THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

  A low moan startled her. Penelope stopped, ready to turn and flee. A throaty chuckle followed, broken by a gasp and more moans. Straw rustled in a stall. Curiosity drove away her caution and Penelope crept into the next stall, pressing on the top board to lift herself up and see over.

  Melantho lay under Aias, eyes closed, limbs spread, hands digging into the straw. Both were naked. Penelope watched his hips lift and fall several times before she realized what Aias did to Melantho. She thought he was in pain, his eyes clenched tight shut, until she saw his crooked smile. More low, throaty chuckles escaped the man, then his whole body shuddered. He stretched out on top of Melantho, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face between her breasts. She brought her arms and legs up around him.

  Penelope slipped out as quietly as she came. A queasy sensation began in the pit of her stomach. Helen had said if the heart was given, a man's bed was pleasurable, yet Penelope doubted Melantho found any pleasure in lying with Aias. There was something hard in her expression, satisfaction perhaps, but more like triumph. Penelope shuddered at the memory. Why did her maid let the man take his pleasure with her if she didn't enjoy it? King Tyndareos would have supported Penelope, if her maid begged protection from a man she didn't want.

  * * * *

  The question still bothered her the next morning and Helen teased her for being preoccupied. Penelope searched for Melantho among the sewing women, and found her in a corner with some year-mates. Melantho wore a necklace of tiny, dull blue stones. It was new, likely a gift from Aias.

  "Penelope, whatever is wrong with you this morning?" Helen exclaimed, breaking the younger girl from her thoughts. Penelope looked up, startled, realizing her cousin had addressed her several times without an answer.

  "Questions," she admitted, keeping her voice low. Seeing Helen showed only concern, not mockery, Penelope dared to continue. "I saw Melantho with a man last night. She didn't seem to enjoy it. I wonder why she went to him."

  "That is the way of it sometimes." She shrugged and bent back to her sewing. "The beginning of your moon flow, problems during the day. Men always find pleasure, even if they were arguing with their friends ten minutes before."

  "That doesn't seem right." Penelope shook her head. Her thoughts were more on Melantho than what Helen said. Something was always wrong where Melantho was concerned. "We must lie with our husbands even when it hurts us?"

  Helen laughed, drawing the attention of a few of her maids. "I know what bothers you. Have some suitors been whispering sweet words to you?" She sketched a salute to Penelope. "Dear cousin, you are welcome to all of them!"

  "That's not what worries me," she retorted, feeling her face grow hot. Penelope glanced at the three maids near them, all older than Helen, all married. "It isn't right that our bodies belong to our husbands, and we have no choice in lying with them. The old ways are better."

  A muffled gasp met her words. Penelope looked up quickly, searching the faces of the others. She thought she saw understanding in their eyes, despite their neutral faces. Something warmed in her, comfort that even in Sparta, some still held to the teachings of the one Goddess, even if in secret.

  * * * *

  "Lady Penelope?" The voice that came from the shadows startled her, though it was soft and hesitant.

  "What do you wish?" She paused and glanced up and down the darkened hallway. Penelope heard the muted voices of the women close by. She knew she could call and help would come.

  "Merely to talk with you. Some say you are more closely guarded than Helen." The speaker stepped from the shadows. He shrugged, smiling, and looked down at his feet. His hands plucked nervously at the edge of his tunic.

  Penelope thought he was maybe twenty-two, as golden and perfect in coloring and features as Helen. Richly dressed. Youthfully slim, not a warrior. She didn't recognize his face. He was a newcomer or very minor noble who sat in the shadows in the feasting hall.

  "Shall I take a message to Helen?" Penelope considered telling this nervous young man to save his pride and time, and go home. She doubted he had made a good impression when he stood before Tyndareos.

  "Oh, no--you are the one--" His face flushed red and he gulped audibly. "Will you take a token from me?" He dug into the pouch at his belt and brought out a tiny pin set with a round piece of rosy, clear stone. As he held it out, he looked her in the eyes for the first time.

