"The last time I saw Uncle on his throne, he summoned me to explain the fuss in the night. That you were gone and I was going to Alybas. I suppose the next time I go in there..." She refused to finish the thought.
"It will be to learn who you are to marry," Helen said, a sunny smile and a bright giggle escaping her. "I'll speak to him. Perhaps we can be married at the same ceremony."
Penelope held her tongue, merely nodding and smiling. She wondered what Melantho and Helen's maid thought about the conversation. They would undoubtedly report every word when they joined the other slaves at meals.
At her grandfather's home, her slaves had been like family, keeping trusts and refusing to lower themselves to gossip with the villagers. Penelope wished for those days again. She felt defenseless and exposed.
She kept her thoughts to herself as Helen took her on a walking tour of the palace and grounds. She saw a new building to house more slaves. More ground broken for crops to the west, down near the river. The trees around the clearing where the women bathed and played had grown taller and thicker. There were more horses in Tyndareos' stables. The flowers and rose bushes had grown thicker and more numerous. Penelope almost sighed in relief when they finished the tour and walked back to the women's quarters.
Helen sent Melantho and the other girl down to the sheep pens. The shepherds had promised fresh wool, washed and dry by now, for them to card and spin that day. Penelope stepped into the women's room, wondering what had changed there while she had been away.
Wide windows hung with nearly sheer golden, pink, and azure draperies let in the sunlight from three sides. Musical instruments of all kinds hung on one wall, for the maidens to amuse themselves. Fresh rushes sprinkled with sweet, sharp smelling herbs covered the stones of the floor. Flowers were everywhere in abundance.
Yet what drew her were the two large looms sitting by the window that faced south. One held a small pattern, colorful, with the sea in the middle and an intricate border full of tiny people. The other loom held a large cloth only half begun, the warp threads hanging, waiting for a hand to finish tying the weights.
"I dreamed you sat at that loom," Helen said, stepping into the room and walking toward the southern window. "I dreamed we laughed and sang, and you taught me mastery of the loom. Was it a true dream through the gate of horn, or through the ivory gate of lies?" She stopped and turned back to face Penelope, one hand resting on the larger loom.
"A dream?" Penelope felt very young, very awkward. The sunlight surrounded Helen with gold. Even doubters would believe the princess was the daughter of Zeus at that moment. Penelope contrasted her own dark features and slimness against the ripe, golden and rose features of the princess of Sparta. "How could I teach you anything?"
"My mother knew your mother," Helen said, her own voice softening. "She said your mother was the greatest of all weavers she had ever known. Before you left, you showed skill. I merely thought that by now, your skill had grown."
"I have improved. If you like, I could have Eurynome bring out some of the weaving I did in Alybas." She stepped closer to the loom. Despite herself, Penelope's thoughts strayed to the half-begun pattern. She noted threads and colors she would like to change, and thought of how she would finish the design.
"Penelope..." Helen rested a hand on her cousin's shoulder, accenting the difference in their heights. Penelope found she did not mind. "This is your home. You do not have to prove yourself here."
"Everything has changed. And nothing has changed," she whispered. Penelope felt her face warming. How could Helen appear a mere bird of a girl, fluttering, chattering and singing as if she had not a thought in her head, and then show such insight? Was that the way of the gods and their offspring?
"I started this loom with the pattern I thought I saw you weaving," her cousin went on. "It isn't right. I wanted you to find it with the beginning work done. This is your loom, to do whatever you wish, show whatever you want."
"Mine?" Penelope's smile started small and astonished, then widened in delight. Even in her aunt's chambers, where her dreams had been indulged, she had not had a whole loom to herself. "I will make a hanging for your bridal chamber. I will weave prayers for blessing into it, that all the goddesses will smile on you."
Chapter 3
* * *
When the afternoon heat became heavy and the shadows grew long, Helen announced they would go to the river. Thoughts of shade and cool river water drowned the sigh of regret Penelope almost loosed. She cast one more glance at the preparations on her loom and promised herself she would finish the next morning.
