PRINCE OF ITHACA
or
THE TWELVE AXES
© Katherine Roberts 2008
His mother’s screams warn him of the danger, but he cannot run. He cannot even walk. He
has been snatched from his nurse’s arms and left all alone in the middle of a field. The
ground is shaking. He squints into the sun and sees two monsters bearing down upon him.
They are pulling a blade that chops up the earth. Seabirds swoop and screech overhead,
while his father strides behind throwing salt into the furrow and howling at the sky.
He tries to crawl back to his nurse, but it is too far. The soft soil sucks at his hands and
knees. The monsters pound closer. Their hairy legs, crusted in dirt, reach into the clouds.
Their ugly heads snort and dribble above him, huge and terrifying. The blade is coming
straight at him.
Just when it seems their sharp hooves will trample him, one of the birds following the
plough swoops down. The air shimmers, and suddenly a girl with golden braids stands
between him and the monsters. She winks at him as she grabs their bridles and jerks them to a
stop. Scared of the glittering stranger, he starts to cry.
With a groan, his father throws down the reins and runs straight through the girl as if
she is not there. Strong arms lift him from the earth and squeeze him too hard, making him
cry even louder.
“I’m sorry, little Machus!” the king sobs. “I’m so sorry! I have to go away now. One
day you’ll understand...”
1.
THE CHALLENGE
Ithaca, sixteen years later
Where Prince Telemachus comes of age under Ithacan law and challenges his enemy to
a contest of kingship, only to discover that there is more to becoming a man than sixteen
years lived on this earth.
Telemachus woke, drenched in sweat, in time to hear a roar of laughter and a crash as
someone overturned a bench. Something was wrong. He wasn’t in his bedchamber, as he
normally tried to be by the time the men got drunk… why had he let himself fall asleep down
here, of all places? A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, and his stomach tightened as he
imagined an assassin with a poisoned dagger creeping up behind him. But it was only one of
the torches spluttering in a draught. He pushed dark, unruly hair from his eyes and sat up,
rubbing his stiff neck.
Now he remembered. He’d curled in a corner to wait out the hours until midnight, and
must have dozed off despite the partying going on around him. The noise had brought back
the old nightmare that had woken him so many times as a small boy that was all. He’d
outgrown the screams that used to bring his nurse running. But that did not stop the panic he
felt on waking. His only memory of his father, and he still didn’t know whether Odysseus
would have killed him that day.
Of course he’d been far too young at the time for it to be a real memory. The girl and
the seagull were obviously just a dream, and the details changed, but it turned out the plough
had been real enough. His tutor, Lord Mentor, claimed the king had only been pretending to
be crazy so the Achean warlords would not make him go with them to fight at Troy.
Telemachus wasn’t so sure. As far as he could see, you had to be a bit crazy to fight a war in
the first place. Besides, if his father loved his family so much, then why hadn’t he come home
straight afterwards? Ten years away at Troy had been bad enough. But why abandon them for
six more years, while the cowardly lords who had stayed at home helped themselves to his
herds and riches? Old Mentor wasn’t doing much about getting rid of them that Telemachus
could see. Which meant he had to act himself.
Antinous, the boldest of the Ithacan lords, sat beside his mother. Even as Telemachus
watched, the big man fondled her hair with his greasy fingers. The queen turned her head
away, too polite to slap him, bound by their stupid laws of hospitality. Telemachus clenched
his fists and eyed the spluttering torches. Well, the law was on his side tonight.
At midnight he would be sixteen, which meant he was no longer a child under Ithacan
law. At midnight, if his father really were dead like everyone claimed, this would be his hall
and his wine. Then see if he would let Greasy Antinous and his friends drink a single drop
more!
He tugged his tunic straight, squared his shoulders and strode across the marble floor.
He ignored the serving girls who offered him wine, and took a deep breath. “Leave her alone,
you brute!” he said, knocking Lord Antinous’ hand away.
The warrior blinked at him. His eyes, bleary with drink, showed surprise followed by
amusement. “Oh, it’s Odysseus’ whelp… I thought a fly had stung me.” He waved his hand at
Telemachus as if swiping away an insect, lost his balance and staggered – not entirely by
accident – across the queen’s lap. “Oops!” he said. “Clumsy me! Sorry, your majesty. Good
job you were here to catch me, eh?”
The other suitors laughed as the queen tugged her skirt straight. Some of the idiot
serving girls giggled. Lord Mentor looked up from his wine and frowned but said nothing.
Afraid, like all the rest of them, to challenge Lord Antinous and his friends without their King
Odysseus to back them up.
“Isn’t it past the boy’s bedtime, Penelope?” Antinous went on, putting an arm around
the reluctant queen. “Don’t want him getting in the way when you finally decide which one of
us you’re going to wed, do we?”
“She’s not going to marry any of you, can’t you see?” Telemachus said. “She’s already
married – to my father!”
The queen slipped out of the drunken warrior’s embrace and frowned at Telemachus.
“Lord Antinous is our guest, darling. You shouldn’t be rude to him.”
“Yes, you listen to your mother, whelp!” Antinous said. “Before long, you’ll be calling
me ‘father’. Then I’ll teach you some proper manners.”
