"What of Melantho?"
"My love, that woman is your property. She will do what you order her to do." Odysseus sighed, cutting the rising volume of his voice. "Forgive me. You're too soft-hearted."
"Melantho rightly expects to be head housekeeper when our son is born."
"Then we'll send her to my father's house, in Eurykleia's place." He tipped her head back so he could brush a kiss across her lips. "Will that soothe your too-soft heart and her pride?"
"Very much. Your mother gets along with her well enough, I think."
"Good. I am well pleased to have her out of my house."
"And have Eurykleia here instead?" she prodded, smiling now. She laughed when Odysseus had the grace to look ashamed, despite his smile.
* * * *
Her labor pains began before Odysseus left for hunting that warm, bright spring morning. Penelope debated telling him and having him underfoot during the preparations, worrying and questioning. Eurykleia had warned her the first child would take long in coming. She knew she might still be in labor when Odysseus came home that night. So she kissed him, wished him luck, gave Argus one last scratch under his chin and sent them both off to enjoy their day hunting.
After she climbed the stairs to her rooms, where Eurykleia supervised sewing new clothes for the household, the gentle pangs stilled. Penelope congratulated herself on her common sense and silence, and sat down to continue her weaving. She had extra reason now to finish the work. It was a light, airy cloth to hang over the cradle against too-harsh sunlight.
The pangs came and went, sometimes making her clench both fists around the thread, then fading to the gentleness of the breeze in the open window. Penelope worked slowly and carefully when all her instincts shouted to hurry. She tried to make her work into a game, counting how many rows she could finish before another ripple of near-pain hit her.
"Penelope." Eurykleia's hand rested on hers, startling her. "Are you well?"
"Perfectly." She smiled at Eurykleia's frown. Penelope felt cool damp forming on her own face. She shrugged, giving up the small battle. "My son is impatient to join us."
"My lady." Surprise wiped away Eurykleia's habitual somber efficiency. She rested both hands on Penelope's belly, feeling the rippling of muscles. She smiled and shook her head. "You do not need to be so brave and strong."
"No." Penelope would have laughed, but another pang robbed her of breath. "I will not welcome my son with tears or screams. As it is, Odysseus would hear and come running. There's no need to worry or frighten him."
"That one is a danger to us all when he's frightened," Eurykleia agreed. She turned to face the other maids who had stopped their work. Comprehension took several forms on their faces--excitement, fear, worry. "This work is done for the day. You know your duties. See to them." She turned back to Penelope as the women scattered. "It's almost noon. You should eat for strength, while you still can."
Penelope nodded and let the woman help her off the bench and away from her loom. She looked at the pattern and smiled at the race she had lost.
* * * *
Eurykleia made her walk back and forth through her rooms while the pangs were gentle. Small fires burned in the braziers. From time to time Eurykleia helped Penelope burn offerings of grain or pour out a few drops of wine in libation to the Goddess. Penelope welcomed the warmth of the fires one moment and the next scrambled for a window, to breathe clean, cool air to still the churning in her belly. She managed to keep down what she ate and was proud of that.
An incredible weight pressed on her body, making her legs feel like bruised reeds. "I need to sit down," she said, putting distance between each word so they wouldn't slur. Her tongue felt as heavy as her legs.
Hands helped her sit. Penelope closed her eyes, and for a moment even the spasming muscles in her belly stilled. With the weight off her legs, her feet no longer throbbed. She felt she could spread her arms into the breeze and fly. Then a stronger twisting, aching contraction squeezed her body and anchored her to the ground.
When she finished gasping, Penelope felt some release. She kept her eyes closed and dug her fingers into the wooden bottom of the seat. Odysseus' voice penetrated the momentary stillness, and Eurynome's answered. Penelope smiled, glad now she had made no outcry. She wanted to call him but knew that would not help. He would worry and get in the way of the women attending her.
She remembered teasing him that birthing was one place where he would be worse than a stumbling apprentice. He had countered that he had helped with many difficult births--cattle and sheep and dogs. Vaguely, Penelope remembered trying to slap him, pretending to be insulted. Odysseus had caught her hands and drawn her as close as her huge belly would allow and kissed her until she laughed.
