botching it something fierce.
“It looks like that’s the best we’re going to get for now,” said Pelos. I saw Cassy nod out of the corner of my eye, but stood transfixed. Pelos snapped his fingers in my face. “Zeus to Gelios. Can we go?”
He jumped at the loud crack of a wood-on-wood collision, turning to see the ship commanding the dockmaster’s attention bounce off the Kyrenia, and send Argon tumbling into the water.
A grin brightened my face. “Now we can go.”
We meandered our way up a long, gentle slope, stopping for directions every few minutes until it became obvious we’d run into the palace if we just kept walking uphill. Ithaca rivaled our home, Mycenae, in size and vibrancy, but chaotically. In Mycenae, people grouped themselves based on what was happening. Anyone selling things would go to one of the markets. Anyone fishing, mending nets, or any of the other things that kept fishermen busy, would be in one of a couple spots.
But Ithaca seemed … well, random. Not only were people hawking tools, cooking meals, and trying to sleep in the same spot, the roads themselves seemed to follow no noticeable pattern. Instead of the straight lines we were used to in Mycenae - or Troy, for that matter - we were constantly getting turned around, and never would have reached the palace if not for the ‘keep going up’ dictum.
“There it is,” said Pelos, breaking a long quiet spell.
As we approached, I noticed Odysseus’ home was depressingly similar to our own. A dozen stone steps led to a large, wooden building with multiple rooms, stout doors, and guards. Looking through the open doors, we could see the large hall, hearth crackling. However, the guards were fewer here, and looked bored.
“Name and business,” said one as we neared. He didn’t bother looking up, intent as he was at carefully removing a hangnail.
Pelos and I shared a glance before he answered. “We’re here to speak with King Odysseus. Can you please announce Pelos, Gelios, and the Lady Cassandra of the Royal Court of Mycenae?”
The guard’s head snapped up, and he examined us with a crisp eye before addressing the other guard. “Aleko, they’re here to see King Odysseus.”
Aleko, who’d been leaning his chair backwards on two legs until his shoulders rested on the wall behind him, tipped forward and stood up. After scanning us head to foot, he loosed a smug chuckle. “Odysseus isn’t here, but if the lady’d like to visit someone else, I’m off in an hour.”
Cassy’s eyes narrowed before she smiled, and I stepped back so I wasn’t directly between them.
“Oh?” she replied. “And then what? You’d be free to introduce me to a man?”
“Hah! A hit,” I said. The guard stalked past me. “I wouldn’t -”
“Shut up,” he interrupted.
“All right.”
Pelos and I exchanged a shrug as Cassy eased into a fighting stance and subtly bounced on the balls of her feet.
Aleko laughed as he looked past her to his fellow guard. “At least something’ll happen tod-”
A crunching sound cut him off as Cassy landed a vicious kick to his knee, shoving him down the stairs as he howled. The first guard leapt up, drawing his sword, clearly uncertain about what to do. He stood, frozen, eyes darting between us and his friend at the base of the stairs.
“Who the hell is making all that racket?” shouted a nasally voice from within the hall. We peered inside, but it was dimly lit compared to the mid-day sun. So we stood there, wondering if we were supposed to shout an introduction into the room. “Well? What are you waiting for? Come in already.” The speaker started muttering, apparently not caring if we heard him or not. “Geez, you’d think people knew how to get through a door.”
We looked at the remaining guard, who was obviously used to such bizarre treatment. He sheathed his weapon and sat, waving us past. Momentarily blind as our eyes adjusted to the firelight, we slowed our pace, searching for our hidden host.
“What’s wrong you with you people? Can’t you walk across a room, for the gods’ sakes?”
The massive room was packed with what looked like a hundred young men, all busily gorging, loafing, or napping. Homing in on the latest snipe, we spotted a lanky teenage boy slouching so far into a fireside chair it looked like he’d slide off.
“Hi there.” I started forward, happy to finally meet someone scrawnier than myself. “I’m Gelios, this is my cousin Pelos, and the Lady Cassandra. We’re from Mycenae. King Orestes’ court, actually. We’re here to talk to King Odysseus. We fought together in Troy, he’s a friend of ours.” I extended my hand, smiling.