Over my dead body, Telemachus vowed, glaring at the man.
Actually, he didn’t think his mother would marry Lord Antinous if he were the last man
alive. She had too much sense. But his stomach tightened at the possibility she might give up
all hope of Odysseus returning and pick one of the others to sit on his father’s throne. As far
as he was concerned, they were all as bad as each other, these lords of Ithaca – drooling over
his father’s riches, before they even had proof their king was dead.
Not knowing, that was the worst. He didn’t even remember his father’s face clearly,
only those big salty hands that had tried to drive a plough over him when he’d only been a
baby. But he’d heard the songs carried back across the sea by those who had returned alive
from Troy, and they made his heart beat faster.
How King Odysseus had dreamt up the plan that finally got the Acheans into the city
after ten years of fighting outside the walls – building a great wooden horse and hiding inside
it with a team of hand picked warriors, while the rest of the Acheans broke camp and rowed
away in their ships to make the Trojans think they were heading home. How, when the
Trojans had finished celebrating and hauled the horse inside their gates as an offering to their
gods, King Odysseus led the attack on the sleeping city with the legendary Achilles at his side
to free King Menelaus’ captive wife Helen. How Achilles had been killed in the fighting, but
King Odysseus had survived to board his ship, a hero.
Listening to these tales, Telemachus had formed an image of his father. A lion of a man,
russet haired with a wild beard flecked white by froth from his roaring mouth, his muscles
browned and hardened by the foreign sun of Troy. He could almost see the furious warrior
king now, striding into the hall among the suitors, kicking their lazy backsides off his
couches, spilling their wine cups across the floor, his bronze sword flashing as he chased
them all out…
“How about you show me that famous bed of yours tonight?” Antinous said slyly to the
queen, interrupting Telemachus’ vision. “Six years is a long time for a woman to sit weaving
alone in her room. Odysseus gave you just one son before he sailed off to war, and a rude one
at that. You’re not too old yet. I can easily give you another brat, if you want one.”
The queen looked shocked. The serving girls blushed and whispered behind their hands,
giving Telemachus sideways looks.
“Don’t you speak to my mother like that!” Telemachus said, feeling his ears burn at this
disgusting talk. “Or when Father gets home, he’ll run you through with the first arrow from
his great bow!”
Antinous laughed. “Then I’ve nothing to worry about, because Odysseus is never
coming home to string his famous bow, is he? I’m here to stay. Get used to it.” With a
deliberate belch in Telemachus’ face, he went off in search of more wine.
When the man had gone, his mother sent the giggling girls away with a sharp word. She
put a hand over her eyes and bowed her head. “You shouldn’t antagonize him like that,
Machus,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of what he might do to us with your father gone.”
“I’m not afraid of Greasy Antinous!” Telemachus said, though this wasn’t strictly true.
He’d done his weapons training with the other boys under Lord Mentor’s watchful eye, but
he’d never used them in anger. He knew he couldn’t hope to win against an experienced
warrior like Lord Antinous in a fair fight, let alone against Lord Antinous and a hundred of
his drunken friends.
“It’s probably best if you do go up to bed,” the queen said. “They’re getting very rowdy
tonight. I didn’t know you were still down here.”
“They get rowdy every night. I can hear them from my room, you know.”
Queen Penelope sighed. “Believe me, Machus, I’d get rid of them if I could… but it’s as
much as I can do to keep them from wrecking the palace these days.”
Telemachus eyed the torches again. It must be nearly midnight by now, though he ought
to go outside and check the stars before he made a fool of himself by acting too early.
His mouth dried. Now the moment had finally come, he didn’t feel up to the task.
Turning sixteen did not feel much different from being fifteen, or fourteen, or ten for that
matter. No magical power had suddenly filled his body with god-given strength, or made his
muscles grow, or given him amazing skill with weapons – at least, if it had, he didn’t feel any
different. The men were all very drunk. Maybe it would be better to wait until morning, when
they all had sore heads and were less likely to put up a fight?
But no… tonight of all nights, Telemachus wouldn’t be sent off to bed early like a child.
Especially with all those idiot girls giggling behind his back.
“I’ll get rid of them for you, Mother,” he promised.
*
Outside, moonlight laid a silver path across the dark sea. The night was very still. Stars
reflected in the calm water, and in the harbour an elegant black ship floated among the fishing
boats like a ghost.
For a wild moment Telemachus thought it was his father’s ship, and his heart began to
race. But no, after King Odysseus’ black ship had sailed west from Troy, the entire fleet had
vanished. No one knew where. Maybe they would never know. But he had to believe his
father still lived. The alternative was too painful.
He took a deep breath to clear his head of wine fumes. Refreshed by the night air, he ran
lightly across the yard and down the steps to the storeroom where Odysseus’ great bow was
kept with the other royal weapons.
He unlocked the bolts, took down a torch and stepped inside. The flames reflected in the
suits of bronze armour hanging around the walls. As always, he had to look twice to check the
breastplates and helmets were empty. Their dark eyeholes watched him as he carried the torch
past a rack of bronze-tipped spears.
