THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "No, you are definitely a woman. With the sweetest mouth a man could want." He laughed, catching up one of her hands to press to his lips. "And hands as quick as your mind. You hardly needed my help, that day by the river. You should have heard the others speaking of you later, and seen the bruises and cuts you gave our poor Aias. Menelaos said you were born an Amazon, switched in your cradle with the true-born daughter of Ikarios. The king and your cousins were rather pleased by that."

  "And you?" Her hands trembled as she spread honey on the bread. Warmth spread through her body from the mischief and laughter in his voice. Please, Aphrodite and Athena, let it be always like this for us.

  "I was terrified you would catch the heart of another prince or two. The timing wasn't right for me to speak to Tyndareos. I feared before I did, someone else would lose interest in Helen and begin speaking of you."

  "Lose interest in Helen?" She nearly dropped the bread. A few birds by the shore rose up at the shock in her voice. Penelope laughed, surprised at the bitterness in the sound.

  "You have still to grow fully into your beauty, Penelope, and despite your cunning mind you cannot see that. I thank Athena who guides me, I saw your promise before any other man." Odysseus caught her chin with two fingers, to make her look at him. "Your mind is as swift and beautiful as your body."

  "You were hiding in the trees, watching our games and listening to us, weren't you?" Penelope laughed when he pretended to be ashamed and look away.

  "Many nights, lying in my bed, I thanked Athena I was too proud to leave when I knew I didn't want Helen. I nearly left for Ithaka before you arrived."

  "I considered pretending to be a boy and traveling the world," she confessed. "Perhaps we might have met and joined forces?" Her words brought laughter from him. Odysseus wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to kiss her. "Please, Fates, let me make you happy," she whispered against his lips.

  "We will be happy, Penelope. Many long years together. I promise you."

  "When do we leave for Ithaka?"

  "Not soon enough." He sat back as he released her and glanced up at the sun, then back through the trees toward the palace. "The day progresses. They will be searching for us soon, I fear. More games and contests to celebrate our marriage."

  "You need your strength, because you will win them all," she said, pressing a piece of bread into his hand. The honey had begun to dry, glistening in the morning warmth.

  "Merely because I am the bridegroom?" he asked, laughing, before he took a bite.

  "No. Because you are Odysseus."

  A few droplets of honey caught in the curling hairs around his mouth. They glistened like polished gold in the sun. Daring and longing mixed in her. Penelope leaned forward and kissed him, tasting the honey where it smeared his lips.

  * * * *

  Eurynome's voice rang across the plain from the gate where the palace opened out toward the river. Penelope paused, startled out of the warmth and pleasure of Odysseus' arm around her waist as they walked back to the palace. She was surprised to see her nurse come running to meet them.

  "My--my lady, where have you been?" the woman gasped, her hand pressed over her heart. Eurynome's hair hung loose from a badly made braid. Penelope guessed the woman had dressed hurriedly, likely roused early from her bed.

  "We went to the river to bathe." Penelope pressed closer against Odysseus. His arm tightened around her, then released her to hold her hand.

  "My wife, I believe we have put the palace into an uproar." He smiled, with no humor in his eyes or his voice. "How many new brides and bridegrooms have vanished on their wedding mornings?"

  "The king is in a fury," Eurynome whispered. Her gaze flicked away from Penelope, to rest on Odysseus with something like respect on her face.

  Penelope nearly laughed to realize her nurse didn't particularly care for Tyndareos. Odysseus' hand tightened on hers as they walked to the gates of the palace. Glancing at him, Penelope remembered his argument with her uncle and knew the king's fury was only a continuation of that afternoon talk.

  Someone else must have seen them coming, because Tyndareos came storming down the steps into the courtyard before they stepped through the gate. Her uncle's eyes blazed and his stride was stiff as he crossed the pavement to meet them. He glared at Odysseus, mouth pressed flat and tight.

  "Penelope, go to your room. This is no place for you," Tyndareos said, his tone hard and brittle. His eyes burned even when they rested on her.

