Odysseus: The Return

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘No one has mistreated me, prince, and I rested sufficiently. Some good soul threw a cloak over my shoulders as I was sleeping, and only the Aurora awoke me. I folded the skins I’d been given and put them back in their place.’

  ‘Good. Then you may enter for the banquet. I know there is no love lost between you and the princes. I’ve had a table set for you apart from the others, but I’ve told the servants to bring you a cup from the royal service.’ He gave me a barely visible wink and continued: ‘It’s the cup that my father, King Odysseus, would use here at the palace when he took his place next to my mother the queen. It’s made of embossed gold, crafted by a skilled artisan on the continent.’

  He spoke loudly so as to be heard inside and outside the hall. I replied in tone: ‘I’m not worthy of such a precious object, prince, and I’m no longer accustomed to using such finery. A simple clay cup is more suitable to my humble condition.’

  ‘No. I want the princes to see how a guest is respected properly in this house – they should be ashamed of their behaviour.’

  I nodded, accepting his decision, and followed him over the threshold. On the far side of the hall were a stool and a dark wooden table. The gleaming cup contrasted greatly with the worn surface. I noticed that the table had been positioned so that the sun’s light struck the gold, setting it afire.

  Others had not failed to notice the same thing.

  In particular, one of the princes who came from the continent. He had no particular merits beyond his wealth, and it was said that he had sent Icarius, my father-in-law, lavish gifts, even more precious than those he’d brought for the queen. He observed with great vexation that Telemachus was having me served first: a plate brimming over with lamb, pork and beef, with chopped rosemary and salt on the side to season the meat. Eumeus poured the wine and Philoetius smiled and nodded at me as if to say: ‘Now you look like a king!’

  But the rich, fat prince wasn’t smiling and he spoke out rudely: ‘Friends! Look at how Telemachus has honoured his guest and served him such abundant portions. Can we do any less? I want to give him something myself!’ He grabbed a cow’s hoof from a basket and flung it at me. I ducked and it barely missed me, hitting the wall behind and falling to the ground. As I twisted to the side, I met Phemius’ eyes for a moment, and saw a flash of recognition.

  I bit down hard on my lip so as not to react to the provocation, but Telemachus reacted for me. He stood squarely in front of the prince who was as loutish as he was fat. ‘Thank your god,’ he said, ‘that you didn’t hit him; that he was faster than you are. Otherwise I would have run you through on my sword like a pig on a spit, and instead of a wedding you would have had a nice funeral!’

  My son could use humour to his advantage, I noted with satisfaction; the bite in his sarcasm had hit its mark. My heart laughed bitterly in my chest. While I hadn’t let go of the insult, it had already sunk to the bottom of my soul where it added fuel to my mounting fury. I would need it all when the moment came: my rage would tear through the hall like wildfire.

  One of the princes asked the others for silence so he could make a proposal.

  ‘Telemachus is right,’ he began. ‘We cannot disrespect his guests, because this is his house, but it’s also true that things cannot go on the way they have been. Odysseus, as we all know, is not coming back. He’s surely dead. Twenty years have gone by. What’s the use of being so obstinate? Take my advice, Telemachus: give up. Since your father won’t be coming back, choose one of us and accept his wedding gifts. Consider them as reparation for what we’ve consumed in all the time we’ve been waiting for your mother’s decision. You can remain here and enjoy the palace. Your mother will simply take a husband and move into his household. Doesn’t that seem like a good solution?’

  I was astonished by his words. How could he not be demanding the throne? If he were chosen, would he marry Penelope solely out of love? Or had he and the others hatched some wicked plot to murder Telemachus once a wedding had taken place?

  Telemachus replied: ‘Surely, the way you tell it, this seems like the most sensible of solutions and there’s no reason in the world why I should object to such a thing, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. My mother doesn’t want to follow any of you out of this house, and I cannot and do not want to force her. Is that clear? I will not ever throw my mother out of this house!’

  I’ll never forget what happened after my boy finished speaking. I had expected them to reflect on his words, thought that they might be reminded of their dignity as princes and even show an inkling of respect, but no.