He took down a helm and touched the horsehair crest. He considered putting it on, then
shook his head. Helmets were heavy and restricted sideways view. He needed to see if his
enemies were creeping up behind him. He lifted down a quiver of arrows and shrugged it on
to one shoulder. Then he pulled the linen wrappings from Odysseus’ great bow and stared at it
in awe, wondering as he always did why his father hadn’t taken the famous weapon to Troy.
Had the king known he wouldn’t be coming back? Had he left it here for this very night,
for Telemachus to use when he came of age?
A shiver went through him as stroked its polished length. The ends curved back on
themselves, which made it much harder to draw than a normal bow, but gave its arrows the
supernatural power of the archer-god Apollo. Of course it was much too long for him, and he
didn’t have the strength to draw it yet, but that shouldn’t matter. Everyone in the hall would
recognize it at once as King Odysseus’ fabled bow that only the rightful king of Ithaca could
bend. He just hoped the sight of it in his hands would be enough.
“What are you up to, Prince of Ithaca?” whispered a voice so soft he at first thought it
an echo from his dream.
“I’m doing something!” he muttered, testing the bowstring.
The voice giggled.
“Then I don’t know what you’re expecting to do with that huge bow, Prince
Telemachus. Better take a smaller weapon you can actually use, if you have to.”
He whirled in time to see one of the sets of armour step out of the shadows. His heart
thumped. The warrior – though no taller than him and wearing golden sandals similar to his
own – carried a sharp spear.
“Stay back!” he said, alarmed. “What are you doing down here? This is my father’s
private storeroom.”
The warrior chuckled again, but leant the spear carefully against the wall. “Better? I
didn’t mean to scare you.”
Telemachus frowned at the stranger’s helm with its plume of swallowtail blue. He
didn’t remember any blue crests down here. He brought his torch higher, trying to see the face
behind the helm, and caught the gleam of an amused eye.
“Who are you?” he demanded, suspecting one of his friends’ tricks. After all, the
stranger knew his name. “Pireus? Is that you? If this is your sick idea of a joke…”
But even as he reached for the helm to snatch it off, he knew it wasn’t his best friend
Pireus. The metal sparkled strangely when he touched it. He stepped back, his hand tingling.
“Don’t you recognize me?” The warrior reached up and removed the helm, shaking out
two thick yellow braids.
Telemachus stared in astonishment. “Y-you’re a girl!”
“Full marks, my prince! Your tutor’s taught you something useful, after all.”
He could feel himself flushing. All the girls on Ithaca seemed ready to throw themselves
into his arms at a moment’s notice, as if he didn’t have more important things to worry about.
He supposed, in a vague kind of way, it was flattering. Maybe if his father had not gone off to
Troy and left him to look after the queen, he would have been bored enough to take one of
them up on the offer. But not now, and certainly not tonight.
He had no idea where this girl had sprung from, but there were always hundreds of them
around the palace – serving wine, doing the cleaning and cooking, keeping the suitors happy.
She was probably some new maid, who had stolen the storeroom key off his mother and
thought it kinky to dress up as a warrior.
He made his voice tough. “You shouldn’t be down here, playing with the weapons!
They’re not toys. I ought to report you to Lord Mentor. What’s your name? I haven’t seen you
around before.”
The girl shook her yellow braids, impatient. “You have seen me, only you obviously
don’t remember. I’m Athena.”
Telemachus blinked. “Like the goddess, you mean?”
“That’s right,” she said. “The daughter of Zeus.” As she spoke, she drew herself up
straight and tall, raised her chin and flashed him a bright smile.
He sighed. If this girl expected him to be impressed that her misguided mother had
named her after a goddess, she had another think coming.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded. “Only the queen and I have keys to this store
– and my father, of course, but he’s… dead.”
His stomach lurched when the strange girl said smoothly, “Who told you that? Your
father’s ship might have gone down at sea, but that doesn’t mean your father went down with
it. I have it on good authority that King Odysseus is alive and well and being held captive by a
nymph called Calypso on an enchanted island somewhere in the Western Sea. Don’t do
anything stupid tonight.”
Telemachus stared at her, his stirring of hope quickly replaced by anger. Nymphs?
Enchanted islands? What sort of fool did she think he was?
“That’s not funny,” he said, his voice rough. “You won’t get a kiss out of me by telling
stupid lies like that!”
Athena put her head on one side in amusement. “Is that what you think I’m after, silly
prince? A simple kiss? I know you’ve never kissed a girl, my handsome prince, though there
are many maids in your father’s hall who would let you, if you’d give them half a chance.
That makes us a perfect match, because I’ve never kissed a boy, though many have tried. It’s
the last thing I want from you, believe me.”
He gave her a wary look. “What do you want, then? Are you a thief? If you’ve a key to
this place, you must have stolen it. Did you steal it from my father, is that it? What have you
done with him? Where is he?”
Athena sighed. “So suspicious you’ve grown! I suppose it’s no surprise, with that lot
camped up in your hall. I don’t need keys to get into a locked room. And if I knew where
Calypso’s island was, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. I need you to help me find him, but
it’s got to be a secret. No one must know what we’re doing. Your father’s life depends on it.
Blood finds blood.”
