"Be that as it may..." Tyndareos sighed, loudly, wearily. "You say this to assure me I can trust you."
"If you ask me for advice, a plan to avert catastrophe for Sparta, I know it concerns Helen's marriage."
"Indeed. I should send my guests home before the fall storms strand the island princes here. Yet how can I resolve the problem that surrounds my daughter's marriage? For every prince who abides by my choice, another will attack me, kidnap Helen and kill her chosen husband out of anger."
"I've considered the problem," Odysseus admitted, his words slow. A few branches rustled in the hedge near the top and Penelope imagined him plucking at leaves. "I have a solution, but it will be costly. Very costly."
"A week of sacrifices, at every temple? I've considered it." Tyndareos laughed raggedly.
"Not that kind of cost. The solution is simple." A strange, tight chuckle escaped Odysseus. "The payment for my help is what shall cost you dearly."
"And what could that be?" Tyndareos stepped away from the hedge and the other man followed. Penelope stayed on her knees, hunched over so the men would not see her if they turned around. "Half of Sparta? I could almost grant you that with joy, if it would preserve the peace I worked so hard to make."
"More precious than that. Your niece, Penelope is my price. I want her as my wife."
"Penelope is a child." Tyndareos' voice went cold and hard.
"She was fifteen last winter. She's old enough to marry. Even if you can't see that, many do now and more will soon."
"So I should give her to poor, rough Ithaka, to spare my house another siege?" The king laughed, a bitter sound.
"You brought Penelope from Alybas to buy safety for Sparta. You would have bought another alliance with Helen, if her brothers still lived."
"I should send you away for speaking such words, but Menelaos is your friend."
Penelope bit her hand to keep from crying aloud. She heard the defeat in her uncle's voice, despite his anger.
"Let us be honest, King Tyndareos. Yes, Ithaka is small and rough, compared to Sparta or Mycenae or Pylos. But we are strong and brave and have more than enough for our needs. Penelope is the queen I need. She has been the strength of this household since your sons were taken. You say she is a child. I say Helen is the child, and Penelope is the woman grown. A woman I need. Many on Ithaka still follow the old ways. A king is judged by the queen who stands before the Goddess. I need a queen like Penelope, to hold the people's hearts." Odysseus leaned against the hedge. Penelope imagined he would push through at any moment and discover her. She knew she should flee, but couldn't move.
"You need my help," he continued after a heart-thudding moment of silence. "Without my advice, you cannot give Helen to Menelaos without fear of rebellion."
"What oracle says I will give my daughter to Menelaos?" The king's voice cracked like an old man's, wasting his strength with bravado.
"You need Mycenae. You fear Agamemnon's anger if you refuse his brother." Odysseus paused. When he spoke again, Penelope heard the smile in his voice. "More important, Helen favors Menelaos. You love your daughter. Her happiness competes with Sparta's welfare."
"What if Helen favored you, instead?" Tyndareos' voice softened. Penelope shivered, knowing he had surrendered.
"I still wouldn't ask for her. Menelaos will be a good king for Sparta and can care for Helen as she deserves. I need a strong queen. Penelope."
"She may be too strong for even you, Odysseus of Ithaka. She leads Helen by the nose and no one protests."
Penelope nearly leaped to her feet to run. Her face burned as she acknowledged her uncle might be right. She had enjoyed her power and influence too much, lately. The respect of slaves was a heady thing for a girl who knew she was nothing but a bribe to guide a warrior's hand in the king's service.
"You want to announce your decision soon," Odysseus said. "You need my plan to keep Sparta and Helen and Menelaos safe. Even if you offer me all the treasure in your palace, Penelope is still my price." His voice faded as he walked away from the hedge, further into the king's garden. Tyndareos followed.
Penelope flinched as a sob escaped her. Neither man heard, too far away and involved in the finer details of the bargain they argued. She got to her feet, still clutching the ball. She ran, never speaking to anyone until she reached her room. Eurynome was there.
