THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

  * * * *

  Penelope insisted on washing Ktimene by herself for the funeral rites. She dressed her daughter in new clothes she had finished only the day before and wrapped her in the finest sheet she had, made years ago for Odysseus' homecoming.

  When Laertes touched the torch to the funeral pyre, Penelope stood at the head of the assembly. She refused to leave her child alone until only bones and ash remained. Then she walked back to her home between Telemachos and Laertes, still wordless and pale, and retired to her room. She curled into a ball of knife-edged misery and cried, finally, choked silent by her tears. She ached, in heart and body, feeling as empty and torn and weak as she had been at Telemachos' birth. She stayed alone, in the dark, long after she had cried herself voiceless and hollow.

  Eurykleia was the first who dared to break her silence. Dairee, Ktimene's maid, hung herself after a night and a day of weeping. Those who had heard her reported the maid blamed herself for her mistress' death. Penelope tended to agree. The news also served to tear the numb cloud enfolding her.

  "What were they brewing?" she whispered, after Eurykleia told her. "Ktimene's room--we must search it."

  Someone had cleaned the dead girl's room. Even the tiny brazier, mortar and pestle were gone. Penelope stared and rage replaced the sorrow that threatened to eat her hollow.

  "They killed my daughter," she said in the echoing room. She glanced at Eurykleia, who only looked back at her, waiting, anger like a slow fire in her eyes. "Two young girls couldn't know what to do, whatever it was they tried. Someone had to tell them what to do and how."

  "And that someone cleaned the room, you think, to keep you from learning?" the old nurse guessed.

  "I saw some ...I can guess what Ktimene wanted. She or her murdering friend heard me speak of a potion that rendered a woman infertile. Ktimene wanted to make herself unable to bear children, so no man would marry her." Penelope shook her head, wishing she could shake her whirling thoughts straight. "I must be like Odysseus. I must wait and watch, and catch my enemy sleeping."

  "Enemy?"

  "You said Dairee was weak and afraid. Perhaps she was too weak and afraid to kill herself." Penelope was glad for something to focus on at last. "My mind is not my own, such thoughts I have! The one who taught my daughter to make the brew killed Dairee and cleaned this room to hide the truth." She began to shake. Whether from new sorrow, new rage, lack of sleep or lack of food, she couldn't tell. "Speak to no one of this, Eurykleia. We must be as cunning as Odysseus, and wait for my enemy to reveal herself."

  "You say our enemy is a woman. Because of the potion?"

  "No man would permit such knowledge. Only women would keep it alive. My aunt taught me each land has its own recipe for the potion. I might have guessed the land by the ingredients. A woman is at fault here. I will punish her, someday. I so vow, to the Goddess herself."

  She left the room without a backward glance, and gave orders for it to be sealed. "When your father returns," she promised her daughter, "we will find vengeance."

  Penelope assembled a network of faithful servants who haunted the harbor for news, rumors, even the most far-fetched tale of Odysseus. Some servants had friends who were sailors or merchants, and they searched the harbors of other lands for news of Odysseus or any other missing lord of Achaia. Penelope made it known that anyone who brought her word of Odysseus would receive a reward, even if the tale brought no help.

  Rage and purpose helped Penelope regain her strength and put order back into her days. Handsome young men of noble blood came to her to express their sympathy and their sorrow. They claimed they had hoped to court Ktimene when she was grown. Antinoos led them, and Penelope wondered at the speculation in his eyes when he looked at her face.

  The young men mourned the loss of a bride they had not pursued. She knew they mourned the loss of hope to rule Ithaka, rather than a bride. And she knew they would not give up so easily. She vowed to prepare against the next onslaught. Telemachos stood between the young nobles and Ithaka. Penelope vowed to do everything in her power to protect her son.

  * * * *

  Less than a moon later, Agelaos came to speak with Laertes. He brought gifts for Telemachos and asked for Penelope as his wife. The boy was with his grandfather when the suitor came. He kept quiet and ran immediately to his mother's rooms when Agelaos left, to report all to her.