Telemachus shook his head. As much as he wanted to believe her, the girl was clearly
crazy. “Oh, I haven’t time for this!” he said. “If you’re a thief, help yourself. Everyone else
has. No one to stop you with all the men of Ithaca lost at sea, is there? Here, hold this. I’ve
something important to do.” He shoved the torch into the girl’s hand, gripped his father’s
bow, and pushed past her up the steps.
Annoyingly, Athena sprang after him. “Stop, Prince Telemachus! What do you think
you’re doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Looks to me like you’re trying to get yourself killed. You can’t go in there alone with a
weapon, silly prince. They’ll murder you. Didn’t your tutor teach you anything? I bet you
haven’t told him what you’re planning, have you?”
Telemachus raised his chin. “I’m sixteen now,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s none
of Lord Mentor’s business what I do, or yours for that matter. Stand aside!”
He paused outside the hall to take another breath of night air. The noise level had risen
while he’d been down in the storeroom. He could hear the men singing about the war at Troy;
a song he knew his mother hated because it brought memories of his father’s disappearance. It
made his blood throb with fury.
“You haven’t told Lord Mentor what you’re up to, because you know what he’d say,”
Athena continued. “And your birthday’s not until tomorrow. I’ve brought you a present –
provided you live to see it.”
Telemachus paused, thinking of the black ship he had seen in the harbour. Maybe his
father had sent the girl here to find him? Then he shook his head. More lies, no doubt.
“It is tomorrow – it’s past midnight. And I’ve a present of my own planned for those socalled suitors of my mother’s!”
“I’m warning you, Prince Telemachus—” Athena caught his elbow in a surprisingly
strong grip. “I won’t be able to help you tonight if they turn on you in there.”
“I don’t need your help!” He tore free of her and strode into the hall. A bit stupid of him
to just go barging in there, maybe, but he had to show the crazy girl he wasn’t scared.
Before he felt half ready, he stood in the middle of his father’s banqueting hall with
Odysseus’ huge bow clutched in one trembling fist, a quiver of useless arrows on his
shoulder, and a hundred drunken warriors nudging one another and pointing at him. At least
they’d stopped singing.
“I am Prince Telemachus, only son of King Odysseus and rightful heir of Ithaca!”
Telemachus announced – rather needlessly, since they all knew very well who he was, after
teasing him about it for the past six years. “I’m sixteen today. This is my hall now, and I want
you out of it before sunrise.”
Lord Mentor choked on his wine and half rose from his bench. His mother’s eyes
widened in concern and pride. Men, women and serving girls stared at him in surprise.
Telemachus’ heart beat faster. Maybe it would work. Maybe all these suitors had
needed was someone to stand up to them and tell them to get lost.
But it wasn’t going to be that easy. As he trembled with the tension of facing up to
them, Lord Antinous swaggered up to him and ran an admiring finger over the polished bow.
“Oh, it’s the fly again, and he’s found himself a man’s sting. Shame he’s not man enough yet
to use it.”
The suitors roared with laughter as Telemachus jerked the bow away.
“Nor are any of you!” he said, his heart thumping as he watched Antinous’ hand drop
towards the dagger at his belt. “Only the rightful King of Ithaca can draw this bow, so… let’s
have a contest! A shooting contest for my mother’s hand!”
Antinous hesitated. Lord Mentor shook his head, trying to catch his eye. But
Telemachus knew he had to distract the suitors from answering his challenge with blood.
He thought fast. “We’ll hold the contest on Apollo’s Feast Day,” he decided. That
would give him time to think of another way to get rid of the suitors. “Whoever can draw my
father’s bow and send an arrow through a line of ten…” No, not enough. All the songs
claimed any common hero could shoot through ten axes. Achilles was supposed to have done
it on the beach at Troy, while the men were waiting for the siege to end. “Whoever can send
an arrow through twelve axes gets to marry my mother and rule Ithaca!” he finished. His
mouth went dry as he realized that, if he didn’t find his father alive, he’d have to learn to
shoot through twelve axes himself.
There was a ripple of interest among the suitors. They glanced towards Lord Antinous.
“Did the boy say twelve axes?” someone muttered. “But that’s impossible, surely?”
“Nothing’s impossible with King Odysseus’ bow!” another said. “Lord Antinous could do it,
no trouble.”
Lord Mentor put a hand over his eyes in despair.
But Lord Antinous lifted his hand from his dagger and smiled. “Give me the bow,
then,” he said, closing his greasy fist around one of the curved ends. “I’d better get some
practice in before the contest.”
Telemachus stiffened. He hadn’t foreseen this. “Any man who touches King Odysseus’
bow without my permission is dead!” he squeaked, his voice breaking at just the wrong
moment.
Antinous sucked in his breath in mock fright. Laughing, he snatched the bow out of
Telemachus’s grip. “Dead, am I, huh? I’ll show you dead, you cheeky whelp!”
Telemachus stiffened. He saw his mother pale. Lord Mentor stumbled over the bench as
he tried to come to his pupil’s aid, only to be caught by two of the chuckling suitors.