  They burst out laughing.

  Unrestrained, compulsive, insane laughter. They just couldn’t stop and to me that hilarity was like the barking of dogs, or the shrill screeching of frightened birds. They laughed and laughed as they stuffed their mouths with bloody meat.

  There is a fine line between laughter and tears. How often in my life I’d experienced that myself! In Troy, after the battle, in the shelter of our tents, I’d seen the faces of my friends, glorious heroes, befuddled by the fumes of wine, go from laughing to crying or back again, without rhyme or reason.

  Those wretches had eyes filled with tears but they couldn’t have stopped laughing even if they had wanted to.

  Right at that moment, the guest to whom my son had given shelter appeared in the hall, almost like an apparition: Theoclymenus, the murdering prophet who had climbed aboard Telemachus’ ship at Pylos to escape the rage of the dead man’s relatives. His face was pale and his dilated eyes were wells of darkness.

  ‘You scoundrels!’ he shouted. ‘Your doom is sealed!

  ‘I see your heads wrapped in darkness, the hall rings with your groaning, blood is spattered everywhere on the walls and is pooling, steaming, on the floors. I see scores of shadows crowding the palace and the courtyard, shades of dead men running, shrieking like bats, towards the gates of Hades. The sun has disappeared from the sky, deep night descends on this house. Go, leave now if you can, while there’s still time!’

  ‘The bloke’s raving mad,’ one of the suitors shouted out. ‘He says it’s dark outside! What kind of guests does Telemachus ask in, anyway? That one,’ he went on, pointing at me, ‘a worthless beggar who won’t even let us eat in peace, a leech, that’s what he is! And now this other one wanders in, completely demented!’

  They carried on devouring their meat half raw and swilling wine. I watched them, passing among them without letting myself be seen. Nothing escaped me. I observed their movements, their looks, identified their weak spots. No one would elude his destiny. Their lunching went on and on, there was so much to eat, so much meat and so much wine. But the dinner . . . well, I’d be preparing that for them, and they wouldn’t find anything to laugh about.

  Once again, I met the gaze of Phemius, the poet, and I was certain, from his expression, that he’d read what was in my eyes and that he realized what was coming. Tears coursed down his bristly cheeks. How many stories he’d sung to me as a child, in the dark, in the silent palace, trying to lull me into sleep. Now, in silence, he was pleading for mercy.

  MY WIFE appeared, crossed the hall and went up the stairs which led to the women’s quarters, followed by the greedy eyes of the suitors. They offended me. Then I watched as Penelope descended the stairs again, haughtily ignoring their gazes. She held a bronze key in her hand. I knew it well. The key to the underground storeroom. What did she have in mind? Had she perhaps recognized me the night before? Had my longing for her revealed me? If she had recognized me, why hadn’t she given me any sign?

  ‘Because you lied to her,’ sounded a voice in my heart.

  While the eyes of everyone in the hall were on the queen, I slipped out of the hall and went to the atrium where I had seen Eumeus and Philoetius retreating earlier. I motioned for them to come close.

  ‘Your master has returned,’ I said. ‘And he is here, standing before you.’

  ‘Wanax!’ exclaimed Philoetius and he fell to his knees and embraced my leg
s.

  ‘Yes, he is indeed our master,’ hissed Eumeus, turning to the cowherd. ‘But quiet! No one must know!’

  ‘Listen,’ I said to them both, ‘if you help me to avenge myself and reconquer my home I promise that you won’t be sorry. You’ll live close to me all your lives and I’ll give you land, flocks, a beautiful wife, whichever one of the handmaids you choose.’

  ‘We’re with you, wanax,’ they replied, ‘ready to fight to the last breath.’

  ‘Eumeus, my armour.’

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘I have everything ready.’ He helped me to put it on and then arranged the ragged tunic and torn cloak to hide it completely. The cold chill of the metal raced from my shoulders down my arms. I hadn’t experienced the feel of bronze on my skin in years.

  ‘What about Telemachus?’