“Bunch of phonies,” mumbled the boy, rolling his eyes. “Fine, sure, whatever.” He gave my hand a limp shake without getting up. “I’m Telemachus. Odysseus is my dad, and he never came home.”
I gaped long enough for a chuckle to escape Pelos.
“Gelios is speechless.” He turned to Cassy. “We should mark the date and celebrate it next year.”
“What do you mean, Odysseus never came home?” I asked, still holding Telemachus’ hand. “We saw him sail off the same time we did and we got back to Mycenae months ago.”
Telemachus frowned at my hand and jerked his away. “What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? I mean he never came home.” He mumbled something low enough that I couldn’t hear it.
“Telemachus dear?” A melodious voice drifted from the doorway beyond the hearth, the glare of the fire masking who spoke. “Do we have visitors?”
“Yeah mom, some people from Mycenae. They said they’re friends of dad.” He picked up a piece of wood he’d been whittling and started up again.
I was still unraveling Telemachus’ … everything, when a woman floated toward us, decked in the fanciest gown I’d ever seen. I elbowed Pelos. “I bet you’d look amazing in that.”
“Ahem!” Cassy glared at us before doing the royal bowing thing. “I am Lady Cassandra, originally of Troy, now of Mycenae. This is the royal scribe, Pelos, and his bodyguard, Gelios.”
The queen stopped several feet from us, hiding half her face behind a decorative fan. “Oh, if I’d known we had gentlemen callers I would have dressed the part. I’m afraid I’m a complete mess. Where are my manners? I’m Queen Penelope.”
I looked around at the scores of men. “Hi Queen Penelope, we’re looking for Odysseus. But I guess you don’t know where he is.”
Cassy hissed at me. I don’t mean she said something in a hiss, I mean she spun and made a loud hissing noise. I backed up a step.
“What Gelios means, your majesty, is we understand that the king hasn’t returned, and offer whatever assistance we can.” She bowed again.
“Yes, yes. Telemachus, be a dear and escort our visitors to my chambers. Eurycleia,” she snapped at an ancient slave, “fetch our guests some refreshments.” She sauntered into the darkness she’d emerged from.
After reminding us how much we sucked, Telemachus stood and led us down a hallway to a large, ornate door, opening it without knocking. “Here.” He dropped into a large chair covered in pillows and began whittling again.
I slid close to Cassy, leaning in. “Are all royal families half a shipwreck, or just the Greek ones?”
“We can hear you, idiot,” said Telemachus without looking up.
Pelos slapped his forehead as Cassy slowly turned to face me, putting a hand on my chest, and pushing me to arm’s length.
“Your highness,” said Cassy, “when last we saw your husband, the entire Greek army was in flight before the Trojan onslaught. However, he and his men made it to sea, where the Trojans could not follow. This was nearly a year ago.”
“Was it?” She fanned herself in the gloomy light. “It feels like forever since my Odysseus left me for another one of his silly wars.”
I squinted to see her features as Telemachus let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Yes,” continued Cassy. “Do you have any idea where he might be? Have you heard anything?”
“Oh, I’ve heard a thing or two.” She fanned herself some more. Even Pelos started fidgeting as we waited for her to finish her thought. Any thought, really.
“Okay. Your highness,” Cassy slowed her speaking to the pace she used to get through to children and the idle rich, and I bit back a snicker. “Perhaps there’s someone else we can bother with these tedious questions?” She leaned forward, as if dragging something helpful from Penelope was a matter of distance.
“Oh! I do believe that elderly king - what’s his name, Telemachus?”
“Nestor.”
“Yes, that’s the one. I believe King Nestor said to call on him if ever we found ourselves in need. He’d be a good man to ask. Now, where’s … Eurycleia! Where is that woman with my tonic?” The old woman hurried in with a tray of cups and a pitcher of wine, pouring everyone but Penelope a cup. “I never touch the stuff,” she offered, instead taking a tiny glass of pungent-smelling liquid from Eurycleia and quaffing it. “For medicinal purposes.”