Telemachus clutched the quiver defensively, but Antinous didn’t even try to string the famous
bow of Ithaca with an arrow. They had all heard the story of how only Odysseus had the
strength to draw it, and he obviously didn’t want to risk looking stupid by failing such a test
of kingship before his rivals.
Reversing the weapon, he gave Telemachus a whack across the backs of the thighs.
Telemachus danced away, eyes smarting. Antinous chased him around the hall, catching him
several more stinging blows with the end of the great bow, while the other suitors clapped and
jeered and whistled, before finally shoving him out of the door.
“Let that be a lesson to you, proud prince!” he called. “Run on up to bed. And since
your tutor seems incapable of teaching you your manners, I’ll lock this dangerous toy of yours
away before you hurt yourself.”
Behind him, the men laughed again. Telemachus’ ears burned.
But Antinous hadn’t finished. Following him unexpectedly outside, he swept
Telemachus’ feet from under him, jammed the end of the bow to his throat and hissed, “I
suppose we’ll have to hold this silly shooting contest of yours now. But you’re not going to
win it. And I swear next time you come at me with a weapon, I’ll send you to the Underworld
to meet your father, and force your proud mother to marry me, willing or not. Understand?”
Telemachus glared up at the man he hated more than any other. He understood all too
well the threat to his mother. His cheeks burned with helpless rage.
“UNDERSTAND?” Antinous bellowed.
Dry mouthed, Telemachus nodded. At least the greasy warrior wasn’t laughing at him
any more – that, he supposed, was something.
Antinous gave him a final kick. Then he went back inside to join the party, slamming
the great doors of Odysseus’ hall behind him.
*
As the echoes died away, Telemachus sat up and rubbed his throat. He checked the arrows for
damage and cursed himself for losing his father’s bow.
“Told you, didn’t I?” said the girl from the storeroom, stepping out of the shadows.
He’d completely forgotten Athena. She was the last thing he needed right now.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered, too frustrated to feel any further shame at the strange
girl witnessing his failure. “It might have worked.”
“Yes, it might have…. if you could have drawn that bow, and if you’d had a hundred of
your father’s veterans at your back, maybe. I don’t suppose you’re an expert at shooting a line
of twelve axes, either?”
“No, I’m not. If you must know, the most I ever managed in the boys’ shooting contests
was four. So you might as well give up pestering me and go back to your friends. I’m sure
you’ll all have a good giggle at me. Telemachus, the silly prince who thinks he can rule Ithaca
in his father’s place!”
“I told you before. You don’t have to rule Ithaca just yet. If any man can shoot through
twelve axes, your father has the best chance… your crazy challenge might work to our
advantage, after all, provided we can bring Odysseus back to Ithaca in time.”
Telemachus gave her a wary look. “You really expect me to believe you when you say
my father’s still alive?”
“I told the truth about the reaction you’d get when you went in there with a weapon
tonight, didn’t I?”
“Ha!” Telemachus said. “You didn’t need to be a goddess to see that.”
But he began to feel a bit better. This girl did not act like other girls, all sly words and
sideways glances. She gazed straight at him with eyes that glittered like silver stars, and she
stood like a boy – except for her long braids swinging around her armoured breasts. She made
him laugh.
“That Antinous is an idiot,” Athena went on. “But now he knows you’re set on
opposing him, it’d probably be best if you leave Ithaca for a while. So far he hasn’t dared
touch you, because he’s still trying to win your mother’s favour and he knows she’ll never
agree to marry anyone who hurts her son. But you took him by surprise tonight. The day is
coming when he’ll decide the threat you pose to him is greater than his need to woo your
mother. There will be time enough for revenge when we get back.”
“Back from where?” Telemachus frowned.
“Back from Sparta, of course, “ Athena said. “King Menelaus was the last person to see
your father alive. We’ll ask him if he knows which way Odysseus’ fleet was headed after they
left Troy – that might give us some idea of where to start looking for him. I’ve arranged
everything. It was supposed to be your birthday surprise, but since you’ve obviously no
intention of going to bed tonight, I might as well show you now.”
She grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet, pointing at the moonlit sea. “That ship
you can see in the harbour? She’s called the Sea Nymph, and she’s yours to command. Go
pack your things. Pick a weapon you can use this time, and bring some food from the
kitchens. I’ll meet you on the beach with your crew when the sun rises.”
And then she was gone, leaving all the hairs on the back of his neck shivering as if she
had turned into an owl swooped softly away into the night.
*
Telemachus shook his fingers in annoyance as he crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps
to his private quarters. His hand still tingled strangely where Athena had held it, but that
didn’t prove she was a goddess, did it? He ought to have challenged her to get rid of the
suitors – that would have found her out. He didn’t know where the girl had got hold of a black
ship. But if she thought he was just going to sail away with her and abandon his mother, she
had another think coming.
As he was trying to decide what to do next, Lord Mentor puffed up the stairs behind
him.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” his tutor growled, obviously hung over and
bad tempered because of it. “Are you hurt?”
