"I heard all the servants favored him."
"Not all, but enough." Alkippe watched the suitor and his servants leave the courtyard. Her smile faded a little.
"What is it like to share a man's bed?" Penelope whispered. She felt her face warm as Alkippe stared at her, open-mouthed. Then the older girl started to laugh.
"It's true, then, and not bragging from your nurse. You truly can see things other noble ladies miss."
"I won't tell Helen, if that's what you fear."
"Thank you, Lady Penelope. Though I doubt my mistress would be angry." Alkippe shrugged. She stepped out into the courtyard, watching the departing men. Her longing showed clearly on her face. "Lying with a man is more pleasant than sleeping alone. Sometimes."
* * * *
"Tell me, if you can," Odysseus said, standing. An expectant hush fell in ripples over the crowd of suitors spread over the plain. The only sounds were soft sighs of the night wind through the grass, and the occasional crackle of flames in the torches scattered through the gathering.
Contests of skill had ranged up and down the flat grassland since mid-afternoon. As dusk fell, the men rested by listening to the bards, singing, feasting, and telling riddles.
In her seat under the canopy with the other women, Penelope sat forward eagerly in her chair. She had heard others speak of Odysseus and his riddles, but this was the first chance she had to hear one. Others had tried to repeat some to her, but they forgot words. She felt the delivery failed from lacking Odysseus' rich, deep voice.
Next to her, Helen reached over and touched her hand with her fingertips in warning. Penelope sat back and composed her face into less eager lines, but she still listened with every particle of her being. Riddles and games of twisted words had been some of the few winter entertainments in Alybas. She wanted to test her mind against the princes of Achaia.
"It is a kingdom that touches every land, yet never marks borders. It advances constantly, yet not invading. Retreats, yet not through cowardice. It runs swiftly, but with no feet. Babbles like a doddering fool or a drunkard, but has no mouth to speak." Odysseus turned slowly, to see all the suitors sitting on the ground or standing at the fringes of the crowd around him. His gaze met Penelope's, and she thought he lingered for a moment before going on.
Some bolder suitors shouted answers immediately. Penelope listened and shook her head in scorn. How could they miss such an obvious answer? She looked at Helen, and her cousin wore a puzzled expression. Kastor and Polydeukes were the hosts that evening in their father's place. They smiled at their guests and didn't try to answer. Ithios crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Penelope was sure he had no idea of the answer.
Odysseus laughed, shaking his head at the answers that trickled away to nothing. Sometimes he called back a mocking response, reminding them of parts of the riddle the answer contradicted. Penelope laughed and covered her mouth to keep from shouting out the answer.
"Will the royal daughters join the game?" Odysseus asked, stepping closer to the canopy. He swept a grand bow to the cousins and their maids. His face glowed with laughter and life.
"Not I." Helen joined in with her musical laughter. "I tried once to match my wits against yours in riddles, and I will not humiliate myself again."
"And lovely Penelope?" His voice took on a husky richness that made a warmth stir in her belly. Penelope hoped no one else noticed the difference in his voice, and that her face showed none of her reaction. "There is no shame in being wrong." His grin widened again. "The greatest princes in Achaia cannot guess, after all."
"Water," Penelope said, before she lost her nerve. "Rivers and oceans touch all lands. It runs swiftly, it babbles, the tides retreat and advance."
Penelope bit her tongue to keep from saying more. She held her breath, waiting. Delight shone in Odysseus' eyes, but she still couldn't be sure. Then he bowed to her, conceding her win, and a roar of approval and more laughter rose from the men gathered all around.
"We all confess your cunning mind, Odysseus of Ithaka," a man called out of the darkness, as the uproar died. "There is no one who can match you there. Why do you stay away from the games on horseback?"
"There is a difference between reckless courage and the death-wish of a fool," Odysseus called back, stepping away from the canopy. He came face to face with his questioner, both of them lost in the deepening shadows.
"That one was born on horseback," Helen murmured, leaning closer to Penelope. "Or so he claims. Kastor says, when he is in his wine he claims his father was a centaur."