I could see Cassy’s patience dwindling as she faced Telemachus. “We know Nestor. Can you provide a guide to Pylos?” Something akin to a low moan drifted from Telemachus as he prepared himself for the task of speaking. “You know what? Nevermind, we’ll find the way.”
“Do bring my Odysseus back to me. These suitors, they try me so,” said Penelope as she collapsed on to a couch.
“Yeah, dad’ll kill the lot of these lousy phonies,” added Telemachus.
Cassy’s hands dropped behind her butt, and she waved us toward the door as she inched backward, simultaneously bowing and thanking Penelope for her hospitality. I looked at Pelos and groaned. He was wearing his bard face again, and the little windmill in his head was practically creaking as he dreamed up a way to dramatize this mess.
I poked him to get his attention. “Psst, hey, Pelos. Let’s get the hell away from these people.”
Another sigh came from Telemachus’ chair. “We can still hear you, idiot.”
“Well, that was a new kind of suck,” I said as we power walked toward the main hall.
“Indeed,” said Pelos as we emerged. “Still … there’s a story here. For one thing, who are all these guys?”
“Got me.” I spotted one who looked both upright and coherent, approaching him and sticking out my hand before Cassy could hiss at me again. “Hi, I’m Gelios.”
Still chewing on something, he grinned broadly before shaking my hand. “Antinous. Good to meet you, Gelios. What brings you to Ithaca?”
“We’re friends of Odysseus,” I mirrored his grin, thinking to make an impact. “Who are you? Are you all part of his household?”
He studied us a moment. “We’re suitors. We’re waiting for Queen Penelope to choose one of us to wed.”
At a loss, I looked at Pelos and Cassy to see if any of that made sense to them. Pelos shook his head, clearly confused, and Cassy was doing some funny thing with her head, jerking it toward the exit. With no help there, I had to puzzle it out myself.
“… What?”
Antinous, smile intact, wrapped an arm around my shoulder and guided me to the nearest table of young loafers. “With King Odysseus dead, the land is without a leader. Look around you.” He gently spun me in a circle. “Someone in this room will soon be king.”
“Isn’t that a little premature? Odysseus has only been gone a year. How do you know he’s not stuck somewhere, maybe even a day away?”
He waved my protests away. “If Odysseus is still alive, he’s not ‘a day away,’ he’s never coming back.”
“But what of his wife and son?” asked Pelos from behind me. “Surely King Odysseus would not voluntarily leave his family in peril.”
Antinous’ easy smile returned as he fixed his eyes on Pelos, though I suddenly felt less relaxed by it. “I didn’t catch your name, friend.”
“I am Pelos, Royal Scribe to the Court of Mycenae.” He bowed slightly.
“Well met, Pelos, Royal Scribe to the Court of Mycenae.” Antinous returned the bow. “What makes you think Odysseus’ family is in peril? Surely you can’t mean us?”
I didn’t understand what was happening, but I could tell it was dangerous. Pelos’ silence told me he felt the same.
“Of course not,” said Cassy, stepping forward and doing her weird girl bow. “Lady Cassandra of Mycenae.” Antinous bowed in return. “The good scribe strongly believes in the role of male protectors. While Queen Penelope and Prince Telemachus clearly have nothing to fear from Ithaca’s finest, they are nonetheless vulnerable to the world until King Odysseus returns.”
That seemed like an odd thing for Cassy to say, but as I opened my mouth, Pelos caught my eye with a panicked head shake. Abandoning my thoughts about Antinous, I hunted for a way to help Cassy talk us out of the room. “Well, it’s been great talking to you, but Nestor isn’t going to find himself.” I clapped Antinous on the shoulder, giving him my toothiest grin before starting for the door.
“Nestor?” He casually stepped between me and the door. “What’s Nestor got to do with anything?”
“Nest … oh, nothing really. He’s just where we’re going next. Telemachus said he offered to help Odysseus’ family if they needed anything.”
A startled cry sounded from the doorway behind us, where an ashen Telemachus stared at Antinous, hand covering his mouth.
“Is that so …” Antinous strolled toward Telemachus, smiling. “I swear we’ve been through this, Telemachus.” His hand drifted to his dagger.