After satisfying himself that Telemachus wasn’t injured, he went on more sternly,
“What did you think you were trying to do in there? You were lucky Lord Antinous was so
lenient with you. As you so stupidly pointed out to everyone tonight, you’re old enough now
to die on the edge of a sword. Didn’t I warn you not to draw unnecessary attention to
yourself? That lot wouldn’t have even realized you’d come of age, otherwise. And what was
all that nonsense about a shooting contest for your mother’s hand? Twelve axes! At least we
know that’s impossible… though no doubt Antinous will bend the rules to suit him.”
“You weren’t going to do anything.” Telemachus set his jaw. “At least I tried to get rid
of them.”
Lord Mentor sighed. “My prince, I think you’re going to have to accept your mother
will marry one of them in the end. Whether it’s Lord Antinous or one of the others depends
on the queen, of course, but she could do a lot worse. He’s a strong warrior and has many
loyal men. He’d look after us, now your father’s gone.”
Telemachus’ eyes filled with sudden tears. He dashed them away. “My father’s not
dead! Why do you keep talking as if he is?”
“Because we all know if King Odysseus were alive, he’d be home by now. As you say,
you’re a man now, so you need to face up to the facts. Ithaca is yours, and you need to find
someone who can hold it for you until you are capable of doing so yourself. When things have
calmed down a bit, I’d suggest you apologise to Lord Antinous and ask him to help you until
you’re strong enough to rule in your father’s place.”
Lord Mentor’s scowl said he didn’t think Telemachus would ever be up to the job of
ruling Ithaca. Yesterday, Telemachus might have followed his tutor’s advice. Tonight, after
his meeting with Athena, Lord Mentor’s words made his blood fizz. Apologise to Lord
Antinous? Never.
He almost told his tutor what Athena had said about his father being held captive, then
remembered her warning to keep it a secret. He stared the old man in the eye. “And whose
fault is it that I can’t defend my home and family?” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out
of his tone. “You’re supposed to be my tutor! How can I be expected to learn the arts of war
from an old man who has never left Ithaca?”
He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. But by then it was
too late to take them back.
“I’d have gladly fought and died at my king’s side,” Lord Mentor said stiffly. “But he
asked me to stay behind and look after you. I’ve done my best to raise you as my own son, as
I promised your father I would. You might think my task is over now you’ve come of age, but
you don’t know everything yet. I wish you’d told me what you were planning tonight. You do
realize Lord Antinous is going to whip your backside in this foolish shooting contest you
suggested? There might still be a way out of it, if you’ll swallow your pride and listen to me
for once. We’ll talk about this more in the morning, when my head’s less sore.” His scowl
deepened, and he stomped off towards his bedchamber.
Telemachus watched him go, suddenly very weary. His ribs hurt where Antinous had
kicked him. His head throbbed. The argument with his tutor had left a bad taste in his mouth,
but it had showed him the real problem. They all thought him a little boy still, and that
wouldn’t change while he lived among the women and old men who had known him as one.
A breeze stirred the silver leaves of the olive trees in the courtyard. Almost dawn. He’d
been up all night, and felt like it. By the snores coming from inside the hall, it sounded as if
the suitors slept at last. With luck, he’d get a bit of peace until they woke up and began
demanding more food and wine. Time enough to do what he needed to.
“You win, Athena,” he whispered.
The girl might be having a huge joke at his expense, but she was right about one thing.
He wouldn’t find his father by staying here on Ithaca.
A ripple of excitement went through him as he hurried to his bedchamber to pack his
things. He’d leave a message for his mother, because the queen would only try to stop him
going if he hung around to say goodbye, and he’d take his old boyhood bow to practise with.
Then, when he returned, he’d show Greasy Antinous he was a true son of Odysseus. He’d
show them all!
*
He didn’t know what he’d find when he reached the beach.
He half hoped Athena had tricked him, and the girl who had claimed to be the daughter
of Zeus would be standing in the deserted cove, laughing at him. He’d give her a piece of his
mind, and then he’d go to Grandpa’s farm on the other side of the island and hide out for a
while until things calmed down. Except Lord Mentor would probably guess where he was and
come after him, and Lord Antinous still had his father’s bow.
“Stupid,” he muttered, shifting the bundle of clothes on his shoulder and scowling at his
battered bow and quiver. “I must get more stupid as I get older.”
“Machus! Hurry!”
The shout startled him. He looked up and saw the black ship in the water fighting the
wind, her sail already raised, her oars held by twenty young men up to their waists in the
water, silhouetted against the rising sun. Athena stood on the pilot’s seat, her yellow braids
frizzing in the salt air, waving at him.
“Come on, Machus! We thought you’d never get here.” His best friend, Pireus, slapped
him on the back. “Oversleep, did you? Jump in, then! Poor old Mentor’s been chewing his
nails, wondering if you’d been trapped by those swine up at the palace.”
Some of the others called out to him as well, and Telemachus’ heart swelled with
sudden emotion. All his old friends were here, their bundles already stowed under the rowing
benches, and they’d brought their friends along to make a full crew. He’d been neglecting
them lately with all the worry over Lord Antinous and his crowd.
But he could see no sign of his tutor. Was Lord Mentor in on this, too? Had
Telemachus’ words stirred the old man into action at last? Or – more likely – had his tutor got
wind of his plans and come to haul him back to the palace? He searched the deck, failing to
see anyone on board except the grinning Athena. He cast a wary look around the cliffs,
stained pink by the dawn.