  "My place is with my husband," she returned in as gentle a voice as she could manage. Odysseus squeezed her hand. She hoped it was approval of her tactics.

  "I am your uncle--"

  "And as such, you gave me to Odysseus. Now it is for my husband to tell me to stay or go."

  "Penelope." Odysseus released her hand. "Will you go, or will you stay and hear what the king has to say to me?"

  "I will stay." Her lips trembled a little as she forced a smile. Penelope slipped her hand back into his grasp. "Whatever makes you so angry, my king, we have done together this day."

  "What sort of game--" Tyndareos' face went crimson. "What trick is this, Odysseus, to steal my niece--"

  "Steal?" Odysseus' voice grew hard as a sword. "How can I steal my own wife? Or do you now take her back? Did you change your mind in the middle of the feast?"

  "Be careful what accusations you make," the king said, his voice a barely controlled growl. Behind him, Helen and Menelaos came through the doorway and paused on the steps.

  "Uncle." Penelope tried to make her voice soft and placating, when she felt fury beginning to boil. "We only went to the river to be alone. We wanted privacy."

  "He needs no protection from you," Tyndareos snapped.

  "He needs no help from anyone." She nearly laughed at how the king flinched at her snapped retort. "I was in the garden, Uncle. I heard you insult Ithaka and Odysseus when he asked for me. I know I am the payment to safeguard Sparta. Why are you angry with my husband?"

  "I think the king repents his bargain," Odysseus said slowly, his eyes hooded, voice too soft. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm. "Your uncle wishes you to turn from me and beg him to take you back."

  "Such insults--" Tyndareos began.

  "Insults such as you threw at Ithaka and my bloodline? You were by the gate between the gardens, weren't you, Penelope? You didn't hear what he said when we walked further into the garden. If the king's words were true, you are the wife of a man less than a slave, the foulest coward, destined to live on a cursed piece of rock even the gods don't acknowledge."

  "My husband, take me home to Ithaka." Penelope trembled with anger. "I won't stay here another day."

  "Penelope, think what you say." Tyndareos paled, and this time not in anger. Penelope knew her uncle began to regret what he had said. "Think of the festivals, the games to celebrate your marriage."

  "Celebrate what you regret?" Odysseus asked, his voice chill. "Yes, Penelope. We will leave. Today."

  "You can't leave so quickly!"

  "I won't stay in a household where my husband is insulted." She tugged her hand free and turned to Eurynome. "Call Dolios and tell him to report to my lord for his orders. Then join me in my room and help me pack." Penelope hurried to the door. She glimpsed Helen turning to follow her, but didn't slow for her cousin. By the time she reached her room, the trembling had left her legs, but a longing for tears wrapped around her instead.

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Odysseus had a chariot borrowed from King Nestor. Dolios harnessed the horses for the return trip before coming to Penelope's room for her belongings. He said little, except that he and his family and Eurynome would leave as soon as they were packed and rejoin her in Pylos. Dolios revealed little emotion when he told her the arrangements Odysseus had made, but Penelope guessed the man was bewildered and worried for her. She could not summon the words to reassure him, being unsure herself what she wanted or felt. She had chosen her husband's side
of the argument, which was her duty. She couldn't decide if she had acted to spite her uncle or to support her husband. Or if Odysseus had touched her heart.

  Menelaos and Helen came to see them off, waiting on the steps of the palace until Dolios loaded the chariot and left. The two cousins hugged, wordless. Penelope knew Menelaos and Odysseus exchanged words, but she couldn't make herself listen. She let Menelaos help her up into the chariot and his hands were gentle. Sorrow touched his eyes. She had thought badly of him after Helen's bridal night, but decided now that the man merely had weak places. He did care for Helen. The blush on Helen's cheeks when her husband wrapped his arm around her waist showed all was well between them, or would soon be.

  "King Tyndareos says you leave too quickly to claim his bride-gift to Penelope," Menelaos said, his words halting.