"Dear child, what has happened? Did Aias--" The old nurse bit her lip to hold back the words.
Quickly, fighting the shaking in her whole body, Penelope blurted the news. "I don't want to marry anyone!" she finished, letting Eurynome cradle her close as if she were a child again.
"Especially not Odysseus of Ithaka," the woman said, her voice hard, the words sharp.
"Eurynome, the other princes favor him. He wins so many of the games..." Penelope's face warmed as she realized she defended Odysseus.
"Yes, he is admired, and he is skilled and strong and fast, but Ithaka isn't good enough for you."
Penelope barely heard as her nurse listed all the faults and lacks in Ithaka. She remembered how Odysseus' eyes gleamed when he talked about his home, the love and pride in his voice, the wonderful stories he told of hunting in the hills, building ships, sailing the crashing waves.
"I must marry the man my uncle chooses," she whispered. "I did ask Athena to give me to a prince who loved the sea."
"My dear child--surely there must be something--"
"No." Penelope was surprised to feel new tears. "I would shame my uncle by even trying to refuse."
She thought of her boy disguise, hidden away. She knew the basics of hunting and trapping and hiding. The palace would hum like a bee's hive after her uncle announced his decision. Tonight would be her chance. She had to flee now. She didn't want to marry. She didn't want to be a gift given to ensure peace. Even if the man who wanted her was Odysseus.
* * * *
The sounds of feasting faded in the night air when Penelope slipped over the edge of her windowsill. She carried a spear, secreted under her bed weeks before in the hope of practicing under Odysseus' tutelage. Gold and silver and half a loaf of bread bounced heavily in the pouch hanging on her belt and she wore sandals. She went straight to the stables, flinching when a shadow in the moonlight resolved into an owl. Penelope stopped a few steps into the courtyard and looked around. She thought she heard the owl hoot.
Odysseus stepped into the torchlight in front of the stable door. Penelope managed to smile at him. She was only Dyvis, a boy servant, she reminded herself. Her disguise felt very thin in the bright flare of the torches. Odysseus didn't smile.
"I don't want to know where you're going, Dyvis." He rested his hand on the latch of the stable door. "Remember your mistress needs you. And runaway slaves are branded and beaten when they are caught."
"Who says I am running away?" She flinched at the thin, crackling sound of her voice.
"Your mistress has mistreated you? Threatened you? I thought not," he said, when she could only shake her head. "Your mistress is worthy of your loyalty. Stay with her, boy. She is precious to me, and she needs you."
"Yes, my lord," Penelope whispered, looking down at her feet to keep from meeting his eyes.
She knew Odysseus watched her all the journey back to her room. By the time she reached her window, she no longer cared what he saw or thought. When she turned to see where he stood, he had vanished into the night. The tears came, but whether in shame or frustration or anger, she couldn't decide.
* * * *
The next day, a massive sacrifice took place on the plain between the palace and the river. Neither Penelope nor Helen attended. No maids went near the place. All were busy, along with Lystia, preparing for the wedding festivities.
A suite of rooms was purified and decorated for Helen and her husband. No one but Helen knew his name. She had gone to her father in private and came back smiling, refusing to even give a clue. Penelope didn't join in the teasing and begging. She was glad her cousin was happy, and glad she had
n't told Helen about the bargain. She remembered her uncle's voice, how it changed while he argued with Odysseus. She knew Tyndareos considered it an insult that Odysseus wanted to marry her, yet her uncle gave her to him all the same.
While the men were on the plain, making their sacrifices from dawn until the afternoon sun slanted into their eyes, the women kept busy with the purification rituals for a bride. The odor of burned flesh, of incense and wine spilled out in vows and offerings intruded everywhere in the palace. Penelope couldn't put it out of her thoughts, as she helped Helen through the required series of baths and perfuming. She served as her cousin's attendant for the ceremonies and it was her duty to help Helen in every step. No other hand could touch her until Helen had returned from the long afternoon of visits to the temples and goddesses, to make prayers and offerings for blessings on her marriage. Penelope fulfilled her duties and wondered who would attend her own marriage preparations. She refused to have Melantho.
