The smile faded from her face. If she carried Odysseus' child, she would lose the pleasure of his bed for a time. She didn't want to become pregnant soon. Her aunt had taught her it was better to grow a while after becoming a woman, before bearing children.
Penelope slipped from the nest of blankets and crept to the smaller chest of her possessions. Among the healing powders, ointments and perfumes lay a tiny box, wrapped in cloth. The seeds, roots and leaves were whole, to preserve their strength. She brought out her tiny mortar and pestle and ground a pinch of the mixture, mixed it with water and drank the potion immediately. It was better when heated and mixed with wine, but still potent cold and would keep her from conceiving. She gagged on the bitter, chalky mixture but drank it down.
* * * *
They reached Pylos early afternoon the next day. Slaves waited at the city gates to take messages and Odysseus sent one ahead to the palace. Penelope reluctantly loosed her comfortable hold around Odysseus' waist and set herself to fixing her hair and wiping away some of the grime of travel.
Nestor's son, Straltos met them at the gates of the palace. He was a few years older than Penelope. She remembered him as full of mischief, too tall for grace, always ready to pull her hair when no adults were around. She decided not to mention that memory to him, but if it would make Odysseus laugh, she would tell her husband later.
Straltos had gained grace and graciousness. He favored his father, with wide shoulders and long-fingered hands. His face like a falcon would have been fierce except for the brilliant light of joy in his eyes, the ready smile and laughter on his lips. Penelope smiled but said little in greeting. She felt Odysseus stiffen, his hand tightening around hers when Straltos kissed her forehead in greeting. It bothered, then flattered, then worried her when she considered his reaction.
No one had exaggerated, comparing Nestor's palace favorably against the palace in Sparta. Every wall was painted, murals in bright colors depicting scenes from legends, or pictures to give honor to a god or goddess, or simply beautiful patterns of squares and circles and vines running throughout. The colors glistened as if freshly painted--strong black, red brighter than blood, blue deeper than the sea. Even the tiles on the floors were in colors and patterns. Bold black and white squares. Soft yellow with varying shades of green, reminding her of the haze of young grain in the fields in the spring.
She nearly laughed aloud, partly in relief, when she saw the plain white ceiling and one bare wall in the chamber she entered. She could not, though. The housekeeper waited for a word of approval and two maids waited to help her bathe. All three looked enough alike to be mother and daughters, all pale gold hair, brown eyes, and round, somber faces. Penelope put on her mask of distant graciousness, thanking one, giving instructions to the others.
Her thoughts wandered to Odysseus as the maids bathed and oiled her tired body, plaited her hair and helped her dress. Her husband had likely hurried through his own bath and followed Straltos out to the beach. The king and the royal household were performing sacrifices there to bless the change of seasons. The men would eat dinner together and talk, most likely about war, piracy along the coasts and preparations for winter. Penelope would join Nestor's daughter, Polykaster for dinner, along with whatever brides had married his many sons since she had last visited.
Penelope looked forward to it. She was a married woman now. She could laugh with the others and understand the hidden meanings that had escaped her before. In the evening, Odysseus would come for her so she could talk with their host. Penelope felt torn in her desires. She wished Eurynome and the others would prolong their trip, to extend the stay in Pylos, and wished she and Odysseus could set sail without them.
* * * *
King Nestor declared a celebration the next day. Penelope was awed and delighted to realize the man showed as much pride in Odysseus' marriage and choice of bride as he would have for his own sons. He ordered sacrifices to ensure blessings on the bridal couple, fertility, and safety on their voyage to Ithaka. The feasting and dancing and music started soon after dawn and lasted past sunset. Nestor ordered a special canopy erected for the women at the edge of the gaming field. Slaves with fans and jugs of wine, bowls of fruit and anything else necessary for their comfort waited at their pleasure.
