"Mycenae," Odysseus said. His face hardened as he stared at the approaching ship. Then abruptly he turned and waded out of the water. "We have guests."
Penelope dried Telemachos while Odysseus gathered up their provisions. The boy squirmed and complained only a little. When his mother picked him up to leave, he quieted and slipped his arms around her neck.
Odysseus led the way as they followed the curve of the beach toward the docks in the lesser bay. Penelope didn't try to guess his thoughts from his face as they walked in silence. The choices of who came from Mycenae were limited.
The plank had been dropped from the ship--black keel, gold stripe, sixty oars--by the time they reached the docks. A man in a plumed helmet came to the railing of the ship and watched them approach. Odysseus raised his arm in greeting. The man waved and stepped down the plank to greet them.
For a moment, Penelope thought he was Menelaos. The same golden-brown hair and beard, square face, wide shoulders. Then she saw the hard jaw, the stiff, arrogant carriage. There was more brown to the man than gold, like rust or common soil had tainted his coloring.
"Agamemnon?" she murmured, glancing at Odysseus. Her husband spared a single nod. Penelope shifted Telemachos to her hip, wrapping both arms around him. She fought the urge to run all the way home and lock the doors behind her.
"We have confirmation," Agamemnon said as he followed Odysseus away from the water's edge. He spared her a single glance. "Helen is in Ilion, as Paris' wife. They admit her presence as if it were something to be proud of."
"How do they say she came to them? Willing or forced?" Odysseus' voice and face stayed neutral. Penelope didn't like how he hid his feelings. It boded trouble, either for Ithaka or Agamemnon.
"Most willing. Give them time, and they'll say Helen sought Paris and he came to Sparta to rescue her from my brother." He turned and spat, face twisted as if he tasted something poisonous. His gaze rested on Penelope and his scorn faded to a smile. "So, this is our youngest cousin," he said, his voice softening as he looked her over from head to foot.
"And our son," Odysseus said. "Telemachos is a year old."
"Congratulations are in order, my friend. And belated gifts. Hold." Agamemnon turned and shouted to someone on deck.
A sailor came running, a small chest of leather balanced on his shoulder. He set it in the sand at Agamemnon's feet and dashed back to the ship.
"Klytemaistra sent gifts, and Orestes sent a favorite toy for his new cousin. One prince to another," he added, his tone rich with pride. He bent and untied the intricate knot holding the chest closed. Opening it, he brought out a carved wooden dog, which he offered to Telemachos with a little bow.
Telemachos reached out one hand, then glanced at the tall stranger with the dancing plume in his helmet. He looked to his mother, eyes wide. Penelope smiled and nodded. She laughed as a wide smile covered her son's face and he reached out with both hands, tugging the dog from Agamemnon's hands.
"There, now the alliance between our houses is even stronger," he said with a laugh. "A fine, strong boy."
"You didn't come here to talk of our sons," Odysseus said, regret in his voice. He gestured toward the path away from the beach. Agamemnon nodded and they started walking. "So, Ilion and Paris have Helen. Does Menelaos know?"
"And insists they are lying. He says Helen didn't want Paris in their home when he first arrived. She was touched with magic, her mind and will taken from her."
"War," Penelope whispered, muffling her words with her lips pressed into Telemachos' hair. She dropped back, letting the men lead the way up the path. Neither man heard her and Telemachos was too busy with his new toy to listen.
Chapter 19
* * *
"Penelope." Odysseus stopped her with a touch on her shoulder when she turned to go up the stairs. He nodded to the hearth of the feasting hall, where Agamemnon sat. "Would you serve us? I would rather few hear about this for now."
"Eurykleia should be upstairs," she said. Telemachos blinked sleepily in her arms. "Give me a moment." Something tightened inside her when Odysseus brushed a kiss across her forehead before turning back to their guest.
The stairs had never stretched so high and steep under her feet before. Penelope was torn between hurrying back to catch every word or prolonging her safe ignorance. She handed over the boy when Eurykleia met her on the stairs.