  "I have more treasure in my bride than her uncle will ever know," Odysseus returned. He guided Penelope's hands to the straps to brace herself. "As it is," he added, a smile in face and voice, "I won't have it said Tyndareos and Sparta made Ithaka rich."

  Penelope choked, caught between wanting to laugh and cry. She felt the pride and humor that brought such words to her husband's lips. She smiled up at him. The brightness in his eyes overwhelmed her with longing to be far from Sparta.

  "He will be over his anger soon, and then we can send messages," Helen said. "We can visit next spring."

  "You could be fat with child by then," Penelope said. Odysseus' hand tightened on her shoulder. Was it in anticipation of their own child or because of Tyndareos' words about Ithaka? If the island kingdom wasn't fit for Penelope to be its queen, how could it be fit for Helen to visit?

  "We could both be," Helen returned with a smile.

  "As the gods will it," Odysseus said. "Menelaos, when the king is kinder toward us, tell him I would not have Sparta an enemy. If the oracles are to be believed, we will all need allies."

  "I will tell him." Menelaos pressed his hand over his heart in oath.

  "Ready?" he murmured, releasing Penelope to take up the reins. She nodded.

  With a gentle lurch and a clatter of hooves on the paving stones, the chariot moved forward. It gained speed quickly on the smooth path from the palace, through the wide streets around the edge of the city. Penelope closed her eyes until the jouncing rattle of paving stones under the wheels turned into the smooth hissing of dirt road.

  "Regrets, Penelope?" Odysseus said, as she opened her eyes and looked around. His mouth quirked up in a thin smile, but she saw no humor in his eyes.

  "You are my husband. My place is with you." She bent her head and studied the straps, twisting her hands through them to brace herself more surely.

  "You demean yourself, playing the submissive little bride." A spark of laughter touched his eyes when she met his gaze. "I heard you rebel against your uncle. You told me your dreams when you pretended to be Dyvis. I know you."

  "I was angry with him," she admitted. Her face warmed under his scrutiny. "What you told me of Ithaka...it is beautiful, even if rocky and isolated and not as rich as Sparta. You love Ithaka and it is my home now. He had no right to mock you. He had no right to be angry that we wanted to be alone."

  "And you were still angry with him, using you to buy peace for Sparta and Helen."

  "That as well."

  "I promise you, Penelope, you won't regret being my wife and queen of Ithaka." Odysseus turned away for a moment to correct the horses' path. He released one hand to slip his arm around her waist and draw her against him. "I wish I could show you the surprise on your face, enjoying our first lovemaking."

  "There are benefits to marriage." She laughed with him and let go of the steadying straps so she could wrap both arms around his waist. Through Odysseus, she learned the swaying rhythm of the chariot better and grew more steady on her feet.

  "Do you like to sail, Penelope?"

  "Very much. I prayed Athena to let me be given to a prince who loved the sea."

  "Shall I teach you to sail, then? I did promise to take you exploring and tell you all you wanted to learn."

  "I would like that, very much."

  "We have work waiting for us when we reach Ithaka, to prepare for winter. The last few years have been lean, rough ones--you and I will remedy that. But there will be time to explore. From the northern tip to the southern shore. You will know all the places precious to me."

  Penelope nodded, unable to reply for the happiness that threatened to choke her. She tightened her arms around him as Odysseus whipped the horses into more speed. The chariot sang along the dusty road, leaving clouds in its wake that settled slowly in the warming morning air.

  The journey passed swiftly. Penelope closed her eyes from time to time and pretended the swaying under her feet and the tugging of the wind against her hair came from waves and sea wind. Just when she attained the illusion, a horse would snort or whinny, or a cloud of dust would brush her face, making her choke. Odysseus spoke little, except to point out places along the road she might find interesting. Penelope decided he didn't quite trust the horses and gave all his concentration to controlling them.

  She early gave up holding onto her veil. The wind tugged it off her head and tore strands of hair loose from her braids. She tucked the veil into her belt and leaned to face directly into the wind so it wouldn't whip her hair into her face. She smiled, remembering how Odysseus had played with her hair the night before--and what a struggle it had been to brush it straight in the morning.