“What’s up?” Pireus said. “You looking for some beautiful princess to kiss goodbye? I
always said Machus had a secret girlfriend stashed away in that palace of his, didn’t I? That’s
obviously why he stopped coming to train with us all.”
Telemachus flushed and avoided looking at Athena. “Girls are the last thing on my
mind, believe me.”
“Of course, if that’s what you want us to believe.”
“It’s true!” Telemachus snapped. He bit his words back when his friends glanced at one
another. “Look, I really appreciate you coming down here, but whatever anyone’s told you
this isn’t going to be a holiday. We’re going to look for my father. It might be dangerous. It
probably will be dangerous. I think Lord Antinous wants me dead, so even if we get back to
Ithaca safely, it’ll be dangerous to be with me. We might have to fight for real.”
His friends’ eyes only sparkled all the more.
“Good!” said a plump, red-haired lad called Melanthius. “Cause I’m going half crazy
cooped up on this little island. It’s about time we saw the world!”
“Yeah, and we’ll get to see Queen Helen,” another lad said with awe.
“The face that launched a thousand ships!”
“The woman who enchanted the Prince of Troy into carrying her off across the sea.”
“The most beautiful woman in the whole world!”
So that was how Athena had persuaded them to come? The girl was craftier than he’d
thought.
Telemachus looked up in time to see Athena wink at him. He sighed and pulled himself
up on the deck to join her. “That was sneaky,” he whispered.
“Worked though, didn’t it?” she whispered back.
Telemachus pulled a face. “Queen Helen must be old enough to be mother of the lot of
you!” he called to his friends, embarrassed by their talk.
Pireus laughed. “Ah, but she’s got a daughter, hasn’t she? The lovely Princess
Hermione…” He made kissing motions in the air. “Maybe a beautiful enough princess even
for you, Telemachus?”
Telemachus flushed. “If you really are coming with me, then some of you better go get
the food,” he ordered to cover his discomfort. “I left it at the palace gate. Make sure no one
sees you.”
Two lads he didn’t know very well splashed out of the water and ran off up the beach at
once. Their eagerness made Telemachus feel a bit stronger. He was in charge here. He was the
Prince of Ithaca, after all.
He looked doubtfully at Athena. “I know the Sea Nymph is your ship, but are you sure
you want to come with us? Because I won’t be able to protect you when we’re at sea.”
Athena shook her head. “I told you, I’m not an ordinary girl. You don’t listen do you,
my prince? Besides, to them I’m Lord Mentor.”
Telemachus frowned at her, Pireus’ earlier remark starting to make sense.
“I have some power, you know. I can make you see me as they do, if you like.”
She rippled.
Her braids shortened and became darker with grey streaks. Her face creased, her
stomach swelled into an old man’s gut, and her smooth legs bulged with hairy muscles. His
tutor sat there, grinning at him. “What’s wrong, my prince? Don’t believe your eyes?” Even
the voice sounded grumpy like Lord Mentor’s.
She rippled back to her own shape. “Prefer me as a girl after all, do you?”
Telemachus blinked, wondering if he might be seeing things because he’d had so little
sleep. But his friends weren’t seeing a girl. He knew that by the way they jumped to obey
when she told them to man the oars. A shiver went down his spine.
“If you can disguise yourself, how do I know that’s your own shape?” he whispered, not
knowing any more what to believe.
“Ah.” Athena smiled. “You’re cleverer than you look, aren’t you? I can take the shape
of anyone I’ve studied up close, but you’ll have to take my word for it. Ask me something
only a goddess would know, if you don’t believe I am who I say I am.”
“All right then, is it true Queen Helen has a daughter?” Telemachus asked, more to
annoy her than anything else.
Athena smiled again. “Oh yes, and a very beautiful one, too. I’m sure your friends will
think the journey worthwhile once they meet her. Maybe you’ll even find her worthwhile
yourself, who knows? Though I’m beginning to think you’re more scared of girls than you are
of your mother’s suitors, silly prince.”
“That’s not true!” Telemachus set his jaw. “If we find my father alive, I’ll marry the
first girl he picks out for me. I swear this by almighty Zeus!”
As he spoke, the sky cracked with thunder, and a gale came blowing from the northwest
to fill their sail. Pireus and the others broke off their excited chatter to jump aboard and grasp
the ropes, shouting at one another and cursing because none of them had ever sailed a black
ship before. Telemachus grabbed the bench in alarm.
“Hmm!” Athena murmured, giving him a flash of her silvery eye. “Even if she’s not
human?”
Telemachus wanted to say Athena didn’t count, since she claimed to be the famous
warrior goddess who would never kiss a boy. But his words were lost as Pireus and the others
got the ropes sorted and the ship leapt forwards. Before he could catch his breath, they were
skimming across a sea turned to fire by the rising sun, leaving the only home he’d ever known
in the storm darkness behind them.
*
2.
CALYPSO
I was so lonely before I found the man, I can tell you!
Having the famous giant Atlas who holds up the pillars of the sky for a father might
sound glamorous, but it means he’s always busy. Well, he can’t just let the sky fall in, can he?