"King Agamemnon has arrived. I will serve them, to keep listening ears away." She hurried down the steps, testing her hair with her fingers to be sure it was straight and neat. Penelope was glad she had no time to change her clothes or put on jewelry or perfume. She would serve, but she would not decorate herself to welcome a man who came to speak of war.
When she joined them in the hall with wine and cups, figs and bread, Odysseus and Agamemnon still discussed the story surrounding Helen's flight from Sparta. It sent a chill up her spine to realize the gods had to be blamed.
Alkippe claimed Helen had refused to go with Paris. She tried to run and slapped at his hands when he embraced her. Then she took on the expression of an oracle in ecstasy and obeyed his orders. When she picked up her daughter to follow him, he grew angry and ordered her to leave the child. Helen opened her mouth to speak, stopped and seemed to hear what was not there. Then she put down her daughter and let Paris lead her away, ignoring Hermione's cries.
"Magic or madness," Odysseus said when Agamemnon repeated other servants' tales of conflicting actions. He met Penelope's gaze, questioning. She nodded agreement.
"I would rather it were madness. The fewer to blame, the better for everyone," Agamemnon growled.
He looked at his cup and tossed it back in an abrupt, jerky motion, emptying it down his throat. Penelope hurried to refill it. Odysseus had told her once, Agamemnon could hold his wine like few men and his temper mellowed with drink. She made a gesture of refilling Odysseus' cup. Her husband had barely sipped his wine, compared to Agamemnon's two cups.
"You overreached us again," their guest said. His gaze searched Penelope and he smiled. "I must tell Klytemaistra she was right. The little, dark one has become a beauty."
"If I am beautiful," Penelope said, her voice soft despite the thudding of her heart, "it is because of my husband." She met Agamemnon's gaze, angry at his amusement. She sat next to Odysseus, who took hold of her hand. "If any harm should come to my husband, I will lose my charms and become a harpy, to seek vengeance. No one shall stop me, not even death." To her delight, Agamemnon looked away first.
"With such a mother," Odysseus said, his voice brittle and too bright, "Telemachos will be a warrior few will defeat." The shadows around the hearth darkened. "You came to speak of war."
"A war that has been long arriving. No matter the excuses, we all knew it was coming."
Agamemnon looked tired. Penelope wondered if his reputation for enjoying battle had become a burden. He was ten years older than Odysseus. She remembered the little boy waiting in Mycenae. Maybe Agamemnon understood now why Odysseus had refused to leave Ithaka last summer.
Telemachos' wailing filtered down to the hall, made louder by the silence after Agamemnon's words. Hurrying footsteps came down the stairs. Autonoe stepped from the shadows.
"Mistress, Eurykleia needs you." She paused, and the wails grew louder. "He won't be comforted. His teeth, she thinks."
Penelope believed otherwise. She looked to Odysseus, questioning. He nodded, a promise to tell all. She stood and gestured for Autonoe to precede her up the stairs.
"I think our son knows better than anyone what is to come of this day," she murmured.
Odysseus heard and his expression turned bleak before he resumed his neutral, polite mask. Agamemnon didn't hear her, gulping his wine as if it were his first cup. It amused her that a child's tears affected him so. Was the nursery so far from his quarters in Mycenae's palace that he was unused to the sound?
Penelope compared her home with the other Achaian kingdoms. True, it was small and rough, as her husband had warned. Th
ere was more than enough to eat. The people were healthy and strong, skilled, content with their simple pleasures and rich with their love of the sea. They either didn't know or didn't care about the luxuries they lacked. Penelope knew if Paris or one of his brothers had come to her offering all the riches of Ilion, she would have laughed in his face. Ithaka held all the riches she could ever want. She hurried up the stairs to her rooms, her arms aching to hold her son.
Telemachos leaped from Eurykleia's arms, reaching for his mother the moment she stepped into the room. Choking on sobs and tears, he clutched at her and hid his face in her hair. His wailing halted, leaving only a few whimpers like an echo. Penelope closed her eyes against tears. Slowly she rocked him, finding her own comfort in the warmth and weight of his body in her arms. Below her feet, the muffled sound of men's voices rose from the hall.