The loom was finely made, every piece rubbed smooth and glossy. The warp weights nearly held the threads without need for knots. Weaving on that loom would be a joy. Watching the pattern grow would be a delight.
She gathered up her veil and slipped her sandals on. She had to hurry to follow Helen down the long, shadowed hallways to the entrance facing the river. The maids followed, carrying baskets of fruit, mending, skins of wine, anything they might need for the afternoon. Penelope heard Melantho chattering with the other maids, and she smiled, relieved. The older girl did sound happy, accepted by the other servants.
The women of the household had a clearing by the river set aside for them. The water ran shallow there, with plenty of sun-baked, smooth rocks to beat the clothes clean and lay them out to dry. Or for young bodies to stretch out and sleep in the afternoon warmth. The trees had been kept thick and wild all around it, for privacy.
"First, a bath," Helen decreed. She tugged at the beads and cords holding her hair into its braids. Laughing, she loosened her hair partway, then sat down and let a maid finish the job.
Penelope flinched, startled when another maid stepped up to attend her. She was not used to anyone touching her hair but Eurynome, and then only when she asked. There were many things, she decided, she would have to grow used to here in Sparta. Penelope almost laughed aloud at the little servant girl's surprise when she thanked her. Bachan believed that gratitude was as much a slave's due as proper food, clothing, and shelter. Penelope agreed with her, and realized now that many did not.
The river water had a bite to it, chilling like it had come straight from melting winter ice. Penelope controlled her shivers and waded in until she could kneel and let the water flow over her shoulders.
"Always braver than I!" Helen called, laughing. She stood far to the left, arms spread for balance. The water only reached her knees.
Penelope closed her eyes and turned away. It wasn't easy to stop comparing herself with Helen's perfect figure. Reminding herself that her cousin had five years of growth on her did not help. Penelope cupped her small breasts and silently prayed Aphrodite to help her grow faster. She would have peace in her future household if her husband was pleased with her body.
She scooped up a handful of sand from the river bottom to scrub her legs and arms. The exertion helped drive away some of the chill of the water, but not by much. When she waded out again, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, she wished she had stayed submerged.
Melantho met her with a drying sheet. Penelope gave the girl a nod and mumbled thanks. She had wondered when the maid would stop letting others serve her mistress and start scurrying to do her duties.
She almost regretted letting go of the sheet, to lie on a dry sheet on the warm sand and let another maid rub her body with perfumed oil. Penelope tried to hold still in the cool wind. None of it mattered so much when she heard Helen complaining about the cold.
"Your northland people are not so soft," the maid commented, pausing to pour more oil into her hands. "You have strong, smooth muscles," the girl explained, when Penelope opened one eye to look inquiringly up at her.
"I walked with my grandfather everywhere. He has orchards, and I preferred to climb to get the fruit I wanted."
"We feared you would lose your fitness, being sent from Sparta so young."
"You're Alkippe, aren't you?" Penelope asked.
Hel
en had said Alkippe would be her chief maid and nurse to her children when she married. Such a position gave privilege to speak frankly and openly. Penelope was glad the maid felt those rights extended to her mistress' cousin. Eurynome could be trusted to speak even the most painful truth, but Penelope wanted someone closer to her own age to share viewpoints.
"Has my lady complained about me to you?" Alkippe asked, accenting her question with an extra deep rub. Laughter touched her voice, but it was not malicious.
"Not yet." Penelope was glad when the maid laughed with her. She knew she had found a friend and supporter.
After warming in the sun and dressing again, there were games. Races along the pebbly shore. To her delight, Penelope came in second whenever she did not win. Alkippe had been right after all. She had not grown soft and weak, but had grown stronger. She could count on one hand the races she had won or placed second in before she left Sparta.
Several of Helen's maids played the lyre or pipes. They made a game of playing songs so quick and bright that some tangled their feet when they danced. More than once, Penelope fell laughing to the sand. Some insisted on continuing the contest, trying to reach the end of the tune without falling or losing their breaths, or make the musicians lose their own breaths in laughter.
