THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

  When night came and the fires cast warmth in wide circles against the chill off the water, Penelope was glad they had stopped at this place. This simple life pleased her. One sailor played pipes and another had a lyre, making music the others could sing to. Melantho slipped off into the darkness, avoiding her mother's reproving frown. Soon giggles and stomping feet revealed the girl danced with one sailor or another.

  Penelope smiled and leaned into the warmth of Odysseus' arm around her. She considered telling him she had dreamed they had nothing but their ship, and nothing to do but sail the world and see new lands. She knew he would laugh and kiss her, and if she looked closely she might see longing in his eyes.

  She felt him tense and looked up to see him glancing around. Penelope listened and watched the other sailors. They had caught some clue from their master and came alert. The laughing and music around the fire faded away. Penelope caught a glimpse of one sailor, then another slipping into the darkness. Then she heard the crunch and slide of feet walking the pebbly shore. She looked to the left, down the shore toward the curve of the mainland, and saw a soft glow that grew brighter as a torch emerged from behind the trees.

  "Greetings, strangers!" a man shouted. A pale speck in the darkness resolved into a man's face, lit by the torch, and several faces behind him.

  "Greetings to you," Odysseus called, slowing rising to his feet. He shook his head, gesturing for her to stay put when Penelope made to stand with him.

  She glanced at Eurynome. Her nurse had wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. When she saw Penelope watching her, the woman lifted a portion of the cloth so it covered her hair. Penelope did the same. She gladly hunched into the warmth. The pleasant chill of the night air had grown clammy.

  The newcomers were ten, all carrying knives or short swords. They smiled, but Penelope didn't trust them. The other nine men looked everywhere with appraising glances like traders on the docks, while their leader spoke with Odysseus. In the shadows and flickering firelight, they all looked alike; bronzed from the sun, shaggy hair, unkempt beards, some dressed in little more than loincloths. They had the distinct look of men who lived by their muscle.

  "I am Aithon of Sikania," Odysseus said, in answer to the man's questions. "I serve a noble prince of that land."

  "Why are you so far from home, then? And with so few companions?" The leader smiled wider, glancing around the group still sitting by the fires.

  Penelope tried to hold still and ignore him when his gaze rested on her. She shivered. The man looked too pleased with their small numbers.

  "My master sent me to find the fastest ship of all the Achaians and buy it for him. The sailors of Sikania are the best, so I only brought as many as I thought I would need." Odysseus shrugged. His face had become a mask to Penelope, a mixture of welcome to the strangers and embarrassment. She watched his back gradually stoop as he talked, and wondered if anyone else had noticed his tactic. In moments he was a stranger, a short, crooked man, somewhat simple in his thinking. No one of any threat.

  "And the women?" The leader gestured with a negligent wave of his hand at Eurynome and Aris, then Penelope, and then out into the darkness beyond them.

  Penelope studied the man more closely. He knew about Melantho, though she and her sailor were hidden in the darkness. She dared not look at Odysseus, but she knew he caught the implications. These men had spied on their company before letting themselves be seen.

  "Servants for my master's house. They are not for sale at any price," Odysseus added after the slightest pause.

  "We are too poor to buy, even at the smallest price," the man responded, laughing. The rocky sound of his laughter made her scalp prickle in warning. "If you like, we will stand guard to protect your precious cargo."

  "I thank you." Odysseus bowed to the man, like an inferior. "But the men of Sikania are fierce warriors. We fear nothing."

  "You are blessed with luck, then."

  They exchanged a few more words, and the stranger offered protection again. Odysseus declined again, emphasizing how well his sailors could fight. They spoke of the weather signs for the next day and hazards to ships in the local waters. Then they parted.

  Odysseus stayed on his feet, watching until the torch vanished in the distance and the sound of pebbles underfoot faded. Penelope said nothing as he settled down next to her. Speaking her worries would do little good and might distract Odysseus from precautions he likely planned. She welcomed the warmth and the strength of his arm around her and leaned against him. When he told her to go to bed, she obeyed in silence.

