THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Poor Eurynome," she sighed and resumed her stitching.

  "Poor Eurynome?" He turned, getting to his knees. "My love, she could frighten Ilion into peace with the Achaians. I thank Athena every day she finally approves of me."

  "She was old to be a nurse when I was born. Now, she has to worry about our son. Anticipation makes her nervous. When the boy is born, then she will calm."

  "She worries about her ability?" Odysseus got up onto the bench next to her.

  "Possibly."

  "Then let Melantho be nurse. The girl is steady enough, strong enough."

  "She is, but Eurynome doesn't trust her." Penelope paused and considered for a moment. "I would rather Eurykleia be nurse to our son, if Eurynome cannot. Let Melantho be head housekeeper instead."

  "Eurykleia would be pleased," he said slowly. "And that would take away half my mother's fears."

  "She's found something new to worry her?" Penelope put down her sewing, to give all her attention to the problem.

  "Your decision not to find a wet nurse."

  "What could be better for a baby than his own mother's milk? I'm strong and healthy, and all the winter ills will be past by the time he's born."

  "To please her, could you have a woman waiting, in case you aren't able to nurse?"

  "And to please you, I wouldn't doubt." She laughed. "You put the blame on your mother, but I can see you worry for me just as much."

  "As nervous as a boy on his first voyage, trusted with the rudder. And no instructions," Odysseus added, letting a grin brighten his face. "I agree it's better if you nurse our child, though not fashionable for royal ladies. Yet for the sake of caution--"

  "I already spoke to Eurynome and she's watching for a likely new mother," Penelope said, pressing two fingers against his lips to silence him. She laughed, then squealed, jerking her hand away when he bit at her fingers.

  "If this is any indication of your temper until the baby is born..." He shook his head, eyes sparkling with laughter.

  A whimper broke the quiet between them. A brown hound pup sat in the open doorway, head cocked to one side, watching them. Odysseus stood and the pup lay down, head on its forelegs and whimpered again.

  "This is the best of the litter," he said, bending down to scoop up the handful of damp fur.

  The pup wiggled in his hands. His grin turned mischievous. Penelope barely had time to move her sewing before Odysseus dumped the pup into her lap.

  "I admit, being able to climb all those stairs so young is a sign of strength." Her moment of indignation melted when the pup looked at her with pleading eyes and whimpered again. "What is so special about this one?"

  "Every time I pass, he follows me. He tracked me all the way up here, didn't he?"

  "You'd train him now to be a hunter?" She stroked the pup's fuzzy head. It closed its eyes and settled down, tongue hanging out, the image of contentment.

  "Why not?" Odysseus sat at her feet again, his shoulder resting against her knee. He reached for the brace and went back to work. "There's precious little else to do, when the storms keep us locked indoors and the bard can't sing for sneezing. A hunting dog would make a good guard."

  "Ah, now I understand." Penelope continued stroking the pup, feeling the thumping of its tiny heart. "I can see this one fully grown, sleeping under our son's cradle."

  "One more guard I trust, to watch over both of you when Agamemnon calls me away. The peace with Ilion can't last."

  "I know." Penelope shivered, glad he couldn't see her. She had dreamed of Helen's tapestry, where the man came to life, snatched up Helen and carried her away. "Have you thought of a name for him?"

  "The pup? Perhaps Argus? A name from legend, for a dog that will perform legendary feats."

  "You expect much from such a tiny one," she said, stroking the sleeping pup. "He wore himself out just climbing the stairs."

  "He'll be stronger for it."

  On fair days, Odysseus took the pup out with the grown hunting dogs, to exercise them and begin Argus' lessons. He trained the young dog so whenever they came in, Argus went directly to Penelope. When Odysseus built the cradle, he trained Argus to sleep under it. Penelope wondered what her husband feared, to take such precautions.

  * * * *

  Penelope woke with a shriek choking her. She clutched at the blankets wrapped around her, trying to tear them away. They felt like hot hands tangled around her legs, catching at her dress. The room echoed with her scream, increasing her fear. The feel and sound of the place was unfamiliar; she was not in her own room.

