He wanted her, not Helen.
"I love you, child. I want to protect you. There are potions to drink, to keep his seed from joining with yours. Oils and lotions to anoint yourself. I will make them for you. If you wish," she added, her voice dropping.
"You truly have been a loving mother to me." Penelope swallowed hard against the sudden thickness in her throat. "My aunt taught me, it is a woman's duty to decide if she will conceive or not. She taught me how to prevent conceiving. I had already planned... I will use what you give me, and thankfully. But don't tell me when it is right to deny my husband a child. That is between the Goddess and my own heart."
* * * *
Likely, the priest wondered why a bride came to Athena's temple, rather than Aphrodite and Hera. Penelope didn't care. She was thankful the man agreed with her request to be alone. Alkippe attended her and stood now at the far end of the inner room, making sure no one approached.
"Please, great Athena," Penelope whispered, going to her knees. She kept her eyes fixed on the serene features of the statue, hoping for some response, some sign. "If you favor the one I must marry, take me under your protection as well. Give me the wisdom to please him. And please, touch his thoughts on our bridal night. I want to please him, but how can I if I fear him and he is tottering with wine? Please, let him come to me with gentleness and I will sacrifice to your altar first, on all feast days." She bowed her head, and waited.
Penelope heard a soft brushing sound near the doorway that led to an anteroom on one side. She looked and saw a shadow move. Her heart sank. Likely the priest waited for her to leave. The sound was probably his sandal brushing the stone pavements. She hoped the man had not heard her whispered prayer. What sort of request was that for a bride to make?
Alkippe met her at the doorway and handed Penelope her wooden doll. They would next go to Artemis' temple, to offer up her girlhood toys. Penelope stroked the carved features of the doll and remembered the day her father gave it to her. He told her of the day she would place the toy on Artemis' altar, and had told her she would be happy.
Penelope was not sure how she felt. Pride, that Odysseus wanted her so much. Anger, that Eurynome and the king both thought so little of Odysseus, to take his request as insult. Despair, that her escape had been thwarted. Curiosity, to know what made Melantho smile and slip away to numerous lovers. And anticipation of sailing the sea again, journeying to the island that Odysseus spoke of with such pride and affection.
Amid all the emotions churning in her heart, Penelope wondered if there was room for happiness. She hoped it would come, soon.
She nearly stopped when she thought she caught a glimpse of a man with dark red hair stepping into a doorway. Penelope hoped her face wasn't as red warm as it felt. Did Odysseus follow her? She didn't know whether to feel ashamed or flattered.
She remembered Odysseus' rage when Aias attacked her. Penelope realized there was so little she truly knew about the man she was to marry. When she knelt at Hera's altar, she prayed for help to always make Odysseus smile at her, and never give him cause for frowns or anger. She didn't want him ever to show such fury at her.
* * * *
Penelope sat down slowly, trying not to listen to the music, laughing and singing that pulsed through the palace. She remembered how long the sounds had echoed through the palace on Helen's bridal night. She remembered the wave of laughter that likely signaled Menelaos' exit from the hall. Alkippe had come running soon after that, to warn them he approached. Penelope remembered how he staggered.
Now it was her turn to sit in the chair and be tended by the maids. To have the jewels and flowers taken from her hair. To have her hair brushed lustrous and smooth. To have her pearls and rings and rich robes removed, her body rubbed with scented oil. And then be led to the bridal bed. To wait, trying not to shiver in the cool night air, with Alkippe's silent company until Odysseus came to claim her.
Helen had not been afraid, Penelope remembered. She flinched as the last chain tangled in her hair. Melantho offered no apology and Penelope didn't rebuke her. The girl was still upset she hadn't been chosen as her companion.
Her thoughts returned to her cousin. Helen hadn't been afraid because she knew how to please a man in his bed. Yet, she had been too quiet when Penelope tended her the next morning. Menelaos had been clumsy from wine and claimed his bride as if she were a recalcitrant slave girl bought for breeding.