  Penelope still lay awake when Odysseus joined her in the shelter. The moon hung straight overhead and the last hooting cries of night birds faded as they moved out to hunt. Penelope had gone to bed fully clothed and tucked her sandals under the blanket, within easy reach. Odysseus didn't take off his clothes before he slid under the blankets.

  "You think they won't come back now?" she whispered. Her husband stiffened, then a low, gusting sigh escaped him. He turned onto his side and gathered her into his arms.

  "Any other woman," he whispered into her hair, "would be asleep by now, thinking everything was fine. My sweet witch knows my thoughts, I can see."

  "Other women were not trained by harmless madmen to consider numbers and strengths. We're in their territory. From their looks, they make a habit of greeting strangers."

  "Too strong a habit," he agreed. They lay silent for a while. Penelope felt the tension running through his body, an alertness that made his pulse thud a little faster. She waited, listening to the darkness until he relaxed a bit.

  "Who is Aithon of Sikania?" she whispered. A chuckle and a kiss rewarded her.

  "No one, and anyone I wish him to be. Those men will try to rob us, I have no doubt. Whoever they think we are will affect the way they attack. If they knew we were from Ithaka, if I had given them my name, if they knew we were newly married...they might come back with more men and greater stealth. They see foolish merchants, foreigners, with a silly, boastful man for leader. They will come with too much confidence and not enough men. I hope."

  "You frightened me." She pressed closer to him and felt the pulse in his neck against her cheek.

  "Frightened you how?"

  "I thought you had deceived my uncle, and you were not Odysseus at all."

  For answer, Odysseus rolled her onto her back and kissed her thoroughly. It was hard to breathe with his mouth hard against hers and his hands finding every ticklish spot on her body, even through her clothes. The only way to resist was to press close to him, blocking his hands.

  Then his touches changed, raising waves of desire. He mumbled a curse and tugged her skirt up to her hips. Penelope could only laugh, breathless and eager.

  "Doubly a witch," Odysseus muttered, then kissed her again, lingering. "I should be grateful you didn't wear your cloak to bed as well."

  Before she could think of a response, she felt him grow tense and alert again. She opened her eyes. In the pale glow of the waning moon, she saw him raise his head and look out over the camp. Bushes and tall grass stood between their shelter and the rest of the camp, for privacy. Penelope shivered, feeling isolated. She thought she heard footsteps through the soft, leaf-covered ground of the forest behind them. Or was that only her heartbeats? She felt Odysseus gather himself to get up and she released him. He crawled out of the shelter, then a moment later came back and pressed a length of wood into her hands. He kissed her fingers around the wood, and was gone.

  Penelope tugged her skirt back down past her knees and rolled onto her side, to look out over the camp. She could see nothing but stars and the dark shadows of the high grass. She felt along the length of the wood, not surprised to find the bronze spearhead at one end. She reached for her cloak and wrapped it around herself.

  She listened to the night until the only sound that filled her ears was the beating of her heart. Even the lapping of the waves had faded. She rested the spear on her lap and braided her hair, to ge
t it out of her way.

  Time dragged. She waited and listened until her eyes grew heavy and the soft shadows in the moonlight blurred. She could see nothing but bushes beyond the opening of the shelter. Shivering, she knew fighting her weariness would do no good. There had been no outcry, not even the rasping of voices in the night. Odysseus would walk a few times around their camp to ensure all was well, and then he would return to her. Penelope lay down facing the back of the shelter, one arm over the spear. She pulled the blankets up to her shoulders and tried to relax. Her heart slowed and she listed to the whispering of the waves on pebbles. The tension began to seep out of her muscles and she could close her eyes again.

  Hushed footsteps came to her drowsy hearing. Penelope lay still, waiting. The footsteps paused at the front of the shelter, then the person knelt and crawled in, taking care to be quiet. She smiled, wondering what Odysseus would say when he found she had put the cloak on. He lifted the blankets and slid in next to her, pressing tightly against her back. His arms slid around her.