  His eyes were gray, staring wide and wary. Penelope felt years older than him, and pitied him.

  I could never marry a man who can't look me in the eyes. Her thoughts turned to Odysseus, the myriad expressions in his gray eyes. Laughter. Rage. Confidence. She compared his wide shoulders, the scars on his arms and legs, the strength in his sleek muscles, against this stripling with only a dusting of beard on his chin.

  "My uncle the king would not approve," she said, turning away. She knew if she saw disappointment or relief on his face, she would grow angry.

  "He will listen to you."

  "Why should he?" She turned back in curiosity. "My uncle hardly knows I am alive."

  "But we thought--you flee--the king must find you a husband quickly," he stammered, his face bright red.

  "Someday my uncle will find me a husband, yes, but there is no hurry. Who do I flee?"

  "A man in Alybas tried to kidnap you. Someone who thought you were Helen, and would rule Sparta through you."

  "No one cared who I was in Alybas. I had no suitors." Pity touched her for the young man's embarrassment. "Who told you such things?"

  "Rumors." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The man has vowed death to whoever claims you as bride. The king will only give you to a strong prince who could protect you." He backed up a step, his whole body quivering. Penelope thought if she made one wrong move, he would flee. "You killed a man, defending yourself."

  "I merely scratched Aias." Penelope swallowed hard to keep from laughing. Such wild stories told about her. Who would have said such things, and why?

  "Please, Lady Penelope?" He held out the pin again.

  "I thank you, truly, but it would not be fair to you." She bit her lip to keep from smiling. No matter the rumors, she would use them. If stories of danger kept suitors away, all the better.

  "Yes, you are...right." He paled and backed away.

  "Helen waits for me." She gestured down the hall to the women's chamber.

  His eyes widened, his throat constricting as if he would choke. Penelope hurried away, refusing to look back. She knew she would see him wipe his face in relief. She wondered if her half-hearted suitor would add to the tales and discourage others. She prayed to the Goddess that it would be so.

  * * * *

  Penelope grew tired of Helen asking every hour if anyone had heard news of Kastor and Polydeukes, so she posted a watcher at the palace gates for news. Melantho was on duty when the war party returned. She came running, out of breath, face bright, eyes shining. Her clothes were in disarray too much to blame on running. When Penelope saw Aias waiting by the gate as she and Helen hurried past, she knew the reason.

  They reached the stables as the returning warriors dismounted. Almost all had bandaged arms, legs, or heads. Penelope cried out in dismay as she realized she didn't see her cousins. Both Menelaos and Odysseus turned at the sound of her voice. They supported each other when both were on the ground, like two crooked old women. Penelope couldn't look away from the dark stains on their bandages.

  "Where are they?" Helen demanded. Her voice grew tight and rose several steps. "Where are my brothers?"

  "Gone," Menelaos answered, when neither the other two suitors nor any soldiers spoke up in answer.

  "You couldn't bring them home for their funeral rites?" She grasped his shoulder, shaking him until he grimaced in pain.

  "Helen." Penelope stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Come away. They're injured. Let them rest."

  "No!" Helen turned to Odysseus, reaching out to grab his arms next. The man closed his eyes and turned away. Penelope saw the pain in
them before he did so.

  "You won't help matters any. Come away. They must report to the king, first." She tugged harder on her cousin's arm, leading her for a few steps. She felt ill and bitterly amused by the relief of all the men.

  "What has happened?" King Tyndareos demanded, striding into the stables. Everyone and everything quieted around him. He strode through the gathering crowd of soldiers and servants. He read something in the eyes of Odysseus and Menelaos and all color fled his face. "Helen, Penelope--go to your rooms. This business is not fitting for you."

  "Father--" Helen blurted, reaching out to him.

  "Go!" The king shuddered at the harshness of his voice. He turned his face from his daughter.

  Penelope linked her arm through Helen's and led her cousin from the stables. Silently, they leaned on each other all the way back to the women's room. The sunshine lost its golden beauty and warmth. The shadows looked thicker, darker, colder.