Odysseus excelled at the games, as she had predicted he would in Sparta. Penelope knew her face was in continual blush from the attentions he paid her and the comments other men made in her hearing. She didn't mind, even when she heard men laugh at how cunning Odysseus was besotted with his bride.
Her husband joined her after every contest, often kissing her in full view of everyone. He sat at her feet and shared her wine cup, careful to place his lips where hers had touched. She grew drunk on more than the wine and the excitement of the games. The promises in his eyes made her eager for the night.
* * * *
Shadows stretched long, thin and dark through the halls and chambers of the palace. Singing and laughter still rang in the open courtyards where some men and boys insisted on continuing the games. Penelope slowed her steps through the long hallway, listening for people moving about. She would be teased by those who knew her. Others would whisper, some elders smile indulgently if she were caught here, far from her chamber. A bride of three nights, she was supposed to wait for her husband to come to her, not wander the halls looking for him.
Penelope shook her head. She didn't wander. She knew exactly where Odysseus would be. After the long, hot, dusty day of competition, he would be in the baths. Perhaps by this time he would be lying still, with a servant rubbing warmed oil into his muscles. After such ministrations, she knew he would be tired and relaxed, eager for sleep. Penelope bit her lip against laughter at her thoughts and desires. She didn't want her husband to merely come to their bed, kiss her, and fall asleep.
As she thought he would be, Odysseus lay face down, naked on a padded bench, with a slave woman about to rub oil into his shoulders. His eyes were closed, hair dark and curling from his bath. The room was otherwise unoccupied, damp from water poured out, wet sheets hanging to dry, the air heavy with scented oil and torches slowly burning out.
Penelope signaled the servant to be quiet as she entered the room. A smile of understanding touched the older woman's face. She nodded and stepped back, snatching up a towel to dry her hands before she left. Penelope picked up the vial of oil and poured some into her hands. She rubbed it into Odysseus' back, working down to his waist.
Odysseus tensed for a moment. She watched him carefully, waiting, but he relaxed after a few seconds and lay silent, eyes still closed. She worked down his legs, remembering how the muscles had knotted during the contests of strength. Even coated with dust and sweat, he outshone all other men that day.
"Witch." Odysseus' voice came out low and rumbling. "Are you trying to put me to sleep?" Without a twitch of warning, he sat up, twisting around on the bench. He caught her by her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "Are you?" he demanded, pretending fierce anger. Then he kissed her, as hungrily as if they had been parted for days.
"I didn't want to fall asleep waiting for you," she said, when he finally released her mouth. He laughed, shook her, and then held her close again.
"A witch indeed. An enchantress. Did you think I wouldn't recognize your touch?"
"I had hoped," she admitted. "Do you forgive me, shaming you like this by seeking you out?"
"Shame?" His chuckles vibrated through her body as he held her close. "Oh, my sweet Penelope." His laughter turned into a groan. "I should spirit you away this very night. I do fear others will realize what a treasure you are and try to kill me to make you their own."
"Whatever you decide, I will follow."
"Something bothers you. Your uncle's words?" he asked, releasing her enough to see her face in the torchlight.
"Not fully. Maybe it is just women's worries...or fears of losing you to another," she added, giving him an impish look.
Odysseus shouted in laughter and kis
sed her again. Many long moments later he released her enough to let her speak.
"I have a fear of my own, in truth," she continued in a whisper. "We will not be fully wed, our life together fully begun, until we are home in Ithaka. And though we are both young...my dreams shout to hoard our time together. We live an illusion of many years before us." It was hard to meet his gaze. Penelope rarely spoke about her dreams to anyone. Her dreams the night before, though woven with happy images of her life with Odysseus, had been troubling.
"I've already sent word to my men to prepare the ship," he said, releasing her and gently nudging her off his lap. He stood, reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head. "When your people join us, we'll sail." He twisted both hands into her hair as he drew her close again, and chuckled when she smiled. "That pleases you?"
"I heard King Nestor speak of keeping us here to celebrate for a week, at least."
