The next morning, Amphinomus made his way to the stables seeking permission for—and given grudging assent to—repair a chariot so that he might use it to see more of the island. The idea had come to him in a dream where he’d found himself far from palace and Penelope, but clearly still on Ithaca. He’d understood the message from the gods—know this island and its people if you hope to win its queen.
So, he put his back to the dilapidated carriage, scrubbing and scraping, reworking and repainting—returning the car if not to its former glory at least to a functional state. He was pleased with the final result, the fronting now depicting a dark eyed goddess who he’d swear was Aphrodite but kept in his heart that it was a likeness of Penelope.
After hitching a stallion named Heracles to the chariot, he set out early the next day, for the first time in a long time, hangover free. Fancying himself a modern-day hero on his travels for a moment, he adopted a cheery mien, waving and offering greetings to the Ithacans who, though politeness and social standing meant they had to respond, were looking at him as though he was still out of his mind drunk from the night before. He couldn’t expect anything, Amphinomus supposed. Years he and his ilk had been on Ithaca and in all that time they had done nothing but take.
He urged Heracles up a rise and surveyed the island from above. It was a naturally defensible place, mostly rocky shores with a softer interior. Amphinomus was sure the men who first lived here would have seen that, and Odysseus was lucky to have ruled in such a place.
As he toured the isle, Amphinomus noted that whilst the fields were plentiful, many were not as well-tended as they could be.
When he and the horse tired, Amphinomus stopped by a pig farm. He ignored the curious looks of the two laborer—she’d seen many that day—and drained the last from his water sack whilst Heracles opportunistically bent his head and supped from the pigs’ water trough. It had been a while since Amphinomus had been close to a farm such as this—and the acrid smell was both welcome and unwelcome at the same time.
“Wine would do you better than water, sir.”
Amphinomus turned to see a shit-spattered old-man leaning on the gate to the small-holding, two hounds at his feet. “There’s truth in that,” the prince said, offering the geriatric a smile—which was returned. “I’m…”
“Prince Amphinomus of Megara,” the oldster finished, inclining his head with the slightest of bows. “I’m Eumaeus,” he offered. “Prince of all you survey.” A pause. “I have wine. Food. My men will see to your horse.”
The men, Amphinomus noted, looked none too pleased at the suggestion. He regarded the old man in silence for a moment; all day, he had been treated with veiled hostility and impatient looks that screamed “be along with you”. Could he trust…
“We wish you no harm, Prince,” Eumaeus said as though reading his thoughts. “Not as though three old men could do you much harm anyway. And I honor the gods. We don’t piss on guest-friendship around here.”
That made him smile.
The pig farmer’s home was a small, squat stone construction lit inside by lamps and redolent with the pervasive, acrid smell of pig dung. Amphinomus could see a well-stocked larder and many kraters: clearly, Eumaeus liked a drink. The old man bade him sit and prepared a light meal of flatbread and olives which he placed on the table before the prince; two cups and a full jug of wine were not long in following. Nor was the libation to Zeus, poured enthusiastically by Eumaeus.
“What do you think of Ithaca?” the old man asked Amphinomus as he ate.
The prince was surprised at his own embarrassment when the swineherder voiced the question. He had been on the island for years, yet this day was the first time he had deigned to take note of it. A good thing, he thought, that the question had not cropped up yesterday. “It is a deceptive place,” he said after a moment. “Uninviting at first glance but yet ripe full of surprises.”
“Like an old—and ugly—whore,” Eumaeus laughed at his own wit but the old man’s hilarity made Amphinomus smile despite his disgust. “You’ve been here a while,” he said after he sobered. “Yet you are the first prince I’ve seen leave the town.”
“To my shame,” Amphinomus admitted. He took a sip of Eumaeus’s wine and did his best not to wince. Like everything else in the swineherder’s little domicile, it was pungent and harsh. “I thought that I should get to know the place. The people. And not confine myself to the great house, my house and a single road in the town.” He paused, regarding the old man for a moment. “You recognized me but I’ve not seen you before.”
“Till now,” Eumaeus agreed. “But I’ve seen you many times. It’s the way of princes not to see the likes of me. That’s where our king is different,” he went on. “I count Odysseus a friend.”
Normally, Amphinomus would’ve scoffed at a claim like that but something about the man and his stories convinced him he was telling the truth. He tucked that information away for the future—certainly befriending the locals was a ruling strategy that had served Odysseus well.
“The king’s long absence is so unfortunate for the only son of the king,” the pig farmer said, before taking a big swallow of his swill.
“You know that Telemachus has gone in search of him?” Amphinomus asked. The boy’s sudden backbone in taking action had surprised all of the suitors.
“Heard about that too,” Eumaeus admitted. “I’ve known the boy since he was born. A good lad, for sure. But one that will never really see the sun. Too much of his father’s shadow to step out of.” The swineherder looked into Amphinomus’s eyes as he spoke, as though he were measuring him. “He may not be back either. And where does that leave us?”
“The queen must choose a husband,” Amphinomus said at once.
“And you dream to be that man,” the herder said with a smirk. But then he looked at Amphinomus’s face and paused. “You love her?”
“She is a great and noble lady, how could I not…admire her?”
Amphinomus was unused to being laughed at by a man covered in pig-shit. “She is all that and more,” the swineherder said after a moment. “And I was young once too, you know.” He paused to pour more wine. “But now I’m old. Antinous…Eurymachus and all those others…” he jabbed a gnarled, dirty nailed finger at Amphinomus, “…you aren’t like them. I’ve heard tell of it and I’ve seen it with my own eyes now. No one here loves you, mind,” he said, “but no one really hates you either. Not like those others.”
“Nice of you to say so,” Amphinomus muttered. “I had thought to make myself useful,” he said. He paused then as the older man’s beady eyes fixed on him—measuring as he himself measured. “I could use your help.”
Eumaeus snorted. “What help does a prince need of a pig farmer?”
“You said you were friends with Odysseus?”
“I am…I was.”