  Penelope listened, wondering when Telemachos had picked up the gift of mimicking voice and posture and face. She ignored the offer of marriage to concentrate on her son's reaction. Telemachos didn't know what to think.

  "You think I'm rather old to be a bride, don't you?" she asked, when her son had finished his recitation and sat on the rug at her feet.

  "No!" The force of his denial answered her clearly.

  "I was your age when your father brought me here as his bride. It feels like a lifetime ago because it is. Your lifetime, do you see?" Penelope held out her arms, smiling as Telemachos came to her and wrapped his arms tight around her. "Are you worried I'll leave you?"

  "But you can't marry anyone," he protested, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You're married to my father."

  "Of course I am. Though I assume Agelaos referred to me as Odysseus' widow, not his wife."

  "He did," Telemachos growled.

  "Until I see Odysseus' dead body, or hear his spirit call me from the shadow lands, I am his wife, not his widow." She squeezed her son close to her side for emphasis. "I won't leave you or your grandfather or our home, until you are a grown man and you tell me to marry another man. By then, I will not be at all desirable." To her satisfaction, Telemachos laughed. There had been little enough laughter since Ktimene's death.

  "Mother, you will always be beautiful."

  "Like your father, it is your love that makes me so." She kissed his forehead, hugged him once more and released him. She sat back in her chair, suddenly weary. Perhaps weary anticipation of the troubles to come? "Your grandfather will want to discuss this with you. Agelaos is only the first, I fear. You two are my protectors until your father returns."

  "We have to plan, like warriors?" He brightened at her nod. Telemachos kissed her cheek before he hurried away.

  How many men would it take, she wondered, telling her she was a widow and not a wife, before she believed them? Penelope knew she had been right when Antinoos first spoke to her. The young men of Ithaka had not desired Ktimene as bride, any more than they wanted her mother now. They wanted Ithaka. Their mothers and grandmothers longed for the old ways; many believed if the old ways were followed there would not have been a war. Penelope knew they would use such feelings to take Odysseus' place and rule Ithaka. If not through his daughter, then his wife.

  She had to move carefully. She couldn't reveal she knew their scheme. Telemachos would pay for her mistakes. She had to tread the narrow line between giving her suitors baseless hope and promising herself to someone.

  "Athena, help me. Give me wisdom. Give me the words," Penelope whispered, as she got up to stand by the window. "Even if I truly am a widow, I want no other husband. I will hold Ithaka for my son. Help me to hold it."

  Penelope had to move carefully and let her suitors know she was amenable only while her son was safe and alive. She couldn't take the throne in her own right. Even if her suitors pledged to support the old ways, she knew it would be a lie. Her new husband would take the power from her hands. Mentor and Laertes would be cast aside, perhaps killed.

  "Goddess, I must trust you to bring my beloved home to me. I must trust your solutions and your guidance." Penelope swallowed hard against a sob rising in her throat. "Even though you took my daughter, I must trust you."

  * * * *

  More suitors came a week later, arriving in the evening after Laertes sailed for Kephallenia.

  Penelope and Telemachos were spending a quiet evening by the hearth. She kept busy with her lap loom while the boy told her stories of hunting with his friends. Argus sat at Penelope's feet, dozing in the warm
th from the hearth stones. The dog no longer went out hunting with Telemachos, but stayed in the house and slept at the foot of Penelope's bed. Eurynome answered the pounding on doors that had been closed for the night.

  They were five, all rich young men, leaders and the sons of leaders in Ithaka. Antinoos, Eurymachos, Klesippos, Elatos and Leodes. All handsome, skilled, intelligent, and popular. They would all make capable kings.

  She signaled Telemachos to remain quiet and listened to the five present their suit. She tried to think how to refuse them without bringing insult on their families or endanger herself and her son. She swore silently none of them would ever take over Odysseus' rule, home or bed.

  "Good lords," she said when they finished, choosing her words carefully, "you honor me. I am not a young, tender girl. It is sixteen years since I bore my son. You flatter me that any man could want me for the pleasure of his bed or to adorn his house. But you forget, I am not a widow."