Telemachus stumbled backward, looking around until he found a nearby guard. “Guard! To me!”
The guard stared at him. “You kicked me in the shin this morning and told me to stand over here.”
“A bad jest born of a terrible night’s sleep!”
“You called me a useless dung heap yesterday.” He wandered off to study a nearby tapestry.
Telemachus’ eyes fell to us. “Friends, perhaps I can guide you to Nestor. I -”
A gut punch dropped the prince like a sack of potatoes, and Antinous drew his knife, smiling. “I’m done with you, Telemachus. Consider yourself banished. If any of us,” his arm swept to encompass the attentive room, “see you again, the penalty will be death.” He flicked his knife across Telemachus’ cheek, leaving a small cut, and walked away.
“I can’t believe you did that to me,” said Telemachus, pressing a shirt sleeve to his bloody cheek as we pushed our way through a small market. “And then you didn’t even stand up for me. What kind of lousy friends are you?”
I could see by Cassy’s clenched jaw and Pelos’ brows that I was the only one who thought Telemachus was hilarious. I couldn’t wait to see what surly old Argon did with him.
“Good point, yeah.” I nodded, feigning sympathy. “I’m really sorry we mistreated your guard so much that he refused to help, too.”
That launched a short tirade calling us ‘gods damned phonies,’ and a slightly longer one calling me a moron for giggling during his first one. The slapping of sandals behind us interrupted Telemachus’ inspirational speech, and, fearing attack, we whirled to face the geriatric slave, Eurycleia.
“Please, you must …” she doubled over, panting. Cassy floated to her side, grasping an arm in support. A full minute passed before Eurycleia stood up straight and continued. “You must bring King Odysseus back. Queen Penelope is in mortal danger, as is Prince Telemachus.”
“We’ve agreed to speak with King Nestor,” said Pelos. “I’m not sure what else we can do.”
“No, young master, you must not return without Odysseus.” She lurched forward and grabbed his dress. “You don’t understand. Once a suitor has wed Penelope, he’ll do away with her. And the boy, should he return.”
My eye twitched. “What if they get engaged and just kill Telemachus? Ow!” I rubbed my head where Cassy slapped me.
“Ha ha says the funny man.” She leveled a bony finger at me. “Do you want the queen of Ithaca’s blood on your hands? Do you?” I backed up as she pressed forward, still clutching Pelos with one hand.
“We will try to find him, grandmother,” said Pelos. “We -”
“Don’t tell me about ‘trying,’ young man. I know what that means. You’ll spend a week drinking wine with Nestor and give up.”
“That’s not what we -”
“Then swear it! Swear an oath by Zeus the Father!” She shook Pelos.
“I don’t think we need to swear an -”
“Bah!” She shoved him away. “I knew your lot was as worthless as the one eating my mistress out of home and hearth. Fancy titles and a bit of gold, and suddenly everyone’s a noble. Bah!”
“Okay! Gods, we’ll do it. Just stop yelling at us,” I said.
“Swear it!” She leapt, grabbing me the same way she had Pelos and breathing into my face. For an old bat she was surprisingly strong.
“Fine, whatever. We swear it.” Cassy, waving her arms and shaking her head behind Eurycleia, withered in defeat.
Eurycleia released my tunic and stepped back far enough for me to safely inhale through my nose again. “You’ve sworn a holy oath to Zeus himself. Only a fool would break it and risk his wrath.”
“And we’ve no idea where we’d get one of those,” said Cassy. She grabbed my ear and pulled me through the crowd.
We walked in relative peace for another half an hour, reaching the docks in time to see the Kyrenia’s crew solemnly carrying a long wooden box down the gangplank. A surprising relief pulsed through me when Argon emerged at the head of a large huddle of men. We stopped at the top of the pier, waiting for the procession.
As he approached, Argon spotted us and sped up, giving himself enough distance to tactfully usher us some distance away. “The captain,” he muttered, wringing his hands. “He never recovered. It was the drink. Years of endless drink.”