Penelope joined Helen and a few others in playing catch with a hollow wooden ball where the water lapped at their feet. They were not content simply to toss the ball around the circle, but invented contests where they had to throw over and then under. Or spin on a heel as they caught the ball. Penelope laughed as brightly as the others, glad to be in the company of maidens her own age once more.
Helen slipped on a wet stone as she stepped forward to throw the ball to Penelope. Her arm jerked and the ball went over her cousin's head and out into the river. The current caught the ball.
Penelope turned and held up her skirts in one hand, splashing through the shallows before the first shriek of disappointment left anyone's throat. She stumbled once when her foot found a hole in the riverbed, but caught herself and kept running. Up ahead, the bright gold and red ball sparkled and bobbed. The river neared a sharp bend where it went around the trees and a few high, sharp rocks. Penelope kept running.
She ran back onto shore, to reach the other side of the bend before the ball and snatch it out of the water. She dashed from sunlight to the gloom of the trees, and back out into sunlight again. Her lungs burned from the effort. The ball had been a gift from her father to Helen. She would not let it be lost.
Penelope let out a cry of triumph mixed with pain. Her ankle twisted as she spotted the ball and a stone slid under her foot. She ignored the sharp pang running up her leg and dashed to the river's edge to pluck the ball out of the water.
And the next moment lost it. The water made the painted surface slick and it slipped from her hand. Penelope spun around to chase the ball and ran into a huge, dark-haired shape that grabbed her elbows in massive, callused hands.
"Well, little one, we meet again," Aias said with a laugh. He set Penelope on her feet and smiled down at her. She smelled strong wine on his breath and he had fresh stains on his tunic. "Why so far from your mistress?"
"I am chasing the ball. It fell in the river." She gave up trying to explain and tried to step around him. He was so wide, why did they call him the Lesser? Vaguely, she had the idea it had rolled away between his legs. Penelope didn't care where the ball went as long as it was not back in the river. She gasped in frustration as Aias caught her wrist and stopped her.
"I can help you find it," he said.
"Thank you, but I can do my own hunting."
"You have spirit!" He laughed, the sound verging on a roar. "What will you give me if I help you?"
"I don't need your help." She tugged to free her wrist. Aias held her fast, like sticky clay that would suck her down into the ground.
"To help a pretty little maiden like you, I usually ask for only one kiss. One with spirit, maybe two kisses. Are you sure you don't need help?"
"I don't need help, and I don't want your kisses." She tugged harder, throwing the weight of her body into the action. Aias tightened his grip, laughing.
"Come now, pretty one. A kiss won't hurt. You might even like it."
"Let--me--go!" she snapped, accenting her words with another tug, her voice louder with each word. Aias laughed louder and tugged her closer.
"For fighting, three kisses." He reached for her other hand and Penelope twisted away from him.
"If I had my spear..." She bit back the rest of her words. Now was not the time to reveal she had been raised by a madman who thought her a boy.
However, Dymis had taught her many useful things. She swung around hard with her free arm, landing her fist in the soft spot high between Aias' ribs.
He yelped like a kicked dog, his breath torn away by her direct hit. His face darkened with a scowl and he pulled her closer. Penelope brought her knee up, throwing herself back away from him. Aias saw her move and jerked away in time. She overbalanced and fell, landing on pebbles. She loosed a shout of pain and rolled away.
Before she could scramble to her feet, Aias dropped to his knees next to her. He caught her around the waist with one massive arm and drew her up against his chest, pinning her arms with her hands upraised. She couldn't move them to swing at him. He laughed. Penelope shrieked, like she had when the bear had leaped from the trees. She had managed to stab it once with her spear before Dolios arrived to kill it.
"A warrior's daughter, no doubt," Aias said, his breath short. "Don't put up such a fight. There's no dishonor. Should I ask the king for you, then? Is that what you want?"
