Penelope smiled with trembling lips, remembering how often Eurynome had lectured her on guarding her expression, never revealing her heart, never giving her enemies anything to use against her. Now she would put that training to good use.
* * * *
Mentor came to her that evening and said he would go to his own estates for a day or two, for family business. Penelope let him go, wishing him well. The man didn't even glance twice at her and she congratulated herself on how well she carried her part. Eurynome remarked on her thin appetite that day, but Penelope blamed a headache. Which was truth.
From that day, she didn't look toward the harbor every time she passed the gates of the courtyard. Her heart did not lift every time she saw an approaching sail. Penelope went to bed early that night and wondered how many days she would have to perfect her role before Odysseus returned. A man who played many roles, who wore deception like a garment would be adept at seeing through any mask. Until she decided what she believed, she had to pretend nothing had happened.
Chapter 13
* * *
A soft summer rain sprinkled Ithaka the day Odysseus returned. Penelope heard the clamor as the news echoed through the house. She set her jaw and continued weaving. Her hands trembled as she changed the color of thread. She didn't call her servants to return when they found excuses to leave the chamber and hurry down the stairs to hear news from returning sailors. Penelope vowed to finish three hand spans down the pattern before she moved. It was the most intricate part of the weaving, the most changes of colors, and could take her hours. Discipline and practice came to her aid, letting her lose all sense of time and the outside world while she worked.
"Penelope?" Odysseus' voice, quiet as it was, startled her. She swallowed a cry of shock but dropped the knife she had picked up to cut the deep purple thread. He hurried into the room to pick it up for her. Longing filled her when his hand brushed against hers.
"You startled me," she said, nodding her thanks without meeting his eyes.
"I didn't mean to. Your work has all your attention." He brushed a few loose strands of hair away from the side of her face and leaned forward to kiss her.
It took a massive effort of will not to flinch from the soft scratching of his beard, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. The next moment, it was all she could do not to fling her arms around him, burst out crying and spill the painful thoughts filling her heart and mind.
"It is an intricate portion." She congratulated herself on the steadiness of her voice.
"You were wise not to come meet me." He stepped back and sat on the bench against the wall. She knew he could see her face clearly from where he sat. She only cared that he no longer touched her. "The rain comes down harder every moment."
"It is good you are home, then. The seas would be rough." She forced herself to meet his eyes and smile as she spoke; it was the normal, expected thing for her to do. The way his face changed from a weary mask to brightness tore at her. How much was truth, how much show for her benefit?
"Was there trouble while I was gone?"
"Mentor hasn't spoken with you yet?" She was surprised by his question and ashamed at the picture in her mind, the two men in close conference the moment Odysseus landed.
"I sent him gathering the elders to meet. My reasons for staying so long in Mycenae--" He broke off as running footsteps came up the stairs.
Nisos, a thin, dark-haired boy scurried through the door. He stopped short, his wet feet catching on the smooth wooden floor.
"My lord, the elders gather," he blurted.
"Thank you." Odysseus dismissed him with a nod and waited until he was gone before turning back to Penelope. "I had hoped we could talk, but later?"
"As you wish." Penelope managed a gentle smile for him. She wondered if it would grow easier to dissemble as time went on. Was this the secret of the roles he played? Long practice? She held still, refusing to relax her vigilance until Odysseus kissed her and left.
The rain brought cool to the air, breaking the heavy summer heat and dryness. Penelope welcomed it, using the chill as an excuse to keep her chamber doors closed. She heard nothing of the meeting Odysseus held with the elders beyond a muted rumble of male voices, but threw all her concentration into her weaving. When Melantho brought supper to her, she was startled to realize the late hour.
"I'm not hungry. Thank you," she added quickly, smiling the same soft, all-encompassing smile she gave Odysseus.
Her maid frowned as she took the tray away. Penelope knew Melantho would conference with her friends soon. Would they guess trouble lay between the master and mistress?
