He did his best, but he knew he probably still looked drunk. To his surprise, Helen, the queen, was seated beside the king in a small chamber adjoining the main hall. Telemachus studied the mysterious queen. Her epic beauty was still undeniable, even at her age. Despite the small lines around her eyes, they shone like lapis lazuli, and despite the occasional white thread, her hair still gleamed like spun gold.
The queen’s lush mouth quirked on one side and Telemachus realized he’d been caught out, gawping. Flushing, he turned his attention to his surroundings, a surprisingly dark room, sparsely furnished and heavy with the cloying scent of a strange, foreign perfume.
“Welcome, princely son of Nestor,” Menelaus boomed at the sight of Peisistratus. The two embarked on a friendly conversation about his father’s health and many sons. It took a moment for Telemachus to realize no one was going to introduce him.
It was unclear why Peisistratus would forget to do so; clearing his throat, he did it himself.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, cousin,” Telemachus said to the still beautiful queen, who somehow looked many decades younger than the now bloated Menelaus. “Your cousin, my mother, Penelope, sends her greetings and well wishes.”
Helen smiled at the mention of his mother. “Dear Penelope. I haven’t thought about her in ages!”
Telemachus turned to Menelaus, “It is a pleasure to finally meet my cousin-by-marriage as well,” he said to the king, bowing slightly.
Menelaus gave a slight nod. “We are grateful for the reminder of our blood relations, Telemachus, son of Odysseus.”
The king smiled at Helen and she smiled back but there was a curious deadness in both pairs of eyes, as if they were putting on a performance of marriage. What magical hold did the queen have on the old king, Telemachus wondered. Despite her beauty, by all rights, he should’ve killed Helen on the steps of Troy for the dishonor she’d brought upon his house. Wasn’t Menelaus shamed by the way she had continued to dishonor him?
After King Nestor’s dodges, Telemachus learned the best approach was to be bold and straight. “I have come to ask for assistance for my claim to patrimony and, at the same time, to honor the man whose stratagem brought you such great wealth,” he said.
“Well said, young man,” Helen noted. “You do indeed sound like your father.”
“What kind of assistance are you requesting?” asked the king.
“I need a force of arms to rout my hall which is overrun by suitors seeking my mother’s hand and my father’s throne.”
Helen and the king exchanged a look.
“It seems to me that my cousin has the situation well in hand,” the queen said. “She has done well by the people of Ithaca, despite the loss of promised Trojan wealth.”
“Despite the loss of her husband, which is more important,” Telemachus corrected.
Helen arched one perfect brow at his tone.
“My patrimony must be defended,” he continued, looking at Menelaus. “To honor a champion of Achaea, I request a small force of arms. I do not need a large number of trained warriors because the men abusing my home are soft and wine-sodden and—”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Menelaus interrupted.
Telemachus blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I have it on good authority that your father is headed to your shores as we speak.”
The room shifted sideways for a moment and Telemachus put a steadying hand on the table. “Wha-what?”
“Surely you knew he was living on the far isle of Ogygia all these years?”
“I’d heard rumors, yes, but—”
“They were not rumors. Perhaps someone was trying to protect you from the truth of his abandonment. Either way, it is unclear why he has decided that now is the time to return, but knowing that, I cannot send a force of arms unless he personally requests it, as he is the rightful king. The potential for misunderstanding is too great. What if my actions were misinterpreted and it looked like I was arming you to remove your own father from the throne?”
Telemachus knew he looked like an idiot with his mouth hanging open, but he could not make sense of what he was hearing. He looked from the king to Helen, to Peisistratus. “I would never…” How could he even suggest that he would do anything but welcome his father?
“One must never assume,” the king said. “You are, after all, the son of Odysseus. You could be trying to trick or mislead us in some way.”
Again, Telemachus could only stare, stunned. After a moment he said with as much conviction as he could muster, “If my father does make it home, I will fight beside him to clean out our house in his name and on his behalf! You must know that! But we cannot do it without a force of arms.”
“I would like to think that a son would fight for his father but I no longer take anything for granted,” the king said mildly. “There are other concerns as well. I cannot risk that other Achaean kings might interpret my involvement in Ithaca’s kingship as proof that Sparta is willing and able to invade allies. So, you see why I must decline to send you men-at-arms.”
Telemachus stood, his bench sliding on the stone floor with a sharp crack. “So you won’t help the family of the man responsible for everything you have here—including your wife, in case you’ve forgotten—to strengthen his house? You owe my father! You owe me!”
Menelaus’s expression did not change. Helen, however, leaned forward. “If your mother really wanted all these men out of her hall, she would’ve ordered them out. Do you not see that?”
“What in Hades are you saying?” Telemachus nearly shouted.
Menelaus scowled at his tone and Telemachus quickly gained control of his voice. “I mean, great queen, that I do not understand your point.”
“Most of the young men in your hall—outside of the interlopers who joined late—are guest-hostages of your mother. A brilliant tactic, I must admit, by the way, that ensured her people did not rebel against your House during the years of want. Penelope always was a sharp one.
“You see, if she were to suddenly banish these young men, or you were to return with an army to rout them, their families may take the attack upon a second generation of Ithaca’s men as an unforgiveable blood-insult.”
Telemachus swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that.
“Here’s some advice, young man,” Menelaus said. “Make alliances and raise the men you need from your own people. You will never win loyalty by bringing in outside forces who fight for coin.”
“The son of Odysseus has never been in battle,” Peisistratus blurted. “Nor killed a man.”
Menelaus’s copper-colored eyebrows rose nearly to his thinning hairline.
Telemachus’s face grew hot. “What should that matter? Every man has to start somewhere.”
“But not from nothing, dear boy,” said Menelaus, who exchanged a meaningful look with the son of King Nestor. “Did Laertes never show you…”
He shook his head.
“The fates have not treated you kindly. However, you must do what all men do, nevertheless. Prove yourself first as a warrior. Once you’ve demonstrated your worthiness, we will reconsider.”