Odysseus had never grown drunk during the feasting, as far as Penelope knew. He had never winced at the morning brightness or complained of a sour belly or other pains from too much wine. She had watched for him often enough to guess his daily habits. She tried to comfort herself with that thought and drive away her fears. It didn't help. This was his bridal night and the other men would ply him with wine beyond even his endurance.
Alkippe brought over the vial of scented oil, which had sat warming by the fire. Penelope braced herself, ready for the maids to begin removing her clothes.
The door into the chamber swung open. The draft of air caught everyone's attention. She looked up to see Odysseus standing framed against the darkness in the hall, the silver cup in his hand. His tunic was still clean and smooth; no sweat gleamed on his face. He caught the clasp of his cloak and twisted it free. He never took his gaze off her.
For a moment she thought her heart had stopped. She saw all the maids looking to her for orders. Eurynome's instructions returned--please her husband in all things. Penelope glanced toward the door and nodded. The girls fled the room like frightened birds.
Odysseus closed the door, then dropped his cloak on a chair nearby. Penelope held still, watching him, waiting. He said nothing. His face was calm, pleasant but unreadable, and he watched her as he crossed the room. His beard glistened in the torchlight with scented oil.
"Sweet Penelope," he said, his voice a soft rumble, as he stopped before her. "I bring the cup of our joining. Will you honor me by drinking?" Odysseus knelt so their eyes were level as he held out the cup to her.
The spices in the ceremonial wine filled the air, thickening it so she couldn't breathe for a moment. Penelope gazed into the glistening depths, deep and dark as blood. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat.
"You honor me by giving it," she whispered. Her hands shook, but she raised the heavy cup to her lips for the required sip without spilling anything. It was warm from his hand.
She watched Odysseus as he took his sip, noting how his hand didn't tremble. There was a light like laughter in his eyes, but burning deeper and stronger. She hadn't been this close to him since he rescued her from Aias. The clean scent of him filled the air--leather and smoke, clean linen and wine.
"This cup holds more wine than I have tasted all day," he said as he put the cup on the table beside her. Odysseus stood and waited, watching her.
"You were at the temple." Penelope closed her eyes, feeling her face burning. She tried to recall the words of her prayer to Athena. Had she misspoken? Had she made Odysseus angry?
"Penelope." His fingers brushed her cheek, startling her so she opened her eyes. Odysseus smiled down at her. "Menelaos has never been able to hold his wine since we were boys." He chuckled, sending warmth through her that relaxed the tight cold filling her belly. "I want to remember every moment of this night. And not frighten you. You are frightened of me a little, aren't you?"
"I was not expecting you so soon, my husband." The word tasted strange on her tongue, but she smiled at him. "Startled, not frightened. They haven't finished preparing me for you."
"Shall I call them back?" He held out his hand for hers and helped her stand.
"No." Penelope's heart pounded harder, as if it would leap free of her flesh. A lightness filled her, a warmth that took away her trembling.
"Penelope, please...don't fear me." His hands rested warm and heavy on her shoulders. She couldn't meet his eyes, lost in the heat and trembling his touch sent through her.
"I'm not afraid." She knew she had spoken truthf
ully. Her one fear had been removed. She remembered Eurynome's instructions and vowed to be sweet and biddable in all things, to please him and keep him careful of her. "Except afraid that I might not please you," she added in a whisper.
"You please me more than I can express," he hurried to say, his voice thickening.
Her feet moved of their own volition, taking her to the bed. She heard him follow her as she removed her belt. As she reached up and loosened the clasp on one shoulder of her dress, she felt Odysseus work the other clasp. Penelope closed her eyes, feeling only warmth and a new vibrancy pouring through her body. The cloth whispered as her dress dropped to the floor. Odysseus' hands were warm and gentle on her skin as he slipped his arms around her and drew her back against him. She nearly flinched away, feeling his bare chest touch her naked back. His beard brushed the side of her face, his lips soft against her loosened hair. He held her close with one arm around her waist. His other hand brushed over her body, pausing to cup breast and hip. Penelope shivered, enjoying the heat that tore through her from the slow, soft caress.