  She smelled the metal tang and salt of old, dirty sweat, sour wine, and the stench of dirty, salt-crusted hair. Penelope gripped the spear as the man groped up her chest and dug his fingers into her breast. Fury bloomed, choking back the scream rising in her throat. She jerked the spear around, managing not to catch it on the poles of the shelter. She caught the man in the shoulder with the bronze point. He shouted in panic. Penelope smelled the warm salt of blood and twisted free of him. She left her cloak behind in his grasping hands as she thrashed her way through the leafy branches on that side of the shelter.

  Somehow, she managed to keep hold of the spear through her struggles. Her hair tangled in the branches. She felt scratches on her face and her dress caught and tore. Penelope scrambled to her feet, gasping, listening through the pounding of her heart for sounds of struggle in the night. She ran from the shelter, holding the spear ready as Dymis had taught her.

  Another man shrieked, and then stilled. From far off, she heard the thud of a body hitting wet sand. Men fought at the water's edge. She heard the crunching of feet on twigs and stones and backed further into the woods. In the haze of moonlight, she saw a man scramble out of the ruined shelter. She saw his features clearly--the leader of the raiders. He moved hunched over. His arm hung loose, useless, and he clasped his other hand over his shoulder. She thought she saw dark, glistening runnels moving down his arm, but couldn't be sure.

  "Athena, thank you," she whispered, sure it was her husband's patroness who had guided her hand.

  Penelope took two steps toward the woods to hide when Eurynome screamed. Her decision to stay hidden and give Odysseus free rein to fight vanished. Images of what the raiders could be doing to her nurse splashed across her mind. She ran toward the sound, trying to hold the spear level, ready to throw or thrust.

  Dolios reached Eurynome before Penelope. He swung his sword around like Penelope had seen him use a scythe. The raider fell like wheat during harvest. Aris and Eurynome watched, standing before the ruined shelter. Their faces were identical pale moons, wide-eyed, lips pressed tight together. They turned, startled by Penelope's appearance and stared at her.

  "My child--" The nurse's voice choked off in her throat. She hurried to Penelope, raising her arms to gather her close. Dolios followed, glancing in every direction to ward off attackers. Eurynome stopped short, a tiny gasp escaping her. "You bleed!"

  Like in a dream, Penelope looked down. Drying spatters of blood darkened her bare arm. A crooked smile twisted her lips. The blood was not her own. Penelope shook her head. She had to think, to react like a man would in this battle. It was hard. She wondered that she had ever dreamed about pretending to be a boy and having adventures.

  "We have to hide," she said, squeezing the words out. "The less people to defend, the better our men can fight."

  Dolios nodded. A smile of approval cracked the dark mask of his face. He gestured for Penelope to lead. They barely took three steps toward the safety of the trees when Odysseus stepped out of the shadows. His tunic was torn clear off one shoulder. Blood streaked his sword arm and spattered his legs. In the shadows, his hair looked like dried blood, burning in the moonlight. A wild, furious fire gleamed in his eyes and his mouth was open as if caught in a shout. He stared at them, blinked, and the wildness fled like water flowing away.

  "Penelope--"

  "We're all right," she hurried to say. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and hide there. The blood and his fighting fury stopped her. This was a side of him she hadn't seen, even when he threw Aias off her. For a moment he had been a terrifying stranger and that moment frightened her more than the fear he had been hurt.

  "Go to the ship," he said, nodding. "The battle is over. Leave us to clear the field."

  She stared at him, meeting his eyes in his dirty, blood-spattered face. Slowly, she nodded and turned, gesturing for the others to follow.

  "Penelope!" Odysseus caught her by her arm and turned her. "You're bleeding." His voice broke.

  "Not my blood. One of them tried to--" She caught her breath and forced herself to smile at him. "One of them tried to climb into our bed. His blood, not mine."

  "Which one?" His voice was a growl.

  "Their leader, I think." Something in his voice warmed and thrilled her, even as another shiver of non-recognition passed over her body. Penelope hurried to the ship when he released her, glad she would not see what would happen next.

  "Melantho," Eurynome gasped as she and Aris ran to catch up with her.

