“Or over their wifi?”“Helen owns every hotel in the city,” Troy said as he leaned forward to pile some scrambled eggs and bacon onto a piece of toast from the room service platter. “And she’s had us followed since we got off the plane, but she wouldn’t stoop to bugging our room or monitoring our internet.” He took a bite of the little breakfast sandwich he’d made. “She’d consider it unsporting.”“You have some twisted friends,” Brenda said from her box on Skype.“Yeah, thanks for calling me back to the room at the party so I didn’t get to meet her,” Claire said from her window. “You two owe me an iPad now!” Everyone laughed.“Order,” Julie said. Still giggling and rapping her empty glass against the table again, then handing it to Troy to refill. “Ideas we’re stealing from Helen come later in the agenda, after the Two Minutes of Cattiness.”“I’ve never liked that part of the meetings, Mistress,” Troy said as he refilled her drink, and then poured himself a plain orange juice.“That’s why. I looked at my necklace. Had it been taken on such a raid? Had it been pulled from the neck of a grieving wife, crying for her dying son, soon to be taken as a slave, soon to be raped?I entered the room and greeted my husband, bowing my head."Telemachus, my dear husband." My dear wife. Mentes, friend of my father, this is she."Mentes sat at his right hand in a chair only slightly smaller. He was old and weathered, with a trimmed gray beard and many scars. He was stocky, but even in his long, rich tunic, I could sense his strength. He spoke, his voice deep and resonant."Indeed young prince. She is all you promised."Then he spoke to me."Donjeta, I'm told you have a beautiful voice. Would you sing for us?" Yes, dear friend of this house." Good. Perhaps my fine host would provide you with a lyre."Telemachus nodded, and it was done."What should I sing?" Whatever the muse inspires you to sing."Penelope, sitting opposite Mentes, broke in."Sing of my husband. Sing of Odysseus, and his.
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