Though the captain had been nominally in charge on our voyage to Ithaca, he’d spent the entire trip in bed. After I tried cheering him up early on, he took a dramatic turn for the worse, and Argon banished me from his tiny, curtained off room. But even when left in peace, I rarely saw him eat, instead opting for wine, or a strange, clear liquid. Argon tried to water the drink down before serving the captain, but the strange brew became a murky white when mixed with water, so he got caught.
“I’m very sorry,” said Cassy, laying a gentle hand on Argon’s shoulder. Pelos and I both started. Cassy hated touching people. “Are you stepping in as Captain?” Argon nodded.
I could feel an energy building beside me, and knew without looking that Telemachus was about to steal my Bad Decision crown, or at least borrow it a while.
“My older brother died of drink. Too weak to live without it. And I’m fine. We should -”
Too fast for any of us to register, one of Argon’s hands stopped wringing, balled into a fist, and slammed into Telemachus. As one, we watched the bleeding teenager writhe on the ground a moment, then turned back to Argon.
“Yeah, I’m Captain now,” he said. “Been a long time coming, but I didn’t want it like this. For all his faults, old cap’ and me were friends.” He looked at Telemachus, who was finally trying to sit up while clutching what looked like a broken nose. “Who’s the mouth?”
“Captain Argon, meet Prince Telemachus,” said Pelos. “He has volunteered to be our guide.”
“Guide, huh?” He rubbed his grey stubble. “That mean you want to hire the Kyrenia again?” He glowered at me. “And what of this whelp? I almost skinned him on the way here, now you bring me one’s even worse?” He stalked over to Telemachus, grabbed a wrist, and yanked him easily to his feet before rubbing Telemachus’ palm. “Soft and useless. Prince …” He spat. “Not my prince. And I don’t see a coin purse.”
I looked between Telemachus and Argon, trying not to giggle. Telemachus was clearly woozy, apparently having avoided being punched in the nose so far in life, though I couldn’t imagine how.
“His dad’s Odysseus,” I said. “If anyone came home with a ship full of loot, it was him.”
Argon, still clutching Telemachus’ limp hand, squinted at me. “And why are you so helpful all of a sudden?”
Crap. On the walk from the palace I’d worked myself into a near-giddy state at the thought of Argon and Telemachus trapped on a boat together, but I could hardly admit that. Fortunately, I had some half-truths to fall back on. “I want to help our friend, Odysseus. Besides,” I shrugged, “beats sitting around feast halls, waiting for something to happen.”
Argon accepted my explanation with a suspicious grunt, and, after chucking Telemachus aside, went about honoring his old boss and preparing for the voyage.
The next day found us on deck, watching his new first mate, Iphis, guide the loading of supplies, when we saw Argon speed walking across the docks toward us.
“Iphis!” The man looked up to see Argon put a finger in the air and spin it full circle.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Pelos and Cassy shrugged. Telemachus pouted in my general direction, but stayed quiet. He was still the awful prick he’d been the day before, but I guess the smack in the nose was still fresh enough that he kept it to himself.
“Finish up, boys. We sail with what we have. Oars out in five minutes.” Iphis approached us, addressing Telemachus. “I don’t know what trouble you left, kid, but it’s headed our way. Get below.”
We shuffled below as the crew exploded into action. Pelos and I hovered at the top of the ladder, watching as men tied down full barrels, and threw empty ones overboard. At some point Argon abandoned pride and pretense, kicking into a run to arrive red-faced and sweaty.
Iphis met him as he boarded. “What’s up, boss?”
“Trouble. A shipload of it.” He pointed across the harbor, but we couldn’t see over the rail. “That little bastard brought the locals down on us.”
Iphis rubbed his stubble. “Can we give him up? Pitch him overboard?”
Argon shook his head. “As much as I want to, we took him on. He’s our passenger now. It looks like we can still outrun ‘em if we push off now.” With that, he yelled for the crew to man the oars, while he and Iphis cut the mooring lines. In under a minute, we were moving.
I crept to the deck to see what we were running from. A ship of maybe forty angry looking men was catching up to us as our crew strained to get the Kyrenia moving. “This is bad,” I shouted down the ladder. “We outnumber them, but they’re coming fast, looks like they might ram.”