"Let me go!" she shrieked.
"Aias!" The voice that thundered through the late afternoon warmth held a rage that made Penelope wilt inside. Aias paused, his open mouth poised above hers. Penelope leaned back, enough to free her arms to scratch. She caught his cheek, just below his temple, drawing blood.
The man roared in surprise, releasing her. Penelope fell to her knees and swung at his face and chest with both hands, wide punches, thumbs out as her grandfather had taught her. His roars changed to anger and he lunged at her.
A muscular, ruddy arm entered Penelope's field of vision and caught Aias by the front of his tunic. It tore as the newcomer yanked him sideways, flinging him down at the roots of a tree. Dark red hair caught the sharp slanting afternoon sunlight and turned gold. Gray eyes flashed in fury. Penelope fell forward onto her hands and saw the jagged scar above the man's knee, a white slash like lightning against the dark tan of his skin.
"Are you hurt?" Odysseus caught her shoulders in his hands, helping her to sit up. His touch was gentle, and she thought his hands trembled.
"No. Just furious." She swallowed hard, trying to make her voice calm again.
"You fought like a Fury." A crooked smile twisted up one corner of his mouth. "Did he--" His voice caught and broke and he looked away.
"He never even got a kiss," she hastened to assure him. It was almost amusing, Penelope reflected later, how relief made Odysseus' shoulders straighten. He stood and helped her stand.
"Aias, you staggering fool," he growled as he stepped over to his fallen comrade. "I could hear her scream in the king's stables. Don't you know when a girl says no, she means no?"
"Now I do." The dark man pushed himself upright against the tree. "Girl, who taught you to fight like that? You could be a soldier instead of just a serving maid. A tempting one at that."
"Tempting or not, you can't take her against her will in the house of our host." Odysseus' voice began to relax. Penelope knew he looked at her again, concern in his eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to do more than steal short glimpses of him. She knew it was foolish to stay while her attacker recovered, but she couldn't move. She contented herself with watching him and keeping alert.
"So much fuss over a serving girl," Aias grumbled.
"Of all the maids who throw themselves at you... Why force yourself on the one who says
no?" Odysseus sighed, loudly, and took a step away. He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the sky as if begging strength from the gods.
Penelope wondered why she found it so amusing. All the gossip said Odysseus was never at a loss for words, so why silence now?
"Whose daughter are you, to be such a skilled fighter?" Aias grinned at her, then winced as he touched the deep scratch on his face.
"I am Penelope, daughter of Ikarios." Her smile grew wider when Aias gaped at her. "He was brother to King Tyndareos. I am Helen's cousin. And Ithios' sister," she added when the man stared, his mouth dropping open wider. She remembered Odysseus' words at Pylos. If Ithios had not changed since she went to Alybas, Penelope could well believe Aias would be his friend.
The sound of women's voices grew closer. Penelope caught a glimpse of bright dresses, heard the rattle of stones dislodged by unsure feet.
"You should go. I'll tend our fallen warrior," Odysseus said with a shrug and another sigh. His concern burned bright in his eyes.
"I'm not even bruised," she hurried to assure him. Warmth poured through her body when Odysseus smiled at her. Penelope found it hard to do, but she turned and hurried back the way she had come. She spotted the ball and snatched it up before entering the trees. Behind her, she heard the crunching of sandal-shod feet as the two men left.
"Penelope?" Helen led the group of women approaching the trees. Her eyes widened when she saw her cousin coming back through the shadows to meet them.
Penelope looked at herself. Her dress hung awry, spotted with sand and damp. Her loose braid had come apart, turning her hair into a dark tangled cloud all around her shoulders, strands sticking to her sweating face. She smiled, despite the bruises forming on her back where she had hit the stones.
"I found the ball," she said, holding it out.
"We should go back inside now," Helen said, her words slow. She caught her cousin's hand when Penelope would have walked by her. "Tell me," she commanded in a soft voice.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 4