* * * *
Odysseus paused in the doorway of Penelope's bedroom. He glanced at the nest of blankets next to the window where Telemachos slept, clutching his new wooden dog. He came to the window seat where she waited. He took her hand, holding it tightly.
"You're going with them." Penelope wondered at the dullness that had crept into her mind while she sat gazing out over the garden and let the tears come in silence.
"My oath." His hand tightened around hers, but she didn't hiss or draw back at the pain. "I confess, I considered playing the madman as I threatened once, to make Agamemnon leave without me. But I took the news too well. It wouldn't have made a good beginning. I should have known this news was coming and prepared to play madman."
"Madman?" A tiny smile touched her lips at the image.
"An ancestor of mine went mad once and plowed a field with ox and donkey yoked together, sowing the ground with salt." His smile was crooked. "Then I thought, will I make myself a fool my wife will flee and my son disown?"
"How long would you have to pretend your madness?"
"Ah, my insightful, sweet wife." He pressed her hand to his lips. "That is the problem. The moment I recovered, someone would send me to Troy. It's that damnable oath I created--"
"To win me."
"I refuse to demean myself because I could lose you, though I would take such action to stay with you. The world would blame Helen, not my longing to stay with you. I refuse to be a fool for that woman's glory." His hand tightened on hers again and his face stiffened into stubborn lines. Odysseus looked out into the garden, as she had done while he talked with Agamemnon.
"And there is the matter of your honor, and the oath," she said slowly.
"We come back to the oath. The oath I created, the sacrifices and ceremonies so binding. The oath I didn't need to swear because I was no threat to Menelaos. I swore it so no one would suspect or question before I could claim you. Even when you were promised to me, I feared another would win you."
"Or my uncle would break his oath?" she suggested. "He was too desperate to save Sparta and protect Helen. We both know he protested more for pride than any love of me."
"More fool he." Odysseus sighed, the sound turning into a ragged chuckle. "Nestor warned me. You scolded me. Mentor told me my cleverness and scheming would be my bane. Now, his prophecy has come true."
"How soon must you go?"
"We haven't talked that far. Agamemnon came to me first, because he needs me to help plan."
Now she gave in to her longing and the trembling she had fought so long. Penelope held out her arms and Odysseus drew her close. She pressed her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around him.
"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me you will come home in time to put Telemachos' first bow in his hands."
"Oh, my sweet Penelope." His words came on a gusting sigh. "If I have my way, the war against Ilion shall end before I set foot on the deck of my ship."
"Couldn't you send someone to kidnap Helen back?"
"They tried. There are too many guards. Her rooms are too deep inside Priam's palace." He sighed, tightening his embrace. "The attempt was bungled and their vigilance has increased."
"Agamemnon should have asked your advice before they tried." She was surprised when her words earned a chuckle.
"He won't admit it, but I know that's what he thinks. Maybe we should bring you along to advise us." Odysseus laughed again, bright and bitter when she stiffened in his arms. "No fear, my love. I would never ask you to leave Ithaka or our son."
"I would bring him, but I refuse to risk our son's life in a battlefield."
"And I refuse to risk you, even if you were Athena's oracle and the voice of twenty other gods as well. You put fear and respect into 'our cousin' Agamemnon."
"I?" She nearly laughed at that.
"If you meant to warn him to keep his eyes off you and leave me in peace, you succeeded. As it is, he needs my advice too much to harm me."
"But after the war?" Penelope couldn't help asking.
"After the war... He'll find some slave girl among the spoils and take her home to aggravate Klytemaistra."
"Agamemnon should pay more attention to his family. Klytemaistra never forgave anything when we were children."
* * * *
Odysseus sailed with Agamemnon, to visit other princes who had sworn the oath and remind them of their vows. Mentor and Laertes gathered supplies, hired shipmasters to overhaul the war ships, and sought warriors willing to go against Ilion. Penelope had no heart to listen to long discussions of the preparations, so she worked hard to help them, to keep her hands busy so her mind would not wander into painful realms. She hoped every bit she did would shorten the time war kept Odysseus from Ithaka.