Some shuffling ensued below as I kept watching the approaching fighters, and Cassy appeared next to me. “We need to slow them down.” She caught up to Argon, who was busy slipping a sword under every rower’s foot. “Do we have a bow on board?”
He nodded without looking. “My chest.” Cassy disappeared down the hatch, and Pelos took her place.
“Did you know she could shoot?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Never mentioned it.”
A bow flew from the hatch, clattering next to our feet, followed by a quiver of arrows. “You never asked,” said Cassy as she hoisted herself on deck and slung the quiver over her shoulder. “It was my dad’s idea. He made me learn archery so he could trot me out in front of guests, the same way he had Aeneas kill that gigantic man in front of you when you arrived.” She squinted into the distance as she yanked an arrow from the quiver. “It knocks people off balance.” She stopped talking to aim.
The Kyrenia was in full flight and gaining speed, but our attackers were still closing the gap. I looked to where Cassy was focused, seeing Antinous pacing and shouting, the same as Iphis. He looked up in time to notice Cassy and dive to the deck as she loosed her arrow.
“Dammit.” The arrow disappeared into the sea. “Almost had him.” She nocked another one.
“Perhaps the rowers would make better targets,” offered Pelos. “They can’t duck. They can’t even see us, facing the other direction like that.”
Without answering, Cassy shifted her aim and drilled an arrow into the top of a rower’s back. They were close enough that I could see the hate in Antinous’ face as Cassy grazed another rower. After she wounded a third, Antinous pulled four of his men off the bench, arming them with shields to stand between Cassy and the rest. While the move thwarted Cassy’s sniping, we began to slowly pull away.
Soon after Argon congratulated the men on our escape, a head poked through the hatch.
“You can come up, Telemachus,” I said. “Cassy saved you.”
After some gentle cooing, which managed to disgust both Cassy and Argon, Telemachus found the courage to stand next to us. Initially constrained by a sheepish gratitude, it took less than a day for his natural sneer to re-emerge. While most the crew shunned him, I found him bizarrely fascinating.
“I don’t get it,” I said. After a crewman had thrown a shoulder into Telemachus while walking past us, nearly knocking the prince overboard, we’d retreated to the most secluded part of the deck we could find. “So, your mom told the suitors she couldn’t remarry until she knitted some weird survivor’s quilt?” He nodded. “And every night she undid the day’s knitting?” He nodded again, clearly impatient with me. “How did no one notice she made like … zero progress for months?”
“Look, I told you already. All the suitors do is drink and grope the serving girls.”
“Yeah, but months? Didn’t they think your mom might be stalling? I mean, how long can it take to make a blanket?”
Telemachus rolled his eyes so hard I thought he’d collapse. “She wasn’t stalling, idiot. Half the time she didn’t even remember doing it. Maybe you missed it, but my mom’s not exactly all there.”
At Telemachus’ mention of ‘stalling,’ I looked across the deck to where Pelos and Cassy stood awkwardly close, and wondered if they’d ever get together. Pelos’ insistence on waiting for Odysseus’ advice was clearly a stalling tactic, and now that the king was missing, I feared Pelos would be permanently stuck. Or worse, that Cassy would give up and move on.
“Why hasn’t Cassy tried something with Pelos?” I asked Telemachus, who, judging by his expression, had been talking.
“What do you mean, ‘try something?’ She’s a woman, women don’t ‘try something,’ they have something tried on them. And why Pelos? He’s not terrible, as rabble goes, but I don’t see anything interesting about him.”
“Okay, first off, Pelos is the smartest person I know. Except maybe for Cassy. And he’s a poet now. He’s super interesting. Second, Cassy’s not a woman.” Telemachus cocked his head at me. “I mean, she’s not ‘a woman.’ She’s … weird.” I got the impression I wasn’t making a strong case. “She doesn’t act right.” I winced and decided to stop talking.
“Maybe she doesn’t act right because she’s waiting for someone man enough to take control, and that phony cousin of yours won’t.”