"Nestor is a good friend and a generous host, but he understands that Ithaka calls. And he thinks I am merely an eager, jealous bridegroom. Which I am," he added. He twisted his grin into a frown when she laughed in pure delight. "Woman, don't mock your lord and husband."
"Odysseus--" Her words were lost in a gasp when he bent and slung her over his shoulder. She couldn't breathe for laughing. Her hair, loosed for bed, hung in her face, blinding her.
"You must learn not to awaken a man ready for his sleep, Penelope. And learn the consequences when you do." Odysseus strode out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs to their chamber. Penelope knew members of the household saw them, laughing together, her half-hearted struggles in his arms. She couldn't see them for her hair in her face or hear them for her heart thundering in her ears. She didn't care.
Chapter 9
* * *
Eurynome, Dolios and his family arrived in Pylos late afternoon the next day. A slave boy came to tell Penelope while she walked in the gardens with Polykaster. They rested from the heat and excitement of the games, though Penelope wished she could watch Odysseus continue winning. She thanked the messenger and hurried with Polykaster to the palace gates to greet the rest of her household.
They all looked tired, dusty, and hot from their journey. Penelope recalled too well the discomfort of riding in the carts and she pitied them. Polykaster called for servants to lead the newcomers away to baths and clean clothes. Penelope's heart soared. In the morning, they would leave for Ithaka.
When Eurynome came to attend her before bed that night, Penelope didn't notice the woman's somber mood at first. She chattered about the games and the richness of Nestor's palace while the woman brushed her hair. Only after a while did she notice her nurse's unusual quiet. Penelope doubted Eurynome was only tired from the trip. When asked, the woman shook her head.
"No, the trip was easy. Dolios sets a good pace. It's that girl." Eurynome put down Penelope's brush and gestured for her to lie down so she could rub her with scented oil.
"What did Melantho do?" Penelope smothered a sigh, wondering what new tricks her maid had discovered.
"She tried to run away. She said Lord Aias was going to ask for her."
"I can believe that." Images of Melantho lying under Aias' writhing body came back to Penelope. She felt some pity for her maid, wondering if she had ever found pleasure with the man.
"Be that as it may, you and Lord Odysseus were not there to listen to her screech and cry. Dolios had to tie her to the cart. That girl says you left to prevent Aias from asking for her. I would avoid her hands until her temper cools."
"Is that why she isn't helping you tonight?" She smiled, thinking of Melantho trying to hurt her with nails or barbed tongue.
Penelope was too happy to let such petty things bother her. She had heard Nestor telling Odysseus if he were younger or his youngest son were older, he would have requested her for his own family. Odysseus had laughed, but she saw the spark of concern in his eyes. It delighted her that her husband felt even a slight bit of jealousy.
* * * *
"Your father was a good friend," King Nestor said, standing on the docks at Pylos. He rested his hand on Penelope's head in blessing. "He would approve very much of your husband. You are blessed, child. Odysseus will give you great happiness if you stay true to him."
"I know." Penelope fought the feeling of being very young and small and helpless.
"Even so young, he is known for his cunning and strength. The other princes and kings of Achaia look to him for advice. There are greater riches than a large house, fertile land and gold." Nestor nodded, emphasizing his words. "You hold his heart. Treat it gently."
"I would never willingly hurt him," she whispered. She held the edge of her veil, as the breeze off the water tried to pull it free.
"No...you would not." He smiled and offered her his hand. He helped her step up the sloping plank into the ship.
Odysseus' men worked to raise the sail, checking lines and stowing last-minute supplies. Penelope stood by the rail, unsure where to go.
Then Odysseus appeared, glowing with eagerness to set sail. He had left her sleeping hours before to prepare the ship. Penelope wondered that he had ever willingly left Ithaka to come so far to seek a bride. She murmured her farewells and thanks to Nestor, paying more attention to the last minute flurry of preparations, the way the final shreds of mist lifted from the water. Farewells always hurt, she decided. She wanted to be done with them and away.