Tears touched her eyes. Penelope released her hold on the seat with one hand to wipe them away, quickly, before anyone saw. She opened her eyes. Eurykleia stood before her, holding a damp cloth to wipe her face. Penelope looked away, feeling shamed that the woman had seen.
"Arrogant child," the nurse whispered, kneeling to wipe Penelope's face. The cloth was cool, the touch soothing. "Cry. Scream. It is how we release pain and find strength."
"I can't," she whispered, shocked at how tight and weak her voice sounded.
"He won't hear you. Eurynome sent him to bring his mother. That should keep him away." The satisfaction in the woman's voice brought a choking laugh from Penelope.
"Not long enough," she said, her voice breaking. Penelope clutched at Eurykleia's hands. "Is something wrong? Is that why you're sending for her?"
"First births are always long in coming." Eurykleia's face revealed nothing good or bad.
The afternoon passed into night. When Penelope gave in and opened her mouth, all that escaped were whimpers. She didn't think it helped, but Eurykleia and Eurynome both looked pleased.
Despite what they said, she knew something was wrong. Her belly twisted and squeezed and drove the breath from her, but she felt no shifting of the child inside her. When dawn touched the sky, Penelope thought she knew the reason. Her hips were still as slim as a boy's. There was no place for the baby to go in birthing. The bones weren't moving despite the painful, tearing contractions. She remembered Odysseus' words to his father, the day she arrived in Ithaka. Her husband would have to find a wide-hipped slave girl to give him a son, after all. She would have laughed at the irony of it if she had any breath.
Antikleia became her source of strength. The woman said nothing, but her hand was always there for Penelope to hold. She held a cup of water for Penelope, though all she could manage was a tiny sip at a time. Antikleia was the one who insisted Penelope try to eat, even if only a mouthful of bread. Penelope clung to the woman. For her sake, she held back the tears, the moans of fear that choked her.
There came a time when the pains abandoned her to exhaustion. Penelope managed to sleep for a handful of minutes. When she woke, the quiet frightened her until she heard men's voices in the hall below. Laertes, Mentor and other friends kept Odysseus company while he waited for their son to be born. She listened for her husband's voice, but didn't hear him.
It was unnatural for Odysseus to be so silent. He always had a story to tell, advice to offer, questions to ask. He was the one who spoke others to courage, drove away tears and anger.
She screamed as a pang tore through her body, sharper, stronger than any others that had shaken her all the long day. Penelope pressed her hands against her hips, pushing in to relieve the agony. It bit deeply at her, as if a giant hand slowly squeezed her bones to break them apart.
Tears filled her eyes when she opened them. Eurykleia smiled at her through the exhaustion that blotched her face. The woman wiped the sweat from Penelope's face and nodded.
"It is good," the woman whispered. "Your body opens to release the child. He will come now."
Penelope nodded, hearing words but not understanding. Her body was in control, not her mind or her will. She arched her back against another bone-breakin
g quake of agony and another scream escaped through clenched teeth.
Somewhere in the middle of the flurry of women's voices and hands that tried to soothe her and failed, Penelope heard Odysseus shout her name. She wanted to call him and opened her mouth to speak. Another spasm ripped the breath from her lungs. Knowing he was close gave her strength. She swallowed against the hurt and clutched at the bracing ropes Eurynome put into her hands until she thought she would break them. Penelope gritted her teeth, tasting blood as she bit her tongue. She pushed with her whole body, suddenly finding a way to work with the pangs instead of just enduring.
Heat tore through her body, driving away the creeping cold of exhaustion. She smelled blood, felt a tearing like knives deep in her belly. A cloud filled her mind, muting the sudden rise in women's voices.
Release. Penelope felt as if a cord deep inside had snapped, setting her free from her body like a ship loosed from its anchor and floating with the bobbing waves. She welcomed the soothing darkness, the fading ache. Darkness filled all her senses like a soft, warm, enveloping cloak.