Penelope smothered a giggle behind her hand. She knew why the unseen man taunted Odysseus. After two weeks of asking questions, stealing glimpses of the suitors at their games, listening against orders at doors, she knew how the suitors stood against each other. Odysseus excelled at the games, at the riddles, the discussions of wars and strategy. Few men bested him, yet somehow he kept the respect of all. Eurynome blamed his cunning mind, always searching for an advantage. Helen's brothers said it was his gracious way of speaking with everyone. Ithios refused to speak of Odysseus unless he could find something to complain about. Penelope found that significant in itself. Some servants, those who felt comfortable enough to talk openly with her, said Odysseus was favored by Athena, who gifted him with her wisdom and would let no man harm him.
"You sit a horse well enough," the other suitor said, his voice rising through the soft murmur of male voices.
The deepening of night softened every sound on the plain around them. Servants lit more torches. Others gathered up food and extra clothes, the spears, bows and arrows and stone weights used in the games.
"Sit, yes." Odysseus' voice held a touch of laughter. Penelope thought she sensed stiffness behind the genial sound. "I can control the chariot horses well enough to go to Pylos to check on my ship, or sit astride securely enough to tour the countryside with the king's sons. The mad gallop you favor is another thing altogether."
They walked among the other men as they talked. Penelope caught a glimpse of the features of the other man as they passed between two torches, approaching the canopy. A light, short beard, body whipcord thin, his hands massive, his legs well-muscled. A rider, if she judged physical features and a man's carriage well enough. It would have been recklessness for any island man to challenge the skills of one born to horses and the plains. She agreed with Odysseus, strangely glad he knew his limits and didn't fear to admit them.
"I've seen you moving about your ship as if you had wings," the rider accused, laughing. "The same balance and control you need for sailing, you use for riding."
"I have only learned to ride since coming here to Sparta. I would be a fool to chance my new skills against experienced men. Not even to win the acclaim of lovely maidens." Odysseus paused, barely enough to be noticeable, and met Penelope's gaze.
* * * *
Penelope saw the shadow on the courtyard paving and looked up in time to see the owl sweep over her head. She felt a chill run up her back and wondered what the omen meant. It was early morning, late for an owl to be about. Then she heard the clatter of hooves on the paving of the courtyard, racing toward her. She stepped back from the archway to avoid being trampled. Among the dust and blurred movement, she glimpsed six horses and riders, speeding away from the palace. She moved to the gates and watched them vanish in a cloud of dust. As she resumed her errand, fetching a new skein of thread for Helen, she pieced together the features she had glimpsed as the riders sped past.
Kastor and Polydeukes, of course. Where one was, the other followed, as if they were one person and not two. She knew she had seen Kastor, so his twin was the second of the six riders. She shivered, remembering whispered tales that the twins only shared one spirit between them, and if one died, so would the other. That rumor, however, didn't bother her as much as the stories that Polydeukes was also a child of Zeus.
Golden hair, a curly beard, and a blue-black cape lined with gold could only mean Menelaos. He was a good friend of
the twins, according to Helen.
Penelope smiled at the thought of Menelaos. Despite her advice, Helen had given her heart to the younger brother of the king of Mycenae, or was on the verge. She talked of Menelaos constantly, except when he accompanied Kastor and Polydeukes to visit their sister.
It was almost a given that Menelaos accompanied the twins. Penelope puzzled through the features of the fourth and fifth riders but couldn't recognize their faces. She knew Ithios was not among them, and wondered if her brother had fallen from favor with their cousins yet again, or had only declined the adventure. All the men wore helmets and fire-hardened vests of leather instead of bronze armor. Round leather and bone shields had swung from their elbows. Boar hunting, perhaps? A dangerous boar bothered the neighboring villages.
It would make an interesting story and a mystery to pursue. Penelope continued going from the palace to the river clearing. Helen and the others would want to hear of this, she knew.