  ‘His armour is ready as well. It’s waiting for him in the Hall of the Argonauts. He knows that, and he has the key in his belt. When you see him disappear, that’s where he’ll be going.’

  ‘The queen had a key as well. It looked like the one to the underground chambers.’

  ‘It was, wanax,’ replied Eumeus.

  ‘What is she looking for down there?’ I wondered aloud. I was worried at this unexpected turn: what could she be thinking? Would she ruin everything? But then calmness returned to steady my heart. My goddess was helping me; she was at my side in every move I made, in every thought that came into my mind.

  ‘Now, you and I will go back inside, Eumeus,’ I told him. ‘I’ll go in first and you’ll follow. Philoetius, you go to the rear door. Lock it and prop it shut from the outside. No one must escape. Are you armed?’

  Philoetius smiled widely and opened his cloak, revealing a huge, two-headed battleaxe. ‘I can bring down a bull with this,’ he said. ‘No one will get out that door.’

  ‘Good. Then I’m going back in. When the slaughter starts, Eumeus and Telemachus will already be at my side. Once you’ve secured the door, come back in through the front. I’ll need you.’

  None of the suitors noticed me returning because their eyes were still trained in another direction.

  Penelope.

  She was crossing the hall, accompanied by two maidservants holding a leather sack, closed at the neck with a leather tie. She went to sit next to my throne, vacant for twenty years, and her maids laid the bag at her feet. Then they opened it and pulled out an enormous horn bow. The bowstring was loose and wrapped around the grip.

  My bow!

  The bow that has meant my survival on this long, harsh, last journey.

  The bow that Autolykos, my mother’s father, had given to me as a wedding gift, making me promise that it would never leave this house. It was dark and shining, in perfect condition. Had King Laertes my father taken such care to preserve it all these years? Or ordered one of the servants to do so? Why had Penelope brought it into the hall? Again, my heart was pounding, hard.

  Theoclymenus, the seer, had vanished.

  Eumeus was near the hearth.

  Antinous, the head of the suitors, the most arrogant of them all, was pouring himself wine.

  A strange silence had settled over the hall. Everyone was speaking, but in low voices, as if they feared someone would hear what they were saying.

  The queen rose to her feet. ‘Princes!’ she said.

  No one, from the moment she had reappeared, had taken their eyes off her for a moment.

  ‘Princes! I have decided to accept your demands!’

  What was happening? I gave Eumeus a questioning look, but he merely shook his head. I sought out Telemachus, then, and our eyes met. What was happening?

  No one knew. He was as surprised as I was, but he was approaching the throne.

  Penelope’s voice rang out again: ‘I’m here to propose a competition. The man among you who succeeds in stringing this bow and in shooting an arrow clean through the rings of twelve axes lined up one after another, and striking the target, will be the man that I follow out of this house and whose wife I shall become.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. What was Penelope doing? I had told her that Odysseus was about to return, that he was close by, perhaps even already on the island, and she was offering herself as a trophy in an archery contest? Was she declaring her willingness to follow one of these arrogant usurpers? Perhaps one of those who had plotted to murder her son, our son? My heart screamed in my chest. The mere thought of her lying next to another man was enough to destroy me. Is this why I had come home?

  Four more handmaids entered the hall two at a time, each pair holding a basket containing six two-bladed axes, each topped by a ring which normally served for hanging it on the wall, and six blocks of wood with holes drilled in them to hold the axes in place.

  Penelope ordered Eumeus to line them up on the floor one after another, each axe inserted upright into its solid wood block. I looked at him again, a question in my eyes, but the swineherd just shook his head again. He had no choice, he could not disobey an order from the queen.

  A voice sounded again in my heart. Mentor’s, this time! How long had it been since I’d heard his voice!

  ‘You are a resourceful man, with a cunning, complex mind. Use it. Reflect.’

  The task’s purpose immediately became clear. The key was the bow. Yet who could string the bow without knowing its secrets?

  Eumeus continued to carry out the queen’s orders. He set each axe firmly into its rest and lined them all up.

  Penelope signalled to her maids and they brought out a soft, glimmering veil and placed it on her head, covering her face.