Dolios was one of the first servants to return from the plain after that long day of sacrifices. He came immediately to the women's room, where Helen and Penelope and the maids sat weaving, waiting, chattering in curiosity. He waited at the door until Penelope noticed him and beckoned for him to come in. He rubbed at the stains of soot, grease, and blood on his tunic.
"Is it permitted for us to know now?" Helen asked.
"Soon the whole world will know." He gestured widely, to take in more than Sparta and the lands of the Achaians. "The suitors made sacrifices to the gods and their consorts, to the Furies and Fates, and made vows. To protect Helen and the man chosen as her husband. To bring vengeance on anyone who harms the man or tries to carry off Helen. No matter how far they might go, no matter how long it takes. All day long, the same vow, with the smoke of sacrifices everywhere." Dolios smiled. "The gods will be pleased."
"They will hold every man accountable." Helen went pale, and turned to Penelope. "How much more will they hold me accountable if anything should happen? Even if I am innocent?"
"Helen, nothing will happen. You want the man you are to marry, don't you?" Penelope hugged her cousin and gave Dolios a smile of thanks and a nod of dismissal. "With all the princes of Achaia to protect you and your honor, what could happen?"
"What could happen?" she echoed. She gave Penelope a smile and a hug in return, then freed herself. "I must prepare. Father said when the sacrifices were done, my chosen would come to see me." A slow blush began to rise in her face, and a sparkle of anticipation lit her eyes.
Watching her, Penelope wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The marriage festivities were planned for the next day. How soon until everyone knew Odysseus had won her?
* * * *
In Sparta, the bride and her attendants didn't join in the marriage feast. Helen and Penelope would eat together in the bridal chamber, waiting for Menelaos to come claim her. Penelope remembered the marriages she had witnessed in Alybas. The festivities had been small, but everyone shared them together, and the new husband led his bride away to their chamber accompanied by the songs of their friends.
The maids undressed Helen, anointed her with perfume and brushed her hair so it lay soft and glowing over her shoulders to her waist. Alkippe stood at watch far down the hall, to warn them when Menelaos approached.
Penelope and Helen sat in the silent bridal chamber, Helen in the bed with the sheet drawn up past her breasts, Penelope in a chair by the bed. They had eaten little, the quiet broken by soft, nervous laughter when their eyes met. A gentle breeze made the torches flicker. Penelope found she couldn't look at Helen, and concentrated on her weaving on the wall opposite the bed. She tried to find flaws in it, tried to discern a place where she should have put a different color, let the pattern go another direction. She found she couldn't think clearly enough to do even that. Her imagination kept drifting to the night when she would be the anointed bride, waiting in the bed.
Helen was hard to look at. She glowed, like she did when the glory of the slanting afternoon sun struck her from behind, creating a corona that could blind. Her eyes were a deeper, brighter blue, dancing with suppressed laughter and eagerness. Roses flushed her golden cheeks. Penelope envied her cousin's ivory neck and shoulders, adorned perfectly by the single strand of gold beads and pink pearls, a bridal gift from Menelaos.
"I envy you," she whispered.
"Why?" Helen laughed. It had a joyous, musical sound, but marred by nervousness. "You will marry Odysseus soon. Don't you want to marry him?"
Penelope shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt cold, and wished she had the energy to get up and go close all the bronze shutters to shut out the cool of the night. She had been strangely pleased when Helen had laughed for joy, hugging her, congratulating her, when it was announced Penelope would be given to Odysseus in three days. In the face of her cousin's happy anticipation, how could she explain her own worries?
They sat in silence and Penelope heard, far off and muted, the sounds of feasting in the great hall. She wondered what the failed suitors were saying to Menelaos. Wishing him well, blessing him, or giving mocking curses, envying his success?