  Cold wet touched her hand, accompanied by a whine. She snatched her hand away, blinking in the darkness, and swallowed another shriek when something leaped up onto the bed next to her. Cold touched her arm, with a snuffling sound and a whimper.

  "Argus?" she whispered. A thumping tail on the bed frame reassured her. Penelope choked and wrapped her arms around the dog, hiding her face in his short, scratchy fur.

  The door slammed open, spilling light into the room, along with Odysseus, his father and Mentor. Odysseus jammed his torch into a wall bracket and gathered her into his arms.

  "What is it?" His voice came out ragged, choking. His face was a pale mask in the shadows. She had never seen him afraid until that moment.

  She stared at him, confused. Then reality and memory slid into place. She was in Odysseus' room. He had been out with Mentor and his father, inspecting a dock damaged in the last storm. Penelope had settled in his room to wait for him before the evening meal and had fallen asleep.

  "I had an evil dream," she admitted, feeling foolish.

  Laertes snorted, a sound of mixed relief and amusement. Penelope hid her face in Odysseus' shoulder, glad when he held her closer and pressed a kiss against her cheek.

  "My lady, perhaps no one warned you," Mentor said, his voice gentle with humor. "Women with children in their bellies often have dreams of ill omen. It's best to ignore them. Queen Hecuba has learned that, to her joy and sorrow."

  "Hecuba?" Penelope knew Mentor spoke to distract her and she was grateful. Yet mention of the people of Ilion irritated her, too. "What has Priam's queen to do with me? All her children are grown."

  "When her second son, Paris was about to be born, she dreamed he would bring destruction to Ilion. The boy was exposed on a mountain three days after she birthed him."

  "I had no such dream," she blurted.

  "No one said you did," Odysseus assured her. He put her down on the blankets, keeping one arm around her. His free hand rested on her swollen belly. She often woke to find him touching her so. The protective gesture eased away the last tremors from her ill dream.

  "Even if I did have such a dream, I wouldn't speak it. To kill an innocent child..." She snorted, despite the weak terror that fluttered through her. "What were you saying about Queen Hecuba and Paris?"

  "Priam and his queen discovered the dream was nothing more than that. They obeyed it, of course, but the boy was found and rescued, raised in anonymity and only this last fall restored to his family. Paris is strong and handsome and his return has brought prosperity to Ilion, some say." Mentor shrugged. "Time will tell, will it not?"

  "What of your dream, Penelope?" Laertes asked, his voice soft in contrast to the hearty comfort Odysseus and Mentor both put into their voices.

  "No images remain," she admitted. "I only feel terror. Danger and threats." She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. "Odysseus, be careful. Nothing remains of my dream but a sense of a cruel will, seeking vengeance against you. Someone strong, whom you have offended, will refuse to rest until you have paid."

  "If everyone I offended made such a vow, many men would be dead now of exhaustion." Odysseus kept his tone light, a smile on his face. The expression almost touched his eyes. "Come, it is late and you went without supper to wait for me. Perhaps mere hunger gave you such a vision."

  Penelope nodded and let him help her to her feet. Despite his words, she saw by his eyes he believed her dream. Penelo
pe wished Mentor was right.

  * * * *

  Winter held them close that year, strong winds blowing in from the sea every night, coating surfaces with ice, battering anything not fastened down or sturdily made. Penelope welcomed the constant moaning sound. Rough winds meant protective isolation. Messages and rumors of evil couldn't come to their island to trouble them. She lived an illusion that no land existed beyond Ithaka.

  Odysseus only left the house for emergencies. His care for her sometimes grew heavy. She only had to remind him and he would laugh, apologize with a kiss, and let her have her way. Then a short time later, he would treat her as a fragile flower again. Some nights when she was too tired to walk, she let him carry her up and down the stairs. He joined her in her bed and held her close every night, holding her up when the baby's restless movements wouldn't let her sleep flat. In the mornings when she woke before him, she found Odysseus' hand resting protectively on the curve of her belly.