She worked hard on her weaving, relieved to find her hands stayed steady. Penelope made herself go slowly to avoid bungling. Her maids whispered among themselves, the sound mingling with the patter of rain against the shutters. Penelope ignored them, throwing herself into her work so she thought of nothing else.
Downstairs, the scraping of benches against the stone paving, the sound of sandal-shod feet and the rising rumble of voices warned her the meeting had finished. By the ache in her back and arms and her empty stomach, she knew it was far into the evening. The lamp next to her guttered, low on oil. Penelope looked around the weaving room. Only Autonoe and Melantho remained.
"It is late," she said, standing. She nearly smiled at the startled looks the two gave her. "I have been a cruel mistress today, ignoring you for the sake of my design. Go to bed now and if you sleep late in the morning, do not worry."
It took her a few moments to assure them she needed nothing but water to wash before bed. She told them not to send Eurynome to her. To be alone was a relief. Penelope caught bits of words and voices. Odysseus and his father talked alone in the hall below. They likely waited for her to hurry down the stairs to join them and ask for the news.
"Like a silly girl waiting to catch all the gossip," she whispered.
Did they humor her? Did they enjoy sharing a man's world with her?
Penelope shook her head and closed her bedroom door, careful not to let it bang against the frame. Her fingers trembled on the latch. She still did not know what to think.
Was her husband honest with her? Did he play a game? Was she wrong to doubt him? Was she a fool for wanting to believe every sweet word and look and gesture?
"I wish I didn't care," she whispered to the quiet. "I have a fine home, everything I need. My husband does not mock the old ways. He needs me. He treats me kindly and listens to my questions and ideas. I find pleasure in his touch and his bed. I have more than many women could ever hope for. I should be satisfied." Penelope strode to the shuttered windows, stopping herself before she flung them open, to shout her question into the storm. "Goddess," she whispered, "why am I not satisfied?"
Penelope welcomed the shock of the chill water on her face as she washed. She nearly let her dress lay where it fell when she slipped it off. Old habit made her pick it up and hang it on a peg in the wall. Shivering, she snuffed the lamps and hurried to her bed to slip under the blankets.
Sleep had nearly caught her when she heard footsteps at her door. Penelope made herself lie still and relaxed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, as she had done as a child when Eurynome threatened to spank her if she didn't go to sleep. The door creaked open. Torchlight flickered across her closed eyelids.
"Penelope?" Odysseus whispered.
He waited. The rain hissed, falling harder against the roof. The torch crackled in his hand. Then the door closed again. Penelope swallowed hard against the tears that threatened.
* * * *
Antikleia came to see Penelope the next morning, wrinkled with worry beyond the usual. Penelope knew no matter how distracted, her mother-in-law cared. She wanted to turn to her for advice, but how could she say she doubted everything Antikleia's treasured son said or did?
"It's early to be visiting, Mother," Penelope said, fetching a cushioned chair. "The pattern goes well, does it not?" She gestured at her weaving.
Pene
lope found comfort in the deep absorption the intricate pattern demanded. Yet she worried at how quickly it progressed. Soon, she would have to find something equally difficult to absorb her.
"Are you well, Penelope?" Antikleia's soft voice held more whimper than usual. She reached out a faintly trembling hand and rested it on the younger woman's arm.
"As well as can be expected. The rain brought respite from the heat." She tried to laugh, surprised at how genuine it sounded. "Why?"
"You don't eat regularly. The servants say you are too quiet, that you retire to your bed sooner than usual."
"Ah, is that what they say about me?" Penelope smiled, feeling some measure of humor. When Antikleia referred to "the servants," she meant Eurykleia and Eurynome. Her mother-in-law rarely made conversation with any others. The two nurses could do no wrong, spoke nothing but truth in Antikleia's sight. "Did they give a reason?"