My fascination with Telemachus was waning. “Is that right? Someone like you?” Watching him ooze smugness all over the rail he leaned against, inspiration struck. “We’re stuck on this boat for another few days. If you’re a real man, prove it. Go get her. I bet you don’t get a single kiss before we land in Pylos.” Telemachus eyed me, suspicion warring with ego. “What are you waiting for, Real Man? She’s right there.”
With a little more prodding, Telemachus pranced across the deck, to where Iphis was explaining something about elbows to Cassy. He was doing the bulk of the talking, but both kept swinging their elbows into their own palms and nodding. Curious to hear their conversation, and whatever doomed maneuver Telemachus was about to initiate, I shadowed the prince.
“Lady Cassandra,” said Telemachus, interrupting them mid-sentence with a bow. “Iphis.” He didn’t look at the first mate, or notice their annoyance. “Perhaps my lady would care for a walk with a gentleman?” He puffed out an arm for her to slide her hand through and waited. And waited. I stifled a giggle as he noticed her glare, but missed the underlying contempt. My stifling crumbled as the silence stretched, prompting Telemachus to babble awkwardly. “As the only other passenger of royal lineage, I thought you’d like some time away from these …” he finally looked at Iphis as the sailor’s weather-beaten face hardened, “workers.”
“These ‘workers’ are the reason you’re alive, and I’ve spent enough time around royalty. Go away.”
Pelos walked up behind me. “What’s going on?” We watched while Telemachus stood mute, face reddening as the surrounding sailors snickered. “What’d you do, Gelios?”
“Me? I’m just standing here, my friend.” Pelos’ faced darkened. “Hold on, this is about to get good.”
“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly.” Telemachus’ voice cracked as it rose to a low shout. “No need to get insulting about it. Let’s take a walk around the deck.”
Most moments are forgotten, almost before they pass. But as Telemachus reached out and took Cassy’s hand, I felt time slow down. A grin spread across my face, and I knew I’d remember the next few seconds for the rest of my life.
At Telemachus’ touch, Cassy jerked straight, and a gasp flew from Pelos. Before Pelos could take a step toward them, Cassy spun toward Telemachus, her free arm bent in half, and slammed the front of her elbow into the prince’s forehead.
As Telemachus tumbled backward, Cassy rubbed her elbow and scowled at Iphis. “That still hurt.”
Iphis nodded at her as he took in the battered teenager and his pale assailant. “No, no, you did great. If you’d used your fist it would have broken. May I?” Cassy nodded, and Iphis took her arm, bending it back into the elbow strike she’d just used and placing it against his nose. “Feel how soft this is?” He smooshed his own nose a bit with her elbow while Telemachus groaned behind him. “Aim a hard part of you at a soft part of me. But really, that was still great. You’re a fast learner.”
I felt strong fingers grab my ear. “All right, that’s enough.” Argon dragged me to where Telemachus sat, rubbing his forehead. “You too, whelp.” With his free hand, he grabbed a fistful of the prince’s shirt, hauling him to his feet. “I’ve watched you two piss away every morning, day, and night gossiping and making trouble. Now you’re slowing down my ship.”
I looked around, and admitted Argon had a point. A dozen sailors had stopped working to laugh at Telemachus, prompting Iphis to start shouting.
“Since you can’t find anything to do,” Argon continued, “I’ll find something for you.” He dragged us both to the rear of the deck before releasing us. “There’s the bucket, there’s the brush. Fill the bucket with fresh water, use the water and the brush to scrub the deck clean.”
I stood there gaping until Argon clenched his teeth and took a step toward us. “Right, Arg … Captain.” I grabbed the bucket and skittered over to one of the water barrels.
“How come I have to help? I’m a prince, you know.” I looked over my shoulder to see Telemachus, arms folded, lower lip jutting out, facing down the far larger man. “I won’t do it.”
The veins in Argon’s neck pulsed, and in a heartbeat he had Telemachus hoisted off the deck by his shirt. I stood transfixed, bucket hovering and forgotten, as their faces practically met, Argon talking to Telemachus through clenched teeth. I couldn’t hear any of it, of course, but when Telemachus’ feet touched the deck again, he used them to meet me at the water barrel.