  "Any man who would take so long in his homecoming is either a fool or dead," Antinoos said, proving himself leader of the suitors. "Odysseus was never a fool."

  "Then bring me proof. I stay faithful to him until the day I join him in the shadow lands."

  "Lovely queen, all of Ithaka honors your loyalty, but think of your son," Eurymachos said.

  "I do think of my son," she returned, resting her hand on Telemachos' shoulder. Her son stayed by her side, his face carefully neutral as she had taught him. "I will not leave him alone in this house when he is not fully grown, to become a bride in another house."

  Penelope hid her smile of triumph when her words brought guilty looks and twitches of surprise from the five. Her suspicions were right. They intended to take over this house, not take their bride to another house. She didn't know whether to be amused, insulted or relieved.

  "That is our point," Antinoos said, taking up the thread his companion had dropped. "Your son needs a father."

  "He has a father. Odysseus is merely absent."

  "He needs a man to train him as a father would."

  "Laertes, his grandfather fills that post admirably. He did, after all, raise my son's father to be a great man."

  Inside, she seethed. She knew full well what happened to the sons of supplanted or murdered fathers. Even if the man who won her treasured her, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her son to protect the power gained through the marriage. Penelope raged at the foolishness of these men. They thought her a fool, not to suspect every word and gesture and offer.

  Their other arguments were weak. It grew hard to be gracious as the conversation continued. Penelope regretted the dictates of hospitality that made her offer them food and drink. To her relief, the men thanked her and refused with cool, polite grace and left. Eurynome barely locked the door behind them when Telemachos turned to his mother, his face bursting with the anger he had held in check.

  "You can't marry any of them! I won't let you!"

  "You must learn, sometimes we have no control over our destinies. What we want or don't want rarely affects our actions." Penelope wondered why his anger amused her, when moments before she had been so coldly angry herself.

  "I'll run away if you marry anyone," he announced, planting himself in front of her, hands on his hips. His fury melted into confusion when Penelope burst out laughing.

  "No--oh, Telemachos--please, don't be angry with me," she begged and reached for her son, catching his arm when he would have stalked out of the room. "I'm not laughing at you, but at myself. Please, sit and listen." Penelope moved over on her wide chair so he could sit next to her. She put her arm around him, drawing him close so his head rested on her shoulder. He was so tall now, his shoulders wide with muscle. How much longer could she hold him like this and still feel he was her child, to be taught and protected?

  "When I was only a little younger than you," she began, "I could have passed for a boy. A very thin boy. Because of the way my grandfather raised me, I thought I could pretend to be a boy and run away, making my way in the world by hunting, running errands, whatever it took to earn food and shelter."

  "You're good with a sling," Telemachos admitted.

  "Thank you." She kissed the top of his head. "I didn't want to marry. On the ship bringing me from Alybas to Pylos, to go to Sparta, I actually considered running away."

  "But if you did, you never would have married my father," he broke in, dismay coloring his voice.

  "Exactly. Though, when I admitted as much to your father, and suggested we might have met and been companions otherwise, he thought it funny." Penelope's voice broke for a moment, a pang running through her at the memory of those happy, tumultuous days after her marriage.

  "Maybe we both could run away and look for my father?"

  "I think he would want us to stay here and wait for him to come home to us," she said, tightening her arm around him. "After all, right now there is just one person lost, roaming the world. If we left, there would be three."

  "If they try to make you marry anyone, Mother, I will run away--but I'll run to look for Father," Telemachos hurried to add.

  "If anyone forces me to marry him, I will go with you."

  "No, Mother." He laughed. "You're too beautiful to be a boy now."

  She laughed and thanked him and then steered the talk elsewhere. Penelope didn't dare hope the subject had closed. As in other things, Telemachos would think long and hard on the problem of her unwanted suitors. Questions would slip from his mouth at the strangest times, months, even years later. She hoped Odysseus would be home by then, to deal with the problem. Eurymachos had been right, however. Telemachos did need a father, no matter how close to manhood he stood. The guidance provided by Laertes and Mentor was no longer enough.