Penelope stopped as she entered the shade of the ring of trees. The skein of thread dropped from her hands as the features of the sixth rider came clear in her mind, like the reflection in a pool suddenly still. Red hair showed under the boars tusk helmet. The blue luck markings on the shield suddenly made sense, as she looked at them sideways in her memory. Odysseus was the sixth man. They were armed and riding away as if the Furies chased them, she thought now. Not a boar hunt, but something more important.
Penelope picked up the skein and moved on. The thread was blue, made from an expensive dye that came from Ilion, at the Straits of Dardanelles. She didn't notice the dust and specks of forest rubbish sticking to the skein. What, she wondered, had happened to send the six men racing away, armed as if for battle? She had seen other groups ride off for boar hunting. They always rode at a lazy pace, smiling. None of the six men who nearly ran her down had smiled.
A fragment of a dream came back to her. Polydeukes shouted to the sky, tears in his eyes. And rage. Blood on the ground. A shout of treachery, that echoed in her bones even now. Penelope shivered, then felt her face burn. She had seen Odysseus instead of Kastor, and had felt fear for him. That was ridiculous. Penelope told herself to care for no man. She didn't want to marry anyone, after all.
When she reached Helen, she found King Tyndareos had joined the group at the river's edge. Penelope slowed her pace more, though curiosity pushed her to keep moving, to hear what had happened. An inner feeling, fragments of more dreams, told her she did not want to know.
The night before, her uncle hadn't joined the feasting on the plains because a messenger had arrived with urgent news. Penelope silently scolded herself for not realizing something grave kept her uncle from his guests and the games he loved. Perhaps it was the same matter that sent her cousins, Odysseus, and Menelaos rushing away.
"I saw my cousins riding off with shields and spears," she said, when she joined Helen and Tyndareos. "Is there trouble?"
"Has anyone told you of the twin brides I had found for my sons?" the king began, watching Penelope carefully as he spoke. She fought a chill of apprehension and shook her head that no, she had not heard. "They were to come to Sparta before the end of summer. We had planned a grand wedding feast for them. And hopefully for Helen, as well." He paused, as if searching for the right words. Penelope wondered if he thought he would frighten her by mentioning her own future marriage.
"The girls' father has reneged on the agreement?" she guessed.
"That sort of trouble, we could handle," Helen said. She tried to smile, and reached for the thread Penelope carried.
"The girls had other suitors, another set of brothers," the king said after another pause. "They stole my sons' brides and have gone into hiding in Arkadia."
"And Kastor and Polydeukes have rushed off to rescue their brides." Penelope nodded, understanding now. A shiver caught at her body. "I saw Menelaos and Odysseus riding with them, and two others. They are that sure of success, to take so few?"
"I sent a troop of my soldiers ahead of them last night. Seleron and Teris have volunteered to help, though I didn't think them such good friends to my sons as Odysseus and Menelaos." The king looked down at his feet a moment, his eyes hooded and full of worry. "The omens are not good for this."
"Come, Uncle." Penelope took hold of his hand, like she had done when she was a tiny child and didn't know he was a king. "We will go to the temple of Hermes, and to Apollo, and offer sacrifices and prayers for them."
"Yes, Father." Helen smiled, relief wiping away the worry that made her pale. She slipped her arm through his. "We will go and pray. It is well for us Penelope is so sensible." Her eyes were full of silent thanks.
* * * *
That night Penelope dreamed, and knew she had dreamed that dream before. She saw battle. She saw men leaping out from hiding. She saw blood and her cousins' faces twisted in anger and hatred. They shouted, but she couldn't hear their war cries. Their swords clashed against other swords, but there was only the silence of her dream to deafen her.
She woke in tears and huddled shivering under her blankets. Penelope gritted her teeth, hating the feeling of being defenseless and helpless.
Her feet hit the cold tile of the floor and she reached the trunk her grandfather made before she knew what she intended. Her old hunting tunic was there, and the knife Dymis gave her. Penelope put them on and braided her hair tight against her head. She fashioned a cap out of a scrap of cloth, like herder boys wore against the dust of the day, to cover her hair. Heart pounding, she slipped out her open window and into the garden.