"Worrying for my son, we thought. Yet he is home now and you ate nothing last night and went to bed before my son finished speaking with the elders. If something worries you, please let me help. You are my dear daughter, after all." Antikleia's eyes shone with hope.
Penelope thought she understood what was in the woman's thoughts. What had always been in her thoughts.
"Mother, thank you for your concern." She leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "It's just weariness. With the sudden rains, I likely caught a chill." Penelope sighed when the hopeful light grew stronger in the woman's eyes. "I am not with child. Perhaps that is part of it. Indeed, I think a belly full of child would be--" She bit her tongue against saying a comfort, and searched for a better word. "A child would be a welcome distraction. I wouldn't mind, even if I was as sick as my cousin is reputed to be."
It struck her as bitterly humorous that now, of all times, the idea of being pregnant appealed to her. Penelope knew if she told Odysseus, he would have found it humorous.
"Then it is merely a passing discomfort?" Antikleia's voice returned to a whimper. Shadows fluttered through her eyes and her shoulders slumped.
Penelope cringed at a wave of guilt. Of the family, she knew only Antikleia always showed her true feelings and concerns. The woman lived in a world bounded by her worries and dreams of ill omen, but she didn't dissemble.
Odysseus and his father had likely discussed her, then Laertes told his wife to talk with her. Penelope wondered what report she would make. She hoped it confused them.
When Antikleia left, Penelope sat before her loom, unseeing. Her hands moved of themselves, aching with sitting idle. She nearly put white thread in where she needed black, before she noticed.
"Now is not the time to wander," she muttered, glad for the covering chatter of her maids on the other side of the room. Penelope wondered what they would say of her actions. Already she was weary with the role she played, and the day had barely begun.
* * * *
That night, Odysseus returned sooner than she expected. He had gone to Raven's Crag, at the tip of the island to inspect some new swine and the young man recently installed to care for the animals. Penelope had hoped he might stay the night.
She was on her way to her room after overseeing the drying of herbs for medicine, when he entered the house. She heard his footsteps and turned. Her heart leaped at the sight of his bright, smiling face, his hair shining from damp in the torchlight, arms wide open to embrace her. Hunger for his touch overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around him when he gathered her close and returned his kisses.
"That is the greeting I missed," he murmured, pressing more kisses against her mouth, then down her neck. Penelope shivered, feeling a throb of desire. He laughed and swept her up in his arms so he held her on his lap when he sat down. "Penelope, you are a torment to me."
"Torment?" She laughed at his words, torn between longing for the former times and fear this was just another trick. A role he assumed without thinking.
"I cannot hear your voice without wanting to see your face. When I see you, I need to touch you. When I touch you, I must hold you." He caressed her, a gentle touch that created shivers. "When I hold you--" He stopped, his mouth dropping open when she slid free of his arms.
"I am not well. My moon flow is early." Penelope turned so he wouldn't see her face. She couldn't be sure of the expression she wore.
"I worried when you slept so early last night and stayed in your rooms today."
"It will pass." She congratulated herself on keeping her voice even and steady.
"Were you ill while I was gone?"
"It was too hot." She turned back to face him and sat in the chair facing him. "I fear there is still much I must become accustomed to, living here."
"Sometimes I forget you have not been here with me always," Odysseus returned, smiling. He held out his hand and she gave hers to him, knowing he would wonder if she refused. "Penelope? What truly bothers you?"
"Why would anything bother me?" She silently cursed when her voice trembled.
"My words brought hurt to your face. Some still call you a foreigner?"
"Yes." She felt her face warm, glad for the excuse he offered. "Eurykleia and I went to the Goddess to pray for rain. One of the women--I can't remember her name--said I would never be queen of Ithaka because I wasn't born here. Eurykleia said not to listen, that her daughter had hoped to be your bride, but it didn't help."
"If Eurykleia says so, then that is the reason." He stood and pulled her to her feet. "You should rest if you aren't well." He looked around the hall, still deserted. "You were going to bed?"