  * * * *

  Only a few days later, Penelope learned neither Telemachos nor her suitors had dropped the subject. Mentor came to see her in her rooms, bringing Telemachos by a strong grip on the boy's arm. Her son's hands were dirty, gritty with sand and mud, his tunic spotted with damp. One look at the man's calm outrage and the boy's sullen anger told her something unusual had happened. Mentor treated Telemachos like one of his own sons, and the boy usually begged to accompany the man on estate business. For them to be angry at each other was unusual.

  "Lord Mentor?" Penelope looked up from her weaving. Behind her, she heard the other women putting their work down to listen.

  "Lady Penelope, perhaps Laertes would be better suited to handle this, but he is away." Mentor released Telemachos' arm and moved to block the boy's escape. Glaring at the man, Telemachos moved to stand next to his mother.

  "What happened, Telemachos?"

  "They said you had to marry one of them," he mumbled, ducking his head. "I called them liars. The arrogant one said he would thrash me for that, when he became my father."

  "And what did you do?" Penelope didn't have to ask who they were; arrogant suited all the suitors. She studied his disheveled state. Had Telemachos attacked first, or had the suitors come at him en mass?

  "He threw rocks and mud like a beggar's brat!" Mentor blurted. "Such weapons, and the words he used, aren't proper for Odysseus' son."

  "You made him apologize to the young men he attacked?" Penelope found it hard not to laugh at the sudden mental image of Antinoos and friends running from a rain of mud and stones, flung by a skilled, accurate, angered boy.

  "Those who remained after the first barrage." A half-smile touched the man's face. "His aim is wonderful."

  "Unfortunately. Thank you for correcting my son. When his grandfather returns, we will finish the matter." She dismissed Mentor with a smile and nod. He looked relieved to be allowed to leave. When he was gone, she turned to her son, mindful of the listening servants. "Telemachos, we need to take a walk." She smiled at the boy when he hesitated.

  They went to her private garden. The wind rustled the leaves of trees and vines sufficiently to cover the sound of their voices if they talked softly. Penelope wished she could rest her hand on her son's shoulder like sh
e used to, but he stood taller than she did now and it felt awkward.

  "You know you did wrong," she began. "Stones and mud are a beggar's weapons, or those of a child half your age. And yet, you are young enough to be excused for what you did. Another year and it won't be so."

  "Mother, it wasn't what they said, but how they said it. Bragging. Swaggering. Calling you a widow and saying it like they were glad." Telemachos clutched at her sleeve, as if by touch he could make her understand.

  "You had provocation, then." She gestured for him to sit on the bench under the olive tree. Penelope stayed standing, amused at the relief of being able to look down at him as she spoke. "I must admit, I am glad you did attack." A chuckle escaped her at the surprise and then relief on her son's face. "But that admission does not go beyond these walls, do you understand?"

  "If they think you're angry at me--"

  "Telemachos, consider our situation. Your grandfather is old and wants to rest. The death of your grandmother and then Ktimene took much of his strength. He would have followed them if you and I did not need him. He is a wall between us and the men who might take me away. Between you and the ones who would take your inheritance." She paused, waiting until the boy nodded that he understood. "For now, we do have protectors on Ithaka. Yet the longer your father is absent, the more people will expect me to marry again. You are Odysseus' son and Ithaka is yours someday. Until then, it is my duty to guard our home and land. We cannot afford to make enemies. Too many, and people might look the other way if anything should happen to you."

  "I understand." A hard light touched his eyes. For a moment Odysseus looked out through his son's face, the cold, calculating look of anger that frightened Penelope more than uncontrolled rage in any other man.

  "You are Odysseus' son. You must learn to wait and watch and plan like Odysseus. Stealth and guile, Telemachos, are strong weapons. Train your arm for sword, bow and spear, and train your mind to be sharper, faster and stronger. Your father could dissemble and take on faces and voices like a bard, to play people like a harp. You must train to do the same."