Then the plank slid off the rail and the sailors hurried to their posts. Odysseus led her to the stern, where he plied the rudder. Joy lit his face as the ship slowly pulled away from shore and out toward open water.
Penelope leaned against the railing at the stern and watched Pylos vanish in the early morning haze from the sea. She heard the thud of feet as sailors tended to the sail and re-adjusted the cargo in the hold, the creak of the rigging in the wind, the splashing of waves against the blue-banded belly of the ship. She laughed for pure delight and turned in her perch to face Odysseus, tending the rudder.
"Such a sad face, my wife." He shook his head. The laughter sparkling in his eyes ruined his disapproving expression. "Someone would think you were glad to leave such a gracious host as King Nestor."
"Perhaps you enjoy spending the day talking about ships and building them, fishing and sailing, the winds, and whether Ilion will increase its strangle hold on the Dardanelles. And then starting over again," she added quickly, when he opened his mouth to interrupt. "I would rather be on the sea than listen to talk of it, and mistress of your household rather than the most honored guest in the most beautiful palace in all Achaia."
"You should have been born a bard. You have a gift for words." Smiling, he gently took a handful of her loose blowing hair and drew her down onto his lap, to kiss. Penelope rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
They sat in silence. The gusting of the wind, the splashing of the waves, the creaking of the ropes and boards created music far different from that inside the palace. Penelope welcomed it and the changes it signaled.
During the last day of feasting and games, she had noticed a change in Odysseus. The richness and grandeur of Nestor's palace bothered him sometimes. Someone praised the fine drinking cups or the beauty of the wall paintings and Odysseus grew silent for a moment, studying the item praised. Penelope thought she saw uncertainty in his eyes then. Waiting for Odysseus to come to their bed that night, she considered the problem.
Tyndareos' insults to Ithaka had hurt her husband. His love for and pride in his home made him susceptible to insult and mockery. He compared Pylos with Ithaka, the household that waited for them, and found his home lacking. Penelope wondered if he feared her reaction when they reached Ithaka. She had a good idea what to expect, but how could she tell him that she welcomed the thought of a smaller house and a simpler life? Sparta and Pylos were pleasant, yes. The riches and countless servants made living easy. But she wouldn't welcome the task of being mistress of such a household.
Penelope knew she couldn't simply s
ay those words. Instead, she asked questions about Ithaka that night until he laughed and pressed his hand over her mouth.
"I beg you," he had said, leaning over her, "wait until we are home and let me have my sleep now." He removed his hand and covered her mouth with kisses instead. When she was breathless, her heart pounding, he lay down again and gathered her into his arms. "We have enough for our needs on Ithaka. Food and clothing, solid homes, good hunting. Our shores are good for fishing and our shipmasters are the envy of other ports. Our men are born to the sea. We are strong because of our rough winters and the demands of the waves. Nothing beyond that, to claim fame or riches."
"It is the home of Odysseus," she had whispered into the darkness. "That is more than enough fame for any land." A last knot of worry had dissolved when he laughed.
Now, sitting beside him, Penelope hoped his worries had gone. She knew she would be happy in his home, no matter how simple. She promised herself, and him, she would manage his household well and make all other men envy him.
* * * *
The second night out from Pylos, the ship made land between ports, on a wooded finger of land sticking out from shore. Penelope stayed on the ship while Odysseus, Dolios and his sons searched the woods. Sailing with the merchant ship before, she had always spent the nights ashore at ports, not making camp. She wavered between excitement at the roughness of their lodgings and worry over Odysseus' caution. When the men emerged from the woods, she cheered with the others. They carried a young boar strung on a pole between Dolios and his oldest son. Fresh meat for dinner.
The men had blankets in the grass far up from the pebbly shore, while Eurynome and Melantho shared one shelter of cloth and leafy branches, Aris and Dolios had the second, and Penelope and Odysseus shared the third.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 12