The young prince insisted: ‘Please come, it will make my mother happy to speak with a friend of my father’s.’ He took him by the hand and led him into the house.

Diomedes followed. Penelope had never seen him, after all, and he thought he could keep his identity a secret.

The queen received him in the grand hall. Her nurse set out a stool for him and put bread and wine before him. Penelope was small, but very beautiful. Her hair was dark and her eyes light, her hands were tiny but strong, her hips were round and her breasts were high and firm like all the women of Sparta.

‘Did you fight the war?’ she asked him.

‘Yes. I was with Diomedes.’

‘Why did you abandon your king? Is he dead?’

‘It is as if he were. But why, queen, do you ask me of Diomedes? Why don’t you ask about Ulysses, your husband?’

‘Ulysses. .’ The queen dropped her head and the two curls adorning her temples shadowed her cheeks. ‘We’re waiting for him. He should be back soon. . don’t you think?’

‘Ulysses did not come with us. He returned to Troy, where Agamemnon had lingered to sacrifice one hundred oxen to the gods in expiation for the war. We knew nothing more of him. . but I am sure that you will see him again. Perhaps he tarries in order to plunder the coasts and augment his spoils. Or perhaps the bad weather has delayed him, and he waits in a sheltered place for better conditions. Ulysses is prudent; he always calculates the risks he must face.’

‘He didn’t want this war. He did not want to leave, to leave me, our son. .’

‘But he is the one who won the war. The city fell thanks to his stratagem.’

‘My cousin, Queen Helen. . has she returned?’

‘No. She was with Menelaus but they disappeared one night before we rounded Cape Sunion. Perhaps the wind carried them astray, to Cyprus or to Egypt. Who knows?’

‘Why, when I asked you about Diomedes, did you say to me: ‘It’s as if he were dead?’ Tell me the truth. Has he been killed? Imprisoned upon his return?’

Her voice betrayed a touch of trepidation, as if she feared the worst. It seemed that somehow, she knew something.

‘Queen Aigialeia laid a trap for us. I barely managed to save myself, with some of my comrades. We know nothing of our king. That is why I said: ‘It’s as if he were dead.’ He loved his wife. It was easy to take him by surprise. The bitch betrayed him after he had escaped so many perils on the fields of Ilium.’

Penelope shivered. ‘Do not say that. War is much harder on women than on men. What do you men know of what passes through the mind of a woman living alone for years, for thousands of days and nights, in expectation? In continuous illusion and continuous delusion? Love can be transformed into hate. . or into madness. And madness can strike indiscriminately, like an illness. Queen Clytemnestra. . she too. .’

‘Has betrayed her husband?’ asked Diomedes.

‘No. She too. . pursues an ancient destiny. Long ago the queens reigned over this land, and a great goddess, the mother of all living things, reigned in the heavens. The race of the queens lives on. While men destroy themselves through war, the queens are preparing for a return to the time when the ancient order had not been disrupted, when the wolf grazed alongside the lamb, when Persephone had not yet been carried off into Hades, when eternal spring reigned always.’

‘The conspiracy of the queens. .’ whispered Diomedes. ‘They say it has gone on for centuries. Medea against Jason, Deianeira against Hercules, Phaedra against Theseus, the fifty daughters of Danaus who slaughtered their husbands. Are you among them? Are you preparing to murder Ulysses? You will never succeed. No one can surprise him through deceit. I know him.’

A ray of light lit Penelope’s forehead: ‘You know him? Give me proof, if you want me to believe you.’

‘He has a scar on his left leg and a birthmark over his knee. He has a wide face and thin lips. Broad shoulders and chest, long legs for his stature. And a strange smile. . he always smiles as he is about to deal the death blow. . Why do you want to kill him, wanaxa? Why?’

‘No,’ said Penelope. ‘I will not kill him, though I have been asked to do so. And do you know why? Because it is not he who chose me, but I who chose him. My father Icarius was against it, but I covered my face as soon as I saw him because I knew he would be the only man of my life. I covered my face with a veil so he would understand I wanted to be his bride. He or no other. I chose him: he was the poorest of the kings, sovereign of dry, rocky islands, but his voice was resonant and persuasive. When he spoke everyone listened, enchanted.

‘He did not want this war. The blood of the ancient race lives in him as well. He opposed force with astuteness. . in vain. When Agamemnon’s messenger came to ask him to depart for the war, he found Ulysses ploughing the beach with an ass and a bull at the yoke. They took Telemachus from his cradle and laid him down before the beasts. Ulysses rushed to gather the little one to his chest, proving that he could not be mad. They gave him no choice but to leave. . He made a wedding bed for me amidst the boughs of a tree, the arms of an olive tree, like a bird’s nest. What other man would have done the same? The kings of the Achaeans built nests of stone for their brides, gelid walls that ooze blood.’

‘How do you know about Clytemnestra? And about. . Aigialeia. . you knew about her too, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. All of the kings will be driven away: Idomeneus from Crete, Diomedes from Argos, Menelaus from Sparta. . or killed. Clytemnestra will kill. If she hasn’t already.’

Diomedes hid his face in his cloak. ‘Oh great Atreid!’ he murmured to himself. ‘Watch your back! We are no longer beside you, we are no longer. . we are no longer.’ He wept. The tears fell copiously from his eyes, they dripped from the golden curls of his beard.

‘Who are you?’ asked Penelope.

‘My name is Leodes.’

‘Who are you?’ demanded Penelope again.

‘A man on the run. . I would have liked to ask counsel from your husband, wise Ulysses, before facing the unknown but the gods have denied me even this.’ He rose to leave but Penelope stopped him. She had a sly look in her eyes, as if seeking his complicity.

‘Tell me: he sent you, didn’t he? He is hiding nearby and he sent you to discover the truth and report it all back to him. I know, that’s the way he is, and I’m not offended. I understand him. Tell him that I understand but that he must return immediately, I beg of you. I’m sure that I’m right, aren’t I? Am I not right?’

Diomedes turned away: ‘No, wanaxa. I’m sorry but you are not right. I’ve told you the truth. Ulysses left us at Tenedos and he turned back towards Ilium.’

Penelope began to tremble. Her lips trembled and her hands trembled and tears trembled under her black lashes. ‘I beg of you, do not torment me,’ she said. ‘Do not continue lying to me. You have put me to the test. If it is he who sends you, run to tell him that our bridal chamber is intact, I have conserved it like a sacred enclosure. Tell him to come back. I beg of you.’

Diomedes rose to take his leave. In his heart of hearts he envied the son of Laertes, for his bride loved him still.

‘I’m sorry, wanaxa. I’m not who you think I am. I seek Ulysses as well and I do not know where he may be. But if one day he does return, tell him that a friend came looking for him, a friend who was at his side on the fields of Ilium the night he donned the helmet of Merion. He’ll understand. He will tell you all about me. Now please allow me to go, to straighten my bow towards the northern sea. Farewell.’

He walked away, and Telemachus scampered after him. ‘Tell me,’ the boy said, ‘have you seen him of late? What does he look like? What does my father look like?’

Diomedes stopped for a moment. ‘He looks like you imagine him. When you see him, you’ll recognize him.’