Gently, he turned her around so she faced him. One hand cupped her cheek, tipping her head up as he bent his head down to her. Penelope closed her eyes, trembling without fear as he kissed her. A spark shot through her body, from her lips to deep in her belly. She trembled in his embrace, delighted to discover she enjoyed his touch. She thought for a moment about the oil to anoint her body, then realized that didn't matter.
"Do I please you, my lord?" she whispered, when he drew back.
"Very pleased. May I give you joy in return." He caressed her cheek, a stroke of his thumb as gentle as a bird's wing. "Is the rest of you as sweet, Penelope?"
"Sweet?" She opened her eyes, confused, wanting him to kiss her again.
"Your mouth tastes of honey wine." His smile trembled as he bent his head to kiss her again. His arms closed around her, drawing her tight up against him.
Penelope returned his kisses, daring to slip her arms around him. He laughed, a gentle sound that vibrated against her lips, all through her body. She clung to him, eyes closed, when he picked her up and walked the few steps to lay her down in the bed. His hands moved over her body with feather touches, gentle as the first morning breeze in spring.
* * * *
Penelope lay still, feeling the thudding of her heart. She didn't move, for fear of halting the tender, gentle flow of Odysseus' hand over her body, strong contrast to the lightning sharp pleasure that held them a short while before. He held her close against him, one arm under her shoulders. Soft kisses, his beard tickling in places, rained down on her face and neck, moving to her shoulders and breasts. She caught her breath once, flinching against a sharp thrill of returning pleasure and opened her eyes. He smiled down at her and stroked a few strands of hair out of her face.
"Not as terrible as you feared?" he whispered.
"Helen said it could be wonderful. Why do the old women tell us to endure, to be afraid?" She felt her face heat as she realized how odd her words sounded. She was no longer Dyvis, free to ask any question in her head.
"Because lovemaking can be a sad thing, if the man thinks only of his own pleasure and not his wife's." Odysseus leaned over her, an arm on either side of her shoulders, studying her face in the light of the last burning torch. "My nurse taught me about the old ways. A king's most important duty then was to protect and serve and please the queen. She is the source of life and blessing for the land, as you shall be, dear Penelope. You will bring joy and new life to Ithaka, as you bring joy to me." He leaned down to kiss her. "Ithaka shall worship you as a priestess of the Goddess," he whispered, following with more kisses.
Penelope slipped her arms around him, holding him close, while new ideas spun through her mind. Athena, she decided, had indeed been watching over her, to give her to a man who would take her to a people with such beliefs. She welcomed the new life waiting for her, as she welcomed the warm weight of his body. When he moved off her to continue his caresses and she clung to him, he laughed.
"Slowly, my sweet lady. We have all the night before us." His smile grew deeper when a caress across her belly tickled and startled a laugh out of her. "I like your laughter," he said. "Like a harp."
"Grandfather said I had a foolish laugh," Penelope admitted, then wondered at how easily she confided in him.
"Your grandfather also thought you were a boy. Not everything he taught you can be taken seriously."
"How much do you know about me?" She felt a cooling of the warm pleasure that filled her belly.
"As much as your cousins could tell me, as much as I could learn questioning your servants and traders who had gone to Alybas. And as much as you told me." He turned onto his side, propped up on one arm, and looked down at her.
"You knew I was Dyvis." Penelope felt some pride that her voice didn't break and tears didn't fill her eyes. She wondered if the brightness in his eyes was mocking laughter.
"You are too beautiful to be a boy. I will take you anywhere you wish, tell you anything you want to know, but I will not risk someone else attacking you as Aias tried." He caressed another wisp of hair out of her eyes, the momentary hardness in his face softening. "You are most definitely the queen for Ithaka and I will risk no harm coming to you."
"I envied you, when you spoke of Ithaka," she whispered, trying to read his thoughts in his eyes.