  My heart broke in my chest. It was the same veil that she had used to cover her head when she’d had to face her father Icarius so many years earlier, to show him that she was betrothed to me; that she would become my wife and nothing could ever make her change her mind. Now the veil was for whoever won the contest of the bow. I was no longer so certain that none of the suitors would be capable of doing it, and the thought was killing me.

  ‘Where are you?’ my heart called out desperately.

  Mentor’s voice answered again: ‘Here, next to you. Why do you doubt me? Because you feel alone?’

  ‘Because I am alone,’ my heart replied. ‘Because one of them could win. Because I could be forced to take part in the contest and I don’t know that my strength will suffice. So much time has passed, too much. Filled with such harrowing trials, screams and blood and aching wounds, unspeakable pain and never-ending storms . . .’

  But my time was coming, it was close now, very close, and so I spoke to my heart: ‘Be strong, my heart. This is the last test, the most cruel of all, but only you can succeed, no one else. None of these men have ever watched Damastes, expert at his art like no other, as you have, hundreds of times, planting his knee into the only point where the bow can be flexed, and hooking the ring of the bowstring onto the end of the top horn.’

  The princes thronged close and Antinous spoke up: ‘Friends, the axes have been lined up and the queen has proposed a contest. We shall accept this challenge and we’ll soon know who has been smiled upon by fortune! I will be first, and the rest of you will follow, one by one, from left to right, like when the wine is being served.’

  I could not stop my thoughts from bounding forwards and backwards. What had I done wrong? If Penelope had recognized me, she must have realized that I had a plan, a plan that would be compromised by a contest of this sort. Did she want to punish me? Show me that she resented me not confiding in her? And if she hadn’t recognized me, why had she chosen that moment to offer herself as a prize to the suitors?

  Mentor’s voice sounded again in my heart: ‘There’s a third explanation.’

  ‘Yes. She asked me a question. I answered with a lie. She knows this is the only way to make me tell the truth.’

  Telemachus’ voice shook me from my thoughts. Like his mother, he was ready to take the initiative.

  ‘Suitors!’ he said. ‘This is my house, the queen is my mother. And the bow is m
ine as well. I have the right to be the first to try my hand at this contest. If I succeed in stringing the bow and shooting my arrow through the twelve rings, then my mother will not be forced to forsake this house. She will remain here with me for as long as she wants.’ He was a man; what he said was true. It was his right.

  No one objected, and Eumeus handed the great bow to the prince. Telemachus planted the lower horn on the ground, leaned his left knee against the bow, gripped the ring at the end of the string with his left hand and the top horn with his right, and tried to bend it down so as to hook the ring. His whole body tensed with immense exertion, copious sweat burst from his brow, his eyes reddened from the strain and for an instant I saw the upper horn flexing. My heart swelled with pride. I wanted to shout: ‘You can do it, pai! String it and let fly!’ but I knew it was impossible. The upper horn straightened, winning over the pull of his young arm. Telemachus had to admit defeat.

  A sarcastic grin appeared on Antinous’ face.

  ‘You try!’ said my boy. ‘Let’s see what you can do.’

  Antinous strode forward. He grabbed the upper horn with his left hand and used his right to grasp the string on the end with the ring that he had to hook on to the end of the bow. He turned red and the veins on his neck swelled up. The ring was getting closer to the tip of the upper horn. He had almost succeeded, but I was looking at his knee. The bow would win and he would lose. He withstood the strain, stalling for as long as he could hold the position, but then his strength began to wane and he could not prevent the upper horn from drawing away from the ring. Antinous flung the bow onto the ground in a fit of rage, and would not look at Penelope. Covered by her veil, the queen seemed a mysterious, impassive goddess.

  It was the turn of Eurymachus, after Antinous the most illustrious of the suitors, not incapable of reasoning with his own head, at times, from what I’d seen. But his attempt was futile from the start; he knew that he would never succeed. He had already understood that the contest would be a humiliating parade of impotence in front of the magnificent queen they had plagued and humiliated for years.