  "You like riding in chariots, then?" Odysseus said, when they reached a rocky stretch of road and had to slow. He shifted back to holding the reins in one hand, and brushed tangled, dusty strands of hair out of her face.

  Penelope smiled, but her ready answer died on her lips when she saw the odd, intense light in his eyes. It made a lie of his light tone. Her answer was important to him, for some reason. She shook her head, then finger-combed her hair in a different direction.

  "Men know nothing about women's hair," she said, wrinkling her nose at him. His snort of laughter reassured her, but not enough. "Yes, I suppose I like chariots," she said, choosing her words with care. "Comparing this trip to riding in that horrid cart, I adore chariots." Penelope watched his face carefully. Nothing changed in his eyes. "At Pylos, I didn't want to get off the ship. I wanted to keep sailing around the world."

  "Did you?" Odysseus glanced up to check the horses for a moment, then looked back down at her.

  Had she imagined it, or did a slight tension leave the muscles under the curve of her arm?

  "I love the sea, sitting in the prow of a ship and feeling the wind against my face, listening to the singing of the waves. I wanted a husband who lived near the sea, who might be kind enough to take me out on ships with him. Ships are much easier to tend than horses, I think."

  "You think so, do you?" He chuckled.

  "If something is broken on a ship, you find wood or rope, and repair it. If a horse is broken, you have to kill it."

  "There is that," he admitted. His arm tightened around her. Odysseus checked the horses again, then bent to brush a kiss across her forehead. She felt the slight grit of dust on her skin, under his lips. "Ithaka is too rocky and rough for horses. Everyone walks, and the ill, weak or old ride little donkeys my grandfather brought over."

  "Then we have that advantage against raiders who might think to overrun us riding horses."

  "Raiders?" He laughed. "Where did you hear about raiders?"

  "It's a long journey by sea from Alybas. I listened to everything the sailors said, and the gossip at the ports."

  "A wise woman, I have found." His tone grew gentle, soft, so she almost didn't hear his words over the thudding of the horses' feet.

  * * * *

  They found a sheltered grove of trees at dusk and made camp around a shallow spring. Odysseus gathered long grass into a soft pile and spread their blankets over it. Their dinner was simple, bread and warm wine and olives. He asked her to sing for him, the songs she had sung
with Helen and the maids by the river. Already it felt like a lifetime since those idle days.

  They needed no fire in the warm night air, and went to bed soon after night fell. Penelope lay awake long after Odysseus fell asleep, studying the stars through the lacy canopy of leaves and branches. Her thoughts twisted and skittered like windblown leaves, sorting through the last few days.

  Everything had happened so quickly. She felt some shame, but no real regret in standing against her uncle. Penelope knew she had matured in leaps. The reason lay beside her. What other man would see through her disguise and yet let her keep her illusion of freedom, answer all her questions and value her as highly as he had confessed to the king? Penelope liked to learn, to know what went on in the world beyond the walls of her home. Simply by listening, trying to understand, she thought she had a clearer picture of the world of the Achaians than most women.

  Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, was the leader of the kings of Achaia. His rule was strong, his reach everywhere. Odysseus had gone to Mycenae to advise him several times. Times were treacherous, though. The sailors who brought her to Pylos carried knives in their belts and spears were always within reach. Tensions rose on the merchant vessel whenever a stranger ship approached. Ithaka, being an island, was a tempting prize for raiders, a place strangers would find hard to defend, but a good leaping point for those who wanted to raid the mainland.

  She sat up. Odysseus murmured in his sleep and shifted the arm he had draped around her. Penelope smiled at his reaction. He was so careful of her, so eager to give her pleasure. Her breath shortened and her pulse quickened, remembering how he had guided her hands in their lovemaking that night, how he had taught her to guide his hands where his touch gave her pleasure.

  "The old women don't know half," she whispered. Penelope remembered the talk she had heard growing up, about a woman's duty to pleasure her husband, to endure discomfort, to bear as many children as possible. They said carrying a child was the only time a woman had relief from her husband's demands.