At one point, she opened her eyes to see Eurykleia. Penelope smiled sleepily at the woman.
"You have a son," she said, her voice coming from far away, echoing inside Penelope's head.
"Knew," she mumbled. "Knew before everybody."
"Yes, you did," Eurykleia soothed. Her touch on Penelope's face, stroking a few strands of hair aside, came to her as if through several layers of cloth.
* * * *
How long she drifted, Penelope didn't know. She welcomed the weightless, muffling warmth. From far off, she felt someone helping her to sit up. Opening her eyes beyond a slit took too much effort. A few rays of light penetrated the dark, enough to turn everything misty gray and streaked with rainbows. Penelope liked that.
Hands moved aside the blankets wrapping her. Some gray faded from her mind. From far off came a cry, like a lamb.
A tiny, insistent mouth fastened on her nipple. Awareness returned, spreading out from that contact like ripples from a stone thrown into water. Penelope opened her eyes. Her arms moved as if made of wet clay. She felt the blanket against her skin, and then the weight of a tiny body. A tingling warmth moved through her breast, fastening her returning attention to the shape in her arms.
At first all she knew were tiny wisps of dark brown hair on a head covered in pink, delicate skin. Her eyes moved slowly, like taking a long journey. Penelope watched the face take shape, delight moving through her as if arriving from a far distance. A tiny nose, no bigger than the tip of her smallest finger. Closed eyelids of translucent skin, like alabaster, with faint red and blue streaks in them. Amazing, thick lashes, glistening in the torchlight. Round, red cheeks that moved faintly with the insistence of feeding.
Full awareness returned with a sigh of contentment and tears welling up warm in her eyes. Penelope tightened her embrace under her son, and looked up. Antikleia sat at the end of her bed, watching. Eurynome stood by the open window, where dawn streaked the sky. Eurykleia was nowhere to be seen, but Penelope knew where the faithful woman had gone.
"He looks like his father, I think," she whispered. "Has Odysseus seen him?"
"Your son is not leaving this room until the day is warm enough." Antikleia had more strength in her voice than Penelope ever heard before. "His father is sacrificing the best this household owns, in thanks, as is proper."
Penelope thought to ask when they would go to the Goddess to make thank offerings, but the words died before they could reach her lips. All her attention returned to the baby. Pressure grew in her other breast and she tried to remove the hungry, sucking mouth to more nourishment. The boy let out an angry squall, startling her. Then his lips touched her other nipple and he resumed suckling. Penelope chuckled, amazed at how tired so little effort made her.
"He's so small," she said, daring to touch the delicate wisps of hair on his head.
"Now he seems small," Eurynome said, leaving her post at the window. She came to the bed and adjusted the blankets. "When you were birthing him, he looked as huge as a ten-year-old boy."
Weariness dragged at her as the boy finished nursing. Almost immediately he fell asleep again. Penelope would have laughed at that, but had no energy. Sleep took her, wrapping her in warmth and darkness again.
* * * *
"Keep that filthy beast out of here!" The horror in Eurykleia's voice woke Penelope, rather than the volume.
She opened her eyes to see she lay on her side, her arm curled around the blanket wrapping her son. Penelope smiled, rubbing her eyes with a hand that felt not quite her own. Wriggling, whimpering dark brown fur entered her view.
"Argus," she said, her voice slightly cracking. The dog rested his forelegs on the edge of the bed.
"I can hardly control him, Eurykleia," Odysseus said. "Short of tying him outside, that is."
"Then do so." Some anger left the nurse's voice.
"He only wants to see the baby," Penelope said, trying to lift herself up on one arm.
Then Odysseus was there, helping her to sit, his hands gentle, slow and trembling slightly. Questions and worry clouded his eyes.
"I'm just tired," she said.
"Tired." His voice caught and broke on the word. With great care, he sat on the edge of the bed, shoving Argus away with his knee. The dog didn't resist but trotted over to the cradle and settled down underneath it.