Moonlight turned the familiar, sheltered paths into a strange forest where deadly beasts and unfriendly nymphs and satyrs waited to pounce. Penelope gripped the knife tight in her fist and kept her mouth closed. Her breath whistled through her nose. She hated how her heart thudded at every new sound and worked to keep her pace slow and steady. She darted into the shelter of a tall bush when a movement startled her. It was only an owl flying low over the garden. Penelope wondered why the creature had not called out at her clumsy, furtive movements.
In the middle of the women's garden, she found the pool, deep black and glowing silver in the moonlight and shadows. Penelope knelt by the water and pricked her thumb with the blade of the knife.
"Goddess, please hear me. Athena, please, bring safety to my cousins. And to their companions. I fear death and betrayal," she whispered, while letting ten drops of blood fall into the dirt next to the water. At the tenth drop, Penelope plunged her hand into the pool. She waited until the cold began to numb her hand, then got up and left without looking back. She didn't dare look back, even for a sign that her prayer had been heard, the offering accepted.
Chapter 5
* * *
Penelope darted into the shadows of a tall, spreading bush and winced as branches dug into her back and arms. To avoid her brother, she would welcome blood and pain. Ithios approached with two men whom Penelope hoped were no suitors for Helen--threadbare clothes, scraggly beards, untrimmed hair, no ornaments of any kind. No noble or prince of Achaia would fall into such a state.
"We are all lucky Menelaos is not king of Mycenae," Ithios said. His voice sounded blurred with wine, and it was barely past noon. Penelope knew more than luck let her hear the three men before they saw her; someone protected her. "Odysseus is constantly at his elbow, telling him what to do, what to say, what to think. He would only be a toy king, and Odysseus would rule Mycenae."
"Some would find his rule better than Agamemnon's," the cleaner of his two companions offered. He dodged when Ithios swung on him, and laughed.
Penelope held her breath as the three paused. If they turned, they would see her. If either stranger attacked her, she couldn't depend on her brother for protection. He might encourage them.
"Even his friends cannot trust Odysseus. Who knows what he will do next?" Ithios hunched his shoulders, glancing around as if Odysseus would appear. "I thought we were rid of him when Aias took him to Pylos and his ridiculous ship. Whateve
r brought him back, it will profit him and hurt us."
"He's gone for now, and he took Helen's brothers. No one to guard her," the third man said. His voice was rough, as if made of stones. He grinned, making a suggestive swing with his hip. The other two burst out laughing.
"We're wasting a beautiful day," Ithios said. "We should spend it by the river, watching the maidens bathe."
The second man laughed, tugged a wine skin from inside his tunic and tossed it to the third. They moved down the path, spilling wine and coarse laughter as they went.
Penelope waited until their voices faded away before she left her hiding place. She looked up at the hot sun and grimaced. The women were to spend the day at the river. She had to warn Helen, to post some guards. The idea of Ithios' friends seeing her naked made Penelope feel ill.
* * * *
The next night, and the night after, Penelope wore her boy disguise and slipped outside to explore. She couldn't lie still long enough to fall asleep.
She regained the excitement of hunting and roaming during her nighttime wandering. Penelope planned during the day where she wanted to go at night. She studied the halls and listened to the servants talking, learning who would be on duty, what passages and doors would be without guard or torch. She wandered without light sometimes, trusting to her hands and feet and ears. Her longing to run away to a life of adventure and freedom returned. Did she dare try it?
The third night, she went to the stables, wondering if she dared try to ride an older horse. There were always rumors of Amazons coming through to trade, to seek new fathers for their children, to sell weapons or buy. If she could learn to ride, perhaps she could steal a horse and reach an Amazon emissary before her uncle's men caught her.
She slipped into the stables, disconcerted to see a torch burning in a stand in the aisle between the stalls. Penelope thought the horses would need dark and quiet to rest. She slowed her steps and rested her hand on the knife at her belt. She considered the idea of someone else trying to steal her uncle's horses, then rejected it. Thieves didn't use torches any more than girls who wandered the night when they belonged in bed.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 6