Penelope remembered everything he had told her of his home. His voice soft, flowing with life, he had spoken of his parents. How his father, Laertes had brought peace to the island as well as prosperity. Of Antikleia, his mother, her golden red beauty and warring, cunning kinsmen. He told her about the house he had left half-finished, to come looking for a bride. Odysseus spoke of the hills of Ithaka where hunting was good. The shadows harbored mystery, where a god or goddess might step out at any moment, or a hidden crevice could cripple a man or dog. He had told her about his orchards and vineyards, the colors of sunrise off the shores of Ithaka, the joys of a misty morning, walking along the shore in the cool, damp sand.
"Penelope..." He sighed, shaking his head, and the soberness of his face turned into a smile. "I should steal you away, join King Nestor as he heads home to Pylos by moonlight. We should vanish this very night, before anyone realizes how blind they have been and tries to take you from me. Every man will envy me my bride, and Ithaka its queen."
"Don't." She felt laughter and tears choking her. "My lord, don't speak foolishness."
"Not foolishness," he murmured. His caresses changed, drawing waves of hot pleasure up through her body.
* * * *
"Come, before the household wakes," Odysseus whispered, waking her with a kiss. He stroked her hair, then down her shoulder and arm.
Penelope trembled with the sweetness of his kiss and caress and hurried to follow his example. He had brought clothes to replace their wedding garments. She covered her tangled, unbound hair with a veil. Odysseus wore a plain, dark tunic a farmer would wear. They went barefoot, silent in the dark stone hallways of the palace. Odysseus had obviously planned this, obtaining the plain clothes, the basket of food and skin of wine, and finding the path to escape the palace and their bridal chamber. He carried basket and wineskin and held her hand.
Penelope shivered with pleasure at a new thought. Any other man might hold her hand to keep her with him, to ensure she didn't try to run. Odysseus had no need to fear she would try to escape him after last night. He had been as gentle, as kind and giving as any girl could want on her bridal night. He held her hand for the simple pleasure of touching her as they walked.
In silence, they left the palace far behind, with trees between them and it, and the river sliding through the plains before them. They went to where the women spent the afternoons.
They bathed before eating. Penelope stayed near shore, kneeling on the pebbly bottom of the river, letting the cold, swift flowing waters tug at her body. She knew Odysseus watched her, and knowing drove away the chill.
"What a dif
ference a single night brings," she whispered. The brushing of the wind against her body reminded her of Odysseus' first caress. Penelope hurried out of the water, looking for him and wondering if she had taken too long.
He was there before her, smiling down at her as he handed her a cloak to dry with. His eyes held the same joy and pleasure in morning light that she had seen in torchlight before they both fell asleep. Penelope felt her knees go weak and warmth spread through her belly. Odysseus caught her by the elbow when she swayed a little.
"I fear we are both faint with hunger," he said, his smile changing to fill with laughter.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and watched him walk over to the basket of food. Quickly, she wrung out her hair and tugged her dress over her damp skin.
Odysseus set out a cloth on a flat rock that had often served the women as a table. He brought cheese, bread and honey, and figs out of the basket and set them on the cloth. Penelope knelt next to him and gently pushed his hands away.
"It is the wife's duty to serve her lord," she said, lips trembling as he turned his hands to catch hers. How long, she wondered, would his mere touch spread such warmth and weakness through her body?
"As you wish." His smiled was a caress.
She filled the single wooden cup he had brought and held it out to him. Odysseus caught her hand against the cup, raising it to his lips to sip and then guiding it to her mouth. She was glad he held the cup. She would have dropped it otherwise. When she held out a portion of the cheese to him, he ate it from her hand, kissing her fingers, tickling them with the soft curls of his beard. Memories of the night before made thinking hard.
"The first time I saw you, Penelope, I wanted you. I battered your cousins with questions about you because you fascinated me. Tell me, does it bother you to be called 'the little, dark one'?"
"Not as the words come from your lips." She found it easy to smile; his eyes sparkled so brightly as he spoke. "I don't feel like a half-grown child when you say it."
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 10