"He's beautiful. And hungry." She laughed, feeling the pressure of milk in her breasts. Penelope tugged back the blankets with a heavy hand so their son's delicate, sleeping face could be seen. "Everyone knows now I'm a good wife and a good queen. I'm better than Helen or Klytemaistra. Your firstborn is a son. I made you king of Ithaka today."
"Penelope." Odysseus' eyes sparkled with mixed tears and laughter. He caught at her hand, kissing the palm and then pressing it against his cheek. "Beloved, you nearly killed me with worry." He tried to laugh, the sound broken but beautiful to her ears.
"The first is always the hardest."
The boy woke with a cry. Penelope's hands were still heavy and awkward. With whispered instructions, Odysseus helped her sit and lift their son to nurse. She saw awed delight touch his face.
"What name have you chosen?" she asked.
"Telemachos." Odysseus leaned forward, careful of the boy, and kissed her.
Chapter 18
* * *
Dragging, draining weariness held Penelope in her bed. For the first few days after birthing Telemachos, it was all she could do to nurse him, hold him until he slept and maybe work a few strands into the design on her lap loom. Then she slept. She refused to let anyone put her son in his cradle until she could get up and go to him when he cried. Odysseus moved the cradle next to her bed and raised it so she didn't bend or strain to move the boy. Eurynome tried to bring in a wet nurse but Penelope barred the woman from the room. After all, she argued, she wasn't ill, only tired. Her milk was wholesome. Odysseus and his mother made sure she had her way.
He slept in the room with her, loathe to leave wife and son alone. Penelope knew Odysseus slept next to her, but for the first week she never saw him in the bed. When she woke in the night, her breasts aching with milk, anticipating Telemachos' cry, Odysseus was awake before her. His touch was as deft as Eurykleia's, able to pick up their son without disturbing him.
Penelope enjoyed the quiet watches of the night. She leaned against Odysseus, his arm tight around her shoulders, Telemachos half asleep as he suckled. This happiness, she wanted to last forever.
* * * *
The day Eurykleia permitted her to leave her room and spend part of the day outdoors, Penelope knew victory. She teased Odysseus for carrying her to her garden, even knowing she couldn't have walked. The growth of her garden astonished her when she settled onto the cot. The herbs reached from their little plots as if they would spread across the paving stones. Flowers bloomed that she expected to be tight buds. The olive tree spread its boughs over her head, heavy with luxuriant
dark leaves.
"The Goddess speaks her approval," Eurykleia said, breaking into Penelope's delighted reverie. She sat on the end of the cot and nodded toward the rest of the garden. "We will have more than we need this year, all over Ithaka. The rains come when we need them, in the right amount. The days are warm, the nights cool instead of cold. The people say you have brought this to Ithaka by giving Odysseus an heir."
"What would they say if I had borne a daughter?" Penelope countered, smiling. She shifted the warm burden of Telemachos in her arms, watching his face for the first sign of waking.
"She would belong to the Goddess, I think. They credit you with their blessings. That is all that matters."
"Must I bear a child every spring, to bless Ithaka?" she returned, chuckling.
"No." Odysseus knelt before the cot and clutched Penelope's shoulders. He would have shaken her, if not for the sleeping baby in her arms. "Penelope, I will not risk you!"
"Be sensible," Eurykleia snapped. A sparkle of humor mixed with exasperation lit her eyes. "Your son is a fine, healthy, strong boy. Penelope has narrow hips. The first is always the hardest birth. The next will not hurt her as much."
"Can you promise that?" he demanded. Odysseus waited, but neither woman spoke. "I thought not. Once, I would have sacrificed anything and anyone for Ithaka. Not now. Penelope, we will have no more children."
"Short of no longer lying with me, how can you prevent that?" she whispered. Penelope thought of Eurynome's bitter potion and shuddered. She refused to believe her life depended on taking it again.
"There are ways." He stood, glaring at both women. Penelope would have been angry but she saw the fear in his eyes. When he stalked out of the garden, she felt tempted to laugh. Odysseus rarely was at a lack for words.
"What shall we do about him?" she asked Eurykleia.
THE DREAMER'S LOOM Page 24