Penelope nodded, unwilling to speak and betray her twisting emotions. She returned his kiss, relieved when he let her go up the stairs alone. She listened as he closed the stairway door behind her and heard his footsteps as he went to his own room. Odysseus had once told her he put his bedroom next to the stairs so he could defend her. He called her his treasure. Did he truly fear someone would steal her? Or was he a jailer?
When she reached her bedroom, Eurynome was hanging up a dress. It was newly made, washed that morning and left out to dry. The nurse looked long at Penelope in silence when she entered the room.
"He's hurt you, hasn't he?"
"My husband has done nothing." Penelope tugged on the combs decorated with shells that held her hair back from her face.
Her fingers trembled as she remembered in vivid detail the day Odysseus fashioned them for her. They had walked along the beach only a few days after they arrived in Ithaka. She had been delighted to find the tiny shells, glossy white and pink with frilled edges. Odysseus attached them to combs to help them remember the beauty of the day.
"Nothing more than his usual actions," Eurynome corrected. "You slept apart from each other last night, and will tonight. That's not your usual habit, and he newly returned. Only he is close enough to your heart to hurt you."
"You are still against my marriage," she shot back, nearly yanking the last comb from her hair. She tossed the combs onto the table holding her cosmetics and jewelry instead of throwing them at her nurse as she wanted.
"You would be happier if you were like other wives, resigned to serving your husband, only finding happiness in your duties and position." She startled Penelope, coming up behind her and resting both hands on her shoulders. "My child, why do you give him your heart? It is a life's work to keep your husband loyal. Every night you sleep alone, he can take another woman to his bed, and then you will hurt more."
"He has had no other woman since we married!"
"When he goes to Mycenae? Can you watch him there?"
"Eurynome, why do you say such things?" Penelope hated the hot feel of tears waiting to burst from her eyes. She preferred anger over crying.
"To protect you. Now, barely a year married, he treasures you, he will do anything to make you happy. But you must face the truth and turn from the illusion you live before his heart and body wander from you. It will not hurt so much then." Eurynome wrapped her arms around Penelope, gently swaying, rocking her like a child again.
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"There is no need to protect me," she said, her voice cracking. "The illusion is gone. Let me find what happiness I can." Penelope pushed herself free of her nurse's arms. She couldn't be strong inside her childhood sanctuary. "Eurynome, I need to be alone."
Somehow, it was a comfort to see the beginning of tears in her nurse's eyes.
* * * *
To her mixed consternation and relief, Penelope's moon flow started that night. She blamed the rainy weather for her pain and wondered if the Goddess helped and punished her. For the next two days, she could barely sit at her loom for the pains in her belly and back. Penelope had long hours of quiet to think. She had all the solitude she could have wanted. Her maids left her alone when she wouldn't tolerate their company and Odysseus went to settle a dispute at the northern tip of the island.
She could not go on this way, she decided the third afternoon, alone in her bedroom. She had been alone too much with her thoughts and found she didn't like the company. She would act as if Odysseus' actions were truth, and pray that if it was all an illusion, it would never shatter.
Penelope went down the stairs to find Dolios and see if he knew when Odysseus would return. She paused with her hand on the door latch, hearing voices in the main hall. She had to think and re-orient with the rhythm of the household.
The time for the harvest sacrifices approached. Penelope pressed the latch and stepped out into the hall, looking around with care to see how the work progressed.
Thoosa sat in a corner with Melantho, separating bundles of rushes to spread over the floor. Penelope felt heat spread across her face at first sight of the sharp-tongued girl. The two could have been sisters, both softly rounded, with curly golden hair, sparkling blue eyes and ripe red lips. Penelope watched them laugh and lean close to whisper to each other. Thoosa wanted Odysseus in her bed. Penelope speculated on the chance the girl had spoken those words in the garden knowing she would hear.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 19