  Helen tottered from the doorway to the window. She curled up in the wide window seat like a child, hugging her knees against her chest, and stared unseeing out into the gardens. Penelope sat at her loom, determined to do something, anything, to control her thoughts.

  Though the shadows crawled across the floor and time dragged by, she accomplished nothing. The thread sat untouched on the table next to her when Lystia came in.

  "The king summons you to tend the princes' wounds," the housekeeper announced. Penelope stared, unable to understand the words. She looked over at Helen, who slowly raised her head.

  "Where are my brothers?" the girl whispered, a few heavy tears glistening unshed on her lashes.

  "The gods alone know. But come, my sweet ladies." Lystia's voice hovered on the edge of breaking. "Come tend to the princes and show them you are grateful for their help." Her smile was gentle and sad. She beckoned from the doorway. Like walkers in a dream, the cousins followed her.

  * * * *

  Penelope was glad her grandfather had taught her to tend wounds. The smell of sweat and blood and pain, mixed with strong wine for cleansing and herbs for healing, did not turn her stomach. The room where she and Helen tended Odysseus and Menelaos was closed and small, the air thick, bitter with lamp smoke. Sounds echoed from the walls, clashing with her pulse.

  Her former patients had been animals hurt in raids and she had learned patience and a strong stomach from them. She wondered if she should be grateful or amused that this time, the injured one didn't bleat and resist when she tended his wound.

  Odysseus watched her, silent and unnaturally still as she washed the long, shallow gash on his upper arm. He didn't flinch when she dripped a bitter green herb mixture into the raw flesh to aid in healing. She heard him sigh, felt the brush of his breath against her hair when she rubbed oil into the wound. He relaxed and smiled gently at her when she bound the wound with clean linen.

  Helen and Menelaos talked, voices muted, words mumbled, as she tended to his scalp wound. Penelope heard the other prince hiss in pain and Helen's blurted apologies, then the catch in her voice as she fought another sob. Penelope wondered if she could feel anything. She knelt to unwind the dirty, blood-crusted bandage off Odysseus' calf.

  "You have tender, deft hands," he said, lifting his leg so she didn't have to bend over so far. "I'm grateful you weren't given to a temple to be a healer."

  "You are the first I have tended who has not been a goat or sheep or dog," she admitted, meeting his gaze for the first time. Silent laughter passed between them, then tears touched her eyes. Penelope wished she had kept silent.

  "They fought bravely and would have won if not for treachery." Odysseus sat back a little further on the bench and propped his leg up. A spasm rippled through the muscle as the bandage caught, glued to the wound with ichor and blood. He never made a sound.

  "Teris and Seleron have no wounds," she said, realizing that truth almost as the words left her mouth.

  "I know." A chill like winter touched his voice. Odysseus cleared his throat. "Menelaos could never tell a story properly. If I tell you now, you can give the truth to Helen later?"

  "When she is ready to hear." She reached for the bowl of oil, to soak the bandage so it would peel from his wound without causing pain.

  "Idas and Lynceaus, the brothers who stole the twin brides, sent messengers saying they would speak truce. Teris and Seleron went with them to negotiate terms. We met at the foot of a cliff where rock falls made treacherous footing and shadows where many men could hide. Menelaos and I spoke against the place when we saw it. Teris assured us of promises of peace and trust. Kastor went first, holding his spear high to signal we had come in peace. An arrow pierced his shoulder before he could lower his arm." Odysseus' voice broke. Penelope glanced up and found his face dark with a burning anger that chilled her.

  "Did those brothers escape?" she asked, keeping her voice soft. Through the hurtful pounding of her heart, she heard Helen and Menelaos talking, their voices rough, breaking. She wondered if they said anything at all. She glanced over her shoulder for the comforting presence of Lystia and Eurynome, watching at the door. Her nurse smiled encouragement to her.

  "They are dead, their bodies staked out on the rocks of their treachery." His voice held a chilling satisfaction.

  "And my cousins' bodies?"