  "It's true," she often told him and Eurynome, making husband and nurse laugh. "No matter how we began, my husband loves me now merely for the child I give him. I'm too fat for pleasure or to satisfy his eyes."

  Penelope was delighted at the changes the baby brought to her body. She put on more flesh, smoothing over places she had thought would always be bony. She didn't mind the awkwardness of her body and dragging weariness, when before she had been lithe and quick and could stay up late and rise early. She endured cheerfully the aches in her back and legs. She wished winter wouldn't end, sometimes. There was a peace and security in their isolation she didn't want to lose.

  * * * *

  "Penelope, I need your wisdom." Odysseus stood in the door of her weaving room, smiling in apology for startling her. He did that often lately, breaking her from daydreams. He wore his cloak and high boots from walking outside and she saw bits of sleet melting in his hair. "Will you come downstairs with me?"

  "What could be so serious?" She stood, bracing against the side of the loom for her balance. Before she quite reached her feet he was there, one hand under her elbow, an arm around her waist. She thanked him with a smile, then smoothed her dress over the bulge at her waist. The child kicked once. "He doesn't want to move," she said, laughing.

  "I am afraid we must." He brushed a kiss across her forehead and led her to the door.

  He glanced back once at the maids at their tasks. Penelope saw his gaze rest on Melantho and suspected the cause of this meeting. Her servant had been too moody and quiet the last few days. Penelope had come upon Dolios and his daughter in the middle of arguments. She wondered what her maid had done to now involve Odysseus.

  Downstairs in the deserted feasting hall, a village man waited. It took a moment of thought, but she recognized his black, curly hair, massive shoulders and lean, pointed face. Usually he laughed and sang when she saw him, his giant's body always in motion. Erymas was young to be a master shipbuilder, but his skill and strength gave him his position. Odysseus trusted him alone to repair his ships. Penelope had not recognized Erymas at first because the sparkle had left his eyes and his mouth curved down. As Odysseus helped her sit, she noted the shipmaster hunched over on his bench as if a great burden sat on his shoulders.

  "Erymas wishes to marry Melantho and buy her freedom," Odysseus said, finally shedding his cloak. He flung it over an empty table and sat next to her.

  "Dolios won't approve?" Penelope guessed.

  "Her father approves and said he would speak with Lord Odysseus for permission," Erymas said. His words came in a voice deepened by confusion.

  "I said we would free Melantho, as a wedding gift," Odysseus added. "He spoke to Melantho before we came to you. She is yours to free or keep."

  "Melantho refused him?" She couldn't quite believe her ears. And yet, having grown up with Melantho, she could. Her maid was prone to pick up suitors like toys, giggle and kiss and share their beds, and then walk away. The only suitor she seemed to regret losing was Aias.

  "Something is wrong?" Odysseus said when Penelope sat up straight, eyes widening.

  "Erymas," she said, "did Melantho give you a reason?"

  "She said I remind her too much of someone she loved. Every time I kiss her, I remind her of him." The shipmaster shrugged his massive shoulders. He looked so pathetic and sad, weak despite his bulk, Penelope would have laughed. She felt sorrow for him and anger for Melantho.

  "Aias. Melantho still loves Aias."

  Odysseus frowned, then looked at Erymas. He nodded.

  "She shows wisdom," he admitted. "There would be no peace in a house where the husband's face makes his wife long for another."

  Penelope barely heard as Odysseus explained to Erymas, trying to smooth over the problem. She remembered how Aias had snatched at her, how she had fought him. Did Melantho know how Penelope had shamed her sweetheart?

  Erymas went home, his confusion resolved if not his disappointment. After Odysseus supported her back up the stairs to her weaving room, Penelope wondered if the solution was the right one. It might be better for all to force Melantho to marry and manage her own home. Her maid was over twenty, after all, and there was something not quite right in a woman of her age, and so lovely, unmarried and childless.

  Penelope wondered if Melantho blamed her for that. If Odysseus had not argued with Tyndareos and left Sparta so quickly, Aias would have asked for Melantho. Now because of Aias, Melantho refused a suitor.

  "She is a heart with many difficult layers," Penelope confided to Odysseus that night, when he joined her in bed and she told him what she had thought.