Two days after Odysseus left, she tore her work from her loom and began a new project. She had dreamed of fine clothes and determined to make them for him to wear. He would shine among the kings if her skill didn't fail her. Penelope dreamed of a tunic that shimmered in dull, pale purple, shading into rose and amber. She took out a cloak she had made for the next winter, thick, double-folded, rich purple, and set that aside for Odysseus to take. To close the cloak, she brought out the pin her father had made. She prayed the armies of the Achaians would strangle Ilion, as the hound strangled the hare.
A little more than a moon later, Odysseus returned home, grim in his satisfaction. Every prince had rallied to the call. He nodded his thanks for the accolades when Agamemnon and Menelaos claimed they could not have persuaded the others without him. Penelope knew he found the praise bitter.
There was feasting in the hall for three nights, as princes and war chiefs in western Achaia met in Ithaka and planned their next step in the campaign. Penelope kept busy with her weaving and Telemachos and tried not to listen to the raucous male voices raised in song and boasting. Of the damage they would do to Ilion. The pillaging and plunder and spoils they would bring home. Odysseus' voice rarely joined them, but that brought her no comfort. She remembered dreams of the hall filled with male voices and her husband not there among the unwanted guests. Danger waited in the hall of her dreams. Not even the heavy doors and locks between her chambers and the feasting hall could stand long against that onslaught.
The men of Ithaka came in groups to hear Odysseus speak of the battle against Ilion. He told them bluntly he wanted no one but volunteers. He would force no man to leave his family and home, his fields and flocks for a war more likely to be his death than profit. Enough men of Ithaka stepped forward to fill all twelve ships of fifty oars, with more besides to relieve them and tend the sails when the winds permitted.
Rumors said Odysseus foresaw large profit from the war and he tried to discourage men from coming so his share would be larger. Everyone knew of the riches of Ilion. Even if thousands took a share of the spoils, every man could hope to make himself rich and comfortable.
"You were too right," Odysseus said his last night at home, when he finally shared the story with her.
The sounds of feasting had vanished from the hall, their guests already beginning the trip along the coast to the ports near Mycen
ae. They had taken a quiet meal together in his room. Telemachos slept on a pallet on the floor at the end of the bed. Penelope wanted their son to spend as much time with his father as possible before Odysseus left.
She had given him the tunic, cloak and pin, explaining how she had designed the cloth in a dream. She told him how her father had made the pin and how she believed it brought good luck. Odysseus kissed her, held her close, then promised her, swearing on his scar and his love for her, he would not wear the clothing and pin until his return voyage. Then he told her about the useless struggle to keep Ithaka from following him to war.
"All my life I fought and schemed for the advantage," Odysseus said with a crooked smile. "Now, when I tell the truth to spare them, they see other motives in my words."
"All that matters is they have chosen to follow you. If they choose profit over loyalty, that's their fault and not yours." She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the cup they shared. It still held most of its first filling of wine.
"Is it?" He closed his eyes, letting a loud, gusting sigh escape him. "My love, I am weary already of this war. A moon would be too long for me and I cannot see it lasting less than four years. Ilion is rich and strong, the walls thick, the storehouses well provisioned. They boast they could survive a whole generation without planting or harvesting. If they decide to sit inside their walls and laugh at us, there is little we can do besides wait."
"Perhaps Athena will give you wisdom to find a way inside," she offered. Penelope stood and walked to his chair. She knelt next to him and pressed the cup into his hand. "I am weary of this war as well," she said as he opened his eyes. "Please, if only for this night, I want to pretend there is no world beyond the walls of this room." His answering, understanding smile had a sadness that squeezed the breath from her body.
Imminent parting gave them new energy in their lovemaking that night. A roughness, brought by desperation. Odysseus spoke little besides her name, like a magic spell to fulfill his wishes if spoken often enough, with enough passion and longing. When they finally slept, it was in a tangle of arms and legs, joined by sweat and the refusal to lose even a moment of their time remaining.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 26