That’s when Penelope signaled Danae, who disappeared into the backrooms. Penelope continued arguing her case: how it was only “fair” that she share her stores with the sons and siblings of Ithaca’s heroes, how it was the least she could do given the privations that they all had to endure—
The crowd gasped as someone entered the room behind her. The hall fell silent, exaggerating the sound of a man’s heavy footsteps as well as the familiar but long-absent sound of a warrior ready for battle—the creaking of leather bindings, the metallic jangle of a sword against bronze fittings.
“Queen of Ithaca, Daughter of Icarius, Princess of Sparta,” the man boomed as he’d been instructed. “We have just received word that the remainder of the Spartan fleet is rounding the bay. My men will soon be here to help keep the peace.”
Gasps and murmurs flared hot and loud, like an over-oiled torch.
“I thought you said this was no invasion,” someone yelled.
“We’re under attack?”
“You lied to us! What should we do?”
She put one hand up to the people, the other to her neck in surprise as she turned to the warrior. “Excuse me, captain?”
“As commanded, a fleet of Spartan warriors is on its way to hold the peace in your palace.”
The courtyard erupted with another great swell of agitated shouts and calls.
“But I did not ask for warriors,” Penelope announced loudly. “I called for shipments of grain and oxen to feed my people!”
“Which are being unloaded as we speak,” the warrior explained in an ever louder voice amidst the growing cries.
The man cut a fine figure, Penelope noted with satisfaction, as he towered above her wearing his best oiled-leather cuirass, his hand on the hilt of an embossed sword, and his face dark except for shining eyes staring out of a gleaming bronze helmet. “The fleet to keep the peace and protect the palace, as I said, will soon arrive.”
Some of the old men began to shout. Liar! More bad luck! The House of Odysseus is cursed!
“This is an outrage,” Penelope shouted over them at the Spartan commander. “Family or not, I will not stand to have any outside Achaean army land on our shores! Have your men row out to meet the fleet and tell them to turn around. Immediately!”
Some clapped and shouted their agreement, but the worried whispers continued.
“But Queen Penelope,” the man cried. “They are prepared to fight. Are you telling me you do not need your blood’s men here to keep the peace? Your royal family instructed—”
“I am the ruler here,” she thundered in her angriest, most authoritative voice. Turning to the crowd, she added, “And I say we do not need outside warriors. My people would never dare to anger the gods by attacking their own royal house!”
She said the last part staring into the eyes of the older men and angry wives of the houses behind the threats. Few met her gaze. There were some shuffling feet. Some old former warriors drifted to her side, scowling furiously at the Spartan, as if they were fully armed and ready to throw themselves at him in defense of their queen.
She smiled at each of them, oddly touched. Penelope faced the Spartan officer with shoulders back and chin up, “I will not allow any outside army to disembark on our shores, no matter our blood connection. Have your men finish unloading the food stores then set out at once to turn your fleet back. They are not needed nor welcome here!”
The man almost overplayed it, Penelope thought. He turned to go, then turned back, feigning great confusion.
“Go,” thundered Penelope. “I command it!”
The gleaming warrior snapped his heels together and bent low to the queen. “As you wish, Queen of Ithaca, Daughter of Sparta, Beloved of the Gods,” he said and marched out of the courtyard, out of the palace, and toward the docks.
The crowd cheered and whooped at his retreating form. Even those who had been muttering and scowling were now grinning and clapping each other’s backs.
“We will feast tonight on the grain, wine and roast meat sent as a gift to me by my royal family in Sparta,” Penelope announced to even more shouts of glee. “And you will leave in my care your fatherless sons and daughters to earn great honors in this ancient house of royalty.”
Almost all the families roared their approval. Penelope beamed beatifically at them.
“Hail, the mild queen who cares for her people!”
“Tonight, we feast like we did in the old days,” an old timer yelled and the people cheered.
Penelope released a shaky breath, exchanging a glance with Danae, who mouthed, “You did it.”
Her trick had worked.
There never had been a Spartan war fleet, of course. The man dressed like a mighty Spartan warrior was a friend of her father’s. She had requested shipments of food—all of which had arrived in the one Spartan boat—and Penelope had used the opportunity to remind her people from whence she came.
And who had her back.
Ithacans would not dare revolt after knowing that she could command—and be obeyed—by a powerful officer of the mightiest army in the land. Or so she hoped.
The ruse worked. Over the next several weeks, the fatherless and brotherless boys of the kingdom, as well as many of their sisters, poured into the palace and right into her hands. Their families called them the queen’s “guest-wards”.
Penelope called them what they were in truth: her hostages.
For no one would dare attack the palace now. Not with their own children inside.
It was also an investment in her son’s future. She hoped, over time, that Telemachus would forge bonds of loyalty with the next generation.
That was the plan.
She quickly discovered she had not accounted for the strange habits of energetic, competitive boys. Nor for their cruelty.
While the small number of girls who’d been sent gladly joined the camaraderie of her weaving centers, the boys were something else entirely.
Weeks after her “guests” had settled into their new lives, she joined them at an evening meal. The hall rang with so much laughter and yelling, she was sure the sound alone would vibrate the hall’s decorative shields right off the walls.
She stood, trying to get their attention. “Boys! Boys!” she called to no avail.
Penelope exchanged a glance with Danae, who scurried over to the new bard whom the queen had hired to help keep the unruly mob of boys entertained. The old straggly-bearded singer stood up, put his fingers in his mouth and let loose a piercing whistle so loud, it caused some of the boys near him to wince and cover their ears. It worked, though. The boys stopped their chatter and looked around.
“Thank you, bard,” she said to the man as he sat. “Now gentlemen,” Penelope began, but a couple of the bigger, louder boys interrupted her. She’d already learned their names—Antinous and Eurymachus.
“Wait, our beloved queen speaks!” they yelled in unison in high, false voices, then fell onto each other laughing as if they’d said something clever or funny.
She paused. There was something about those two she did not like, though she could never put her finger on what or why. They thought too highly of themselves, of course, but didn’t most boys? No, it was something else. She would have to watch them.