  "You think this will lead to trouble? She looked relieved when her father told her our decision." He tugged the blanket up higher, covering her shoulders.

  "I know, but I remember overhearing her saying things that made no sense then, but which disturb me now. She was proud Erymas resembled Aias so much. Many girls envied her that Erymas looked at her alone. Melantho may be true to her lover, but others will name her a fool for losing Erymas. Someday, she will blame us instead of being thankful."

  "When that time comes and Erymas is still not married, we will fix the problem." Odysseus sounded sleepy, reminding her of all the hard work he had done that day in the sleet and cold.

  "Yes, we will fix it," she agreed.

  She slipped her arms around him. In moments he slept, curled around her. Penelope still worried, knowing how Melantho had carried grudges before, wreaking vengeance when time presented her with the chance.

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  "Penelope? Child, where are you going?" Eurynome called from halfway down the stairs. She smiled, shaking her head, and held out her mistress' cloak.

  "I wasn't going any further than the door." Penelope sighed and stopped. A wall was conveniently close, so she leaned against it to wait for her nurse.

  "The breezes are chilly, despite the warm sun. A fine, worthy nurse I would be, to let you take a chill this close to--" She broke off with a gasp.

  Penelope watched, frozen, as Eurynome's foot slipped on the step. The woman fell crooked against the wall, bounced off, fell two more steps, hit the other wall, then landed on her side on the floor. A shriek rose high and clear. When Penelope pressed her hands over her mouth, fighting her rising gorge, she found the sound came from her.

  As quickly as she could, with her huge belly and awkward pace, she went to Eurynome. Two maids and a farm man reached the woman before her. Eurynome cried out as they rolled her onto her back. Her face had gone ashen and sweat beaded her forehead. Penelope gagged when she saw the extra angle in her nurse's upper arm.

  * * * *

  Argus' claws clicked on the floor tiles, telling Penelope Odysseus had returned from hunting. She felt too tired and achy to even smile when the dog clambered up onto the bench next to her and nuzzled her hand, begging to be petted. She felt she had waited days while others tended Eurynome. No one had come to tell her anything. Her nurse, in the last of her strength, had forbidden her to come near. Penelope re
fused to go to her rooms. She sat in a shadowed corner in the hall, waiting, wishing Odysseus would return so she could let go her worries and cry.

  She heard his voice, far off in the servants' quarters and she smiled, glad he would check there first. Argus' questing tongue let her know she ignored him. Murmuring an apology, she rubbed his head. There was comfort in the slight damp of his fur, the odor of wet dog and mud, the sense of normalcy and coming spring the animal brought with him.

  Odysseus passed through the hall, heading for the stairs. She watched him walk past, too tired to open her mouth to call. Penelope wished she could sink into the shadows and negate all the events of that morning. If she hadn't decided to go to the door to feel the breeze and breathe the chill air, Eurynome never would have fallen.

  Argus barked. Penelope imagined he sounded indignant. She let out a gasp that became a giggle and wondered if she was so tired she imagined things.

  "Penelope?" Odysseus turned and hurried to her side. "What are you doing down here?" She welcomed the warmth of his arms around her, gladly resting her head on his shoulder. "Where are your women? How could they leave you alone? Your arms are cold." He snatched up the cloak she had dropped on the floor and wrapped it around her.

  "Eurynome--" she began, and choked.

  "She is fine, resting. Eurykleia came to help. She feels no pain." He adjusted his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap. "Have you been hiding here all this time, waiting for news?" A chuckle escaped him when she nodded, feeling like a naughty child. "Love, Eurynome would be grateful for your worry and scold you for not taking better care of yourself."

  "I know. I would give anything to have her scold me."

  "She's more concerned with her duties than her pain. She wants Eurykleia to take her place."

  "Take her place?" Penelope winced when her voice echoed in the dark, deserted hall. "No one can take her place."

  "Her arm will take too long to heal and always be weak. She and Eurykleia have decided she will remain head housekeeper. Eurykleia will come from my father's house to be nurse."