The sun was just beginning to rise as I walked arm in arm with Odysseus down to the ship docks. Anticlea followed behind us, her arms cradling Telemachus, giving us a few final moments together before everything would change.
The morning air was crisp, even with my shawl wrapped tightly around me. I glanced at my husband, noticing the tension in his brow as he stared at our ships, anchored in the harbor, alongside those of the men who had come to gather him and now prepared to sail for Helen’s return. His expression was unreadable, the weight of what lay ahead heavy on his mind.
I slowed our walk, pulling us away from the docks. Odysseus stopped beside me, his eyes shifting to mine in confusion.
"My Queen?" His gruff morning voice was tinged with a touch of concern.
I met his sky-blue gaze with my green eyes, offering him a sad smile, and gently poked the spot between his brows. "I’m not going to ask you to stay," I said, waiting for the tension to leave his face. "I know Athena will guide you through, and you must uphold your honor by keeping your promise."
In truth, I longed to beg him to stay, to send our general in his place. But I knew Odysseus wouldn’t do that—not for anything. There was no wisdom in such a request that the Goddess would approve of.
I simply wanted to be selfish. My love for this man, this king, was both selfish and selfless. I could not have asked for a better husband or ruler.
Slowly, I moved my hand to cradle his face. He leaned into the touch, his warmth spreading up my arm, grounding me.
"I don’t want you to worry about Telemachus, or about me," I continued, struggling to hold my emotions in check. I needed to be strong, to keep him from hesitating, for I knew he carried the favor of the gods.
"But remember to be wise, my dear husband," I said, my voice heavy with more than just words. "Strength alone will not see you through the storm that awaits. The gods may favor you, but even they are fickle in their choices. In battle, there is more to victory than the sword. There is the heart, the mind, and the spirit. You must lead with all three, for the war you face is not just of men, but of fate itself."
I paused, my gaze steady on him, as if trying to impart everything I knew in those moments. "Do not stray from what you’ve been taught, or from the wisdom you’ve gained in years of experience. Let her guidance carry you, as it always has."
I swallowed, forcing my emotions back, and looked at him with nothing but love. "You don’t have to be victorious, Odysseus. I just want you to come back alive."
His eyes showed his sadness, that his face did not, and I saw him taking my words to heart.
“Oh, my Spartan Queen, my love, my life. The one who blessed us with a child. I will keep your wise words close to my heart.” he paused briefly as we heard someone calling for him. Time for him to leave was upon us.
Anticlea, came up then as we straightened, and she put Telemachus in his fathers arms for the last time for a long while.
“My son,” she said as she looked up lovingly Odysseus. “Be safe, I’ll be waiting for your return. Even if Hades, the lord of the underworld comes to get me, I want you to be the last thing I see before I accept his offer. You hear me?” I could hear her voice choking up, but she was a strong woman, her family was descended from Hermes, so maybe that is why I admired the strength she showed.
So unusual for a woman of this area. “I will help Penelope take care of things here so you have nothing to worry about, except returning alive. That is my mission to you.” I watched as she cradled his face, and gently led him to her level, so she kiss his forehead.
It was quickly becoming rowdy, at the ships, “Captain!” I heard a voice call toward us, as king, Odysseus was also Captian, “We are about ready to set sail, we are just waiting for your call!”
I sighed, and I gingerly took our son from Odysseus’ arms. And I almost chuckled as that new father fear briefly stole the kingly mask he wore, before he realized I now held Telemachus.
“I’m sorry for leaving so soon after we brought our son into this world,” his voice getting a raspy gravel to it, only for me to hear the emotion that was trying to chain him here. But I shook my head.
“Go,” I softly commanded. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you will return—to my arms and to our son, teaching him all that you know.”
Odysseus nodded, his jaw tightening as he pressed a kiss to Telemachus’ head, then another, lingering, against my lips. And then he turned, striding toward the ship with purpose.
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I watched him go, willing my heart to remain steady. I would not cry. I could not show weakness before my people, not when their king was leaving for war. I had to be strong—for them, for him, for what was to come.
“Let me hold my grandson again, my daughter.”
Anticlea’s voice was gentle but firm, and as I handed Telemachus back to her, I caught a glimpse of the years etched into her face. The silver strands in her hair, the way her posture threatened to yield to age despite her determination to stand tall. Our eyes met, a quiet understanding passing between us. But I had a duty as Queen.
Lifting my chin, I stepped forward, closer to the docks, where Odysseus was boarding his ship. His mask of confidence was firmly in place, smiling as if this war would be quick and easy. I said nothing, only watching in silent vigil. This was not a journey our kingdom needed, but it was one our honor demanded. If nothing else, I prayed my presence might offer a silent blessing—a wish for swift victory and an even swifter return.
Yet deep down, I knew better.
The wind tugged at my dress as the ships began to push away from the docks, the sun rising behind them, golden and indifferent. But even in its warmth, I did not feel comforted.