We immortals might survive, and so might the gods up on high Olympus, but what would all
the humans in the world do? Drown, that’s what, since the sky is sure to make a huge great
splash when it comes down on us.
Mother vanished somewhere across the sea aeons ago, saying she was bored of this little
island. I can understand that! It’s a perfectly beautiful island, and safe as well since some kind
of magic keeps it invisible to the outside world. But it’s got one big problem. No one else
lives here. Not a single nymph, not a single god, not even a single human being. “This is your
home now, Calypso,” Mother told me before she left. “So long as you don’t leave this island,
you’ll stay young and beautiful forever.”
Well, I suppose that’s better than being old and ugly. But after Mother left, I thought I’d
go crazy. I talked to the trees and the rocks and the flowers. I even talked to the fish in the sea,
before I ate them. I don’t have to eat, of course – as an immortal I can’t die of hunger, no
more than I can die of anything else. But I do get hungry, and eating passes the time. Fish
have lots of little bones, so it takes absolutely ages to eat them, and then there’s the possibility
of getting a bone stuck in my throat and choking for bit before I cough it up again. It makes
my day more interesting, gives me something to take my mind off being so lonely and bored.
But all that changed when the man came to my island.
He couldn’t have found his way through the enchantments by himself, of course. The
sea god must have pushed him through while he was unconscious. Or maybe Mother felt
sorry for me and sent him here to keep me company? Any rate, I found him washed up on the
beach, half drowned and tied with soggy ropes to a piece of black wood. So I untied him and
took him into my cave.
I’ve cared for him like a baby. I’ve fed him on fish, picking every single bone out first
because I know he might die if he chokes on one. I’ve cut his hair for him, and oiled his body,
and woven him clothes from seaweed. I’ve made him a soft bed of white feathers collected
from seabirds. And how does he repay me? He refuses to spend any time in my cave! He
prefers to sit off on the headland on his own, staring out across the sea. He took one look at
the beautiful bed of white feathers and said he wasn’t going to fall for that trick again, which
was a silly thing to say because it’s the first bed I’ve ever made for anyone. Except when it’s
really cold and wet, he sleeps curled in his cloak outside by the rocks, where he builds a fire
to warm his bones.
It’s not as if he’s anything special, not really. He’s quite old for a human. I don’t know
how old, but he looks a lot older than me. His skin is wrinkled round his eyes, and he has grey
hairs among the brown ones on his head. I don’t really want a grumpy old man like him for a
husband, but I can’t be too choosy stuck out here, can I?
I’ve offered him eternal life. Mother told me that’s how it works if an immortal wants to
live with a mortal. But he says I’m much too young for him, and anyway he’s already married
to a human woman who lives on some ordinary little island far across the sea.
That’s a bit unfortunate, but he can’t find his way out through the enchantments so he’s
stuck here with me. I need him more than his human wife does don’t I? She has lots of other
men on her island. He’s told me so himself. She can easily marry one of them, or even all of
them if she wants. I don’t know how it works with humans, but she’s certainly not half as
lonely or as bored as me. Besides, he left her with a baby son, which is part of the reason he
wants to go home so much – though the man says he has been fighting in some silly human
war for ten years and his ship sunk on his way home, so the baby must be grown up now, I
suppose.
“How old do you think I am?” I asked him one day.
This got to him. He gave me a sad look. “About my son’s age, I’d guess.”
“Which is?”
The man frowned, “Let’s see… ten years on the beach at Troy, my time here with
you… maybe another year or so island-hopping round the western sea before my ship got
wrecked… I’d say around twelve or thirteen?”
“More than that, silly!” I told him. “This is an enchanted island, so you don’t notice the
time passing.”
I did the counting thing Mother taught me on my fingers and toes. “Sixteen,” I told him
firmly. “Your son’s sixteen. That’s plenty old enough get married, isn’t it?” I have a vague
memory Mother said she’d been sixteen when she met my father.
But this upset him even more. “Sixteen…?” he whispered. “It can’t be so long! My little
Telemachus will be a man!” He made an anguished sound, leapt to his feet, and started his
favourite trick of sawing at tree trunks with a handful of fish bones stuck into a sea-sponge.
Now, this proves humans are stupid. Fish bones make good enough needles for sewing,
and I’ve even made myself a little harp out of them. But they’re just about useless for cutting
down trees to make a raft, which is what the man has been trying to do pretty much ever since
he got here. I’ve a little stone knife in my cave, which I use for gutting fish. That’s not much
good for tree trunks, either, but it doesn’t stop him blunting the edge of mine every time he
gets hold of it. I keep it magically hidden now, along with all my other good stuff, because
when he gets in a really bad mood he tends to break my things.
I don’t really know why Mother sent me an old man who never stops talking about the
war. But the son… a boy my own age… now, him I’d like to meet!
Telemachus.
On my tongue, his name is strong and musical like the sea.
***
Will love blossom when Telemachus and Calypso finally meet, or does Athena have
other plans for the handsome prince? And if Odysseus does not return in time, can
Telemachus learn to shoot through twelve axes to save Ithaca? If you would like to read
more, please contact [email protected]