  "What about her?" Penelope tried to remember if she had heard a woman scream besides Eurynome. Everything was a blur of fury and surprise. She studied Aris, quiet and expressionless in shock.

  "She slipped out after I fell asleep. A sailor..." Eurynome's face looked gray in the moonlight.

  "If Melantho is hurt, it's her own fault." Penelope bit her lip to keep back more angry words. How could she make them understand? "She chose to leave our camp. Even a fool would have known those men weren't going to leave us in peace. If she is hurt, Odysseus and Dolios will discipline the man she was with, not you." She lifted her skirts, tucking the torn end into her belt. She didn't wait to see if the women followed, but waded out to the ship.

  * * * *

  The fire on the beach grew brighter, taller. In its light, Penelope watched the men moving about, cleaning up after the battle. She knelt in the prow of the ship and waited. The anxious tightness in her heart eased a little every time she glimpsed Odysseus in the firelight.

  Dolios and a sailor, anonymous in the shadows, waded between shore and ship to bring their supplies back. Eurynome and Aris worked in silence to pack everything away, always hurrying back to the railing to look to the shore. Penelope reached for the spear from time to time, as if it would bring safety to the men.

  The third trip back, Dolios led Melantho. The girl quietly wept. As she reached the ship and handed up her basket of tumbled food, her face showed bruises. Penelope said nothing until Melantho had climbed up the rope ladder into the ship and Dolios returned to shore.

  "Were you able to hide?" she asked her maid, detaining her when Eurynome went into the hold with an armful of blankets. Melantho nodded, hurriedly wiping more tears off her face. "How did you get hurt, then?"

  "He hit me." She looked up, her movement sharp and furtive when her mother stepped into view. The woman looked at her as if she had never seen her daughter before.

  "Who did?" Penelope held her breath. She had seen Odysseus' anger now, in different phases. She would have been hurt but not surprised if he had hit the girl for acting so foolishly.

  "Pherios. For taking him away when there was a fight." Melantho choked, wiping once more at her face. "Men can be such fools, sometimes."

  "Sometimes," she agreed, then gestured for the girl to help Eurynome and her mother. Penelope silently scolded herself for expecting such things of her husband.

  Dawn touched the sky with pink and gold when the fire on the beach sudde
nly caught and spread in a high, long pile. Penelope thought a moment, trying to see through the flickering, blinding flames of the funeral pyre. She knew of many men who would deny their conquered adversaries a decent funeral, and leave their dead, mutilated bodies to lie and rot under the sky like animals.

  Against the glare of the fire, the men waded back to the ship. Some threw their weapons onto the deck and then ducked under the water of the rising tide, washing off the grime of their battle and labors. Penelope watched Odysseus return last. She leaned over the railing, holding her hands out to him. Weariness and the cold, ashy residue of anger made a cloak around him, bowing his shoulders. He looked at her unseeing for a moment, then reached up and took one of her hands.

  "Wait a moment more." He squeezed her hand, then handed his sword and spear up to her.

  Penelope took them gingerly, expecting them to both be spotted with blood. They were clean. Traces of sand from scrubbing stuck to the shaft of the spear. Odysseus dropped to his knees in the water, letting his head go under. He came back up sputtering softly, scrubbing his face and hair with his hands. As he climbed the ladder, she ran and fetched a sheet for him to dry with. He draped the sheet over one arm and led her to the stern.

  "We sail now!" he shouted. The sailors let the sail fall. It caught the morning wind, streaked with pink and gold from the sunrise. Odysseus wrapped the sheet around his waist and took hold of the rudder.

  In silence, the ship left anchor and headed out into deeper waters again. The flames of the funeral pyre grew smaller in the distance as Penelope watched. She shivered, wondering if the man who touched her was on the pyre.

  "What are you thinking?" Odysseus asked, his voice a rough whisper, softened with weariness.

  "How many died?" For a moment, she couldn't face him.

  "Seven. Their leader among them. Dolios found him before I did," he added, one corner of his mouth rising for a second. "The ones who lived know who they were fighting. Maybe now they will not so easily attack travelers."