King Nestor was among the celebrants. Penelope had greeted him and accepted the bridal gifts he brought for her and Helen--rings of silver and gold, hair pins with delicate designs of colored stones, and the ceremonial joining cups for their wedding nights. Nestor had complimented her on winning Odysseus as a husband, then laughed when she could only frown at him, puzzled by his phrasing.
Her thoughts turned to Odysseus. Did his thoughts move ahead to the night he would be the honored one, sitting at the high table with Tyndareos, accepting songs of blessing, eating the food blessed by the priestesses of Aphrodite and Hera?
"There is no reason to be afraid," Helen whispered. She leaned forward, reaching across the space between bed and chair to clasp her cousin's wrist. "Even if you don't know what to do, as long as you want to please your husband, and he wants to please you..." She trailed off, eyes dancing in delight.
Softly tapping, running footsteps approached. Alkippe pushed the wide doors open and stopped on the threshold. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and she had to catch her breath before speaking. She didn't have to speak; her mere presence told them Menelaos approached.
Penelope stood, returned Helen's clasp, and hurried away after Alkippe. She glanced back once, as she tugged the heavy doors closed. Helen looked very small in the wide, high bed. Penelope followed the maid to the intersecting hall that led to her own room. She paused at the corner when she heard shuffling footsteps, the ring of metal against stone. Menelaos appeared, his face flushed, tunic rumpled, hair dark with perspiration. As he walked, he fumbled one-handed with the clasp for his cloak. The garment slipped off his shoulders and he caught it up with an unsteady arm. The movement brought his other hand up against the wall, making the silver cup he carried ring again as it hit and spilled a few drops of wine. Penelope hurried away before she could be seen or her mind could comprehend.
* * * *
In the morning, Helen was too quiet when Penelope led the maids to the bridal chamber to attend her. She smiled at her cousin but offered no comment. Penelope looked for bruises, for some sign of Menelaos' drunken state the night before. The joy she had expected in her cousin's eyes was missing. Helen looked unharmed. The sheets were rumpled and stained with sweat.
Chapter 7
* * *
"Penelope." Eurynome shook her awake gently, a hand on her shoulder. "Child, we must talk."
"Is something wrong?" Penelope sat up and looked around her chamber. Then she remembered. Today, she began the procession of marriage prayers at the temples.
Her nurse sat on the edge of the bed. Her mouth settled into grim lines and she refused to meet Penelope's eyes as she began. "Your own mother should be giving you this advice. Perhaps if she were alive, you would not--"
"I am resolved to obey my uncle's choice for me."
"You are dutiful. May the gods bles
s you for that, at least." The woman sighed, nodding. "It is no use trying to match wits with Odysseus or arguing with him when his orders appear foolish to you. For the peace of your household, endure rather than resist. Be sweet and submissive. Agree with him and then find ways to do what is proper and sensible. Make him think you are his willing, docile bride and nothing he does will anger you. Then, you can train him to your leading."
"Eurynome, I--"
"Yes, it sounds devious and deceitful. You are marrying a deceitful, devious man. I will not let you go to his bed and his household unprepared." Eurynome sniffed, and Penelope was startled to realize the woman fought tears.
"He is not truly as bad as he seems. I think I could be happy with him."
"Give him no children."
"Eurynome!" She stared at the woman, startled more by the vehemence in her voice than the words.
And yet, hadn't she made the same vow moons ago, when she began her journey to her uncle's palace? Why was it that such a simple, sensible decision became muddled when it was Odysseus whom she would deny a son?
"You cannot refuse to share his bed or satisfy his needs. It is better, I think, to endure a man's hunger than to bear children from tainted seed."
"You will not talk of my husband that way." Penelope sat up straight, her voice hardening as she spoke. It startled her to see how Eurynome wilted in response. Her own response startled her.
The problem was that Odysseus was no nameless, faceless prince who took her as a peace offering. He had become her friend. She liked and admired him. He had argued and schemed and manipulated her uncle in order to win her.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 9