  "Gone." His voice held a note of question that frightened her more than his anger. Penelope had thought she would never hear uncertainty in Odysseus' voice. When she looked up, puzzlement furrowed his forehead. "Kastor lay dead at his brother's feet, the sword that killed him still in his chest. Polydeukes bled from more wounds than a man could take and live. The traitor brothers lay dead behind him. Menelaos and I drove away the warriors who attacked from behind. I heard Polydeukes shout to Zeus..." He stopped, his mouth twisting with words he couldn't speak.

  "Are you fevered?" Penelope pressed a hand against his forehead. He sweated, but only a light, cool moisture. Odysseus gently moved her hand off his forehead. He held it and she couldn't tug it free. His touch--gentle, yet strong and irresistible--sent a strange trembling through her.

  "Thunder roared and there was a light brighter than noonday. We were blinded, deafened. Turned into stone. When I could see again, the king's sons were gone. Not even blood remained on the ground to mark where they had fallen."

  Listening to the wordless prompting of her heart, Penelope turned to look at Helen. Was it for her sake the mystery had occurred? Helen was oblivious to everything but Menelaos, listening to him stumble through his own explanations. Penelope knew Helen would spend the night with her, talking and comforting each other and trying to find some explanation to ease the sorrow. She wondered what comfort her uncle found.

  * * * *

  Helen came to Penelope's room that night, trembling and distraught as expected. Penelope gave her a sleeping draught, one of many potions her aunt had taught her to make. When Helen lay sleeping soundly, not even a whimper escaping her dreams, Penelope tried in vain to sleep. Her thoughts spun through her mind. Her body longed to run far and fast. Swallowing a groan of frustration that threatened to become a shriek, Penelope slipped out of the bed. She pulled out her boy clothes and cap and bound her hair. The restlessness didn't go away when she slipped over the sill of her window.

  Her hand strayed to the hilt of the knife at her waist as she reached the gate out of the women's garden. Penelope smiled bitterly at the moon, thinking thoughts of revenge. Kastor and Polydeukes had disliked Teris and Seleron. She could believe the two men would kill the twins to remove their influence.

  For a moment, she thought she heard her aunt's voice. Penelope looked around, catching a movement like wings at the corner of her eye. She saw nothing, but her aunt's words stayed clear in her thoughts.

  "The Goddess made women to be the source of life, not death," Penelope whispered as she turned back to the garden. She heard her aunt scold her for contemplating killing. "Men created death through treachery, so it is for men to deal with it." She shook her head, knowing she
didn't quite believe her own words, and headed into the public part of the palace garden.

  Her feet took her down damp stone paths, lit silver and shadowed black. Penelope let her pace increase until she almost ran with the urgency to flee her fears and pain. A low arch of stone flashed by above her as she ran. Penelope followed the path and let the sound of splashing water draw her. She stopped short on the edge of a tiny pool with a fountain, startled at the turbulence of her emotions as much as the foreign feel of the place. This had to be the king's private garden, because she had never been there before.

  Heart thudding in her chest, Penelope knelt on the lip of the stone-lined pool and dipped up water to cool her face. She turned around on her knees, shifting to sit, to put her feet into the cool water. She had stubbed her toes on uneven paving stones, and they burned and ached.

  "I'm glad to see others can't sleep this night," Odysseus said, appearing through the arch on the other side of the pool. He chuckled and gestured for her to stay still, when Penelope moved to get to her feet. "I've never seen you around here before, boy. Who do you serve?"

  "Serve?" She swallowed hard, unable to believe her luck. Her disguise held. "I serve Lady Penelope."

  "How does your mistress take her cousins' deaths?" He settled down on the bench next to the trickling fountain, his movements favoring his bandaged leg.

  "She is angry."

  "She is right to be angry. The king's sons were good men and skilled warriors." For a moment, despite the shadows, his eyes burned like they had that afternoon.

  "There is little protection against a spear thrown by your companions," Penelope said, guessing at his anger.

  Odysseys nodded sharply and smiled. A bitter, burning smile. "I wager those two spend a sleepless night watching their doors."