Amphinomus willed himself not to blush at the allusion. And failed. Her tone made his pulse quicken. She was teasing him now—flirting even. He took a deep chug of the wine. It was sweet—almost too sweet. Not to his liking, but it would be rude to show it. “Well,” he tried to sound equable, “I’m a man who likes to get things done rather than talk about it.”
“So I’ve heard,” Penelope said. “These past months they tell me that you have taken it on yourself to organize my fields and my workers. That you have instructed Danae and the others to clean up after your…fellows. I have to ask why?”
Amphinomus drank again. “Because…because I felt that you were unimpressed by the antics of the suitors.” More wine to steady himself. It was going to his head—so strange for it to affect him this quickly. “Because I feel a measure of guilt that we suitors have done nothing but take and take and take. And,” he looked up at her, “because I thought it might please you to know that at least one of us has your…and your home’s…best interest at heart.”
Her eyebrow arched. “My interest? Surely you and those other men have your own interests at heart. My hand grants you this kingdom—a kingdom won without having to lift a spear.”
“I’m not interested in the kingdom,” Amphinomus tried to sound forthright but it came out as a blurted statement. “I mean to say that…of course the welfare of the island has become important to me. But not as important as…” he trailed off. How to say it without coming across as a callow boy. Or a fool. Or both. “I have come to admire you greatly, Lady,” he said at last.
She didn’t answer and a silence hung between them that Amphinomus felt the urge to fill. “I heard a rumor that your son is on his way home,” he said.
“And I heard that there was a plot to have him murdered when he does so,” she countered, raising one eyebrow at his expression of surprise. “You think anything that transpires on my island does not reach my ears?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I also heard that you…and you alone spoke up for him. That you argued for his life and carried the day. Your words would save my son’s life.”
“I am a son too,” Amphinomus's heart surged that she knew of this. “I can imagine my mother’s grief if I was stabbed in the back and left for dead.” He hesitated. “Such a deed would cause you great pain, Lady. And that is a thought that I cannot countenance. I wish only happiness for you. Forever.”
“The truth is that he’s likely dead anyway,” she cut him off, her voice suddenly harsh. “He and Odysseus both.” She looked away, clearly ashamed at this momentary loss of dignity.
Amphinomus’s heart went out to her even as hope flared in it. “If so, I mourn for your loss, of course I do,” he said carefully.
“Do you now?” she turned back to him. “Words, Amphinomus. Just words. Are you not here to win my hand? Does this situation not strengthen your position?”
Amphinomus blinked, finding it hard to concentrate. Yet he must. “If I were a man without a heart, I would see it so,” he admitted. “But I have one. And…” he hesitated, “it is yours. It has been since the first moment that I became old enough to give it away.”
“Such are the hearts of the young.”
“I am not a shadow of…” he could not bring himself to say Odysseus’s name. “I am not a shadow of the king,” he said. “But I am here. I am flesh and blood. And if you chose me, my first duty would be…” He trailed off. There were so many things he could say. That he should say. That a prince must say. But his heart, still thrumming from Eros’s arrows prompted him to tell the truth. “My first duty every day would be to make you happy. The rest…the rest would be easy after that.” He blinked and looked at the wine cup and somewhere far away he heard Penelope’s chuckle.
The cup was empty, grains of sediment in the bottom. But he couldn’t recall drinking it. His senses seemed more acute now, the seductive, pungent smell of her perfume seeming to fog his mind. He looked over to her and her face seemed more beautiful than he had ever seen it, her eyes alight with a hidden fire that only he could see.
“Antinous the strong,” she said. “Eurymachus the beautiful and sly. Amphinomus the earnest. The farmer. The caregiver. Such are my choices.”
“Amphinomus who loves you,” he announced—somewhat against his own will. Yet, with the wine coursing through his veins, he was unperturbed and unembarrassed by the pronouncement. Again, it was the truth.
“I remember when you were younger,” the queen said. “You—and you alone—tried to help my son with the other boys.” She regarded him with her peerless eyes. “I noticed it then and I see it now. You till the fields, working alongside the people—my people—a people that are not your own. Your actions speak, Amphinomus. They mark you as a man who could be king.” His heart leapt as she said these words, but she spoke again. “If there is to be a king at all.”
Amphinomus pressed his lips into a thin line. “My suit aside, Lady, you know that I would accept your will and leave this place with a heavy heart. But I must tell you: if you renege on this…there could be bloodshed.”
She smiled at him. “Such is my greatest fear, Amphinomus. And yet blood may spill no matter what I choose.” She rose to her feet and regarded him as he struggled to his own. “It seems I have much to think on.”
The numbness was strange. Penelope stepped close to him—much closer than was seemly and her eyes held him. Amphinomus’s heart pounded as her lips parted and for a moment, he dared hope she might kiss him. But she did not. “It seems the wine has gone to your head,” she said with that half smile again. “You have pleased me greatly, Amphinomus. I will see you again.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Like a wraith from Hades, Danae appeared at his side and led him away, back into the stygian darkness of the tunnels. He glanced over his shoulder at the queen as she sat and saw her take a sip of her wine. It occurred to him that this was the first time he had seen the rim of the cup touch her lips.
Once home, a great weariness—despite the euphoria of his conversation with the queen—overtook him. He drank water, a lot of water it, straight from the krater and staggered into the small room where he slept, lying down on the rugs expectant that Morpheus’s embrace would not be long in coming. Yet the god of sleep was strangely absent, kept away by the whirling tumult of thoughts in Amphinomus’s mind. Penelope’s visage swam before his eyes, her words thrumming in his ears—she would see him again. Soon! Love for her surged through him as did a sense of vindication: he had been right to take matters on Ithaca into his own hands. She had noticed. And she favored him for it.
He could smell her still, the scent of her sweet perfume heady in his nostrils; he could almost taste it.