“Don’t forget to smile, my daughter,” Anticlea whispered, her fingers brushing my arm as if to pull me back from my thoughts. “I fear our Odysseus would throw himself into the sea and swim back if he happened to look back and see you sad.”
I forced a gentle smile, realizing too late that I had let my own mask slip.
And then—there he was.
Odysseus stood at the edge of his ship, gazing back at me, the wind threading through his dark curls as fiercely as it tangled my gown.
I needed to be strong, to hold steady so he could do what he must. I swallowed hard, forcing my emotions into silence.
He raised a hand in farewell. I lifted mine in return—deliberate, controlled. This was fine, wasn’t it? There was a plan. Troy would fall.
And then—too soon—his men called for him. With one last, lingering look, he turned away.
And he was gone.
I stood with Anticlea at my side, watching as the ships, both ours and those that had come for Odysseus, lowered their sails, catching the wind. To war. To a place where death was as ordinary as breath. Had we been anything but rulers, I would have gone with him, like the Spartan I was. But at least I would be there in spirit. And so would she—Athena.
When the last ship disappeared beyond the horizon, I signaled for the others to let me be. If I was to be the strong Queen of Ithaca—the woman Odysseus believed me to be—I would make the gods know my resolve and the lengths I would go for my family.
And no one but myself and the gods needed to hear it.
At the very end of the dock, I stood tall, my hands clasped over my heart.
“Hear me, O might of the Pantheon, whom we honor and worship. If my words mean anything, let them be heard now.
I, Penelope, Spartan Queen of Ithaca, vow—upon my title and my blood—that if my husband does not return home to me, I will burn this world to ash.
And should death befall my son, Telemachus, before his father’s return, I will carve a path to Troy myself, so Odysseus may know—and together, we will unmake the world.
The wind carried my words out to sea. Let the gods listen. Let them tremble.
A weight lifted from me, as if speaking the vow had freed me—if only slightly. My mind felt clearer, sharpened toward my duties. Turning away from the vast horizon, I walked back toward the shore, taking Telemachus into my arms. Anticlea fell into step beside me.
It was a beautiful morning, despite the shadows cast by war.
“Don’t you worry, Penelope,” Anticlea said, drawing my attention with the rare use of my name. It was only spoken when the matter was of true importance. “I raised a fine king and warrior in your husband. I watched him train as though the Goddess Athena herself guided his every movement, refining his plans and sharpening his mind. You know as well as I do—this trifle of a war will not keep him from returning to us.”
She offered a sad smile, her aged hand resting lightly on my arm, just above where I cradled Telemachus.
“And don’t you worry, either. If fate forces me to the underworld before his safe return, mark my words—I’ll raise a storm in Hades itself and will not rest until I hear he has come home to you.”
“Mother,” I gently scolded, “If the gods heard you, do you not think they would take offense?”
She let out a soft chuckle. “I am already old, my time is coming. But if I’ve offended them, I’ll double my offerings this year to make amends.”
I was grateful for her presence, but her age was a vulnerability. If any nobles sought to weaken my rule and dethrone Odysseus in his absence, they would see her frailty as a weakness to exploit. I needed more than faith—I needed allies I could trust not to be swayed.
“Mother, take Telemachus to his nursemaid. Stay with him if you can. I have much to do, and the morning is nearly gone. I will find you both when I am free.”
Carefully, I placed my son back in his grandmother’s arms. She held him close, and with one last glance at me, she turned toward the palace.
And I turned toward the waiting crowd, ready to show Ithaca that their queen was not weak.
The wind had been merciless, tousling my hair and tugging at the delicate folds of my chiton. The braided strands of black and platinum blond had loosened, wisps flying free like the seafoam carried on the waves. My clothes, though elegant, had shifted in the chaos, the weight of my mantle no longer resting evenly upon my shoulders.
Before I could take another step, my maids were at my side.
“My queen, allow us a moment,” one of them murmured, already reaching for my hair.
Another adjusted the fabric draping across my chest, smoothing it back into place. A third knelt to check the hem of my garments, ensuring they had not tangled in my stride. Swift, efficient hands worked with practiced ease, tugging the intricate braids back into their proper form, weaving strands together as deftly as a loom.
Then came the crown—its weight familiar, yet ever imposing.
The silver circlet was lifted with reverence, placed atop my head with precise care. Cool metal met my skin, settling against my brow, a reminder of what I carried—not just a title, but a duty. A burden.
One of the maids stepped back, nodding in approval. “You are ready, my queen.”
I exhaled softly, straightened my shoulders, and turned to face the crowd.
The murmurs quieted as I stepped forward. Dozens—no, hundreds—of eyes fell upon me, waiting. Expecting.
I let the silence stretch just long enough to command their full attention.
Then, I began to speak.
What do you think of the lead up to Odysseus leaving Ch. 1 & 2?
