Living Fictionally: “Ithaca” by Helen Lowe
Living Fictionally:
As promised last Sunday, today I’m getting fictional — and it is a story from among my “legendary history” works. This story, Ithaca, was originally published in JAAM in 2008 (the same year my first novel, Thornspell, was published), edited by Tim Jones.
Since today, March 8, in International Women’s Day, it seemed fitting to feature a take on one of the great legendary stories, told from the point of view of the woman at the heart of the tale.
Enjoy the first instalment today.
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Ithaca: Part 1
© Helen Lowe, 2008
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Soon, I know, there will be no more delaying.
Antinous came again yesterday, to look at the great web, for he grows suspicious of the slowness with which it progresses — and I cannot rely on my maidens anymore, to keep my secret. Every one of them, even Melantho whom I raised as a daughter, either has or has had a lover amongst my so-called suitors – and as is the way of such things, their loyalties have shifted with their affections. The number of those whom I dare trust has grown small indeed. There is only Eurykleia, Eumaeus, and my son Telemachus: an old woman, a swineherd and a boy, in a household where I am meant to be mistress, on the island where I am supposed to be Queen.
And for Telemachus, I am simply afraid. Already, he is not quite a boy anymore – will soon be a young man. My suitors, for all their indolence, will not fail to see the threat in him then. Some of them, I fear, see it already. They have begun to follow him with their eyes, calculating, and I know that I must get him away.
As often as I can, I send him up to his grandfather at the old farm in the hills, but know there is no real safety there. Laertes is old, and could not stop the suitors if they decide to go after my son. They would kill them both, the grandfather and grandson together, and then come for me after with the blood still red on their swords.
Sometimes, when I lie waiting for the first sounds of the day, I remember my girlhood in Sparta, when my heart was light as my feet. The whole world shone then, and continued to do so when I met Odysseus and sailed for this rocky kingdom as his bride, and to be a Queen. There were those who whispered that it was only the promise of a crown that induced me to marry him, for what was Ithaca but a rock in the sea, its kings a cross between shepherds and pirates – either-or depending on the weather. But they wanted him, my Odysseus, when the call went out for Troy and the fleet gathered, the harbour at Aulis choked with the black beaked ships. They would not allow him to remain here with me.
I rise on that thought and go to the window, frowning out at the dawn and remembering when I used to welcome each new day. ‘The time before’, I call it in my mind, when I had my son to raise, this small realm to manage and the sacred ceremonies to maintain. The time before the suitors came and made themselves at home in my house.
But dwelling on memories does no good. I knew, as soon as the first suitor sprawled at my table, that I must play the long game, hoping against hope for my husband’s return. It was this that drove the device of the great web, working on it by day and unravelling by night, but now the time for delaying tactics has passed. I must act now to preserve my son, even if I cannot save myself.
Today, the sea is calm, tinted with light and shadow, but smooth as glass to the horizon. My heart reflects its still face – the tranquillity before the storm breaks – as my thoughts turn to Menelaus, who is King now in Sparta. This makes him a relative by marriage, and at the very least I could send Telemachus to him, knowing he would welcome my son as a kinsman and keep him safe. He would help me with men and arms too, if I asked it of him.
Eumaeus suggested, some time ago, that I hire a champion or a company of warriors, but I resisted the idea, knowing how the Ithacans would resent such a thing. They would remind each other that I was no island-born Queen, and unite against me, and it would be the same if I accepted men from Menelaus. Worse, Telemachus would insist on marching at their head, but if blood must be shed then I do not want it to stain his name. He must have his chance to rule in his father’s place, but blood feud with half the major families on the island will not further that aim.
I stare out at the brightening world and wish, suddenly and quite savagely, that I could poison every one of the suitors as they swill at my table – but know that I must best them in a way that seems just in the eyes of the world. The path of cunning is admired, but not infamy: look at what became of Medea, after all. For all her greatness, the people would not suffer a Queen who was a poisoner, a practitioner of dark arts, to rule. No, to avoid blood feud and Medea’s fate, I must find a stratagem, something worthy of my husband Odysseus, the deviser of the wooden horse.
I’ve seen this before, I think, but I have no idea where.
I know I sent you some stuff quite a-ways back: did it include a copy of JAAM? (The edition also included a couple of ‘Ithaca Conversations” sequence poems.) That’s the only place it’s been published before (at least to the best of my knowledge.)